Finally got around to writing up some thoughts on my row
. . .
In March I set off on my 3rd attempt at the 300 mile
Everglades Challenge. This time I was
using my 18' Alden Ocean, a rowing shell made for open water at over 30"
wide, but so wide open that I made my own splash deck to help keep waves
out. On Saturday morning March 2, I and
over 100 boats shoved off from a beach near Tampa, Florida stocked with all the
food, clothing, shelter etc we would need for the journey. Over 100 pounds of gear included probably 25
pounds of water, enough to easily get me to the first checkpoint 60 miles
away. Most of the kayaks were well
underway by the time I pulled my shell into the shallows and climbed in (see
photo/article http://aqualifestyle.wordpress.com/2013/03/12/finishing-the-everglades-challenge/),
but I caught many of them in the 5 mile crossing of the Tampa Bay inlet.
The morning was a fairly uneventful row at about 17 strokes
per minute, averaging a speed of about 4 miles per hour, a pace my training
runs had proven effective with a boat this heavily loaded. From past attempts, I learned the importance
of eating something every 2 hours even if I was not hungry, so my energy levels
stayed steady. The calmness was
shattered at about 11 AM, when a strong North wind blew across Sarasota Bay at
about 30 mph. I had a small kayak sail
up, 1 square meter, and at first it was fun.
But the swells built, and reached 3-4 feet in the middle of the 8 mile
expanse, so after turning on my electric pump to drain the waves that had
splashed in, I lowered the sail and surfed on just under oar power. But still, I was able to maintain 6-7 mph
doing that, and keeping the bow pointed downwind without broaching in the waves
was tricky. Lots of fun and got the
adrenaline up there! After passing under
the bridge at the bay's end, I pulled over to feast on the Subway 6"
Italian Double-Meat sandwich I had packed, a regular staple for me the first
lunch of these longer trips.
The rest of the day was uneventful, staying in the
InterCoastal Waterway (ICW) that runs down either side of Florida, past many
waterfront homes and some bars (I hear).
Uneventful for me, but some of the sailboats - oh yeah, did I mention I
was the only rower? - had taken the "outside" route South in the Gulf
of Mexico. A few got in distress, and
soon the Coast Guard plane was patrolling up and down the coast, and the local
water-bourne police were chasing out to sea.
One of the competitor's boats was never seen again, as it sunk out from
under them, but no lives were lost. Me,
I just waved at the high-speed rescue boat traffic and rowed on. And on.
I arrived at the checkpoint a little before 10 PM, rowing the last several
hours in the dark (never mind the comments), and decided to camp there for the
night. Others chose to press on, some
hardly stopping at all in the 300 miles, but I am not as excited about
all-nighters as I once was.
By 8 AM the next day I was back underway, fully refreshed
and stocked with plenty of water for the next leg, probably 120 miles or so
down the coast. My rowing took me past
Boca Grande and across Charlotte Harbor, site of the world-record 13 foot
hammerhead shark, then down the "inside" route of Matlacha Pass where
I would be more protected from the wind.
Of course that is a relative term, and as I approached the Sanibel
Causeway bridge at dusk, the wind kicked up above 40 mph driving most boats for
shelter. I kept going South, and waves
kept building because now there was no "inside", I was pretty much in
the Gulf. A few miles later, though, I
was able to duck inside and pick up the ICW again at Fort Myers Beach, surfing
into the harbor on 4 foot swells in the pitch black. Fun!
This time I got lucky, and found a waterside restaurant
to grab a burger instead of mixing up another batch of freeze-dried
lasagna. And I know you won't believe
me, but I did not have a beer, opting for iced tea because I knew damn well how
easy it would be to quit! Met a nice
couple from Indiana who were a little surprised at my journey, taking lots of
photos and wishing me well as I shoved off.
Then more rowing until past 10 PM, when I finally gave up my quest for a
sandy beach and instead tied my boat to some mangroves and threw up a tiny tent
deep into the jungle. A successful day
of probably 70 or more miles. Three
kayakers came along looking to share my space, but turning it down when they
saw what I had settled for!
Early the next morning I was awakened by a local out
fitness kayaking at 6 AM, checking to see if everything was alright. With no other option, I packed up and after
some oatmeal and apricots, was underway for Day Three. With great rowing weather in the upper 50's,
I soon forgot about the sub-40 degree nights and took in the scenery of
Southwestern Florida. The ICW at this
point was a series of meandering channels through sand bars and small mangrove
islands, with some development on the barrier island facing the Gulf, but not
much where my course took me. The
occasional power boater rushed by in a hurry to get somewhere, but for me it
was a peaceful morning. By lunchtime I
arrived at Wiggins Pass, a spot where the ICW pauses and you have to exit to
the Gulf of Mexico. I met up with one of
the kayakers from the night before, as he was packing up his tent - he slept in
after coming all this way the night before, and I found out about a dozen or
more others camped at that pass as well.
As tricky as it had been surfing in on 4 foot swells the
night before, rowing out into them was even trickier. I first tried just walking by boat out the
pass, along the beach where it seemed less rough. But a wave quickly slammed the boat into my
calf, with a force just this side of snapping both bones.. So I retreated and bit the bullet, hoping in
and rowing headlong into the breaking froth.
I soared up the fronts of the waves, into the air and slamming down the
backsides, but did not suffer any issues thankfully. Once past the breakers, a 90 degree turn to
Port and off I went, rowing South towards Marco Island. This many days and miles in, I rarely saw
other competitors. An occasional
kayaker, either passing or being passed.
Some sailboat in the distance, usually passing me with the very
favorable winds they were getting. But
mostly, me rowing, not looking and hoping nothing got in my way. Well, I did have a Walmart rearview mirror
mounted on my rigger, but honestly that was more to make the kayakers
comfortable, so they would think I could see.
On Day One, for example, I ran smack into a piling with my Port rigger
arm, somewhat tearing it from the bottom of the boat (more on that damage
later). I also ran into an oyster bar so
hard, that when the boat stopped and I stepped out, my feet were on solid
sand/oysters, several inches out of the water!
This afternoon, though, was without a doubt the most
mentally fatiguing for me. At lunchtime
back at Wiggins, I ate some tunafish and crackers. And then I did not really eat anything much
all afternoon. A recipe for disaster for
me, as I "bonked" and had to pause every half hour or so. For whatever reason, when this happens to me
I do not realize why until much later, and I just keep trying to push on
instead of stopping and having some real food.
By dusk, I was back "inside" on the ICW and had to call it a
day, several hours short of my goal or reaching a burger joint in Marco. To make matters worse, as I set up my tent on
a small mound of shells washed up by tropical storms, several kayakers I passed
on Day Two whisked by on an all-night push to the 2nd checkpoint. I would never catch up with them again.
Day Four was through more beautiful territory, the
morning cruising through long relatively straight stretches between forests of
mangroves, with dozens of Osprey pairs up high scouring the shallows for their
breakfast. I kept thinking, "what a
great place to set up a rowing camp", you could go for miles and
miles. And I did. I reached Marco by lunchtime, finally getting
my greasy meal, opting for an egg and sausage sandwich and taking a pastrami
sandwich to go, for midday. This rower
was NOT going hungry AGAIN! From here, I
cut through the Big Marco River and out into the (Ten?) Thousand Islands area
of the northern Everglades. Beautiful
uninhabited islands, white sandy beaches, even saw what must have been a 5 foot
Tarpon jumping. Very nice, and a calm
day crossing a stretch once again very exposed to the Gulf. By sunset I turned East into the heart of the
Everglades, bound for Checkpoint 2 in the tiny village of Chokoloskee,
apparently populated with Florida "crackers" and tourists from
Ontario with trailer homes. I landed a
little before 9 PM, and set up my tent there since I had to get an Everglades
permit from the ranger station the next morning.
After a quick stop in the Havana Grill for an egg
sandwich and coffee, I set off in a borrowed truck for the rangers, a few miles
down the road. I was accompanied by
Dolphin Gal, an Octogenarian competing in the race in a single kayak. Now before you laugh (ok, too late), she is
something else. Last year in this race,
she flipped out in the Gulf in the middle of the night and could not right
herself. After many attempts,
hypothermia started to set in, and she called for a Coast Guard rescue. They took her to the hospital and treated
her, and a few hours later once they released her she jumped back in the
race! In this year's race, I must have
passed her half a dozen times, only to find out she did not stop at night and
passed me as I slept. Anyway, we got our
camping permits and by 9:30 AM I was off to see the 'gators.
Now in this race, the Everglades Challenge, you have two
options at this point. You can either go
back towards the coast, and make a relatively straight route South towards the
3rd Checkpoint, or you can take the Wilderness Waterway right through the heart
of the 'glades. It adds maybe 30 miles
to the length, and takes you through some rough areas, but if you successfully
complete it you get - in addition to a shark's tooth for the
"regular" race - you get your own alligator tooth award. So of course I opted for the long, difficult
route. At first it was not bad, rowing
through very twisty channels as if they had been carved by running water over
many, many years, and then opening up into huge bays several miles across,
reminding me of Northern Canada. But
everywhere as far as you could see, Mangrove trees. As the afternoon wore on, though, I entered
some narrow channels. So narrow that
both oars could not be in the water at the same time. And still twisty, even more twisty. So rowing was a tricky game, turning over my
right shoulder to find an open spot between mangrove roots for one blade, and
then while pulling with that handle turning over my other shoulder to find a
spot for my other oar. And so I went,
first twisting the boat one way and then the other. And all the while, just out of sight up
ahead, Splash as unseen alligators jumped into the water from their resting
spot on the roots.
Now in the Everglades, you cannot camp anywhere you want,
you have to use sites that have been set up for that purpose. At the end of one of these alligator
channels, there was one such site. But I
had a dilemma - it was only 5 PM or so, on a day when I got a late start, so I
was nowhere near tired yet. But with
night falling soon, and such twisty narrow channels, I could not row in the
dark. Now I had a way I could sit in the
boat facing forward and use a canoe paddle, so I thought, this is the time to
try it. Until I got out of the boat and
actually attempted to do this. You see,
I had practiced a little at home, but this evening there was a 20 mph wind
blowing from the West. And I was on the
end of one of those longer bays, so there was a chop about a foot high. Not much for when I am rowing, with long oars
to help balance me and many, many hours in rough water under my belt. But scary with just a canoe paddle, in a
tippy shell, on waters with names like Alligator Bay. So after an hour of deliberating, I decided
to stay the night, knowing it would cost me a lot of distance. As darkness set in, so did the rats, and they
were not shy. On a whim, I peed a circle
around my tent (I said it was a small tent), and they left me alone. They were unable to get into my food and
water, since I had heard about these guys in advance and had proper containers
for everything. Still a little creepy.
The next morning, as Day Five dawned, I was off and
rowing. Turns out there were no more
twisty channels that morning, so I could easily have rowed well into the night
the day before, but who knew.
Mid-morning I saw my first gator, a five footer sunning himself on the
mud. Turns out they don't like 40 degree
nights either, so they take full advantage of the sun. It was a smallish channel, and so he was
probably the biggest guy around, so he was pretty territorial as I backed the
shell up to him for a closer look. But I
had time to make up, so on I went, joining up into the upper Broad River which
then widened into Broad River Bay, then shrunk back down into a continuation of
a now much bigger Broad River. It was at
this point that I spotted a dinosaur of a 'gator, with his head and upper torso
pulled up onto Mangrove roots to warm in the sun. His mouth was fully 15 inches across from
side to side, and he looked to be at least six feet from tip of the snout to
his hind legs. I found out later this meant
a 12 footer, although, I would estimate more likely 9 feet. Anyway, when I backed up towards him, he
started to hiss and even make some sort of growling noise. I always thought those noises on the animal
channel were fake! He slid backwards
into the water, but not to escape. He
just lay there and stared at me, lifting his back out of the water to increase
his profile and doing his alligator threatening stuff. Rather than hurt him, I decided to move
off. It was lunchtime, and needless to
say I did not leave the boat, but ate while keep an eye out for bubbles.
I continued on down the Broad River and headed South
where it empties into the Gulf, and a few miles later headed back inland up
Broad Creek. As the name implies, much
smaller than the river, but quite pretty.
For a while. And then it gets
narrower. And narrower. By 5 PM I was in the upper reaches of Broad
Creek, and branches blocked out much of the sky. And it was still getting narrower. So narrow, in fact, that I had to remove my
rigger and break out my canoe paddle - all without leaving the boat! Of course there was no wind in this jungle, so
it was not as scary that way, but by now I was well-educated on the local
fauna. But I managed the tricky
maneuver, and spun around to face forward as I Daniel Boone'd it further
inland. The creek got so narrow, I had
to use my hands to pull my way through the mangroves, as tiny creatures went
scrambling up the limbs and roots I grabbed.
It got darker and darker, and I donned my headlamp so I could spot the
course of the creek. The tide changed
direction, and the creek meandered aimlessly it seemed, so several times I
became totally disoriented. My only
saving grace was that over the years, kayakers had cut the occasional limb out
of the way as they crept through this section of the Wilderness Waterway, and
so that is how I knew I was headed the right direction.
It was eerie in the jungle in the dark, as you might
imagine, although not scary if I kept moving.
Occasionally I would turn my headlamp towards the jungle, and the sound
of loud rain echoed through the mangroves.
Well, not real rain, but small crabs that let go of their perch up in
the limbs as my light hit them. Kind of
cool. Eventually the creek opened up
into the Harney River, and I was able to rest with a bit of Turkey Jerky for
dinner. It was a beautiful night with
clear skies, and I had many miles to go to reach my next campsite, so I set off
paddling my boat like a canoe through the forests. After a few hours I cam to the Harney River
Chickee, a designated campsite. A
Chickee is sort of a dock built out in the water, not connected to shore. It makes a great camping platform, primarily
because there are no rats, but you do have to climb up about 6 feet or more,
depending on the tide. Well, anyway,
this Chickee was full so I had to press on.
At around 1 AM, I finally reached the Shark River Chickee, and found it
completely empty. I wasted no time with
fanciness of warm food or drink, just hopped into my sleeping bag and downed a
couple of Ensure's. I provisioned myself
with two of these protein/vitamin milkshakes a day, one before bed and one
first thing in the AM, to sort of "fill in the cracks" of my
diet. Of course, I often forgot to drink
them, but the idea was there - and this night, it was a good idea.
I arose early, realizing that this was Day Six and I
still had nearly 80 miles to go. There
is an 8 day limit to the race, and I had probably 40 miles to the 3rd
checkpoint. So after about 5 hours of
shut-eye, off I went. I rowed hard, with
the hope of finishing in time for the Awards Ceremony the next day (a day short
of the official 8 days allotted), a 10 AM Feast on the Beach at Key Largo. I made good time to Checkpoint 3, arriving
about 2:30 in the afternoon. This was
past the official cut-off time for that checkpoint, and I found out later the
race officials had called my wife to find out where I was (that did not go over
well), but I found a pay phone (sic) and called HQ. The big problem was, the Everglades swamps
end with a dam down in Flamingo, and I had to portage some 200 yards or
so. Sounds easy, but not after you just
rowed your ass off to get there! I
emptied out my boat, removed the riggers, and attempted to lift what should
have been 50 pounds. No go. A crow laughed at me, as he watched me
struggle. I tried again - got one end up
in the air, only to have it crash back down.
The crow grabbed by baggie of energy bar wrappers, and gave a final
laugh as he darted off with his prize.
And then it dawned on me.
The bulkheads on the ends of the boat had filled with water! I removed the drain plugs, and watched in
disbelief as several gallons rushed out each end. Easily 30 extra pounds I had carted through
much of my journey! After that, I was
able to lift the boat and balance it
upside down on my head as I walked across the parking lot to the other
side. I narrowly missed a Mercedes since
I could not see anything, but all's well that ends. But of course it did not end. I still had to make a half dozen trips to
carry all my gear across, and then I had to carefully repack the boat. Get water.
Grab an ice cream at the marina store.
And wait - no - it couldn't be - Dolphin Gal! She came up to say Hi as she was just shoving
off herself for the final run across Florida Bay! Turns out she had not slept at all since
passing me a few nights earlier, until arriving at this checkpoint in the early
morning hours. Now with a good sleep
under her cap, she was off as the sun was setting. I followed a half hour behind.
Navigating Florida Bay is tricky in the day. There are huge flats, areas that are so
shallow they are dotted with dry sandbars at low tide and only a foot or two
deep at high. Narrow channels traverse
these flats, twisty routes marked with PVC pipes by fishermen over the
years. At night, though, these become
hard to see. And if you are rowing
backwards, at night, at low tide - well, good luck. And so I went. First careening out one side of the channel
and a hundred yards onto the flats before realizing - then veering off out the
other side. Many times I found myself in
water literally only an inch or two deep (the boat is flat-bottomed). Sometimes I could "skip" my way
across and back to the channel. Other
times I had to back it down the way I came.
Slow going. But what an awesome
night! Crystal clear skies, more stars
than you can imagine so many miles away from any city. And like in the jungle, I had fun with my
headlamp! Huge schools of fish roamed
those flats at night, and leapt in panic when my light hit them. Sometimes about 12 inches long, probably
Mullet and Seatrout. But sometimes
several feet long, surely Redfish and Snook.
And then I shone my light straight down, and saw why. Tiny gold beads. Eyes.
Eyes of shrimp. hiding in the grass.
Hundreds. Thousands. More!
What a night.
I kept rowing, and finally cleared the flats, passing a
couple of fishermen wading and presumably netting shrimp. I headed Northeast towards Crocodile
Dragover, hoping to avoid some of the wind that seemed to be starting to come
up. Plus, I had been there before, and
now in the dark that seemed reassuring.
Four years earlier, I had been down this way camping and rowing in my
same boat, although not in a race. And for
those of you who wonder what is in a name, I will tell you - when I got to my
campsite that year, I found drag marks, claw imprints and tail imprints of a
large (12'+) Crocodile where I was supposed to stay. Needless to say, I acquiesced and rowed off
to another bay, where I slept fitfully in my boat, wakening with every ripple of
water. So Crocodile Dragover has a
special meaning to me. But tonight, it
was like an old friend. Sort of.
The Dragover is another twisty channel marked by PVC,
albeit not quite so shallow. I had seen
sharks in it my last trip. Florida Bay
is known for being a breeding grounds for many sharks. Tonight it became a breeding ground for
confusion. By this time, it was about 2
AM. I had eaten no dinner, but had kept
up with energy bars and beef jerky and so forth. But 2 AM, been rowing since before 7 AM the
morning before, and dying for coffee. No
beach in site to get out and boil some water.
And the radio tower with the red flashing light back at Flamingo, the
one I had used as a navigation aid over my stern all night, was now obscured,
sunk over the horizon. I had my GPS, but
that is good for telling you where you are, not so much where you are
pointed. Especially when you are going
slow, looking around for channels and paddling in circles. I had my iPad, in a LifeProof case (GREAT
product), which gave a better picture of where I was, but still not
perfect. Stars were useful, but they
kept moving. Really, they did. Finally I could see a reddish glow in the
distance, the lights of Miami, and with that I managed to steer my way out of
the maze.
By 3 AM I was in deeper water, and in the final stretch
to Key Largo. Still no place to pull
over, I poured my Starbucks instant coffee mix into cold water, hoping for the
best. Awesome! Should have thought of it hours earlier. At
this hour on a cold evening, it was getting lonely so I turned on my VHF marine
radio. The weather report from Marathon
Key played incessantly for the next 4 hours, but it kept me focused. By now the wind was picking up, and hitting
me broad-side. And then it
happened. Wham. As I was in the middle of my leg drive,
moving the boat forcefully towards Key Largo, the wheels locked in the
slides. I went flying backwards off my
seat, almost out into the bay. I got
back on my seat, took a few tentative strokes, and all seemed fine. I woudl increase the power, and then -
WHAM! Again and again, forcing me to
take light, wimpy strokes (I heard that!), making miserable progress. Finally I realized hwat was happening.
Many months earlier, I had tried to use a "sliding
rigger" system. This type of rig
keeps your seat stationary, and the rigger & oarlocks slide back and
forth. It is more efficient, since the
body mass is in a relatively constant spot in the boat. Back in the early 80's this equipment
surfaced in world competition, and 2 years later it was outlawed when 7 of the
top 8 finishers in singles sculling used this rig in their Empacher's. For me, it held the promise of an easier row
through the Everglades, But anyway, the
prototype made for me by Piantedosi kept binding up, much like my slide this
night was jamming. As I played around
with that sliding rigger over the winter months, I finally abandoned it when I
realized the slides were flexing, and not staying equi-distant apart. So too tonight, my slides were flexing. And this all traced back to that Day One
incident, the one where I rowed straight into a piling. By ripping a bracket from its mounting in the
fiberglass hull, there was little to keep the rowing rig stable. in the cross-wind, I was inadvertently pulling
harder on my upwind oar, to keep the boat on course. And in so doing, I was actually helping to
twist the rowing rig, and causing the slides to meander - and the wheels to
bind. Of course actually doing anything
about it was impossible, but at least now I understood. So I would concentrate on pulling with the
same force on each oar, and veer off course due to the wind, and stop &
straighten out. And so it went.
Finally the sun rose, and I could make out the narrow
pass between the two small islands that stood between me and Key Largo. As I cut through them, I saw some sailboat
masts on the other side, and was certain they were in the race. So i poured it on, and rowed hard, knowing I
was in the last 3 miles or so. Of
course, there were no sailboats. But by
now I had been rowing for 24 hours (except when I was portaging), and things
don't always make sense. For example,
does it make any sense that in a journey of 300 miles, your GPS batteries crap
out with 2 miles to go? Of course
not! But it happens, and so you steal
batteries from your flashlight because the last thing you want is for a party
of people on the beach to be watching aa you blindly row up and down the coast
looking for a tiny dock that marks the finish line.
And then you make it.
You coast into the small sandy beach, and you step out. You feel like an idiot, but nothing can stop
that grin from breaking out, teeth shining bright in the Key Largo sunrise. It matters not that there are dozens of boats
already there. It matters not that you
have been up the entire night. What
matters is that you sat in the Marriott two miles down the beach, some four
years earlier, and you said to no one there, "I am going to do that
race." And now, on your third
attempt, there you are.
