It was not an auspicious beginning.
After
driving south for 2 days from Cleveland, and arriving at Tarpon Springs
on the west coast of Florida, I was full of optimism. I had a week at
my disposal and a plan of how to use it.
The
launch ramp area was clearly meant for trailered boats, with long
parking spaces specifically designated for them. I, on the other hand,
had car-topped my sailing canoe and didn't belong in those spaces. Then I
noticed a peculiar sign: '7 days parking for guests of boaters'. And
who was to know whether I was guest or boater? Or both? I parked there.
It
had taken me several hours to get my gear stowed in the sailing canoe,
as I struggled to fit 7 gallons of fresh water aboard. In mid afternoon I
set sail for Anclote Key, a barrier island some 4 miles west of my
launch.
I landed at Anclote in time to set up camp and enjoy dinner and a hazy sunset, soon overtaken by clouds.
Clouds?
I checked the forecast. A storm front was sweeping eastward across the
southern states, expecting to hit the Gulf Coast of Florida in the wee
hours of the morning. As it transpired, Anclote's beach made for a good
place to camp and wait out the next day's storm.
And
so, instead of lazily sailing to the horizon, I was holed up on that
sand beach, confined to my little 1-1/2 man tent for 24 hours in
continuous heavy rain. In those 24 hours I only managed to get outside
for 15 minutes during a rare lull in the storm. I kept a large jar of
peanut butter and some flat bread handy under my tent fly, as well as a
water bottle and a pee bottle. I needed them all.
Late
February after a knee replacement and a colder than expected winter in
Cleveland, I was eager to see a part of the Florida coast I'd
overlooked. And take my solo sailing canoe, Chicken of the Sea, along
for the ride.
Browsing Google maps and the
heavily developed west coast of Florida, I didn't expect to see anything
that resembled a week-long sailing opportunity. At least not my kind, a
camping trip from island to island.
West of
the developed cities of Tarpon Springs, Dunedin and Clearwater, were the
large barrier islands: Honeymoon Beach, Caledesi Island and Anclote
Key. State parks all. Day use parks. And except for one spot on the
north end of Anclote Key, camping was forbidden.
But,
as I looked at the map in more detail, I saw these funny looking little
dots in the bays between the mainland and the barrier islands, all
lined up in a row and roughly equidistant from each other.
Nature
provides for large barrier islands, but not for tiny islands neatly
arrayed in a row. I looked on satellite view. These were islands with
greenery and small sand beaches. Maybe 20 of them in all; more than half
with what appeared to be good beach landings. And flat ground to camp
above the beaches.
They were very small,
perhaps, 1/4 to 1/3 of an acre. A modest suburban plot. But they were
uninhabited, mostly unnamed and occasionally visited for picnics by
passing motorboats, as I could see from the satellite view. I could make
out the color of the boat's shade canopies, what appeared to be an
outrigger canoe and even the beach umbrellas erected by picnickers. You
can see this yourself on Google satellite view at its most detailed
photo resolution.
There was no information
about these islands online. I guessed they were spoil banks, dredgings
deposited a long time ago and now grown over with vegetation. And
beaches. There is nothing on the islands, including fresh water. I
guessed that no one really controlled them. They were mine for the
taking. My home for the week. I decided to make the trip and hope for
the best.
The morning after the storm I awoke
to lots of very wet equipment. I hung clothes, towel and my lifejacket
on handy bushes to dry in the stiff breeze.
Departing
mid-morning, I headed out from the protected cove on Anclote Key into a
15 knot downwind breeze from the north west, with all of my 53 sq. ft.
sail up. It was a little too much. I reached for my lifejacket...MY
LIFEJACKET! I left it to dry back on the beach, and forgot to take it.
My 15 minute downwind sail cost me an hour of tough upwind work to
reverse. Back to Anclote Key.
With lifejacket
and gear in hand, I decided to put a reef in the sail, as well as use my
little hand pump to top off my outrigger's inflatable amas. They'd get a
hard workout keeping me upright in the open waters ahead.
The
reefed sail proved the right choice. At 41 sq. ft. of sail area, the
boat was moving at perhaps 5 knots, going south at speed. After sailing 4
miles south to clear the southern tip of Anclote Key, there was a gap
of some 3 - 4 miles before the next barrier island, the oddly named 3
Rooker Key.
With the unobstructed northwest
wind pouring through this gap, 2-1/2' waves from the open Gulf of
Mexico??(...America?...Canada?....) pushed the canoe from astern.
Accelerating on the suge from the waves, we began outrunning them at 6+
knots, the canoe trying to bury its bow in the next wave ahead. I
shifted my seat a bit further back and relocated most of the gallon
water jugs behind me. It worked, the bow stayed up and I never took
solid water aboard.
My original plan was to
leave Anclote Key and spend most of the week moseying my way south,
camping and exploring the little islands, before returning north to my
start. But this wind had other ideas, so I just kept flying along,
reaching my end point for the trip, a little island just south of the
Bellaire bridge, some 25 miles from Anclote Key, in about 4-1/2 hours. I
spent the next 5 days moseying my way back, mostly against a gentler
version of that northwest wind.
Over the course
of the return trip, I camped on 3 of the little islands, which offered
easy landing beaches, level ground for camping and a reasonable degree
of privacy. No one came to challenge my presence, no one bothered me, no
one came near except for a few older teens, who, after anchoring their
motorboat, waded ashore some distance from me and appeared to make a
cooking fire for some fish they had caught. And then they left.
My
little wide burner stove, which uses butane canisters, did a fine job
of heating water for breakfast, and gently boiling the Amish soup mixes I
had brought for dinner, one of the only commercial soup mixes I could
find that came with little salt. I only had the water I brought along
with me to drink and it wouldn't have done me well to develop a fierce
thirst from too much salt.
Having finished one
butane canister, I screwed another one into the stove
and...and...nothing. A faulty canister. With 3 days left in the trip.
This is where the emergency peanut butter and flatbread rations came in
handy for the second time. I'm not much of a fan of peanut butter. After
3 days of it, my dislike approached loathing.
By
the end of the week I had explored the dazzling white sand beaches of
Honeymoon Island and 3 Rooker Key, camped out on one of Honeymoon's
beaches and watching a stunning sunset the night that Jupiter, Mercury,
Venus & Mars were supposed to be visible to the naked eye on the
western horizon. I fell asleep instead.
By the
following Saturday, I was back at my first campsite on Anclote Key, and,
the next morning, an hour's sail in brisk winds brought me back to my
Tarpon Springs launch ramp.
It was a lovely way
to spend a winter week. And it was especially gratifying that a casual
glance at an online map would show these little dots and that these
little dots would reveal themselves as stepping stones to fine
adventure.
