Everglades Challenge 2018: Third Time's a Charm

We had completed the Everglades Challenge in 2014 and in 2016, and had been lucky both times. On both occasions, there were fair winds starting out, which allowed us to arrive at checkpoint 1 and beyond on the first day. We missed the cancellation of the event in 2015, and the one-day delayed start in 2017. The latter was on everyone's minds as we lined up to start in 2018; would we start on time or be delayed?

Amazing Amas

If you go 300 miles at three to four miles per hour, you have a lot of time to think. I passed a lot of time staring at our amas, the outrigger floats, that keep us from capsizing when the wind is pressing on the sail. Ever since our first 300 mile race, the Tip of the Mitt in 2013, I wondered if there was a better design. I experimented with some inflatables, but it's not easy to make a smooth shape that is air-tight. In 2016, I made some nose-cones to provide a better entry shape,. These were referred to as a form of prophylaxis on the beach. I think they helped, but still not what I was looking for. Inspired by the successful exploits of SOS, SawHorse, and Macatawa, I decided to use fiberglass over styrofoam construction, which allowed me to make the ideal shape, while still conforming to Class 3 design criteria; they were four feet long, so they can be stowed within the boat along with the mast and aka sections.

After long hours in the basement over the holidays, we were ready for sea trials on a partially frozen Belleville Lake, Michigan, in January.







It was a successful run. They moved very smoothly through the water and produced little drag, even when pressed down deep into the water. They did not dive nose-down because of the extra height and buoyancy up-front, and shorter cross section aft.

Setup Day

Friday, March 2

We walked the beach and caught up with Team Kruger and the rest of the Tribe.

After setting up our gear, we launched for a short shakedown cruise. We found PainenDias just offshore in his puddle-goose "Breaking Wind", like a shark patrolling just outside the swimming area. After being banished from the tribe in 2015, he could not register for the event, but maybe he would try going bandit...

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Pre-Dawn Line up for the Start

Lauren's parents and our friend Linda had agreed to drive our car to the finish in Key Largo. So, we were all-set and ready to go in record time before the scheduled 7am start. I had enough time to walk the beach and take pictures of Team Kruger; a few had not picked up their shirts at the captain's meeting on Friday.








I had not met BlueJay before. I gave him his Team Kruger shirt. He was all-smiles and ready to go.






Our neighbor from Michigan, HuronHugh, was ready in matching blue catamaranned Sea Winds.



Under the light of the full moon, we saw the flag flapping stiffly in the breeze. Would there be a delayed start? Chief said we would have to wait for the Coast Guard to lift the small craft advisory. According to the forecast, it would be lifted in an hour or two. Everyone recalled the one-day delayed start in 2017. We watched the flag anxiously to see when it would go limp.





The delayed start gave plenty of time for visiting with friends, some of whom we had only caught glimpses of previously between wind and waves on the water.





Finally, the flag was starting to droop. Chief and Paula watched the traffic in the Tampa Bay shipping channel to call the start when all was clear.

Go!

We pushed the canoe down the beach from the high-water mark, jumped in, and started pulling for the horizon.

The Sunshine Skyway bridge was to the east. Normally, we see the sunrinse behind it, but we had a late start.





I watched the new amas closely. I had designed them with static forces in mind. But, the chop on Tampa Bay was challenging them in ways that could not be simulated on Belleville Lake.

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The wind was against the outgoing tide, producing patches of bigger waves in the channels.



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As we approached the entrance to the intracoastal waterway at the south end of Tampa Bay, the waves were building as the fetch increased. The amas were being hit from all sides; very different from calm water.

The aluminum brackets that attached the new amas to the crossbars (akas) proved to be insufficient to the task. The starboard ama took the brunt of the waves. The bracket was bending, and allowing the ama to point in toward the canoe. In addition, the bungees that I had employed to hold the bow up, and prevent the amas from diving, were too weak. Most of the time they were fine, but when hit by a bad sequence of waves, they could point down. On one occasion, the leeward ama snagged a wave, and ended up pointing ninety-degrees straight down into the water. That was the situation I wanted to avoid. Excess drag could snap off the aluminum tube of the aka outrigger. In that case, we could continue paddling, but would not be able to sail. The fouled ama dragged the canoe to a stop, but fortunately did not break anything.

Once we crossed the sand bar, and got into calmer waters, we pointed the canoe into the wind to fix the ama. When we did, we saw that a kayaker had capsized. We held our position alongside until he self-rescued.



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He was drifting toward the navigation channel in the time he took to self rescue. We were prepared to tow him away from the channel, but we stood by while he successfully and impressively self-rescued.

He pulled it together just in time, as the Sheriff boat passed by in the channel. Nothing to see here.



After that, we had to take care of our own problem. The aluminum bracket that attached the ama to the aka was badly bent. I removed the aka and bent it back.

It was difficult to reinstall the aka in the choppy conditions without leaning over so far as to capsize. Then, I saw Beav. He pulled alongside and held up the outer end so that I could align the aka with the center tube and slide it in. Thanks Beav!

After a few hours of watching the amas, I formulated a plan to keep them from diving. I replaced the bungees that were meant to keep the amas level with several wraps of parachute cord.



We were back on our way down the intracoastal waterway toward Sarasota Bay, another patch of big water that can be rough in the afternoon sea breeze.





Luckily, the wind was at our backs, and the amas were behaving, so we had a nice sail down the bay.



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HuronHugh overtook us in catted Sea Winds with every stitch of canvas flying.



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We pulled off at Venice Inlet, and I adjusted the parachute cord on the amas to make them more level. MicroTom and WaterLilly pulled in along with us.



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We were pleasantly surprised to see Manitou and the Cap'n pull in at Venice Inlet. We did not know where they were or if we would see them again. They had gone out to the Gulf from the start, rather than taking the inside route along the ICW. They had harrowing stories of surfing down big waves coming in Venice Inlet. I was happy we had taken the inside, given our ama challenges.

All four cruisers were together in the Venice Canal as the sun faded into evening.





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As we turned the corner down Lemon Bay, the breeze filled in behind us. We were having a great first day!

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The full moon rose over the lights of Florida, as we sailed down the long bay.



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Conditions were so nice that I fixed a hot meal as we were sailing. It's always nice to eat at dinner time, and with conditions being so good, we figured we may want to go several hours before camping.



We were in and out at Checkpoint 1, at 10:30 PM. We headed south with a full supply of fresh water. We figured we could make Hoagan Key, another seven miles south, a place we had camped before.

The Boca Grande Causeway is a gate between the lights of the ICW to the dark expanse of Gasparilla Sound.



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The full moon was high in the sky, and the north breeze was still blowing. We sailed south on a broad reach, making good speed, three Cruisers together.






Having been this way before, I steered clear of the shoal north of Hoagan Key. We sailed around the north point of the island, and came in fast right up to the beach. A catamaran was tied to a log just off the beach. It was 1 AM, and we were all quite tired. We had come 70 miles, a good first day.

Day 2: Hoagan Key to Camp Lulu Key

We woke before dawn and packed up our gear.  The Cap'n was up and messing with his stern light.





The crew of the catamaran was up as well. In the misty first light, he asked me to help lift the catamaran off the beach, which had been stranded when the tide went out. I was reluctant, not wanting to throw out my back with another 230 miles to paddle. But then I recognized BermudaBoy. I'm a huge fan of his writing, especially the one where he dropped out of the event and re-enacted the Lord of the Flies on an uninhabited key. Starstruck, I forgot about my back, and grabbed hold of the beach cat. It was much lighter than it looked, and we got it afloat without difficulty.

We were ready to go, and the others were taking their time. Lauren and I wanted to take the longer route through the Everglades for the coveted Gator Tooth award, but Cap'n and Manitou would probably take the shorter route on the outside. So we shoved off, not wanted to miss out on the north breeze. We did not expect to see them again. We told them we would aim for Wiggins Pass tonight, but may go further if the north wind holds.





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We headed south across the entrance to Charlotte Harbor on a fast run. This was another crossing that can be rough at times, but the amas seemed to be behaving.



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Cabbage Key Inn was open for breakfast. One of these times we'll stop.



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Pine Island Sound can be windswept and choppy; a difficult chore in a headwind. But we were lucky, and enjoyed a fast run down the Sound, having breakfast underway.



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By the time we reached the corner at Chino Island, the wind had turned east; we would have a headwind for a few miles through the traffic of the converging navigation channels at Sanibel Causeway.



We came across a Watertriber on a standup paddle board, resting in the lee of Chino island. It was easy to tell that he had not slept since the start, 24 hours previous. He said his sponsors were spreading the word on the internet that he would make 100 miles before stopping. We suggested that a quick nap might help, but upon hearing the word "nap", he steeled his resolve and paddled around the corner into the headwind.

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Approaching the Causeway, we caught a glimpse of the Cap'n to the north near point Ybel.  They were not far behind, they must have left camp shortly after us.

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After clearing the Causeway, we sailed south again in the company of a Watertriber in a Hobie Adventure Island.




We got a text message from Manitou. They had broken a rudder pin while launching from Point Ybel. They had a spare, and turned back to fix it.

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As morning transitioned to afternoon, the condos of the Naples coast slipped past on our left.  A small sail appeared on the horizon behind us. It was the Cap'n! Maybe it's fate that we should travel together. Their PAS sail on the bow, in addition to their Balogh sail, let them catch a little more wind than us. We relaxed and they closed the gap.




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As the sun began to set, another sail appeared on the Horizon. It was Manitou and Bushwhacker! They must have fixed their rudder.





We landed at Wiggins Pass.



It was a bit early for stealth camping, but the sign did not say "no camping".



Manitou and Bushwhacker arrived a few minutes later. The Cruisers were together again.







As we set up our tents and fixed our freeze-dried dinners, a motorboat pulled up playing loud music. A man approached, walking down the dark beach.

He was curious about our boats and the event. Would we like a cold beer? Sure, why not? Steve was our new friend. He asked where we would be the next night. We had not discussed it, but I said maybe Camp Lulu Key, but maybe somewhere else depending on the conditions. Steve knew the spot. "Maybe I'll bring you some beers tomorrow night", he said. Ha ha, that would be fun! He pulled away after a brief visit.

Day 3: Wiggins Pass to Camp Lulu Key

Since we went to bed early, we set the alarms for 3:30 am, but still had plenty of sleep. I wiped the briny dew off the spot, and pressed the OK button.




The full moon was high overhead as we packed our gear.



Manitou and Bushwhacker led the way through the channel markers of Wiggins Pass, riding the fast outgoing tidal current. We headed south with the lights of the hotels and condos to our left. Our luck was holding! The land breeze of the pre-dawn hours gave us a fast beam reach as the moon set over the Gulf. I kept a careful eye on the leeward ama in the moonlight, but it appeared to be behaving.

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By mid-morning, we had come abreast of Big Marco River. I was thinking of going further south to Caxambas Pass, but since we seemed to be traveling together, I decided to consult the others on the VHF. After some debate, we decided to go in at Big Marco, rather than going to Caxambas. If we had decided earlier, we could have taken a better line, but as it was, we had to drop the sails and paddle a mile into the wind to reach the inlet. Traveling with the group is fun, but complicates decision making.



We paddled into the wind through Big Marco River. There was a big plume of smoke on the horizon; must be a wildfire.





We pulled off for a break upon reaching Gullivan Bay on the Gulf, our entrance to the Thousand Islands area of the Everglades. Lauren demonstrated some yoga stretches to loosen up the shoulders.





We were able to sail again, although it was close to the wind, for the final seven miles or so across Gullivan Bay to Camp Lulu Key. It was rather early to stop for the day, but this was the last place to camp outside the Everglades National Park entrance, prior to getting a permit at the park office. The tide would start to run out soon in Indian Key Pass, so we would not be able to make the park office before closing time at 4 pm. May as well relax and enjoy a beautiful spot.





Smoke from the wildfires streaked the sky as the sun approached the horizon.



A motorboat came around the corner. It couldn't be...



Steve! True to his word from the night before, he had brought us beers at Camp Lulu Key. What are the chances that conditions conspired for us to be here, and he had actually decided to come?



He said it was either this or work on his taxes, so procrastination won out. Sandy Bottom pulled in just in time to join the party.



We had a relaxing evening and enjoyed our freeze-dried dinners on the beach as the sun set over the Gulf.

Day 4: Camp Lulu Key and into the Everglades

Well rested, we got up long before dawn. It was about three miles to Indian Key Pass, and we wanted to catch the slack tide before the current began to run out.




We paddled and sailed toward the blinking light that marked the entrance to Indian Key Pass.

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As we came into the pass, a large fleet of commercial fishing boats motored past in the pre-dawn darkness.





We were just in time; the tide was starting to run out as we reached Chokoloskee Bay.



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Lauren's parents met us at the Park office with sad news. One of the Watertribers had died on the evening of the first day of the event. It was BlueJay. They said it was a heart attack. We had not met him before, but I recalled his big smile and excitement when I gave him his Team Kruger shirt as he was assembling his gear for the start in the early morning.

We filled up our water and got a permit at the Park office. All of the chickees north of the Nightmare were still out of commission due to the hurricane. The only campsites were on the Gulf, but we wanted to try for the Gator Tooth by paddling the 120 mile Wilderness Waterway, and the coastal campsites would be out of our way. According to reports, there was a lot of downed wood from the hurricane in the Nightmare. The Park rangers said it was impassible. Some Watertribers had gone through in kayaks and Sea Winds, but they said it might be too tight for our Cruiser. However, Lauren and I wanted to try for the Gator Tooth, so we decided to go for it. We would have to sleep in the canoe one night. If we could not make it through the Nightmare, we would have to backtrack and go out to the Gulf. We took on as much fresh water as possible, anticipating possible complications and delays in getting to the next source of fresh water, at least 120 miles away at Flamingo along our path.

We paddled into headwinds up Lopez River into the Everglades, and had time to chat with the always-cheerful Penguin Man.







As we were pulling into a stiff breeze on a choppy bay deep in the Everglades, I was startled by a motorboat approaching from behind. I turned to see blue lights flashing; we were being pulled over by the cops! The Park Rangers pulled alongside, asked us about our itinerary and checked our permit. Everything was in order, so they left us. Later, we caught up to them again in a narrow passage. They had pulled over a motor boat. It was nice to know that they were not just after us.







As the sun set, we watched the birds flock up and fly from their feeding grounds to their roosting grounds for the night.

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In the past, we had camped at Rodger's River Bay Chickee, but we were often hallucinating from sleep deprivation in the last miles. We were getting sleepy as we crossed Big Lostman's Bay. We were going to sleep in the boat anyway, so why not just drop anchor? There was a light breeze to keep the mosquitoes away, so it was nice to be in the open, far away from the creepy crawlies of the mangroves.

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I slept four hours or so. It was a little cramped in the canoe. I could not fully stretch out. When I sleep in unusual places, the places often invade my dreams. I dreamed that the canoe was drawn into the water intake of a steel mill. We were pressed up against the grating with logs and other debris. I was relieved to wake and find us securely anchored in the middle of Big Lostman's bay.

Day 5: Big Lostman's Bay to Flamingo

I sat up in the canoe and drank the remains of yesterday's coffee thermos in the last of the pre-dawn hours. The stars were bright overhead in the dark night sky in the Everglades. Some lights slowly approached from across the dark bay. Conchistador pulled up on his SUP for a morning chat.







We made our way down Broad River in a headwind, taking it easy in anticipation of a noon entry to the Nightmare just after low tide.



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There was a lot of downed wood from the hurricane. In one spot, we had to get out of the canoe to drag it over some roots. We didn't know how deep the water was, but it's better not to find out. I sawed through one with my little Leatherman saw; I wished I had brought a bigger saw. It was good that the water was low, because in another place we just slipped under an overhanging log.





The water continued to drop, revealing muddy banks perforated with crab burrows.





We made it through to Broad Creek without being stranded by the low water or fallen mangrove wood! As we emerged, we caught our first view of an ominous plume of smoke from a large wildfire in the direction we were headed. We had seen signs of it in the distance for days.



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Many of the mangroves were still stripped of leaves from the hurricane.



Upper Broad Creek is just as narrow as the Nightmare.



The rain came down heavily. We decided to let it wash the salt from our clothes. It was chilly, but we figured we would dry out in the afternoon before night.

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As we paddled up Harney River, we passed very close to the wildfire. We could hear the crackling of burning wood and see the red glow.



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Embers and ash rained down on us as we passed under the smoke plume on the way down Shark River.

We set up the sailing rig where Shark River meets Oyster Bay, in anticipation of sailing down Whitewater Bay.



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In the back of my mind, I was aware of multiple hazards; sailing downwind with increasing fetch, and the coming of darkness. But sometimes, being aware of hazards isn't quite enough to mitigate them. We were excited to have a fast run to Checkpoint 3 at Flamingo.



The wind and seas continued to build as we emerged into the vast open bay. I put in the first reef, then the second as night fell. The sky was overcast and the moon had not yet risen, which made the night very dark. In messing with the sails, I lost my visual references, and had a hard time keeping the boat pointed in the right direction. Finally, we decided to douse the sail and just paddle downwind. Whitecaps overtook us in the dark, but not big enough to wash over the boat. With the sail down, the situation was much more manageable. I finally got my visual references back. There was a dim red glow on the horizon behind us from the wildfire, and the ever-present glow of Miami in the east.



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Whitewater Bay can be divided into four open-water segments of three miles or so between islands. We took it one crossing at a time, figuring that we could always sleep in the canoe in the lee of an island if conditions became too rough. The loss of control in our initial attempt to sail had us a little spooked.

We were sleepy, but we continued with one segment after another, arriving at the Flamingo freshwater boat launch just after midnight. The first person we saw was Bushwhacker heading into the restroom next to the launch. The other two Cruisers had arrived at Flamingo just before us. The Cruisers were united again! We did not expect to see them before the finish since they took the coastal route, which is about 30 miles shorter. We portaged to the saltwater side and joined their camp on the grass next to the Park building, which was still shuttered from the hurricane.

Day 6: Across Florida Bay to the finish

We figured it was fate that we should travel together on the last day, so we decided to cross Florida Bay as a Team Kruger fleet. The forecast was excellent, with a moderate following breeze.

We were ready before the others, so we had some time to kill. NiteNavigator and NiteSong set up lawn chairs to watch the proceedings. Never one to dilly-dally, Jan commented, "You're not going to wait for them, are you?". As I washed the mud off of our portage wheels before packing them, Bob quipped, "You don't want them to be dirty!".

Finally, the fleet was together. It was nearly 9 AM. We paddled out to Tin Can Channel to catch the breeze, and rode it all the way to Key Largo.





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Crossing Whipray Basin, I let Lauren steer from the bow. I curled up in the stern of the canoe and fell asleep for twenty minutes. It was so warm and soothing. Quite a contrast from the horrible headwind of 2016 when it took us 27 hours to go 27 miles across Florida Bay.

A mullet jumped into the canoe with us.



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The wind increased as we headed briefly north through Manatee Pass.

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Still a little shaken from our night crossing of Whitewater Bay, we took in all the reefs for the final seven-mile open-water crossing to the channel at Key Largo. The others pulled ahead with more sail, and before long, we increased the sail to a single reef and enjoyed fast downwind sailing.



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We shook out all the reefs for the final approach. Team Kruger coming in hot!



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A Paddler's Memorial

A memorial service was organized for BlueJay on Friday at the paddling shop where he worked on Key Largo. We were happy to be able to attend, along with many others of the Watertribe and Team Kruger.

After the gathering, many of us launched our boats as the sun set.











A pastor in the group gave a blessing, as the paddlers listened in quiet reflection.





We pointed our bows to the horizon and pulled hard as the last light of the day faded, remembering a man who loved the water.