St Lucie Inlet Preserve State Park

I'm riddled with cooties this weekend (I've got an upper respiratory infection), so I'm taking this time to update the blog instead of feeling sorry for myself.

Ok, I'm feeling sorry for myself, too.

I have one of those Florida State Park passes (thanks, sis!) that allows me free entry to all Florida State Parks, so I took my dog kayaking around St. Lucie Inlet Preserve State Park in April. I wanted to see the sunrise, so I got up extra early, packed up the van, woke up the dog, and hit the road. 

The park is only accessible by boat, which means it's hardly ever crowded. There's a convenient kayak/canoe launch directly across from the park's main docking area. I got there at 6:15 AM -- and saw the sign that said the launch site wasn't open to the public until 7:00. Seriously?! If it weren't for the other people waiting in the lot, I would have cheerfully flouted the rules with a swish of my ponytail.

Once the launch was "officially" open, I lugged the kayak down to the bank, got Duchess settled inside, and we began our journey.

The sun was still shimmying above the horizon when we took off; I'm glad for that. I paddled across the often-choppy waters of the Intracoastal Waterway without incident -- though I did hear the distinctive sound of a marine mammal surfacing to breathe behind me one time. I didn't catch a look at the culprit.

I dipped my paddles quietly, creeping alongside the mangrove-studded shoreline. I eyed the fiddler crabs who eyed me right back from their mangrove root perches, and listened to the characteristic "snap-crackle-pop" sounds of the mangrove forests. 

"Wait... what?" you ask.

No, really. I always assumed it was the crabs who made those popping sounds, but recently my curiosity got the better of me, and I did a bit of research. The popping sound comes from an odd little critter called the Pistol Shrimp. From Tropical Topics newsletter (July 1994):

"A characteristic noise of the mangroves is a loud crack or pop produced by the rarely seen pistol shrimp which inhabits the more fluid soils in wetter parts of the mangroves. The sound is produced by the animal snapping its enlarged claw which contains a unique peg and socket arrangement. It is thought to be a territorial signal and/or a noise made to deter predators."

The more you know....

In the spirit of exploration, I let the numerous mangrove alleys guide me along for a while. I know the area well, and I had my map and compass, so I had no fear of getting lost. The sun traced an arc over the trees, and the birds started going about their business. Brown pelicans dive-bombed for breakfast in comic fashion, and egrets glided from their roosts with silent grace, their breeding season plumage ghosting behind them.

Dawn relinquished its tender grasp on the preserve and gave way to the bright morning light. I aimed the kayak toward the water trail that wove through the park; I only had a few hours to spare before being forced to flee the unforgiving Florida sun.

In the shelter of the mangrove islands, the water rested like a blown glass table top. It made for a delightful paddling experience. I spotted a few Belted Kingfishers (a favorite of mine). After a while, Duchess felt confident enough to climb up onto the prow as I paddled on.

The waterway narrowed and the clearance under the kayak became shallow indeed. I had to duck my head and skim my paddles on the water's surface to navigate one channel. It sounds exhausting, but it was a blast.

That narrow channel opened up to a shallow "lake" between the mangrove islands. At this point, Duchess elected to hop out of the kayak and stretch her legs. I laughed at the spontaneity of her slow, deliberate wade through the shallows.

I let Duchess have her fun in the sun, and finally called her back to the kayak. I had to step out into the disgusting, foot-sucking muck in order to get her back in the kayak. It was an ordeal, I won't lie, and the kayak was filthy afterward, but Duchess had fun. I think it's important for a dog like her (prone to nervousness and anxiety) to have positive experiences with things that are still new to her. It's a big confidence builder.

Once we reached the far side of the "lake," I began to hear the distant thundering of ocean waves. I paddled faster, looking for the break in the mangroves that contained the path to the beach. I found it a few minutes later, and dragged my kayak onto a root- and leaf-carpeted bank. 

Duchess hopped out of the kayak, shook her body as was her custom, and darted off to explore the immediate area. I recalled her to my side, grabbed her leash, and together we walked up to the beach.

The beach did not disappoint.

A sprawling expanse of undeveloped ocean-side beauty, there are few beaches like it on the Florida coast. I took a stroll back and forth along the beach, wiggled my toes in the sand, inspected the rocks and shells strewn about, and finally laid out my yoga mat by a massive piece of driftwood and did a few sun salutations.

It was glorious.

Weeki Wachee Wander

What a perfectly gorgeous day for kayaking. I had been wanting to go "play with the manatees" before the Florida weather became unforgivably hot and humid. As fate would have it, my day off coincided with one of the coldest days of the year, following a week of cool temperatures. When it gets cooler, the manatees head to warmer waters -- in a lot of cases, they congregate in freshwater springs and near power plants. That combination of weather events practically ensured manatee sightings.

It was FREEZING. The first thirty minutes I spent on the water, I was physically shivering. I was wearing my fleece hat, jacket, and even my fleece neck gaiter (don't laugh, I live in Florida). The cold weather made the warm spring water throw steam into the crisp morning air. It was like paddling through a dream. 

As the current guided me down the river, I took the time to sit back and observe the natural world going about its business. Small schools of fish commuted up and downstream in an orderly fashion. Occasional spring vents pressed up through the river floor, making the underwater foliage dance and sway. I spotted several deer breakfasting along the water's edge, as well as an otter weaving its way through the shallows. 

The water was an unbelievably breathtaking shade of turquoise. I felt an immense amount of gratitude for being able to experience this river on such a perfect morning.

I stopped for a quick mid-morning snack on this sandbar, watching the water swirl past me. 

Finally, I decided to get moving once more; it was far too cold to stay still for too long. As I shivered down the river, I began to wonder when I'd see manatees -- even one manatee would send me home happy. I silently told myself not to get my expectations up, and to just enjoy this beautiful morning, when --

ELATION! Manatees in motion move so much faster than I expected them to. This manatee was cruising against the current with speed and grace -- a current that had all but carried me to this point in the river. In an instant, I no longer felt the frigid, insistent wind. The manatee slowed as it glided past me and surfaced a few yards away from my kayak, then submerged and continued on its upstream journey. It was such a special moment for me, because it was my first time observing a manatee in the wild.

I paddled contentedly onward, enjoying my surroundings. (The Weeki Wachee River is really picturesque; if you have an opportunity to visit, do so.) I reached a spot in the river called "Hospital Hole," which is a 100-foot deep sulphur spring in the middle of the river - a favorite haunt for manatees. I counted at least ten manatees in that spot alone. They would rest with their heads under large rock overhangs about ten feet below the surface, and occasionally come up for air. There was a brand-new baby among them, covered in its infant "fur" and without a scar upon its precious back. Its mother would help it to the surface to breathe.

I spent over an hour in that spot, listening to the manatees breathing, and letting the sulphur spring's swirling current carry me in slow, wide circles around the manatees. It was so therapeutic. If anything is worth waking up at 3 AM to drive four hours for, that was it. Absolutely perfect day.

PHOTOBLOG: Gold Head Branch State Park

"The worst day on the trail is better than the best day in the office."

Livin' it up in the Florida Keys

I'm sure I've said it before, but my favorite traveling companions are my two sisters. This time around, I journeyed all the way to the southernmost point of the United States with my older sister. It was her last big hurrah before moving overseas to Germany, so we made a day of it, and it was fun and special. 

We made an early start -- before dawn -- and made it to Key Largo just as the sun began to rise. The sky was a dusky pink-purple-blue and the weather was perfect.

We stopped at Bahia Honda State Park on Big Pine Key to dip our toes in the Gulf and Atlantic waters. It's funny to think about that now, and it reminds me of when I was walking the jetty in Washington state, looking at the wide Columbia River spilling into the Pacific Ocean. 

I digress.

We started on the Atlantic Ocean side, where we were greeted by dozens of seagulls and pelicans haunting a shoal of bait fish that was swimming just offshore... and also by a vast, smelly swath of dead sea grass. 

Walking along that decaying carpet of sea grass is not for the faint of heart, let me assure you. But, for the steadfast explorer, curious treasures can be found among the... fragrant vegetation. 

Once we'd had enough of the sights, sounds, and smells of the oceanic side of the park, we took a short hike over to the idyllic Gulf side of Bahia Honda. Much better!

We settled down on the beach and went snorkeling in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico. There we witnessed a number of the ubiquitous tropical fish that inhabit Florida's coastline. Periodically, we pointed out strange findings to one another -- a dead crab or lobster here, a piece of washed-up coral there. It was fun.

That's my sister in the photo above, posing artfully in front of the Bahia Honda Rail Bridge - a relic from the Keys's railroad past. Look at that gorgeous Florida sky!

And here's an obligatory shot of yours truly -- or at least my feet and my Chacos.

After one more blissful glance over our shoulders, my sister and I headed back to the car and headed south once more. Destination: Key West.

After we arrived, we stopped at a little cafe called Croissants de France for some cheap, yummy breakfast cuisine. It was good - the atmosphere was nice, and it wasn't too hot in the outdoor seating area. A resident anole lizard kept a watchful eye on me as I ate my meal.

After our "brunch," we wandered around Key West, taking in the sights and sounds, and poking our heads into shops here and there. We also visited the Hemingway House -- home of Ernest Hemingway during his Key West days, and also home to a gang of his famous polydactyl cats.

I loved walking around the airy home, with its creaky floorboards and antique furnishings. My sister and I started pointing out all of the cats to each other. It seemed that every room in the house had a snoozing feline in it.

We walked around the perimeter of the house, where we played with an adorable six-toed kitten on the walkway, and finally exited the grounds through the front gate. It was a lot of fun. There is a bookshop on premises if you find yourself in need of a copy of any of his books (they carry his full writing catalogue -- or a gaudy, touristy rendering of one of the cats.

We stopped at a nearby, hole-in-the-wall cafe called The Six-Toed Cat, where I had the single most amazing piece of Key Lime Pie I've ever had in my life. It was so good, I ordered a second slice. Literally nothing compares. Find that cafe, go inside, and order a whole pie. It's so delicious. 

After that culinary experience, we wandered around some more, heading down Duval Street and its little tributaries until we arrived at the southernmost point. There was a queue of people waiting to pose by the colorful concrete buoy, so we joined the queue, and I took a photo of my sister in front of it, then took one more photo of the buoy itself. 

After that, we decided to visit the Pirate Museum, which is staffed by a silly, jovial, boisterous group of people. We took the last tour of the day, so the staff was in a more relaxed, easy mood. It was a lot of fun and a surprising learning experience, as well. You can climb to the top of the museum's tower and take in a nice view of the nearby Maritime museum, with its big coast guard ship at the dock.

Oh! How could I forget? There is a thriving population of feral chickens in Key West. This particular rooster decided that he hated my sister, and began following her around, jumping into the air, and clawing at her as she ran away. Hahaha! I was literally no help to her; I could only stand and laugh as she was victimized by this ridiculous bird.

The keys are a lot of fun at any time of year -- there's always something going on. I encourage you to visit if you ever make your way to Florida. Forget the theme parks. You don't need packaged entertainment shoved down your throat to have a good time. Create your own experience. Learn a few things. Eat cheap, delicious, locally-sourced foods. Have fun.