Alone? Not Alone!

A blanket of dark clouds hovered over me as I stepped out of my tent. Coffee usually brightens my morning, but not this morning  ­– the stove refused to work. Thankfully, instant coffee does dissolve in cold water, so I was still able to get a caffeine fix before getting on the way. Once on the water, rainclouds threatened.

Humidity was thick, painting the landscape in pastel colors. Dark skies and heavy air blocked the sun keeping the air temperature comfortable; however, when the sun penetrated the cloud cover, it became an uncomfortable steam bath.

Large drops fell from the sky, not a sprinkle, hitting the surface like golf balls, followed by a wall of rain. There was no hiding from it — nothing to do but continue paddling.

The rain continued as I exited East Bay and entered the Intracoastal Waterway. My next scheduled stop was the city of Overstreet, where I would replenish my quickly dwindling drinking water supply.

For two days in the blistering sun, wearing clothes soaked in sweat and topped with a frosting of salt crystals, the rain was refreshing, washing my skin clean. The kayak, moved ahead with fresh vigor.

A canal scooped out of sandy soil and clay, cut across the mainland, and paralleling the gulf coast is the ICW. Steep bluffs on either side with a sliver of a beach, formed by the high tide, were the only resting spot to get out and stretch the legs, but not wide enough to camp on. It rained on and off all day.

By late afternoon tired, I made it to the Overstreet boat ramp. Along the way, I learned that the water available at the ramp was not palatable, according to Dorsey, President of the Florida Paddling Trail Association. Once she understood my need for water, she cold – called business near the boat ramp until she found angels to bring me bottled water.

I understood there to be a campsite two miles up the ICW, so I left the boat ramp thankful to have water for the following two days. Finding no suitable campsite, I continued forward. There was no moon, but luckily the sky was bright enough to paint the waterway in front of me. The sun set on us as I realized my headlamp was stowed away in a hatch.

Six hours later, at one a.m. I reached White City, where the kayak slept on the boat ramp, and I was on a park bench.