plus a few previously unreported trips

location .................... distance
Suwannee Challenge training ... 20+
Suwannee Challenge ............ 50+
Lake Talquin .................. 33.6
St. James Island .............. 70.5
------------------------------------
subtotal ..................... 174.1
total ....................... 1972

Suwannee Challenge Training: Summer 2011

going to the FSU Reservation (outdoor recreation area) and borrowing one of their sit-on-top kayaks to paddle sprints across the lake. way more than 20 miles, but who's counting.

Suwannee Challenge: Fall 2011

great race, but completely wrecked my body. didn't stretch enough in the days before the race started and thus had to stop and stretch constantly during the race. also ended up with terrible blisters that forced me to drop out of day 2 (another 50-miler).

Lake Talquin: March 31, 2012



A race that I had organized, in its 3rd year and to be held on this date, completely bombed with only 2 registered paddlers. So instead of running the race course, we decided to instead cruise the length of Lake Talquin and back in one stretch. It was a great trip - took about 9 hours including breaks as I recall - though near the end, the heat really started to take its toll.

Saint James Island #3: October 13, 2012



Not having enough money for gas + registration for the 2012 Suwannee Challenge, I decided to do a solo "Challenge" a bit closer to home - my third trip around Saint James Island.


starting out on the Carrabelle River - calm and sunny




sailboat coming in from the Sound


lots of birds, smelled terrible


Having learned from my previous experiences and being aware of the falling tide, I decided to cut wide and try to get beyond the Flats. Despite being almost 2 miles from shore, I still got stuck in a couple of places.


I hate the Flats.

A moderate east wind picked up the moment I left the sheltered river, and it became stronger throughout the day - and even stronger still into the night. Gentle waves turned into significant chop and eventually into into constant barrage of waves that had to be cut through in order to reach land. Since I'd paddled out wide in an attempt to avoid the Flats, I was now miles from shore - fighting the wind, the waves, and the current.

Having finally made it beyond the Flats, I passed through a school of cannonball jellyfish - so densely packed that just about every 3rd paddle stroke hit one. On the bright side, the school seemed to disrupt the worst of the waves. Once out of the school, I entered another school - small fish that were swimming north and jumping. Many of them slammed into the side of my boat, and more than a few hit me in the torso.

I originally expected to make it to Bald Point by dark, with the help of the usual west wind, instead I was still miles away from Alligator Point and 2+ miles from nearest land when the sun went down. no stopping for breaks at this point - make it to Alligator Point or end up lost in the Gulf with no one the wiser. Being in a slow boat has a lot of downsides.

After what seemed like an eternity of not making any progress whatsoever, the lights finally started to get closer, and I eventually landed at the southeast tip of Alligator Point. I stopped for a snack and a very brief rest before heading north along the peninsula. Unfortunately, this put me perpendicular to the waves that were coming in. The wind and waves gradually straightened me out and pushed me west into the breakers, after which the boat would be broken over and slowly flooded (because my spray skirt sucks). This meant multiple stops to pump water out of the kayak. By this point I was soaking wet, cold, and furious at what should have been an easy trip. I nearly broke my paddle out of frustration during one of my stops and even considered walking the 20+ miles back to my car. Instead I got back in and kept paddling. Hours later, I finally reached Bald Point and the shelter of Ochlockonee Bay and headed west.

Did I say shelter? just kidding! The west-bound waves were being built up and bounced back from the north, which meant that anywhere I went on the south side of the Bay, waves were either crashing over me from the side (rotating me in the process) or crashing over me from behind. The massive US-98 bridge, the only useful landmark while paddling west, was not visible at all thanks to a complete lack of vehicle traffic at 2a.m. Eventually it just "appeared" out of the haze when I was about 50 yards away. Once past the bridge, the waves FINALLY started to weaken the tiniest bit.

I decided to cut straight across from Metcalf Point to the river, which was a lot of guesswork on an overcast night, since from a mile away, there's no indication where the river enters the bay except for a barely noticeable break in the treeline - which was not visible at all. As I crossed the final stretch, I felt a sting and a release of pressure as one of my blisters popped. After I took off my glove, I saw that my hand was covered in blood as a result. I quickly rinsed off my hand and my paddle shaft and started hauling ass; I was half a mile from the point and half a mile from where I thought the river was going to be ('x' marks the spot). A few minutes later, barely perceptible, something bumped the very center of the bottom of my boat. I paddled faster.

I missed the river, but not knowing which side of the river I was on, I picked the wrong way and started paddling along the salt grass, with breakers still nailing me from the side/back. Eventually I figured this out and made my way back to the river, and a few turns later, I was back in water that I can navigate with my eyes closed. I had originally planned to make it to the farthest of Tate's Hell's campsites and spend a relaxing evening, but instead I arrived almost hypothermic at Ochlockonee River State Park. After drying off in one of their public bathrooms and changing clothes, I set up a camping hammock between 2 park benches and spent the night.

It's really hard to get going when you're that tired from paddling, but I started out slow late the next morning and caught a second wind about the time I reached the Crooked River. The tide seemed to help a bit from both ends - not a particularly exciting trip, but nice scenery. As usual, I made it back to my car right as it got dark, which meant trying to navigate the confusing Three Rivers backwaters in the twilight. Luckily I've done this a few times, and it wasn't a problem, but I did stop for a few final pictures just before.





_________________________________________