Went on an epic solo kayak trip. No white water, merely a flat Florida creek. Came out shell shocked, could not speak of it. Who would give a shit? Who would understand? You weren’t there. No one was there.
If anyone cares to read it. No editing, only what I wrote when I got home. Because I had to write something to get it out. "It" being so close to death so many times, or worse, some sort of surrender to nature. Not going out like that, not if I still got breath.
Went to conquer the West Branch of Big Cold Creek. Bucket list thing.
Got my neighbor to extract me at the Adventures Unlimited landing. LOL, the plan was to get all the way back to Carpenter’s Park in Milton. Nope.
Couldn’t talk to him, sat quietly on the ride, shocked to be out of there.
We get back to my car, young rednecks hanging out under the bridge, jammin’ tunes and drinking beer. Young girl comes running up:
“Oh my god, is that your car?!”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“This is gonna sound so weird but can I give you a hug?”
“Um.”
SQUEEZE
in a rush of words
“Oh my god we saw you take off yesterday AND YOU NEVER CAME BACK and we were talking about who to call for rescue and we thought you might be dead and we didn’t know who to call and oh my god I’m glad you’re OK!”
SQUEEZE
Nobody goes down that creek. Nobody. Even the guys at Adventures Unlimited didn’t know about West Cold Creek. And they WORK on Big Cold Creek!
2-miles of non-stop deadfalls, downed trees blocking the way every 50’, 3 jams in 30’ was the bonus prize.
Humped my kayak and gear over-and-under and through dozens. Logs; slippery, mossy, underwater, rotten, floating, covered in spiky branches. Over one and the current slams you into the next, on the wrong side. It gets worse the farther you go.
7 hours, 7 o’clock, 1.8 miles, no strength left, can’t make the main creek. 3 more impasses in sight. Soaked and submerged in West COLD Creek, over and over, for hours. Thinking hypothermia might in the works (sometimes one can’t tell because adrenaline, people die in summer temps), went to strike camp.
South side; solid creeper thorns, impassable, looked North across the creek. No lie, a patch of sunlight (weird in these thick woods) shining on a flat, elevated position. Barely bigger than my tent. Like God himself pointing His enormous finger, “No you idiot, there!”
Dragged my gear up a 45º incline, tied the boat to a tree, pitched camp. Nearly everything in the hull soaked, dry-bags too loose. Clothes and linens dry! Splatted gear all about, got in the tent with dry clothes, warmed, rested, took stock, took a beer. Got gear squared away, hung a clothesline. Like it’s gonna dry. So wet a road flare couldn’t start pine needles. I have created smoke!
Next morning, laid on my bedroll for hours, too sore to move. Heard day trippers, tubers and canoers, yelling on the main creek. People that close. Just gotta get off this tributary. No matter what I can pull the life-vest ripcord, float to a sand bank, await rescue.
OK; Tylenol, cold espresso, trail mix. 1 hour and I’m home free.
3 more hours to until I saw Salvation Beach.
Wasn’t supposed to storm but I spent an hour or more hiding when it got bad, 3 storm bands, hanging on tree limbs under banks. Nowhere to safely get on shore, 20sq/ft of any land was a godsend and deserved a stop.
Oh, and bailing the kayak with a dish rag after I lost my sponge. “Always carry a towel” is sound advice (Bugblatter Beasts aside), a big yellow sponge is a necessity.
So tired I flipped the kayak for the first time (and that was after I hit the easy creek). Lost my weapon, new and old phones, GPS, monocular, ecig, knife, don’t know what all. One bag but it was the good stuff. Still had survival gear.
I was extraordinarily cautious; one accident could strand/kill me. No getting out without a chopper and sling. Sometimes I wanted to quit, give up and fire a pair of flares at the next helicopter or plane.
“How am I going to lever this @^%*! boat over this !#@%$ log with 10 gallons of water in the hull and taking on more!?” In a storm, flooding my boat from top and bottom.
One time I grabbed the T-handle on the front and bailed into the swirling green. Don’t care what’s down there, this yak is going over this log. Promptly run over by my own boat. Came up laughing! Beat that one!
4 miles down the main creek I landed at Adventures Unlimited (local outfitter), borrowed the office phone to call for extraction. Looked rough climbing out of there, rain top shredded down the back, covered in bruises and lacerations. Workers at the landing were shooting the bull with me until one guy really got a look, “Do you need help man?” “Yeah, I do. Not with you guys this weekend but I need to call for a ride. Mind if I walk up to the church or cemetery, see if I can get a signal?”
I’m faithful about only testing one bit of gear at a time, way too much new stuff on unfamiliar turf. Many lessons learned. LIFE STRAWS WORK! (Ask me, I could be a spokesman.)
16 Band-Aids/patches on my hands alone. I’m black and blue all over but from the knees down it’s frightful. Thought my legs were tanned and dirty, nope, bruising so solid it’s an even color.
Did I mention the non-stop boat full of spiders? And the big yellow sponge? Fun fact: You can flick banana spiders out with a big yellow sponge. Otherwise grab their leg and yeet 'em.
I’m going back in.
And nothing I wrote there expresses the fear and uncertainty I felt. I’ll only add, I’m experienced and that trip was planned.
Anyway, got another solo coming up! But I never brave that fucking creek again.
Did a similar trip. Missed the high water by a few days and ended portaging a fully loaded canoe through mud for most of it. Saw gar big enough to tip the boat. Went through what I thought was rain, but was actually a mosquito swarm. Went over and under felled trees and saw spiders as big as my hand. Saw a moccasin get ripped in half by something… When the river finally opened up, I ended up paddling on pure adrenaline and screaming Tenacious D songs for motivation until the landing appeared. I was only out two days.
The over and under trees was what mostly kicked my ass. I was standing on one, 6’ above the water line, thinking, “There is no way in hell I can drag this gear straight up and over.” Sat there for 15 minutes looking around and thinking. Only option? Under the trunk there was a tiny triangle clear, 10" at the high point. I stomped the kayak under until it popped up the other side. Win!
Went on an epic solo kayak trip. No white water, merely a flat Florida creek. Came out shell shocked, could not speak of it. Who would give a shit? Who would understand? You weren’t there. No one was there.
If anyone cares to read it. No editing, only what I wrote when I got home. Because I had to write something to get it out. "It" being so close to death so many times, or worse, some sort of surrender to nature. Not going out like that, not if I still got breath.
Went to conquer the West Branch of Big Cold Creek. Bucket list thing.
Got my neighbor to extract me at the Adventures Unlimited landing. LOL, the plan was to get all the way back to Carpenter’s Park in Milton. Nope.
Couldn’t talk to him, sat quietly on the ride, shocked to be out of there.
We get back to my car, young rednecks hanging out under the bridge, jammin’ tunes and drinking beer. Young girl comes running up:
“Oh my god, is that your car?!”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“This is gonna sound so weird but can I give you a hug?”
“Um.”
SQUEEZE
in a rush of words
“Oh my god we saw you take off yesterday AND YOU NEVER CAME BACK and we were talking about who to call for rescue and we thought you might be dead and we didn’t know who to call and oh my god I’m glad you’re OK!”
SQUEEZE
Nobody goes down that creek. Nobody. Even the guys at Adventures Unlimited didn’t know about West Cold Creek. And they WORK on Big Cold Creek!
2-miles of non-stop deadfalls, downed trees blocking the way every 50’, 3 jams in 30’ was the bonus prize.
Humped my kayak and gear over-and-under and through dozens. Logs; slippery, mossy, underwater, rotten, floating, covered in spiky branches. Over one and the current slams you into the next, on the wrong side. It gets worse the farther you go.
7 hours, 7 o’clock, 1.8 miles, no strength left, can’t make the main creek. 3 more impasses in sight. Soaked and submerged in West COLD Creek, over and over, for hours. Thinking hypothermia might in the works (sometimes one can’t tell because adrenaline, people die in summer temps), went to strike camp.
South side; solid creeper thorns, impassable, looked North across the creek. No lie, a patch of sunlight (weird in these thick woods) shining on a flat, elevated position. Barely bigger than my tent. Like God himself pointing His enormous finger, “No you idiot, there!”
Dragged my gear up a 45º incline, tied the boat to a tree, pitched camp. Nearly everything in the hull soaked, dry-bags too loose. Clothes and linens dry! Splatted gear all about, got in the tent with dry clothes, warmed, rested, took stock, took a beer. Got gear squared away, hung a clothesline. Like it’s gonna dry. So wet a road flare couldn’t start pine needles. I have created smoke!
Next morning, laid on my bedroll for hours, too sore to move. Heard day trippers, tubers and canoers, yelling on the main creek. People that close. Just gotta get off this tributary. No matter what I can pull the life-vest ripcord, float to a sand bank, await rescue.
OK; Tylenol, cold espresso, trail mix. 1 hour and I’m home free.
3 more hours to until I saw Salvation Beach.
Wasn’t supposed to storm but I spent an hour or more hiding when it got bad, 3 storm bands, hanging on tree limbs under banks. Nowhere to safely get on shore, 20sq/ft of any land was a godsend and deserved a stop.
Oh, and bailing the kayak with a dish rag after I lost my sponge. “Always carry a towel” is sound advice (Bugblatter Beasts aside), a big yellow sponge is a necessity.
So tired I flipped the kayak for the first time (and that was after I hit the easy creek). Lost my weapon, new and old phones, GPS, monocular, ecig, knife, don’t know what all. One bag but it was the good stuff. Still had survival gear.
I was extraordinarily cautious; one accident could strand/kill me. No getting out without a chopper and sling. Sometimes I wanted to quit, give up and fire a pair of flares at the next helicopter or plane.
“How am I going to lever this @^%*! boat over this !#@%$ log with 10 gallons of water in the hull and taking on more!?” In a storm, flooding my boat from top and bottom.
One time I grabbed the T-handle on the front and bailed into the swirling green. Don’t care what’s down there, this yak is going over this log. Promptly run over by my own boat. Came up laughing! Beat that one!
4 miles down the main creek I landed at Adventures Unlimited (local outfitter), borrowed the office phone to call for extraction. Looked rough climbing out of there, rain top shredded down the back, covered in bruises and lacerations. Workers at the landing were shooting the bull with me until one guy really got a look, “Do you need help man?” “Yeah, I do. Not with you guys this weekend but I need to call for a ride. Mind if I walk up to the church or cemetery, see if I can get a signal?”
I’m faithful about only testing one bit of gear at a time, way too much new stuff on unfamiliar turf. Many lessons learned. LIFE STRAWS WORK! (Ask me, I could be a spokesman.)
16 Band-Aids/patches on my hands alone. I’m black and blue all over but from the knees down it’s frightful. Thought my legs were tanned and dirty, nope, bruising so solid it’s an even color.
Did I mention the non-stop boat full of spiders? And the big yellow sponge? Fun fact: You can flick banana spiders out with a big yellow sponge. Otherwise grab their leg and yeet 'em.
I’m going back in.
And nothing I wrote there expresses the fear and uncertainty I felt. I’ll only add, I’m experienced and that trip was planned.
Anyway, got another solo coming up! But I never brave that fucking creek again.
Holy shit thats a hell of an adventure. Getting into bed safe at home that night must have felt amazing.
Sitting in this very chair, all alone, warm and quiet, that was quite a thing. I don’t have words for it.
At the time I was thinking, “I will never do that crazy shit again. Ever.”
After writing it out, getting the shock out of my system, “Ya know, I could do much better if I…”
the duality of man
Reading that satisfied my need for adventures, now I can just stay home
That sounds like a nightmare and I kind of want to go.
Sounds like some “Type 3” fun. Great story.
I have new words! Damn, apparently I do a lot of Type 3 adventures. My wife and kids do not appreciate such “fun”.
Did a similar trip. Missed the high water by a few days and ended portaging a fully loaded canoe through mud for most of it. Saw gar big enough to tip the boat. Went through what I thought was rain, but was actually a mosquito swarm. Went over and under felled trees and saw spiders as big as my hand. Saw a moccasin get ripped in half by something… When the river finally opened up, I ended up paddling on pure adrenaline and screaming Tenacious D songs for motivation until the landing appeared. I was only out two days.
One of my fondest memories.
The over and under trees was what mostly kicked my ass. I was standing on one, 6’ above the water line, thinking, “There is no way in hell I can drag this gear straight up and over.” Sat there for 15 minutes looking around and thinking. Only option? Under the trunk there was a tiny triangle clear, 10" at the high point. I stomped the kayak under until it popped up the other side. Win!