The Everglades are among America’s most famous swamps, with a reputation for mosquitos to match.
So we bought repellant for a quick trip to view the swamp and its wildlife in winter. But on a perfect day spent kayaking through the mangroves of Big Cypress National Preserve, we didn’t even bother applying it.
Not too hot. Not too cold. Low humidity. And nary a mosquito to be seen.
Our trip was organized by the Ivey House Bed &Breakfast, a 1920s boarding house in Everglades City that now is an outdoors-oriented bed-and-breakfast and lodge.
The Ivey House also is a full-service outfitter for Everglades explorers, offering everything: guided multiday trips through the swamps, rental canoes and camping gear for those setting off on their own, to shorter day trips such as ours.
And its daylong kayak trips have an unusual aspect: The minimum number of guests is two. So although our midweek tour drew no other takers, it wasn’t canceled. My wife and I had the services of guide Dave Kochendorfer to ourselves.
Driving to the put-in, Dave turned at an unmarked corner and stopped beside a backwater. We walked to the edge and waited. Soon, a blunt gray nose poked barely above the water and exhaled. Then another. And another. We were watching manatees surfacing to breathe, drawn up from the Gulf coast by the warmer inland water.
But soon we were kayaking on the Turner River, paddling against imperceptible current to explore the freshwater cypress community of the preserve.
As we paddled north, the river narrowed and gently wound its way toward two small ponds. Anhingas, a diving and swimming bird that feeds on small fish, perched in trees, their wings spread to dry in the morning sun. Snowy egrets and great blue herons stalked the shallows.
On the shore — if it could be called that — were bald cypress, maples, oaks, willows, cattails, cabbage palms, swamp dogwood and pond apples. We paddled through sawgrass, stopping to watch two small alligators sunning themselves, until we found ourselves in the heart of a cypress forest, arching trees with buttressed bases and freestanding “knees.”
In the afternoon, we paddled south toward the coast, and the character of the river changed. As we entered the brackish water of the mangrove forest the river closed in to form a narrow tunnel, the roots creating an intricate web.
We paddled through an open pond full of blooming water lilies, then plunged back into the mangrove tunnels. The trees crowded until we had to break down our kayak paddles and paddle canoe-style. Soon it was too crowded to paddle at all, and we simply pulled ourselves branch by branch through the mangroves.
Finally we reached another open pond, perhaps 50 feet across. A 3-foot alligator drifted motionless in the center, and we paused to watched him. There were splashes from the forest, and we thought more kayakers were coming behind us. Instead, four river otters swept into the pond, diving for fish and frolicking all around us.
One circled the alligator for a time. Dave explained that otters sometimes feed on small alligators — but not usually one this large. Perhaps they were calculating the advantage of four against one. But if so, they soon decided against it, and disappeared into the mangroves again, their splashing slowly fading.
We were back in Everglades City in time for dinner, and for me it was another encounter with alligator. This time, however, it was an entree at the laid-back Oyster House restaurant. How could I resist southern fried alligator?
I expected some kind of alligator steak, but instead what arrived was a platter of oyster-sized breaded nuggets, with a taste resembling a slightly rubbery chicken. With fries and a beer, it was a fitting end to the day.
Gator McNuggets, anyone?
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