GOOD ROWING STORY ABOUT ROWING "THE EVERGLADES CHALLENGE" FROM JAY PARIS

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.