the good, the bad, and the ugly

Shired Island  (locally pronounced; "Shared" Island)

Suwannee National Wildlife Refuge - Florida's Big Bend Region

the Good; 

Old Florida, a natural wilderness shared only by a few. Daily; countless flocks of migrating White Pelicans flying low overhead, heading south for the winter. Evidence of wild boar and alligators all along the beaches and creeks, now bedded down from the recent cold weather. The good - exploring the great tidal marshlands of Black Needlerush and Smooth Cordgrass reed, all by canoe.  And, all those fine dreams of mine, fly-fishing for "Reds".  And, all the locals - way too friendly.

the Bad;

Consecutive cold fronts over 6 days - low's in the 40's, highs near 65.  Daily shifting winds - from the northwest to northeast, sustained between 10 to 15 knots. Most days - grey and wet with low cloud cover. The bad - Canoeing and motoring into the Gulf's 3 to 4 foot 'whitecaps'. And, with those constant northern winds - unable to even pull the fly-rod out.

and the Ugly;

A strong cold front, a heavy squall line passed through on our 2nd night tenting.  40 to 50 knot winds with 4.5 inches of rain blowing through around midnight. The ugly - In the early morning light, I found the campsite underwater. The canoe half sunk, tackle box with all our fishing needs gone, a paddle and a treasured Stetson hat had all disappeared - all blew or had floated away. Our stacked firewood and campsite were all soaked. No tackle to fish with, a paddle long gone, a hat missing and a heavy rain leaving behind a gallon container of gas now contaminated by water for the canoe's little engine.


Shired Island, the first day out - sunny, chilly, and all alone. At the far point of the island, an archaeological 'shell midden' left behind from an early native American coastal settlement. 

  

Alone, except for this mystery

 Exploring a distant, Big Pine Island by canoe.

 

A shore lunch of canned, Chef Boyardee's Macaroni & Beef.

My fellow camper and old friend, Randolph Armisted Peek, returning to camp with his found 8 inch, or possibly 9 inch, wild boar tusk from the beach across from Big Pine Island. The boars hoof tracks, and their 'rooting', up and down that beach had spooked him. Randy, always a good sport, didn't run, but he sure felt he wanted to.  (note; the changing weather in the background. The last day of early sunshine before that evening's big storm hit).

An ideal tent set-up with a late afternoon, Gulf front view.

My new best buddy, an 83 year old Herbert Cannon, visited the campsite daily to collect his camping fee of $10.00 per day. He and I hit it off immediately. Cannon is a 4th generation islander. The Cannon family name is one of only a few island families still around, still respected. His historic family 'logged' timber for a living, for the old growth cypress and the early long-leaf pine, now long gone out on Shired Island.  Herbert answered many of my many questions, "Yep, not much school, not many playmates growing-up. Hard work daily, just gettin' that mule hitched up."

Herbert's childhood friend and good buddy, Jimmy 'Big Gun' Forehand.  Jimmy, like Herbert, grew up logging and today now runs a chainsaw repair shop in nearby Cross City. I asked what's the biggest, meanest chainsaw you got, "This here is a 570cc Husqvarna, it does what I want, when I want." My response, "How do ya spell that name?" Jimmy answers, "Hell if I know."

After that midnight, big 'no-name' storm, I found the canoe's stern deep under, with items missing or some having floated off.

That same afternoon, Randy and I headed out leaving a sad canoe behind. And instead, explored by back-roads, the tidal estuaries through-out Suwannee's Wildlife Refuge.

Now following the local 12 mile Dixie Mainline Road, we headed south for the town of Suwannee. Hunting season had just opened, when we came across a dozen or so deer hunters parked along the way.  With guns in hand, and one with a shattered windshield (a little camera shy), all the hunting males appeared finely dressed, all camouflaged from head to toe.

Alligator resting area amongst the Black Needlerush, along the banks of upper Sander's Creek.

Reflecting palms common along Sander's Creek.

The closest I ever came to a Redfish in the town of Suwannee.

On our last day pulling out, the sun finally appeared and the winds subsided, all on a fine rising tide flowing up into a tranquil Shired Creek.