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| Sage, at the take-out point |
You've been waiting for this! In late March, I led a group of eight other men into the Okefenokee. Seven of us live on Skidaway. We were joined by my father (he was proud to be the oldest in the group) and a friend of mine from St. Simon's Island. It was a different experience from my two previous trips on the east side of the swamp. On one of these trips, I went in just for the day with my dad. The other was a two-night, three day solo. I would have liked to have spent another night in the swamp, but they limit stays to two nights in March and April because they are the most popular months to explore the swamp.
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| Bob and Gary in the canoe, John in the kayak |
I couldn't see them, but they were there, close by as we paddled
through the narrow water trail that led from Floyd's Island back to the Suwanee
River. At times, their bellowing made
what's left of my hair stand on end.
Other times, what seemed to be a soft purr rose from just inside the
thick vegetation. They were obviously
enjoying themselves, and although I heard dozens, I only saw one alligator that
morning. It quickly submerged as I
paddle closer. But the others were
there, hidden from view as they filled the swamp with the voices of their
erotic spring mating rituals. I paddled
into several of the watery prairies in hope of catching a glimpse of a bull
gator lifting its head and bellowing, but was not blessed to experience
it. Instead, I was left with the haunting
memories of the sounds of gators courting.
It was our second day in the Okefenokee. The day before, a group of us had met at 5:30
AM. We followed one another through the
darkness, driving south down 95 in the rain: three vehicles and three kayaks
and one canoe. South of Brunswick, as
the darkness waned, we left the interstate and drove on two-lane roads to
Folkston and then following the edge of the swamp boundaries into Florida and
back into Georgia. At Fargo, we left the
main highway and drove on 17 miles into the swamp to Stephen Foster State
Park. Although most of the swamp is a
national wildlife refuge, this section, bordered on the north and east by the
Suwanee River, is owned by the state of Georgia. Although he wrote a song about it, I don't
think Stephen Foster ever made it down here.
Soon, four others joined us. Two
had driven down the night before and were surprised, arriving in Fargo and
staying in one of the towns two-four room motels, that there were no restaurants
open on Sundays and that dinner the night before consisted of chips, junk food
and beer purchased at the gas station.
Another had stayed in Waycross the evening before and a fourth, who
lives on St Simon’s Island, drove over from there. At ten o’clock, after shuttling a vehicle to be
close to where we planned to take out on Wednesday morning, leaving it at a
private campground just outside the park, ran by a guy who has a wonderful collection
of mounted snakes: good-sized Caneback
and Timber Rattlers with their fangs showing as well as the equally poisonous Cottonmouth,
along with a Copperhead and a small but deadly Coral Snakes. I asked the ranger as we were putting in the
boats if we would likely see any snakes and he said he doubted we’d
see any in the water as we paddled as the gators tend to keep the population in
check. He was right, we didn’t
see any while paddling and only one while on land.
At 10:30 AM, we paddled down a short canal by the visitor’s
center and out into the Suwanee River where we then turned upstream, paddling
against the current. Thankfully, the
rain had ended by the time we were loading boats, but the day remained
overcast. In a mile, we passed the Suwanee
Canal. Had we kept paddling east for ten
miles, we’d reached the last place I camped on my trip into the swamp
last December. Instead, we stayed with
the river which headed north, through a narrow channel that snaked through
cypress trees and lily pads. The river
alternated between a narrow channel through swamp bottom hardwoods and cypress
and opening up as it paddled through prairies.
We stopped for lunch at a wooden platform at Minnies Lake. A mile and a half after Minnies, we left the
Suwanee and paddled a narrow canoe paddle that skirted the south side of Floyd’s
Island Prairie. I only saw two gators this afternoon, the lack of sun keeping
them at bay. However, despite the
grayness of the day, there were a number of butterflies flying around and
enjoying the nectar of spring flowers.
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| taken on Floyd's Island |
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| Floyd's Cabin |
In about four miles, the trail ended at Floyd's Island, which was
named for the army officer who led a group of soldiers through the swamp during
the Seminole Wars in the early 19th Century.
It is a nice to have solid ground and at the campsite there is a cabin
built in the 1920s by a Swamper. Most of
the guys decided to sleep inside the cabin, the exception being Brandon and me
who had hammocks and thought our sleeping arrangements might be more
comfortable than the wooden floors of the cabin which is known for the families
of swamp rats who live there, feasting on food carelessly left by campers. Besides, we wouldn’t’
have to listen to a bunch of guys snore.
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| My hammock (set up on Mixon's Hammock) |
For our second day of paddling, we headed back the way we
came. This time, the current was with us
and we made good time, stopping again at Minnies for an early lunch. Although we only heard gators in the morning,
shortly after arriving where the river widens and joins the Suwanee Canal, we
started seeing many of them. The sun was
out and so were the gators who seemed exhausted and not really interested in us
as they allowed us to get close enough to get good photos (but not too close to
disturb them!). In addition to
alligators, the dragon flies took to the air, providing some entertainment with
their maneuvering and mating. Brandon
and Dave left the group when we passed Stephan Foster's State Park, as they had
reasons to get back to home.  |
| two large alligators |
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| My father and his sit on top kayaks Dad likes to fish from his and it's hard to fish in a regular kayak |
We camp on the second night at Mixon's Hammock... When
we arrived, Gary and Bob who were in a canoe and had paddled on ahead, was not
there. I decided to try to find them and
took off down a section of the river known as the narrows. I made good time going with the current,
yelling out their names. I was afraid
they’d passed the campsite.
Finally, after paddling about a mile and a half, I stopped and turned on
my cell phone and was able to get one bar of service, enough to get a text out
to Gary. I figured that sooner or later,
he’d turn on his phone and learn that he’d missed
the campsite. Then I turned around and
paddled back to Mixon’s Hammock, only to find that the two
of them had gone into the State Park to dump trash and then helped Brandon and
Dave load their boats. They were all
waiting for me at Mixon’s, having yelled their heads off for
me to come back (sound must not carry too far in the swamp). However, in my additional paddling, I was treated
to seeing a rookery where dozens of white ibis nesting and probably the largest
alligator I’d seen (he was as long as my boat which is just shy of 15
feet).
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| Sage (photo by John) |
Again, we had cocktails at 5 PM, followed by a chicken and noodle
dinner. After exploring the hammock a
bit (it wasn't that large) we sat around a fire, swatting bugs and telling
stories. John told us about his flying
refueling jets out of Thailand during the Vietnam War and Gary about his
travels in Europe at the same time. My
dad, who was along on the trip, and Jim talked about living and working in
Japan. Walt, a retired teacher, told
about one of his students who had become a world famous videographer and had
filmed several Everest expeditions. The
stories lasted as long as our wood supply which kept the smoke in the air and
the bugs at bay. At around 9:30, we had
all retired to our tents or hammocks. I
tried to read a bit once I got in my hammock, but was tired and when the rains
came a little later, I feel asleep. It
rained off and on all night, but it was hard to tell when it wasn't raining as
you still had water dripping off the leaves.
Again, I had weird dreams including one in which I ran into a Roger, who
was glad to see me since my lecture on Mark Twain in Nevada was scheduled to
start in just a few minutes... I had not
prepared because I thought the lecture was a month out and so slipped into a
bathroom to jot down a quick outline.
This was a dream grounded in reality since I had just committed to doing
a series of lectures on Mark Twain’s western travels this summer.
It was wet and cool the next morning, out last in the swamp. We continued paddling down the Suwanee for a
few miles, first through a beautiful section of cypress known as the narrows
(which I had paddled the afternoon before).
As the river snaked back and forth, I was paddling at a slower rate and
able to catch the scent of honeysuckle.
After the narrows, the river opened up.
It was here that I’d seen so many ibis the evening before
but they were gone this morning. In one
of the dead trees, I did see a pleated woodpecker and there were a few
kingfishers flying around. This water is
impounded by a sill that runs along the southwest side of the swamp and controls
river flow downstream.
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| The outlet to the sill (the Suwanee leaves here and flows to the Gulf) |
We paddled up to
the sill, where there were a few fisherman along the banks and in boats along the
channel by the river. We paddled to the
boat ramp on the east end of the sill and got out of our boats. Our time in the swamp was over. From here, I had to walk a few miles to pick
up the vehicle we left at the snake-man’s campground, but thankfully after
about a half mile, I was offered a ride in a truck by a couple of the fisherman
who we’d passed. They didn’t
have much luck and were heading back to their home in Homersville. With their assistance, we were able to soon
have all the vehicles shuttled down to the sill (they don’t
allow overnight parking there). We
loaded our boats and gear and headed home, except for Bob and Gary who were
spending two more days of paddling on the Suwanee.
Blog posts from my late-December solo trip: Day 1, Day 2, Day 3
Blog posts from my late-December solo trip: Day 1, Day 2, Day 3
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| Paddling along the sill toward our takeout |
