America's Blue Highways
Paddle
the Great Calusa Blueway, and you'll not only stumble across a slew
of hidden wonders - you'll also discover the moments in life that
truly count.
. Photographs by Sean McCormick.
From the helm of the Cayo Costa Star, Vince Tapager gazes out at
the sun-bright waters and the mangrove islands of Pine Island
Sound. He considers the sky, a dome of pale blue, and the wind, a
soft exhalation from the west. He turns back to us, four soon-to-be
kayakers. The plan is simple. Vince will ferry us out from Pine
Island and drop us off at Cayo Costa, a lovely slice of barrier
island and a state park off the coast of southwest
Florida. Then we
will paddle back to Pine Island Marina.
Vince operates Tropic Star Cruises, one of dozens of local
outfitters offering myriad ways to enjoy these lovely waters. In
the manner of all watermen, Vince is dry.
"With the wind at your back, you can make it back to the dock in a
couple of hours," he says. "Assuming you don't get lost."
Since we left the dock, Vince has kept up an easy patter of
history, ecology, and meteorology. He has talked about the Calusa
Indians - the fierce, thriving, mound-building tribe of giants who
paddled these waters from about 300 AD to the 1700s, when the
Spanish saw them to their end. He has pointed out various flora and
fauna, and he's addressed the wrath of Hurricane Charley, whose
August 2004 landing created new passes between the islands
overnight and sent kayaks where they were never meant to go.
"I found one kayak stuck 20 feet up in a tree," says Vince.
It's all very fascinating, and I'm listening - but not too closely,
because in absorbing my surroundings, I have observed another
important fact. Debby, one-fourth of our merry band of paddlers,
voices my thoughts:
"All these islands," she says. "They all look the same."
Vince nods appreciatively.
"Big place," he says. "So much nature and open space."
I HAVE COME HERE to southwest Florida
to paddle the Great Calusa Blueway and to get a firsthand look at
the water trails that continue to spread their blue-veined arteries
across
America. There are already water trails in almost every
state, and, even as you read this, more are in the making. On them,
with a map and some minor navigational skills, you can traverse
lovely swaths of wilderness, whether it be for an hour, a day, or a
month. Paddle sports -
kayaking,
rafting, and
canoeing - are
booming, and as they boom, more and more folks are grasping an
elemental, and wondrous, truth: Water is an alchemic portal to
places and rarities that would otherwise remain unseen. After all,
when was the last time you saw a manatee as you drove down the
interstate?
It's not just about the water, though. Most of the water trails
offer access to camping, of course, but for those who tire of
dealing with freeze-dried stroganoff and grit in their teeth, many
trails are laid out to deposit you at the landing ramp of
civilization so that you may haul your vessel ashore, shower at a
fine B&B, and then, surrounded by the boisterous buzz of
locals, tear into half a pound of fat, fresh shrimp. Why are the
locals so happy? Because the shrimp are as sweet as candy and the
people live on an island accessed only by boat.
The Calusa Blueway trail currently stretches about 100 miles,
meandering through Estero Bay - tucked roughly behind the barrier
islands of Lovers Key and
Fort Myers Beach - and snaking northward
into Pine Island Sound, Charlotte Harbor, and the sable-palmed,
white-sand islands of Sanibel, Captiva, and Cayo Costa. Soon the
trail will officially continue up the Caloosahatchee River and its
tributaries, too, though frankly there's nothing to stop you from
paddling there now. There is ample opportunity to ply waters
fraught with great blue herons and mischievous manatees. But the
Blueway also leads to places where you can immerse yourself in the
simple joys that make life worthwhile, like desolate beach hikes,
the sand soft beneath your feet; cold beverages served up at
dockside juke joints; and watching sunsets from a veranda, with
rustling palms applauding the purpling demise of day.
Better still, Florida's Gulf Coast moves with a soft, egalitarian
sibilance. In
Miami, you are judged by who you are and what you
wear. On Matlacha, a thin sliver of water's-edge restaurants and
shops along the causeway that enters Pine Island, you can walk into
Moretti's Waterfront Seafood Restaurant wearing a kayaking skirt
and neoprene aqua socks and receive the same attentive service and
mouthwatering grouper as
Paris Hilton would.
"We're still a little undiscovered," says one Pine Island resident,
"and a lot of good things come with that."
VINCE DROPS OFF the four of us - Debby, me, and Rick and
Janet (husband and wife kayakers from St. Petersburg, Florida) - at
the dock at
Cayo Costa State Park, which is 2,416 acres of hardwood
hammock and lovely beach abutting the
Gulf of Mexico. We slide our
kayaks into the water. Within minutes, we are tracking a pair of
manatees, watching the water's mirrorlike surface for telltale
ripples.
The docile giants - picture sea lions with elephantiasis - give us
more than a humpback sighting. Then the still morning explodes, and
a great plume of water, flung by a powerful fluke, soaks Rick. He
manages to retain his aplomb and his upright position, though I
note he takes a few backward strokes.
"Never seen that before," he says. "Maybe they're mating."
During the next several hours, we slide across the lightly ruffled
waters of Pine Island Sound. We skirt the eastern edge of Cayo
Costa, making our way past several mangrove islands that not one of
us recognizes, despite the maps Rick and I carry. We're hoping to
find our way to Cabbage Key, where there's the bar at which Jimmy
Buffett purportedly penned "Cheeseburger in Paradise." We
eventually find both key and bar, and we toast our navigational
skills with cold beers. After another hour or so, we even find our
way back to Pine Island. We hone in on the marina by simple, and
altogether pleasant, means: The marina is the only sign of man
along the mangrove shore.
THE NEXT MORNING, I paddle with Connie
Langmann, owner of Gaea Guides, and with some 20 other kayakers.
It's a Sunday, and the second day of Pine Island's first Calusa
Blueway Paddling Festival, a low-key gathering that includes
various paddling outings as well as demonstrations at a local park.
Our outing begins with a stroll along the Calusa Heritage Trail,
the
archaeological site on Pine Island that was once the Calusa
Indian village of Tampa. We follow Connie through the hot morning
as she explains how the Calusa made the most of their environment.
Lacking stone, they used shells for everything from tools to
foundations, which still remain, in the form of enormous shell
mounds. The Calusa also made the most of their size, since the
average Calusa male was six feet tall. In the 1500s, they were the
equivalent of today's Shaquille O'Neal, only with more attitude and
with an impressive array of sharp weapons.
"
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.
DAYS LATER, near the southern end of
the trail, I kayak along the shoreline of Lovers Key with
Nancy McPhee and Trudi Edelman. Trudi has kayaked and guided
in these waters for 38 years. Nancy was instrumental in
seeing the Calusa Blueway become reality.
We rent kayaks from the Lovers Key park concessionaire. As we take
our first strokes, nothing but mangroves and a riverlike spread of
Zamboni-smooth water is visible.
"This is what the Calusa saw when they paddled here," says Nancy
quietly. "This is what we wanted people to see when we created the
Blueway."
Moments later, we see a trail marker, a post emblazoned with a pair
of crossed oars and the number 11. This is my fifth day on the
water, and this is the first Blueway marker - other than the one I
spotted while jogging - that I've seen.
When I tell Nancy this, she shrugs.
"I didn't put up a whole lot of markers. To be honest, I don't want
to see the next one. We want the Blueway to be an adventure. Plus,
the hurricanes and the fishermen took a lot of the signs out. I
think we might have marked some of their favorite fishing
holes."
The women turn their tandem kayak toward a seemingly impenetrable
mangrove wall. We push through a narrow, shaded channel. The
mangrove roots resemble the curved fingers of an emaciated pianist.
The bottom of my kayak scrapes across an oyster bed, and then the
three of us are out in the bright sunlight again. The world is
nothing but caws and trills. We drift in our own private lagoon,
watched by egrets and ibis, resting in the mangroves like white
linen handkerchiefs. A roseate spoonbill registers our sudden
intrusion - and perhaps his opinion of man - with a great gastric
expulsion.
I LIKED PADDLING and exploring with my
fellow kayakers, but, as anyone knows, in nature - and perhaps in
life - true discovery comes alone, with silence.
On my last day, I push off again from Lovers Key. I plan on
paddling for Mound Key, one of the centers of Calusa culture, but I
get hopelessly lost. Over the next five hours, I see mangrove
islands that all look the same, several bottlenose dolphins, and
hidden backwaters so quiet that I can hear the sudden scatterings
of tiny fish - they sound like a handful of tossed pebbles.
When I pull my kayak up onto a 10-yard scrim of shell and sand and
sit alone in the middle of Estero Bay, here is what the wind
whispers: It is the moments between the markers that matter. Even
the Calusa, who no doubt knew where they were paddling, could not
see to the end of the trail.
Great Calusa Blueway Paddling
Primer
What to take on the water:
Sunscreen, sunglasses, a floppy hat, a personal flotation device
(Florida law requires a Coast Guard-approved, readily accessible
PFD), insect repellent, a compass, a map, binoculars, a cell phone,
a whistle, water shoes (to protect your feet from sharp shells),
and plenty of drinking water.
Places to stay along the trail:
Tropic Star of Pine Island Jug Creek Cottages, Pine Island
(239-283-0015); Bokeelia Tarpon Inn Bed & Breakfast, Pine
Island (www.tarponinn.com, 239-283-8961); and Lovers Key Resort,
Fort Myers Beach (www.loverskey.com, 239-765-1040).
Camping is currently permitted at Cayo
Costa Island, Picnic Island, and Koreshan State Historic Site (on
the Estero River). Tip: During the off season - mid-January through
April - many hotels offer discounts of up to 60 percent.
Places to eat:
Gramma Dot's Seaside Saloon, Sanibel Island (239-472-8138); Sandy
Hook Fish & Rib House, Matlacha (239-283-0113); Moretti's
Waterfront Seafood Restaurant, Matlacha (239-283-5825); and
Barnacle Phil's, North Captiva Island (239-472-6394).
Things to do:
Visit the J.N. "Ding" Darling National Wildlife Refuge on Sanibel
Island (www.fws.gov/dingdarling, 239-472-1100); take a dolphin
cruise with Captiva Cruises (www.captivacruises.com, 239-472-5300);
hunt for seashells on Bowman's Beach on Sanibel; take the African
Queen Ferry from Pineland Marina to Cayo Costa State Park
(www.tropicstarcruises.com, 239-283-0015); or head to Boca Grande
Pass, just north of Pine Island, where some of the world's best
tarpon fishing can be found.
Kayak Outfitters:
Gaea Guides, Fort Myers (www.gaeaguides.com, 866-256-6388); Royal
Palm Tours, Fort Myers (www.royalpalmtours.com, 800-296-0249);
Tropic Star Cruises, Pine Island (www.tropicstarcruises.com,
239-283-0015); and Tarpon Bay Explorers, Sanibel Island (www.tarpon
bayexplorers.com, 239-472-8900).
For area information:
Lee County Visitor & Convention Bureau
(www.fortmyers-sanibel.com, 888-231-6933).
For paddling-trail info and downloadable
maps:
www.greatcalusablueway.com. Blueway maps are also available from
many hotels, state parks, and kayak outfitters.
The Other Blue Highways
There's no better way to see America's wilds than by water.
Happily, our country is not lacking in an abundance of these lovely
trails.
Bartram River Canoe Trail
The enormous Mobile-Tenshaw Delta in
Alabama is a wondrous maze of
wetlands and waterways weaving through marsh, forest, and
cypress-tupelo swamp. Several campsites are on floating docks.
www.outdooralabama.com/outdoor-adventures/bartram.cfm, (334)
242-3484
Cascadia Marine Trail
The trail extends the length and breadth of
Washington's Puget
Sound. It's one of the country's best-developed trails, and there
are 55 campsites on the trail (and growing). Imagine island camping
with
Seattle's skyline before you and a deer behind you.
www.wwta.org, (206) 545-9161
Florida Greenways and Trails System
Florida is laced with nearly 40 paddling trails; they range from
small sections of river to the roughly 100-mile Big Bend Saltwater
Paddling Trail. Most offer developed campsites along the way.
www.floridagreenwaysandtrails.com, (877) 822-5208
Lake Superior Water Trail
There's plenty of shoreline and diverse natural history on the
world's largest freshwater lake, which straddles the border of the
United States and
Canada. Make day trips from nearby towns, or use
the kayak campsites tucked among the islands. www.lswta.org, (612)
729-2879
Lake Tahoe Water Trail
It boasts 72 miles of shoreline and water that's an impossible blue
- plus all the spectacular hiking, climbing, and mountain biking
you could want. www.laketahoewatertrail.org, (530) 542-5651
Maine Island Trail
Maine's coast is magnificent, and so is its paddling; the trail
winds 350 miles, from Cape Porpoise Harbor, on the west, to Machias
Bay, down east. There are more than 150 islands and mainland sites
along the route that are available for exploring and for camping.
www.mainecoastguide.com