ON PEACE RIVER, Fla. — For generations, just about every scout troop, school club or church youth group in South Florida has paddled on the Peace River, about a three-hour drive northwest. Whether on a day trip or an overnight camping expedition, canoeists and kayakers flock to this calm, shallow, tea-colored watercourse to take a break from the manic pace of the city and experience a non-Mouse destination in Florida.
On weekends, you might find portions of the designated 67-mile canoe trail between Fort Meade and Arcadia somewhat crowded with watercrafts. Discovering a secluded campsite can be iffy, and the wildlife tends to scatter.
But not if you go midweek.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided to go kayak camping on the Peace on a Tuesday by myself. Borrowing a spacious, double Old Town kayak from Canoe Outpost in Arcadia, I chose the 19 1/2-mile segment between Zolfo Springs and Gardner. It’s the least-travelled, least-developed section of the trail, and it’s the perfect length for an overnight trip.
My food and camping gear easily fit into the sit-inside kayak, protecting it from spillage under low overhangs. An Outpost driver shuttled my gear and me to the company’s private lot in Gardner to park my car, and then on to the put-in at Pioneer Park in Zolfo Springs.
I set out from the boat ramp, waved goodbye to the driver, and neither saw nor heard another human being for the next 24 hours. It felt like the light version of Lewis and Clark.
Nearly 20 miles might sound like a long, hard slog, and it would be in the Everglades with its shifty winds and perverse currents. But when the Peace is running at near-normal levels, you can basically float downstream and use the paddle to steer.
Heading downriver, I literally left civilization behind minutes after losing sight of the park. Great blue herons, egrets, kingfishers, ospreys and red-shouldered hawks crisscrossed the river ahead of me, like ambassadors to the wilderness. High in the clear sky, black vultures circled, riding the thermals. Steep bluffs alternated with sandy beaches backed by a lush canopy of oak, cypress, sweet gum, palmetto and cabbage palm.
About an hour and a half into the trip, I spotted my first deer — a doe grazing on the east bank. But as soon as she saw me, she bolted. The deer wasn’t the only animal wary of humans. Every time I approached a slider turtle sunning on a rock or fallen limb, it dropped under water. The same thing happened with the few small alligators I passed.
Much of the Peace is flanked by ranchland, so it was no surprise to spot a small herd of cattle grazing on the west bank. Something about me terrified them. As I floated into view, they stampeded upland, lowing in distress. I suppose if you learn to associate humans with a red-hot branding iron on your butt, you would tend to avoid them.
A flock of wild turkeys was much more courageous. Standing in the shade, they craned their necks to check me out as I went by. But when I turned around to try to snap their photos, they fled.
And just in case you have ever wondered what vultures do when they’re not searching for or eating carrion, the answer is: hang out on the beach, just like we do.
Rounding a bend in the river, I came to a sandy shoreline covered with the fierce-looking black scavengers. Hundreds more gazed down from dead treetops above. They weren’t eating anything; they were just standing or sitting around. The 1960s Alfred Hitchcock thriller The Birds came uneasily to mind.
I gave the paddle an extra hard pull, not because I feared an attack, but because I didn’t want to be underneath any falling missiles, so to speak.
After about four hours of floating and paddling, I decided to find a campsite for the night, and soon located a high bluff with a clearing. I unloaded my gear and pulled the empty kayak up on shore to use as a picnic table.
I put up my tent, gathered a few small fallen logs, branches and moss to build a fire, and began priming my historically balky backpacking stove.
It was well after dark by the time I got the stove working and boiled some water to add to a pouch of freeze-dried lasagna. I ate it while watching my little campfire burn lower, and went to bed around 10:30 p.m.
No camping trip is complete without a tale of marauding wildlife, and this one is no exception.
About 4:30 a.m., I was awakened by the sound of rustling immediately outside my tent. I grabbed my flashlight, unzipped the door, and caught a large raccoon examining my kayak about 20 feet away. I yelled at it, and it vanished.
Since I had secured my food in zippered bags, I didn’t think anymore about it and went back to bed, only to be awakened by the sound of baying dogs some distance across the river. I lay in the tent until dawn when the baying finally stopped, then decided to get up and make some tea.
The stove worked great; I boiled some water, but couldn’t find the tea. I knew I’d packed it, then realized with dread what the raccoon must have been rustling when it woke me.
I prowled the campsite and finally found the plastic bag containing the tea — with teeth marks. Thank goodness, I thought, at least he didn’t run off with it.
I made tea — possibly contaminated with raccoon spit, but whatever — then broke camp, packed everything back into my kayak, and continued downriver.
The visual feast of the previous day continued — small gators sunning themselves on low banks; two does and a fawn, one of which actually took a couple of steps toward me before all three bolted; and the ever-present bird ambassadors conducting me all the way to Gardner.
The first humans I saw were two powerboaters launching at the town’s public ramp. They waved; I waved back, and felt like 19th century Sacajawea in a dugout meeting settlers for the first time.
Amazing what a difference a midweek trip can make on a well-travelled river.
IF YOU GO
Canoe Outpost in Arcadia offers a variety of services, including canoe and kayak rentals, livery, water-level information and concierge camping. For more information, visit http://www.canoeoutpost.com and click on “Peace River” or call 1-800-268-0083.
