A crystal clear, spring fed lagoon lay just over the narrow river bank. We would never have seen it, never jumped from the rope swing or swum in the cool waters on that August day, if it were not for a tip from some locals.

Reflecting the forest on either side, the opaque water resembled dark green glass. We started cautiously at first, gauging the depth and the risk of hazards hiding just below the surface. The clerk at the local auto parts store in town was a wizened, old fisherman and he had cautioned us to stay away from the lime stone banks. We grew confident that, just as he had said, water ran deep in the center of the channel and we were soon gliding along at a fast pace. Each of the three skis began to find their own rhythm matching the bends in the river. We were spacing ourselves a bit apart to avoid the chop created by the ski ahead, taking full advantage of the smooth water. After 30 minutes I stopped off to one side to let the group reassemble and share grins and appreciation of the amazing run. Everyone was soon back in the hunt. I took off last to allow someone else lead ski time. As soon as I started up I knew I had fouled my intake grate by idling too near the banks of the Withlacoochee. The plants do not grow in the rapid current that runs center stream but are abundant closer to the edges. I waited for ten minutes and no one had returned to check on me. At a vibrating 10 mph I knew I would have to jump off and clear the grate in the strong current. On each side of the river bank was swamp and cypress knees, not a sand or even mud bank to belly up to. I looped my docking rope over a jagged tree fragment jutting out of the calmer side currents and slipped over the side. I listened closely for the possible sound of an alligator stealthily sliding in to join the party. Having seen several on the way upstream I knew, from the cautioning words of the fisherman, that gators are plentiful on this wild and remote river. I pulled huge handfuls of aquatic plants from the grate and then scurried back aboard; wishing desperately for a boarding step, sigh. I fired up the ski and headed forward to find the group. It had taken me longer than I realized and not a single bubble remained to show me which fork in the river my friends had taken. Out of nowhere, locals Scott and Lisa Pemberton zipped up on a late 90’s Yamaha and saw me sitting alone on the river. They led me up the correct branch and after reuniting our group, invited us to join them for libations at the local fish camp. Over a round of light beers, Lisa and Scott told us all about the rock hazards on the river and their favorite spots. Following their directions to watch for the lone brick house and then hang a left, we found the secret swimming hole. We parked our skis on the bank and left behind the murky river water clambering over to a pristine, aqua spring fed pool.

Exploring unfamiliar waters is exciting and sometimes even thrilling. For many years we swapped out our water toys from sailboats to kayaks and finally jet skis. When we feel the urge to explore new waters we start with an interesting place on the map. Next I search the internet for launch spots, call local marinas and check the message boards for tips from other pwc riders who live in the area. Satisfied that we have found a potential launch site and navigable water we trailer up and hit the road. When we get there we immediately start asking questions of the locals. Jet skis can go a lot of places but we try to avoid rocks and logs and runs that are just too short. We ask about hazards, gas up spots, which direction is best and if there is anything that we shouldn’t miss. That last question always pays off. They can never resist telling you about their secret spots.

On another trip we were loaded into a canal lock with two locals on Sea-Doos in the Harris chain of Lakes. They were returning from a trip on the same river that we had just turned around on, the Oklawaha. They had run only 15 minutes further up and hooked into a spring fed tributary with towering trees and water with perfect clarity down 50 feet or more. We thanked them for the information and planned to launch further up the next day. We picked a place on the map where the road crossed the river and planning on launching there. As we got closer we pulled into a restaurant, called the Dam Diner, in hopes of being pointed to a launch nearby. Four local folks were enjoying lunch at the counter and told us to follow the side road to the launch, watch for gators and look for the white sandy bottom to find the turn off to Silver Springs. At the end of the road was a gigantic lock. The nice young park ranger politely told us “You can’t get there from here”. He said we should drive on to the big city of Ocala thirty miles away. I patiently explained to him that we had met two different groups of people who had indeed traveled this same river to Silver Springs on jet skis. He stopped, looked down at the ground in deep thought and then bingo! He suggested we simply drive across the street to the other side of the dam and launch. We bumped a lot of logs that day. Some folks fishing on the banks told us we were the only boats to make it that far up that day. We had to make some hairpin turns in strong currents. There was one log that stretched the entire width of the narrow river. We approached it slowly then revved and popped the bow up rocking the back of the ski on over. After visiting the no wake Silver River for awhile we pushed further up stream through water littered with “downers’. It was an ordeal that kept us on our toes constantly turning and signaling to the ski behind which route was best. As crazy as that route was, it remains one of our favorite days on the skis.
It is not unusual to find that people at marinas and launch ramps don’t know much about the waterway we are traveling. On a pwc we travel 30 miles plus one way. The local folk travel four miles up river at most when fishing or kayaking. We often have to stop and check with a series of different boaters while making our way on a long trip.
The next day, we were hoping to launch just before Lake George at some interesting and obscure spot. Stopping to ask questions at a bass fishing store seemed like a good place to start. The lovely mother and daughter team manning the counter were happy to help but, once again, had to think hard to imagine the waters beyond the tiny bass lake right behind them. We admired one of the mounted big mouth bass they had caught while they debated whether or not the ramp two miles back would lead all the way out to the lake. After much debate they agreed that it was open and it would indeed meet our needs. As we loaded back into the truck I heard a gentleman ask my husband “How ya like that Honda?”. I snickered to myself, this was the third time this week someone had asked him that very same question. He extolled the virtues of his Kawasaki after admitting that my Honda was a fine machine.
The reward to traveling off the beaten path was a stunning route called Salt Run. It was fed by a clear, cool mineral spring and we would be launching right at the head springs. The woman that ran the marina launch informed us that the spring was salty because of the ocean. I heard her tell the same thing to two other people. The spring is over 100 miles from the ocean and feeds a lake and river that flow north away from the spring, so this not even remotely possible. Just another example of dubious local knowledge, so we took it with a grain of salt, pun intended.

The Kissimmee River has recently been restored to its’ natural flow. Thanks to the Army Corp of Engineers it has been freed from the canal channels dug over 40 years ago connecting Lake Okeechobee to the south and Lake Kissimmee to the north. I could find nothing online about jet skis running this portion of the river. I read about a boat launch and searched for a marina in the nearby town. When I looked up the town of Fort Basinger it was listed as a ghost town. The fact that no one really lives nearby would most likely explain the lack of info. We were even more curious now and decided to chance it. On the drive out we passed the cattle ranches, tomato fields and a giant wild hog who had met his match with a vehicle the previous night, to the delight of the roadside vultures. The boat launch was at the end of a very questionable road. Giving it a name and a road sign was probably a bit of an exaggeration. We launched and looked back to see a lock behind us. Oh happy day! We couldn’t possibly miss our pull out spot on the return run. We knew that the river was full of twist and multiple branches but we had no idea how difficult it would be to identify the main branch. On our first few forays we found ourselves in stagnant water with an odd stench that was slightly sweet. The surrounding land was like a giant mud soaked sponge, overflowing water into the river on all sides, causing small swirling eddies everywhere. After turning back at four dead ends we ran into, you guessed it, some locals, Ray and Julia McClellan guided us to the correct branch. Once again they admonished us to watch for gators. We are actually always hoping to see gators and we occasionally bounce across the back of a big one when cruising the back waters of Florida. Thanks to a bit of local knowledge we were now cruising one of the more remote and unique habitats in the country, Florida Prairie. We rode the skis through a ribbon of water that curls back upon itself across the low grassland. I can see the other ski two turns ahead of me because the vegetation is so low and the turns so tight. The birds are everywhere. Along with egrets and herons the prairie is home to endangered species including the grasshopper sparrow, the crested caracara and the sandhill crane. With no posted speed limits the ride was a treat for the senses. We ran into no other boats on the 20 mile run until we bumped back into Ray and Julia again. They were heading to the Air Force bombing range that bordered one side of the river. Julia’s family had been early Florida homesteaders and they planned to visit the family graveyard. Rounding the bends at warp speed on the return run, we avoided the blanched white skeletons of wax myrtle trees. Their bleached branches extend up from the murky water like a Dali painting creating a surreal landscape. This is a good sign, since the restoration is drowning trees that should never have grown there. We might have missed all this spectacular scenery were it not for the assistance of the McClellans.

After a month of river running our skis are laid up for the next week as the gel coat touch ups dry and I wait for my cracked intake grate replacement. There is a very real lure, once you get started, to keep searching out new places. We always go with two or more pwcs and lots of spare everything from liquids to trailer tires. Never the less, the most important part of a successful excursion is the local knowledge. There are great places out there and great people on the water to guide you. Trailer up, study up, get out there and don’t forget to buy good insurance. To us, traveling in the backwaters is worth the risk.

August 1, Lower Restored Section of Kissimmee R.

Another great trip. Saturday we ran the lower Kissimmee River. It has been restored from a canal to its' original path. This is a unique ecosystem called Florida Prairie. If contains several endangered bird types. I can see why. There were birds everywhere. We saw only two boats all day. This river twist and turns and you need some local knowledge to get around. Some local boaters Ray and Julia M. warned us of the many gators but also kindly pointed out the correct branch of the river to get up stream. There were many dead ends.

The early marsh sections have a sweet stench. Water runs in, off all sides of the marsh make small swirling eddies. The water it dark and hard to read but there were few hazards other than the occasional hydrilla and hyacinth being sucked up and fouling the ski intake.

On the flat prairie you can see the ski in front of you two turns ahead on the tight s turns. We passed the Air Force Bombing range. That is where the McClellan's were going, to visit Julia's family graves. Her family were early homesteaders in the area.

I have lots to write about this trip and will update it later this week in full detail. Meanwhile enjoy the slide show.

Vacation in Central Florida

We loaded up the jet skis and set off for Central Florida on vacation this past week. It was an incredible week. Highlights include: Passing through the locks in the Harris Chain, hopping downed trees in the Ocklawaha river, jet skiing three Florida Natural Springs, staying at the charming Lakeside Inn in Mt. Dora, finding beaches and bars in the middle of "nowhere", being told by a park ranger "you can't get there from here" but after he thought about it he decided we could if we crossed the street to launch on the opposite side of the lock, the Dora Canal with birds standing everywhere and finally getting to the St. Johns River.

Peace River Part 2

Last weekend we dropped our skis into the Peace River in Arcadia Florida. The Peace River is one of the longest rivers in Florida at over 105 miles long. It is bordered mostly by natural preserve and farm land. This particular public launch sits just about in the middle of the river giving us the option of running either direction.

This trip turned out to be one of our best days ever on the water. We initially headed up river hoping to find out how far up we could go under these optimal conditions. Thanks to weeks of copious rain, most of the river was navigable. After dropping to a courteous idle, four times in a ten minute span to avoid swamping the cute little families out in canoes, we switched directions and headed south toward Charlotte Harbor. On the left, just past our launch, was a small group of fossil hunters plunging soil collecting tubes into the muck and sifting the samples in search of ancient remains. The Peace River is famous for fossiling and in particular for the fine shark teeth found there.

The river here is a series of long winding turns shaded by overhanging palms, oaks and cypress trees. The width from bank to bank ranges from to 20 feet across to 100 feet. We easily ran our skis side by side. The water was smooth as glass and ran on like this for over 30 miles of twists and turns. We became confident that we could read this river pretty easily avoiding paritally submerged logs and branches and opened up the throttles running the sharp S curves at thirty to forty mph. On some of the sandy bends you could still see the ski ahead of you, by glancing across the shallow bank, as it moved around the other side of the meander. We found the smooth scenic highway of river thrilling after spending so much of our time in the gulf. Each new strech of river offered up something interesting. Rope swings, camouflaged fish camps, wild hogs, wandering cattle and exotic African animals pushed close the fence at a wild life sanctuary. We passed under at least six bridges and each was unique. There were arched road bridges, wooden railroad bridges and modern highway spans. There is something childishly fun about passing under each and every bridge. We were not alone on the river. We may spend our weekends at the beach but the folks who live inland head to the river banks with their campers or air boats, families in tow, to take advantage of the white sandy shores. Still there were long stretches of open, empty water allowing us to open the throttle and whip around the bends with a simple shift of body weight on the inward side of the ski.

Very gradually, toward the bay, the river opens up into wide flats surrounded by river grasses. The vistas are so expansive with so much sky and grass, much like an African savanna but on the water. We pushed on to the big city bridges and Charlotte Harbor then turned to hunt up a lunch spot back on the river. Nothing was easily visible in terms of river side dining so, with a little help from the locals, we found the Nav-a-Gator grille up a wide side branch. As soon as we entered we found the atmosphere to be positive and upbeat. The hum of voices was high toned and happy. After running that beautiful river, who wouldn't be happy? There was a good crowd inside and out with live music on the deck. The music here is considered a troprock. The owner was a charming, jovial fellow called Captain Dennis. I began to wonder if Santa might own a second business where frozen water can only be found as the tinkling of ice cubes in cocktails. He has owned the restaurant and marina for 5 years. Along with the main restaurant and bar, there is an outside dining area, a tiki hut for events and even a sea plane dock. We were able to gas up there which was most excellent. The Nav-A-Gator sits on a protected spit of land that has served variety of purposes over its' 150 year history including a pirate hide-a-way, a trading post and a home to rum runners. Dennis regaled us with tales of sitting through the eye of Hurricane Charlie and watching the roof try to lift off and take flight. He made good on the familiar sign "Free Beer Tomorrow" the very next day as they emptied the taps for all comers. (Thanks for the post hurricane gift Summer Santa.) The area was devastated but the Nav-A-Gator Grille remained. They describe their food as fine dining in a basket and it did not disappoint. Stomaches and tanks topped off, we raced back up river to our launch spot looking forward to a return trip with plans to come on a weekday.

We came back six days later on a Friday to find the launch area empty and discovered that we would have the river to ourselves. The hope was to finally make the trek up river into the wilder, more remote sections of the river. The upper river was nothing short of spectacular. The view of cypress knees and moss draped trees felt like the everglade swamps and the Florida springs rolled into one fantastic scene. I felt as far removed from society as I would on an Amazon trek. No other boats and wild life around every turn. Every corner we turned would flush out more exotic creatures. Roseate spoonbills shimmered like pink cotton candy in the air. Ducks, cormarants, egrets and herons took briefly to wing just in front of the skis. We slowed on occasion so as not to end up like Fabio on a roller coaster, some birds were sure they could keep up and flew along just ahead of the ski. Winding ever forward I pulled the spelunker trick of looking backward for markers. When the river forked I would glance back to see what the perspective would be like coming from the opposite direction. It is easy to get lost in some rivers with multiple routes. This was not a problem on the Peace. Most side branches quickly hit a dead end.

At one point on the trip I glanced down at the Honda's instrument panel. It read 100 hours. What a nice treat is must have been to be running in freshwater after spending her first 94 hours in the Gulf of Mexico. I reflected on what a nimble little gas sipper she has been and what a good investment I had made one year ago. One oil change coming up!

After an hour of jet skiing we reached a spot where the fallen palmettos had been chain sawed back to create a narrow pass for fishing boats. It presented a clever little challenge, to kick the tail of the ski around making the tiny s turn that was required. Big grins all around after that one. Running as lead ski in new terrain is a double edged sword. You get that incredibly smooth water and you are the first to see what is around each bend. Unfortunately you are also the first to test the depth of the water. Only once did one of us run aground. Fritz made his turn a bit too close to shore, trying to avoid another downed tree. I waited just short of his position, in the strong current, watching him struggle in waist deep water wrestling his boat off the sand bank. Just ten minutes ealier we had stopped to watch a five foot gator slither off the bank into the water to get a closer look at us. Usually on a river in Florida we would have seen at least a dozen gators by now but when the water is high they don't have places to lounge on the banks. No doubt there were many gators close by. When it was my turn I heeded his advice and cut as close to the tree as possible and with a slight bump I was over. I assumed we would dead end soon but it never happened. We just ran on and on for another hour of winding turns and crazy beautiful scenery. Every time it narrowed down the river would open up wider around the next bend. We still didn't know how far we could go up river but we did know that there was no fuel dock in the upper reaches, so we spun around and headed back. I glanced ahead and noticed Fritz had his legs stretched forward, resting his now bare feet, up on the gunwales. It seemed an appropriate way to end the day. Bare foot sunburned and as care free as Tom Sawyer.

July 11,2009 Peace River

Up A Lazy River

Almost any day is a good day to jet ski in the Tampa Bay area. Taking advantage of the Friday holiday, we jumped into the turbulent Gulf of Mexico and Anna Maria Sound. Our friend John fired up the two stroke and joined us in braving the 15 minute crossing into the chop from Bradenton to Anna Maria. After ducking into the lee shore and finding very little "lee way", we decided to stick to the intercoastal and shoot down to the pass at the north end of Long Boat Key. The Gulf was breaking big and confused on the sand bar. Two weeks of rain and wind were evident in the random pattern of the waves. My husband Fritz took the big Kawasaki out to jump and play in the mogul like swells and breaks. I followed on the Honda, not because I was thrilled to be jumping in the mess, but to keep an eye on him out there. It was fun to crash my way around in the 4-5 foot swells. While heading back in I dropped into a trough and was swamped by a wave crashing backwards over the entire ski. Hanging on tight was the only option. Nothing like 50lbs of pressure trying to push you off the jet ski backwards. I beached up and sent John out to frolic in the waves. After an hour in the rough we took a quick lunch break at Annie's bate shop. Onion rings and cold libations fortified Fritz and I to carry on.
Considering the rolling chop we opted to run up the Manatee River. We were not willing to start flushing skis that early in the day and the four stroke's engines, on almost full tanks, were ready to go. We usually avoid the river. Slow manatee zones and bridge passages are not simpatico when you are sitting on that much horse power. We craved some liberting speed on the flat water.

The two weeks of rain had a surprisingly positive effect on the river. The level was high all day elliminating the likelyhood of striking submerged branches and running aground. Stately homes line the banks at the start of the river. As the river narrows you quickly drop back in time. The river's palmettos and mangroves harbor every type of exotic Florida fauna.

We followed the river across a rippling wash board effect, through 3 bridges to the grass lands and overhanging branches of the upriver sections. Here the river become smooth and glassy luring us on. The mirror like effect made the depth impossible to gage in the tea colored water. After on hour were stopped at a dead end by a low bridge that was impossible to squeeze the jet skies under. We agreed that we would head back up on the following day, the 4th, when we had more time to explore.

Friends D.C. and Rebeca called early to say they were up for a river trip Saturday. We met up at the mouth of the river and retraced our trip of the day before. The wind was blowing right down the mouth of the river so we knew it would be a bit rough until rounding the bend in the narrower sections. As we popped out under the 301 bridge, there in a very wide section of the river, were two ducks and their fifteen tiny yellow striped off spring. We stopped to admire them for a moment. Glancing to the far shore, 600 feet away, I noted that they were heading to a shore covered in sea walls. I have no idea how they fared but I suspect it was good that they started the crossing with such a large number of offspring.

Just above that section of the river dolphins were cresting in groups in the brackish waters. They are tough to photograph with a digital camera because of the delay between snap and photo but I will try to document them in the future here.

We had a fantastic ride up the glassy sections of the river stopping often to ask ourselves why we don't venture up that way more often. On the return trip the flashing blue lights under the Green Bridge refreshed our memory. We are not good at idle speed wanting to keep the bow of the ski up, but as we promised the kind police officer in the City of Bradenton boat, we will remember what minimum wake means during future outings.

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