"
Calusa means 'fierce people,'?" Connie
tells us. "Other Indian tribes would pay them tribute money so the
Calusa would be nice to them. Kind of like the mob."
The Calusa eventually met their match - not in the form of the
Spaniards, who had tried vainly to dispatch them - but in the
diseases the Europeans brought with them. At least, that's the
history according to Connie.
When she finishes, Joe Mullen leans in close to me.
"They drank a lot of rum, too," he says.
Joe is attending the festival with his friend Ed Engel. Avid
kayakers and
Florida residents, these men have kayaked together
along much of the Calusa Blueway, not to mention their adventuring
on waters as distant as
Scotland.
I immediately like Joe and Ed. It's obvious that they love their
home waters. Plus, they offer me a nice counter to the official
party line I'd been given earlier, when I was told that there are
only three places along the Calusa Blueway that allow camping: Cayo
Costa Island, Picnic Island, and Koreshan State Historic Site,
along the Estero River.
When I mention this to Joe, he snorts.
"You can guerrilla camp anywhere you like. Pull in after dark, set
up the tents, and be gone by morning."
In short order, the lot of us are paddling in Pine Island Sound. An
osprey beats overhead, a fish in its talons. (Note to romantics:
Ospreys mate for life, but each year the male must court the female
again before breeding commences.) Mullet leap from the water, white
undersides flashing in the sun.
I suddenly realize that Joe is right - the sheer breadth and
loveliness of the natural world make man's adherence to regulation
seem silly.