The best of times

Every spring our paddling club does a spring trip down south, reveling in the warmer climes on the tail end of a frigid winter. Just prior to the trip, I organize a meeting/party to go over the details, field questions and get the group chemistry going.

Last night was this year’s meeting. After we cleared up the business and popped the caps off a few beverages, the question was raised about high points of previous spring trips. Hard to answer, because there were so many good times. But, we gave it a whirl.

The first trip was to South Carolina. We did two days on the Edisto River and then moved over to Charleston Harbor. I had read numerous and contradictory trip reports about the paddling conditions there (the harbor), and decided to err on the side of caution. I advised the group to be prepared to be tested.

I think everyone had this in the backs of their minds during the first part of the trip and were getting keyed up as we approached the open water segment. So, when we put out onto the bay and it was relatively benign, there was somewhat of a let-down.

Then, a mammoth container ship steamed by, throwing a mountainous wake our way. It lifted our boats up high, as well as the spirits. We had a lot of fun surfing the wakes of the big ships and then beached on a small island for a group photo. That would later appear on the big electronic billboard on Times Square, which underscored the fun day.

The next trip was another two-parter, beginning with a few days in the Okefenokee Swamp (Georgia) and ending up in the ocean off Jekyll Island. The swamp is huge, but with restricted access. Only seven permits for interior locations are granted a day. The permit gets you a platform to camp on, since there is a distinct lack of firm ground. The platforms resemble a small planked deck, like you would see attached to a house.

We paddled to our platform and pitched our tents on it. Alligators circled, hungering for a dropped morsel of food, or maybe a camper. We paid them no mind and just sat around the deck and enjoyed the wilderness.

As darkness fell, the noises of the swamp creatures amped up. And, that far from civilization, it’s an inky darkness. Our group gradually edged toward the center of the platform, until we were sitting back-to-back in a tight circle. Being deep in the primordial swamp is quite an experience at night, albeit a little spooky.

When I thought no one could be any more tense, an unearthly, earsplitting shriek blared from the edge of the deck. That was immediately followed by a terrified group scream.

I jumped up, as it was up to the leader to do something. I grabbed what was handy, which happened to be a flashlight and one of my paddling shoes, and tiptoed toward the source of the noise. What I thought I would do with a floppy shoe is anyone’s guess, but it was all I had.

I flicked on the light. There, crouched in the reeds was one of our paddlers with a coyote call, laughing his butt off. It would be a while before we shared his amusement. But, in retrospect, it was hilarious.

The following year, we journeyed to the Gulf Coast of Florida. In Kings Bay, we paddled to an island, rolled off our kayaks and snorkeled with manatees. It was amazing, floating around in the clear water while dozens of these huge and gentle creatures cruised among us. Magical.

I got a break the following year, as someone else organized the trip to Jekyll Island and the Altamaha River. One day’s trip was to paddle from Jekyll to Cumberland Island and back. I don’t know if the leader had checked the tide charts or what, but we crossed in the maximum flow. Under those conditions, the massive movement of water is nozzled between the islands, creating a maelstrom, and we had quite a ride. A lot of dry mouths at the time, but quite an experience. Cumberland Island is protected wilderness, so that sweetened the pot.

Back to Florida the next year. In this case, the panhandle. We paddled a variety of locations within a half day drive of St. Joe Bay. The last day of the trip, we paddled one end of the bay that rarely exceeded ten feet in depth and was rich with wildlife. In the crystal clear waters, you could readily see coral, conch, anemones, rays, sharks, turtles and a vast array of colorful fish, up close and personal. Absolutely fantastic.

Last year, we returned to Georgia. Severe weather and other factors created a lot of challenges just to get there and launch, much less the arduous paddle out to an island and pitching camp in high winds. We collapsed in our tents that night, thoroughly exhausted from battling the elements.

The rising sun woke me up the next morning. Or, was it the splashing in the surf right outside my tent? I picked up my head and saw, in the gleaming morning sun, groups of dolphins frolicking in the shallows, seemingly within arm’s reach. It made the prior day’s labors more than worthwhile.

Other veterans of the trips chimed in with their favorites and the neophytes asked questions. This is another purpose of the meeting. I can take a measure of the group and figure out the strong points to leverage and the weak ones to adjust for. This encompasses comprehension, paddling skills, physical capabilities, attitude, health and a host of other things that will affect the success of the trip. You only need once for someone to have a stroke or go psycho on a trip before you learn to anticipate potential problems.

But, this looks like a very good and enthusiastic group, and I’m very happy with it. The meeting is part of the preparation makes for good trips and we’ve had some great ones. Word-of-mouth bears that out, generating a lot of interest in signing up for the spring event. Since the second one we’ve done, it’s been necessary to place a cap on the number of participants. When you have well over 25 people clamoring to burn a week of vacation leave and drive 1,700 miles, it’s going pretty darn good.