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Lake Kissimmee by Kayak Crossing the massive 35,000-acre Lake Kissimmee, we hit open stretches where two- to three-foot waves crashed over our bows. In most of the lakes, ocean kayaking skills are required. Where possible, we hugged the shore behind a line of marsh, pickerel weed, duck potato and lily pads that buffered the waves. Midges, small mosquito-like insects that swarm but don’t bite, were prevalent, too. Locals call them “chizzy winks.” I had to be careful when opening my mouth, or I’d inhale them. Swallows swooped and dived to feed on the midges. Also in the marshes were fishermen in boats who had gathered in clusters to fish for bream. Their bent poles made it apparent the fish were biting. Lake Kissimmee is almost completely undeveloped and rich with birdlife. I paused near the shore at one point and observed a crested caracara strolling among cattle. This threatened bird of prey with its unmistakable black hood has strong legs that enable it to easily walk or run on the ground and hunt small mammals, reptiles and amphibians. A flock of glossy ibis flew past—black silhouettes against the sky. I spotted wild turkeys walking across the pasture. They came to the water’s edge and poked up their heads for a look at me in a mutual expression of curiosity. They were all hens, I determined, since their brown bodies lacked the crimson markings of tom turkeys.
Continuing south past mats of lily pads, we heard the cries of wading birds and watched them poke around the shallows. Brown and blue-black snail kites, an endangered species, swooped through tall marsh grass from hidden nests while raptors filled the skies—eagle, osprey and swallowtail kite. We paddled into a strong headwind to cross over to the privately owned Brahma Island. The island’s 4,000 acres provide habitat for large wild boars and about 100 eagles, the largest concentration of nonmigratory bald eagles in the Lower 48 states. We saw eagles everywhere—in trees, circling in the sky and swooping over the lake and the island prairies. Cary Lightsey, co-owner of Brahma Island, led us on a driving tour down sugar-sand roads beneath canopies of arching live oaks. Many of the massive oaks were bent and twisted from past hurricanes. Some were nearly 400 years old—mature even when a force led by General Zachary Taylor drove Seminole Indians off the island in 1837 during the Second Seminole War. A sixth-generation Florida cattle rancher, Cary sold much of his development rights to the state so future generations of Lightseys can carry on the family business and not have to sell the land to developers. His family had always maintained a philosophy of leaving at least 40 percent of their land native. “Florida has a very sensitive ecosystem,” he said, “We’re really just landlords of this land, if you really think about it. I feel like it’s our job to protect it for the people of Florida.” We stayed in a hunting cabin that the Lightseys normally rent out to hunters. Carl supported the expedition’s goals and was open to the possibility of future kayakers camping near their boat landing. Public land along Lake Kissimmee may provide other possibilities. Lake Kissimmee was a glassy calm as we left it to enter a flood control lock that marks the beginning of a long canal that is a channelized section of the Kissimmee River. The Kissimmee River was once a winding 103-mile natural waterway. From 1962 through 1971, the Army Corps of Engineers cut a straight ditch through the river, hoping to better control flooding in the upper system by speeding the flow of water to Lake Okeechobee. As a result, fish, waterfowl and other wildlife drastically declined, and water was no longer being filtered by a slow meandering river channel through thousands of acres of marshlands. Lake Okeechobee received too much water too quickly during the rainy season, and water quality was severely degraded. Shallow, weed-choked oxbows—the remains of the old river channel—loop out from the sides of the arrow-straight canal. Stopping for a rest break, we climbed tall angular spoil berms of sand created by the canal dredging. Vast areas of wetlands have been filled in by these artificial mounds. In 1999, restoration of the middle portion of the Kissimmee River began. Thus far, a key dam on the river has been blown up, and more than 15 miles of the original Kissimmee River was restored. Roughly 28 more miles are set to be restored by 2011, and another dam will meet its end. At a cost of more than half a billion dollars, it’s considered the largest true ecosystem restoration project in the world. After more than a day of paddling canals, we entered a construction zone of the current restoration project. Huge yellow dump trucks rumbled past. They carried dirt from former spoil berms to an area of canal being filled, moving the river back into its old meander. Floating yellow turbidity barriers kept the soil from drifting into the river, but often presented an obstacle for us. The best method to move over them, we learned, was to paddle into them at full speed and shoot over their tops. As we made a detour around the construction site through an oxbow, several baby alligators as long as my forearm scurried along the bank before the eight-foot-long mother shot off an embankment, belly-flopping into the river. We entered the restored river channel. Serpentine twists and bends through lush marshlands, occasionally bordered by sandy banks and cypress and live oak trees, added mystery and beauty. Meandering. Unpredictable. With no canal to divert flow, we finally felt we were on the Kissimmee River as it had been for eons. The return of seasonal flood waters has helped heal the ecosystem by filtering impurities in the vast marshlands, increasing dissolved oxygen levels in the river and drawing nutrients from the floodplain to help feed the food chain. We counted more than 150 alligators, many of them over 10 feet long. Since becoming scarce in the 1960s as a result of poaching, Florida’s restrictions on the commercial trade of alligator skins have helped the alligator population to rebound. We noticed more birdlife along the restored river than we’d seen along the canals—limpkins, green herons, yellowlegs, stilts, cormorants and many others. Since the restoration, biologists have observed eight species of shorebirds that had not been seen along the river in 40 years, plus they have documented the return of migratory fowl and an increased fishery. At one spot, the winding Kissimmee resembled a river through a prairie, its marshy floodplain at least two miles wide. Vast, windswept and looking more like the plains of Kansas, the restored Kissimmee River will be a great paddling trail and a boon for bird-watching and sportfishing enthusiasts. Several primitive campsites have already been set up by the South Florida Water Management District. The Kissimmee led us to Lake Okeechobee, an oceanlike expanse of fresh water that is second in size only to Lake Michigan in the continental United States. Blue water stretched across the horizon. Okeechobee is often referred to as Florida’s liquid heart. Even though its perimeter has been diked and the level and flow of water through it is carefully controlled, it is still a magnificent body of water. Across the vast blue lake are agricultural lands and then the famed “river of grass,” a shallow 50-mile wide swath of sawgrass marsh, tree islands and slow-moving water that creeps south toward the mangrove fringe of Florida’s southern coast. We rounded a point and landed in black muck at the Okee-Tantie Recreation Area. With our exploration of the route finished, the work of creating a top-notch recreational paddling and hiking trail through the Kissimmee Chain of Lakes and Kissimmee River will continue. In the near future, more people will be able to enjoy the northern Everglades as we have, hiking and paddling through a part of Florida that has reclaimed its past. Trail Progress Building on momentum created by the Expedition Headwaters journey, the Everglades Headwaters Working Group is seeking to further recreational resources for paddling, hiking and bicycling along the Shingle Creek/Kissimmee Lakes/Kissimmee River corridor. A primary feature is the establishment of a 140-mile paddling trail, largely following the route of Expedition Headwaters. The coalition includes the Trust for Public Land, the Florida Department of Environmental Protection, the South Florida Water Management District, several city and county governments, and various private sector entities. A major focus is on buying land in the upper reaches along Shingle Creek and Lake Tohopekaliga, an area in the throes of rapid urbanization. Both Orange and Osceola counties have already begun purchasing land for passive recreation along the trail corridor and the Trust for Public Land is seeking help from the private sector to fill in gaps. Another goal is to create public campsites below Lake Tohopekaliga as an alternative to the sometimes noisy fish camps. Much of the shoreline in this stretch is prone to flooding, so options have ranged from finding suitable land on higher ground to building camping platforms above the flood zone. Paddlers can currently follow the expedition’s path, but future campsites will provide more appealing stops. Most campsites will be within reasonable paddling or walking distance of each other, about 10 to 15 miles apart. It is estimated that it will take three to five years for additional campsites, maps and guide texts, and several more miles of wild, free-flowing Kissimmee River to become a reality. Information about the trail is available on the Florida Department of Environmental Protection’s website: www.dep.state.fl.us/evergladesforever/eh/default.htm Doug Alderson of Tallahassee is the author of numerous magazine articles and three books. His first book, Waters Less Traveled: Exploring Florida’s Big Bend Coast (University Press of Florida, Nov. 2005), was runner-up for Best Travel Book of 2006 by the North American Travel Journalists Association. He may be reached via his website: www.dougalderson.net |
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