Okefenokee

Like the teacher that states with conviction on the first day of school, “There is no stupid question.” and really means it, Michael and I delight in answering questions about our sailing life. Granted at this early stage, we are mostly drilled by curious landlubbers about anchoring in the middle of the ocean, the risks of lightning and the cost of gas to run our sailboat. But because we live in New York, there is one question that comes up universally among those floating and grounded, “What do you do in the winter?”

The dull and practical answer is work more and sail less. The fun and quirky answer is come up with relatively economical ways to entertain ourselves and our kids when we are not visiting relatives in the more traditional fashion during school breaks. It turns out, after twenty-one years of marriage, Michael didn’t know that I actually knew how to steer a canoe using a J-stroke and I was not aware that he had always wanted to visit the Okefenokee Swamp! Call it fate, but here’s the real twist . . . when I sent a one liner email to the kids asking, “Anyone interested in a three day canoe trip to the Okefenokee Swamp to see alligators and such over the holiday break?,” they BOTH replied YES! My coworker was certainly intrigued by the squeals coming from my corner of the office as I smiled at my computer screen. Clearly it was not the medical charting that was lifting my spirits in a place where the sun sets at 4:15 pm and the blistering wind chills the thin walls of poorly ventilated exam rooms. We took a gossip break and I told her the plan. As usual she genuinely filled with anticipation for the stories I would bring back from “unchartered” waters.

On departure day the kids voiced some hesitation.   “Wait we’re camping? You didn’t exactly tell us that.”   “Won’t the alligators eat us?”   “Will there be bugs?”   “No 5G or wifi? What if something happens? How will they rescue us?” And so on and so forth.

As the questions waned, they spoke in declarations to finalize the conversation.   “We will be very dirty.”   “We could be eaten by alligators.”   “They are carnivores you know.” And with that the car was packed and we were off to LaGuardia airport.

When you’re born and raised in New York, the South is everything south of New Jersey. Therefore, the drive from Jacksonville, Florida to Okefenokee, Georgia was through the deep south for us. After some stops at Walmart for supplies, Zaxby’s for fried fry lunch and a Baptist church store for forgotten flip flops, we were all set.

Our pre-canoe trip cabin at Okefenokee Pastimes was just right. Among the beautiful swamp chorus of bugs and birds, only two sounds were notably conspicuous- those of the yodeling Sandhill Cranes and the nearby gun shots.

Thanks to the exploits of Captain Harry Jackson in 1891, by 9:30 am Sunday morning we were paddling down the man made Suwanee Canal.

His foolish plan back then was to drain the swamp for agricultural development. “After losing a great deal of money and realizing that the waters of the Suwannee Canal were running back into the swamp instead of out, canal construction was abandoned.” (O’Neill & Dominique) What remains is the 45 foot wide canal, or rather a very forgiving road for the more amateur drivers in the family. For three hours we watched our kids zig-zag back and forth across the canal, intermittently and unintentionally approaching alligators of all sizes.

They cracked up laughing, vehemently argued, praised each other, annoyed each other, and erupted in fearful shrills again and again as the creatures seemed to appear magically against the backdrop of swamp grass, green-briar, ferns and mystical spanish moss covered cypress trees.

And so three days went by like this. About six miles out was our first destination, a platform campsite called Coffee Bay, that was shockingly lacking a Starbucks.

That night the stars filled the sky so densely that we thought, “This must be what the sky will be like when we cross an ocean on Gerty someday.” There was no moon and the galaxies spilled across the blackness in total and utter excess. I imagined a magnificently gaudy drag queen, dripping in diamonds, strutting across the sky. A strenuous seven mile paddle brought us to our second platform destination, Monkey Lake. The wind had kicked up as we paddled across the swamp prairie and all of us groaned for miles with sore shoulders and backs.

Those with longer legs than mine also complained of painfully cramping limbs. Apparently, the sun didn’t get the memo that it was the last day of December because it bore down as if it were the first day of July. Thankfully our water supply was plentiful, but tempers were short. I can’t speak for the others, but it was fear that kept me going ever since Michael had spotted the cottonmouth snake way too close for comfort in the reeds. Finally, the cranes led us down a narrow watery path, through endless lily pads to our resting place. Chunky soup never tasted so good!

On New Year’s Day we paddled ‘home.’ Turtle, alligator, snake, alligator, bird, alligator. Originally we were scheduled for a different trip from Kingfisher Landing to Maul Hammock to Big Water to Stephen Foster, but the west side of the swamp had “haye wadder” (insert southern accent here.) “It would be too difficult to work your way through the low hanging branches and with the government shut down, there was no chance of assistance in case of trouble,” said the park administrator when she rerouted us. This begs the question, “What if those prehistoric looking forest green creatures with the glistening spiked metallic hides and ridiculously big clamp like jaws did . . . take a bite?”

Many thanks to the Hutchinsons for hosting our Jewish Christmas Ski pre-swamp cool down.

To Grandma Polly for distracting us from pre trip jitters and to the people of Amelia Island for providing a place for us to shower and rest after the wild.