Chapter 7
The aroma of sizzling sausage, bacon, and rich coffee filled the kitchen at The Cove, and mingled with the scent of freshly baked biscuits. Outside, Sandhill cranes flew by, their calls serving as a natural alarm clock for the day’s adventure.
It was still dark, with just a hint of light in the eastern sky. Everett and Sarah, the first ones up, were busy cooking a hearty Southern breakfast. The cast iron pan on the stove cradled a symphony of sizzles as sausage links and bacon strips gradually crisped up. Eggs lightly danced in another pan, while a pot of grits silently bubbled on the back burner. The scent wafted through the air, a tempting invitation to the day ahead.
Remy, drawn by the irresistible aroma, was the first to stumble into the kitchen. His grin widened as he swiped a sausage link from the pan. Laughter bubbled from Everett and Sarah, who exchanged amused glances.
“Remy, you’re up early,” Everett chuckled.
The sly twinkle in Remy’s eyes spoke volumes. “Couldn’t resist the smell of a good ol’ Southern breakfast.”
“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Sarah added, checking on the biscuits in the oven.
As the trio bantered, Maggie and Riley joined the scene. Their eyes lit up at the sight and smell of the breakfast spread.
“Looks like we’re just in time,” Maggie remarked, her quiet demeanor betraying a twinkle of excitement.
Riley peered over Everett’s shoulder at the sizzling pans. “Smells delicious. What’s on the menu?”
“Sausage, bacon, eggs, grits, biscuits, and a selection of jams – Fig, Roselle, and Datil Pepper,” Sarah listed, gesturing toward the spread.
“Oh, and don’t forget OJ and coffee.”
“Perfect,” Maggie replied, pulling out a chair. “I could use a good meal before we embark on this adventure. And by the way, you guys make the best jellies and jams I’ve ever eaten…all fresh from your garden to boot!”
Riley nodded, her eyes scanning the table. “Count me in. Let’s fuel up for the day…an ditto about the jams and jellies. Simply top shelve in my book!”
Everett and Sarah smiled in appreciation and gave a thumbs up to the compliments.
As the group settled around the table another group of Sandhill cranes’ calls echoed overhead while the homestead rooster Rafael sounded the official wake-up call, a natural symphony accompanying the new light of day.
As the group enjoyed a hearty breakfast and some light joking around, Everett went over the day’s plan one final time.
“This is it, gang!” he said with a strong sense of excitement. “Sarah and I want to thank all of you, not only for your willingness and commitment to join us on this unique adventure but also for all the hard prep work. We feel truly blessed to have such good friends!”
“Having your support and company makes this whole trip that much more meaningful for me!” Sarah chimed in.
“We wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the world!” they affirmed.
As the remnants of breakfast were gradually cleared away, a harmonious rhythm of cleaning and cooperation emerged in the kitchen. The group, in an impromptu display of cooperation, insisted on helping Everett and Sarah with the cleanup. What would have been a time-consuming task turned into a team effort, and the kitchen was soon restored to its pristine state.
Once the last dish was dried and put away, the group stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The vehicles were patiently waiting, adorned with canoes securely fastened and supplies neatly organized. Everett and Sarah took a moment to check tie-downs, inspect equipment, and ensure everything was in order. Sarah left instructions for the neighbor who would be coming over to feed the critters twice a day and keep an eye on the homestead.
The vehicles, a convoy of readiness, hummed to life as the engines roared in unison. Buttonbush Creek was only 6 miles away, and in single file, they arrived in no time at all.
Morning light, breaking through the fog, painted the scene with soft hues of gold on this chilly October morning. The creek, surrounded by tall grasses, numerous Buttonbush plants, and a mixture of Bay and Tupelo, beckoned with an air of mystery. The fog clung to the water’s surface, creating an ethereal atmosphere.
Everett, the navigator and record keeper, opened his GPS map app on the iPhone and pushed begin to start tracing the route they would take for the next 6 or 7 days. The group, a band of adventurers ready to face the unknown, stood at the water’s edge. Canoes were gently lowered into the creek, their bows cutting through the fog as they touched the water. They loaded their canoes with precision. Everett and Sarah would take the lead, Remy and Maggie in the next canoe, and Riley would paddle solo, carrying extra supplies.
“Let’s do this!” Everett called out, his voice a blend of excitement and determination. They all high-fived, boarded their canoes, and pushed off into the foggy Buttonbush Creek. The journey into Renegade Bayou awaited, and with the chill of the October morning air on their faces, they set forth into the misty waters. The first strokes of their paddles marked the beginning of an extraordinary adventure.
The crystal-clear water, fed by an underground spring, greeted the paddlers. As the canoes glided down Buttonbush Creek, the crew found themselves immersed in the waterway’s intimate embrace. The creek, averaging 45 feet wide near the Sentinel Cypress River but starting at a modest 25 feet, promised an up-close experience with the surrounding wilderness.
Starting at a depth of about 5 feet, the creek provided glimpses into the submerged world beneath their canoes. Normally, the clarity of the water would allow them to observe the intricate dance of aquatic life, with fish darting beneath the surface. However, the recent passage of Hurricane Maya had left its mark. The water level was about 10 inches higher than usual, and the clear waters of Buttonbush Creek were tinged with brackish tannins, a result of the mingling of freshwater with the storm’s remnants.
As the canoes smoothly glided through the meandering turns of Buttonbush Creek, the first rays of sunlight began to pierce the lingering morning fog. With the first mile of their journey behind them, the crew felt the gentle warmth of the sun on their faces. The transition from the cool mist to the embracing sunlight marked the beginning of a day that promised ideal paddling conditions.
The weather forecast had aligned with their expectations, predicting a sunny day with temperatures reaching the mid 60s. It was the kind of weather every paddler cherished – not too hot, not too cold, with the morning sun casting a golden hue on the water’s surface. The natural surroundings seemed to awaken with the sunlight, and the crew found themselves paddling through a picturesque landscape painted in the soft, early-morning glow.
The crew, immersed in the tranquil rhythm of paddling, exchanged glances filled with the shared appreciation of the perfect paddling weather. The occasional call of a distant sandhill crane added a melodic touch to the already harmonious journey.
The rhythmic sounds of paddles cutting through the water accompanied Remy’s casual offer to the group. “Anyone up for a bit of Kush?” he grinned, pulling out his vape pipe with a twinkle in his eye. “It’ll take the edge off, guys.”
Maggie, always up for an adventure and a bit of relaxation, tapped Remy on the shoulder without hesitation. “Pass it back here Toker” she instructed with a smile. As the sweet aroma of Purple Kush filled the air, they shared a few tokes, the calming effects washing over them like the gentle ripples beneath their canoes.
Rejoining the rest of the group, Remy and Maggie wore matching contented smiles, the shared experience fostering a sense of team spirit among the paddlers. The soothing effects of Kush blended seamlessly with the tranquility of the sunlit creek, creating an atmosphere of shared enjoyment and relaxation.
Once the group was united, Remy felt the urge to share another of his captivating stories, this time recounting a close call with a charter boat near Bahia Honda during his recent Florida Keys adventure.
“You guys ever been down to Bahia Honda in the Keys?” Remy began, glancing around at his friends. “Man, it’s a paradise. But let me tell you about this one time, I had a close call that nearly ended my latest trip there.”
The others perked up, intrigued by the change in Remy’s usual laid-back tone.
“It was a perfect day for fishing,” Remy continued. “Crystal-clear waters, a gentle breeze – the kind of day that makes you feel alive. I had chartered a small boat to take me out to some of the best fishing spots near Bahia Honda. The captain was this grizzled old salt named Captain Jake. He knew those waters like the back of his hand.
We’d been out there for a few hours, catching some nice fish, and just enjoying the sun. I was high on life, and yeah, probably a bit of the good stuff too,” he chuckled, taking a puff from his vape. “Anyway, we decided to head back to shore because the clouds were starting to gather on the horizon. You know how it is down there – weather can change in a heartbeat.
As we’re making our way back, out of nowhere, this massive sportfishing boat comes barreling towards us. It was like a scene out of a movie – this big, flashy boat with all the bells and whistles, and it was heading straight for us! Captain Jake tried to steer clear, but the thing was coming at us way too fast. We were dead in its path.
I was at the bow, gripping the rail, and I could see the whites of the other captain’s eyes. He looked panicked, like he had lost control. I shouted to Jake, ‘We gotta move!’
Jake cranked the wheel hard, and our little boat lurched to the side. The sportfishing boat missed us by inches – I mean, I could’ve reached out and touched it. The wake from that thing rocked us so hard, I almost went overboard. But somehow, we managed to stay upright.
We circled back, hearts pounding, and saw that the other boat had finally come to a stop. Their engine had died or something. The guys on board were shouting and gesturing, clearly in distress. Captain Jake and I decided to help them out. We threw them a tow line and slowly guided their boat back to shore.
When we finally made it back, the other captain, a young guy who looked like he’d never faced a real crisis in his life, came over and thanked us profusely. He offered us a bunch of fresh-caught mahi-mahi as a thank you.
So there we were, shaking hands, exchanging fish, and laughing about the close call. But man, that was one hell of an adrenaline rush. Just goes to show you – no matter how prepared you think you are, the ocean’s always got a way of keeping you on your toes.”
Remy grinned, looking around at his friends. “And that’s why I always pack a little something extra to keep me relaxed. You never know when you’re gonna need it.”
The group laughed, the tension of Remy’s tale dissolving into the calm rhythm of their paddling. The adventure ahead seemed even more exciting with Remy’s story fresh in their minds.
Maggie silently knew all to well, how being on the water can always throw you a curveball!.
Everett and Sarah, with one ear attuned to Remy’s story, split their attention between the captivating narrative and the natural symphony of the creek.
As the sun illuminated the diverse flora along the water, Sarah couldn’t resist capturing the beauty with her camera. Everett joined her in documenting the journey. Their shared love for photography and plants added an artistic layer to the expedition. Amidst the paddling, storytelling, and appreciation for the surrounding environment, the group forged bonds that transcended the mere pursuit of hidden treasures. It was about the joy of shared moments and the unique blend of interests that made their adventures truly unforgettable.
The crew navigated through the narrow confines of the creek, with overhanging branches and buttonbush clumps creating a serene canopy above them. The air was filled with the subtle fragrance of the wetlands, and the sound of paddles slicing through the water merged with the rustling of leaves.
As they progressed, the creek gradually widened, and the water deepened. Around the 6-mile mark, Sarah, at the forefront of the lead canoe, spotted an obstacle ahead – a downed tree spanning the width of the creek. Alerting the others, the group assessed the scenario, realizing that a large water oak had recently fallen, it’s canopy still adorned with lush leaves, most likely a victim of Hurricane Maya.
Familiar with these situations, Remy immediately took charge. He directed the canoes to the right side of the creek, instructing everyone to tie onto the surrounding brush. With a paddle in hand, he ventured closer to the fallen tree for a thorough assessment. The trunk, partially submerged, formed a natural dam, redirecting the flow through the canopy of branches and creating a swift current. It was evident that these obstacles needed to be addressed before continuing.
Remy declared the need to cut through the fallen canopy branches. Riley promptly offered her utility saw, a tool she always carried for such situations. Seizing control, Remy took the saw, his paddle, and maneuvered his canoe parallel to the trunk. The flow of the creek would hold the canoe steady against the trunk. Maggie secured the canoe to the fallen tree, and Remy, exited the canoe and using the half-submerged trunk as a makeshift walkway, reached the canopy. Silently expressing gratitude for Riley’s well-maintained saw, Remy skillfully cut through the thick branches. Each severed branch was carried downstream by the swift current, gradually creating a navigable path.
With Remy positioned on the trunk, ready to assist, the canoes made their way through the gap. Everett and Sarah led the way, the current propelling them over the remaining branches. Riley followed suit, effortlessly navigating the opened passage. Remy then climbed off the trunk and into his canoe with Maggie. They untied from the trunk and paddled through, each stroke pushing them forward with the swift current. The challenging episode with the fallen tree unfolded into a successful collaboration, highlighting the crew’s adaptability and teamwork.
By now, the sun hung directly overhead, casting a warm glow over the creek. The group, enjoying the midday warmth, reached for their lunches, a combination of biscuits and sausage, bacon, fruit, and jams left over from breakfast, savoring every bite while continuing to paddle. Despite the delay caused by the downed tree, their spirits remained high, propelled by the anticipation of reaching the Sentinel Cypress River and the promise of setting up their first campsite of the trip.
The final two hours of the journey down Buttonbush Creek proved to be both uneventful and delightful. With temperatures settling in the upper-sixties, the cool, spring-fed waters of Buttonbush Creek provided a serene pathway for the three canoes.
The landscape transformed gradually as the banks of the creek rose higher, and the familiar buttonbush plants and swamp dogwoods gave way to a taller canopy of trees. As the canoes glided effortlessly downstream, young Bald Cypress mingled with Carolina Ash, Black Tupelo and Red Bay. Clumps of assorted Sword Ferns adorned the banks. The surroundings painted a vibrant picture, with Tillandsia, commonly known as Bartram’s airplants, adorning the branches like Christmas ornaments. William Bartram’s observations from the 1700s came to life as the crew marveled at the intricate flora named in his honor.
In a seamless transition, Everett checked his GPS app and announced, “We’re here!” Before them stretched the expansive Sentinel Cypress River, its steady current flowing downstream to their left. Just before the river’s embrace, a small sandy bank on the left side of the Buttonbush Creek led to a grassy meadow. It was a clear indication of a camping spot well-used by those who had ventured here before. Everett, with a confident proclamation, declared it the night’s campsite.
The crew paddled over to the sandy bank, stepping onto solid ground as they secured their canoes to the numerous cypress knees that were becoming increasingly prevalent. The meadow welcomed them with the promise of a peaceful night under the towering cypress trees, and the campsite’s history whispered tales of adventurers who had sought refuge in this very spot. The sun, now casting longer shadows, signaled the end of the day’s journey and the beginning of an evening filled with the fellowship of kindred spirits bound by the shared love of exploration.
Setting up camp was a well-practiced routine for the crew. The tents, a temporary haven beneath the towering cypresses, were quickly assembled. Everett and Sarah shared one, while Remy, Riley, and Maggie each claimed their own. As the low profile dome tents were dwarfed by the tall Bald Cypress, responsibilities naturally fell into place.
Remy grinned and swiftly volunteered for cooking duties. “Alright, folks! Get ready for a feast,” he declared, setting up his makeshift outdoor kitchen with an air of confidence.
Meanwhile, Riley and Maggie ventured into the surroundings to scout for firewood. The aftermath of Hurricane Maya provided an abundance of fallen branches, making their task relatively easy. The crackling sound of breaking twigs and the soft shuffle of leaves echoed their progress.
Back at camp, Sarah took charge of preparing fixings for their dinner. Riley, returning with a fishing pole in hand, announced her plan to try her luck at catching something for the evening. With a few skillful casts, she managed to catch several panfish, which she expertly cleaned and prepared, adding a fresh, delectable offering to the evening’s meal.
The mouth-watering aroma of fresh fried fish, burgers, hot dogs, and Sarah’s infamous black bean hot dogs filled the air. With each member of the crew contributing their unique skills and personalities to the evening, a contentment enveloped the campsite, providing a comforting and warm atmosphere as the day came to a close.
Post-dinner, around a crackling campfire, Remy produced his vape pipe, offering it to all. Maggie joined in, while Riley kicked back with a Bud Light, still chilled, thanks to her ingenious method of keeping them cool in the spring water. Everett, in the remaining light, pulled out his ‘Emergency Flask’ and took a long awaited pull on 1800 Reposado. “I don’t like to see my man drink alone…pass it on over Ev” Sarah lovingly instructed. They both smiled and happy to be together on this adventure. Everett then looked over the map, engaging the crew in a discussion about the next leg of their journey.
“We’ve got 80 miles left on the Sentinel Cypress River,” Everett shared. “The next 15 should be smooth sailing, but the Indian Bend Shoals in the fourth leg will pose a challenge. We’ll need to keep a close eye on the conditions as we approach the shoals.”
As the evening settled in, the crew found their respective corners of relaxation. Remy, sitting by the campfire, delved into more tales from his recent Keys adventure to anyone listening. Riley savored her Bud Light listening intently to Remy, while Maggie immersed herself in Jimmy Buffett’s world with her red wine and her copy of Where’s Joe Merchant. With one ear open to one of Remy’s tall tales, she couldn’t decide which story was more intriguing, Joe Merchant’s or Remy’s.
The haunting calls of the river owls and the rhythmic chorus of cicadas provided a natural soundtrack, enhancing the serenity of their camp along the Sentinel Cypress River.
“Good night guys, sleep well,” they all seemed to say in unison. Sarah kissed Everett goodnight and as she snuggled in her sleeping bag, her pendant began to warm as faint whispers called to her in the darkness… she fell asleep.
~ Chapter 6 : Preparations for the Unknown ~ Chapter 8 : Revelations on the River ~