86 AMERICANWAY
MAY 15 2007
KEN McAlpINE
’s most recent book,
Off Season: Discovering
America onWinter’s Shore
, is available fromRandomHouse. He
has received two Lowell Thomas awards for his travel writing
in
AmericanWay.
ronment.Lackingstone, theyusedshells for
everything from tools to foundations,which
still remain, in the form of enormous shell
mounds. The Calusa also made the most
of their size, since the average Calusamale
was six feet tall. In the 1500s, theywere the
equivalent of today’s ShaquilleO’Neal, only
withmore attitude andwith an impressive
arrayof sharpweapons.
“
Calusa
means ‘fierce people,’” Connie
tells us. “Other Indian tribes would pay
them tributemoney so theCalusawouldbe
nice to them.Kindof like themob.”
The Calusa eventually met their match
— not in the form of the Spaniards, who
had tried vainly to dispatch them— but in
the diseases the Europeans brought with
them. At least, that’s the history according
toConnie.
When she finishes, Joe Mullen leans in
close tome.
“Theydranka lot of rum, too,” he says.
Joe is attending the festival with his
friendEdEngel. Avidkayakers andFlorida
residents, thesemenhave kayaked together
along much of the Calusa Blueway, not to
mention theiradventuringonwatersasdis-
tant asScotland.
I immediately like Joe and Ed. It’s obvi-
ous that they love their home waters. Plus,
they offer me a nice counter to the official
party line I’dbeengiven earlier,when Iwas
told that there are only three places along
the Calusa Blueway that allow camping:
Cayo Costa Island, Picnic Island, and Ko-
reshanStateHistoric Site, along theEstero
River.
When Imention this toJoe, he snorts.
“You can guerrilla camp anywhere you
like. Pull in after dark, set up the tents, and
begonebymorning.”
In short order, the lot of us are paddling
inPine IslandSound.Anospreybeatsover-
head, afish in its talons. (Note toromantics:
Ospreysmate for life,buteachyear themale
mustcourt the femaleagainbeforebreeding
commences.) Mullet leap from the water,
whiteundersidesflashing in the sun.
I suddenly realize that Joe is right— the
sheer breadth and loveliness of the natural
worldmakeman’s adherence to regulation
seem silly.
Days later,
near the southern end of the
trail, I kayak along the shoreline of Lov-
ers Key with Nancy McPhee and Trudi
Edelman. Trudi has kayaked and guided
in thesewaters for 38 years. Nancywas in-
strumental in seeing the Calusa Blueway
become reality.
We rentkayaks from theLoversKeypark
concessionaire. Aswe take our first strokes,
nothing but mangroves and a riverlike
spreadof Zamboni-smoothwater is visible.
there’snobetterwaytosee
america’swilDsthanbywater.
happily, ourcountry isnotlack-
ing inanabunDanceofthese
lovelytrails.
bartramrivercanoetrail
The enormousMobile-TenshawDelta inAlabama
is awondrousmaze ofwetlands andwaterways
weaving throughmarsh, forest, and cypress-tupelo
swamp. Several campsites are onfloatingdocks.
bartram.cfm, (334) 242-3484
cascaDiamarinetrail
The trail extends the length andbreadth ofWash-
ington’s Puget Sound. It’s one of the country’s
best-developed trails, and there are 55 campsites
on the trail (andgrowing). Imagine island camping
withSeattle’s skyline before you and a deer behind
you.
(206) 545-9161
floriDagreenwaysanDtrailssystem
Florida is lacedwith nearly40paddling trails; they
range from small sections of river to the roughly
100-mileBigBendSaltwater PaddlingTrail.Most
offer developed campsites along theway. www
.floridagreenwaysandtrails.com, (877) 822-5208
lakesuperiorwatertrail
There’s plenty of shoreline anddiverse natural
history on theworld’s largest freshwater lake,
which straddles the border of theUnitedStates
andCanada.Make day trips from nearby towns, or
use the kayak campsites tucked among the islands.
, (612) 729-2879
laketahoewatertrail
It boasts 72miles of shoreline andwater that’s an
impossible blue—plus all the spectacular hiking,
climbing, andmountain biking you couldwant.
, (530) 542-5651
maine islanDtrail
Maine’s coast ismagnificent, and so is its paddling;
the trail winds 350miles, fromCapePorpoise
Harbor, on thewest, toMachiasBay, down east.
There aremore than 150 islands andmainland
sites along the route that are available for explor-
ing and for camping.
theotherbluehighways
“This is what the Calusa sawwhen they
paddled here,” says Nancy quietly. “This is
whatwewantedpeople to seewhenwe cre-
ated theBlueway.”
Moments later, we see a trail marker,
a post emblazoned with a pair of crossed
oars and the number 11. This is my fifth
day on thewater, and this is the first Blue-
waymarker—other than the one I spotted
while jogging— that I’ve seen.
When I tellNancy this, she shrugs.
“Ididn’tputupawhole lotofmarkers.To
be honest, I don’t want to see the next one.
We want the Blueway to be an adventure.
Plus, thehurricanes and thefishermen took
a lot of the signs out. I thinkwemight have
marked someof their favoritefishingholes.”
Thewomen turn their tandemkayak to-
ward a seemingly impenetrable mangrove
wall. We push through a narrow, shaded
channel. The mangrove roots resemble
the curved fingers of an emaciated pianist.
The bottom of my kayak scrapes across an
oyster bed, and then the three of us are out
in the bright sunlight again. The world is
nothingbut caws and trills.Wedrift inour
ownprivate lagoon, watched by egrets and
ibis, resting in the mangroves like white
linen handkerchiefs. A roseate spoonbill
registers our sudden intrusion— and per-
haps his opinion of man — with a great
gastric expulsion.
i likeD paDDling
and exploring with my
fellow kayakers, but, as anyone knows, in
nature—andperhaps in life— truediscov-
ery comes alone,with silence.
On my last day, I push off again from
Lovers Key. I plan on paddling forMound
Key, one of the centers of Calusa culture,
but I get hopelessly lost. Over the next five
hours, I seemangrove islands that all look
the same, several bottlenose dolphins, and
hidden backwaters so quiet that I can hear
the sudden scatterings of tiny fish — they
sound likeahandful of tossedpebbles.
When I pullmy kayak up onto a 10-yard
scrim of shell and sand and sit alone in the
middle of EsteroBay, here iswhat thewind
whispers: It is the moments between the
markers that matter. Even the Calusa, who
no doubt knewwhere they were paddling,
couldnot see to theendof the trail.
