Florida's Fisheating Creek has plenty to offer

Tag : battery scraps
By SUSAN COCKING McClatchy Newspapers
PALMDALE, Fla. -- Listen up, Henry David Thoreau. Walden Pond's got nothing onFisheating Creek.
This spectacularly scenic stream - which flows, trickles andmeanders some 50 miles from Highlands County south and east to LakeOkeechobee - could turn even the most hardened nature-hater into atree-hugging fool.
After a five-plus-year lapse, I made it up there last week afterlearning that recent rains had raised water levels enough to bepleasantly paddle-able. My brief, solo trip was intended as acontemplation of nature before the arrival of this weekend's hordeof Independence Day revelers from Fort Myers. I was notdisappointed.
Unlike the American philosopher, I don't have an ancient familycottage in the woods. But I do have a Honda Element, which,arguably, is just as good. This boxy, utilitarian vehicle is like amobile college dorm room. It carries a bulky inflatable kayak -plus a paddle, pump, coolers, overnight bag, battery-powered fan,lantern, portable stove, sleeping bag and pad. In short, everythingyou need for one night in the wild with some degree of comfort.
After a two-hour drive, I arrived at Fisheating Creek Campground onU.S. 27 in Palmdale, where I secured a primitive campsite for mycar-dorm and a livery reservation for the next morning for mykayak. A van delivered us to Burnt Bridge - a scenic, woodlandput-in about eight miles upstream from the campground. Total cost:$37.45.
I planned to inflate my kayak and take it for a test paddle, butonly got as far as inflating it. A blustery electrical storm inlate afternoon took about two hours to vacate the area, so it wasnearly dark by the time it subsided. I passed the time reading adetective novel in my car, then decided to take a stroll when therain slowed to a drizzle.
As I stepped out of the car, I heard the familiar grunt-burp of analligator, and spied the six-foot animal paddling leisurely downthe creek about 100 feet away. To ensure that it knew this was mycampsite and not a potential wallow, I waved to it. It stared at mebriefly and submerged. OK, just as long as we have our signalsstraight.
I strolled through the RV section of the campground, down a dirtand gravel road toward a small lake. Adjacent to the lake was adouble-fenced pasture holding several horses and ponies. I watchedthem graze for a while, then turned back toward camp.
About 50 yards ahead of me on the dirt-gravel road sat atawny-brown animal about the size of a boxer dog with its back tome. I approached quietly, but it must have felt my foot-falls,because it turned halfway around and stalked into the brush beforeI got much closer. The only thing I could clearly make out as itdisappeared was its long, curved tail.
I caught my breath. Unless I was seriously mistaken, I had justseen a panther - only the second one I've encountered in nearly 30years in South Florida.
Just then, a marsh rabbit dashed across the road - to the sidewhere the suspected panther had just vanished. Approachingcautiously, I wondered if the bunny would become prey. But I neversaw nor heard either of them again.
It was dark when I arrived back at camp. Nearby, gators weregrunt-burping from the river, and they were joined by a noisychorus of insects and frogs. Whoever thinks the woods is quietafter dark probably hasn't been there very often.
Looking around, I realized I was the only camper in the tentsection of the grounds. No other humans. Hoping the gators wouldnot decide to take liberties, I sat outside at a picnic table for awhile, shining my flashlight around the creek - which occasionallyilluminated the reptiles' ruby eyes. In keeping with our telepathicpact, they stayed in the water. But the hopelessly rude mosquitoesand no-see-ums drove me into my car. It rained off and onthroughout the night.
The next morning came with a hint of sunlight and no sign ofthunderheads as I made my tea on the tiny gas stove. A couple ofsquirrels scrambled over, hoping for scraps. When they saw I didn'thave any, one of them actually grabbed a melting ice cube I haddumped out of the cooler and charged away with it. Those squirrels!
Shortly after 9 a.m., Monty, the livery guy, arrived with his vanand trailer at the campground office to take me, my kayak and twocanoeists up to Burnt Bridge.
I think the other paddlers, Jim and Sandy Hinchman from Lake Wales,had misgivings about me and my inflatable craft heading solo eightmiles down the creek. They insisted on giving me their cell phonenumber in case I got in trouble. (Interestingly, cell phonecoverage on the creek is now 800 percent better than when I lastvisited; new cell towers have been built nearby.)
The Hinchmans and I said our goodbyes. I launched first, andprobably passed five large alligators in the first five minutesafter setting out. All of them ducked underwater when I approached,as per our agreement. You wouldn't want to swim in this creek - ascool, beautiful and clean as it looks. For every gator you see,there are probably at least that many lying on the creek bottom orhidden in the marsh grass. I don't think I paddled more than 10minutes without hearing their baritone indigestion sounds.
With the gators behaving (relatively) politely, I was free toconcentrate on the gorgeous scenery - towering bald cypress withfeathery, green leaves and dark, knobby knees that look like agaggle of trolls lining the shore. Overhead, angel-white ibis andegret crossed the treetops. A pileated woodpecker the size of achicken bashed a dead tree trunk into submission with histrip-hammer beak. Hawks shrieked; a barred owl hooted. Frogs andinsects filled the momentary lapses with croaks and hums.
In my three hours on the river, only one gator hesitated to honorour treaty. The 10-footer floated in the creek, gazing at me as Ipassed, and failing to submerge on cue.
I looked it in the eye.
"Hello," I told it, trying to sound assertive.
It sank, cooperatively, underwater.
It's nearly impossible to get lost on Fisheating Creek; arrow signsare posted at regular intervals and the downstream flow will directyou if you come to a T-intersection. Hint: A narrow creek spurchoked with water lettuce is usually the wrong direction.
As I rounded a bend past Picnic Lake and spotted the campgroundoffice, I felt like my trip had ended too soon. That's OK. Nexttime, I'll do the overnighter from Ingram's Crossing.
For more information about Fisheating Creek, gotofisheatingcreekresort.com or myfwc.com/recreation or call863-675-5999.