Kayak Camping on the Ocklawaha River
A short video of our kayak camping adventure on the Ocklawaha River
To paddle down the river
The thermometer read 99 degrees. Then 101, 99, 102, 100. Two things were certain: We needed a new thermometer, and I was sick.
It was 4:30 a.m. on the day of our big trip. Jenny and I, along with our friend Alex, had spent the previous two months planning a 25-mile, three-day kayak camping adventure down the Ocklawaha River. But now we were debating whether we should still go.
It’s a passage as old as time, to paddle down the river. It’s a journey of self-reflection, of discovery, of freedom. To paddle down the river is to test oneself. To front the elements, to wrestle with existence, to come out with some sort of understanding.
The purpose of this trip was, in the words of Thoreau, “to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that is not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms...”
I admit that’s a bit dramatic for a kayak trip.
Jenny and I sat in our living room for 45 minutes considering the varying numbers on the thermometer. Then in what felt like an instant, we made a decision.
We stuffed our bags with DayQuil, NyQuil, ibuprofen and Vitamin C, and drove to Alex’s house.
We were going to paddle down the river.
From left to right, Jenny, myself and Alex pose for a picture with our kayaks before leaving our campsite on the Ocklawaha River.
Silver lining
An hour drive followed by a 20-minute shuttle ride from a man named Lance brought us to Silver Springs, the official start of our journey.
Our plan was to take the Silver River five miles east until it entered the Ocklawaha River, and then take the Ocklawaha north for 20 miles, camping along the way.
I was feeling pretty sick at this point and was apprehensive about our decision to spend two days in a storm on the river. But to our surprise, the thunderstorm forecast had been pushed back until the evening, and we had decent, though mostly overcast, weather throughout the afternoon.
This was our first time kayaking the Silver River, and I was shocked something so pristine still exists in Florida. We took our time, switching between paddling slowly and allowing the current to take us.
By mid-afternoon we made it to Ray’s Wayside Park, located at the end of the Silver River. We stopped and had lunch, and then continued forward.
The water made a hard shift from crystal blue to muddy brown as we transitioned into the Ocklawaha River. We paddled undistracted to our campsite.
A dead Luna Moth I found at our campsite
The perfect storm
We made it to camp by late afternoon and set up our tents before the rain.
Camp was more business than usual. We cooked freeze dried pasta under a community tarp that we hung between two trees. Then Jenny and I fell asleep thanks to a cocktail of ibuprofen, NyQuil and Vitamin C.
The rest of the night was a wash of sickness and storms.
I awoke around 5 a.m. needing to use the bathroom. I battled the typical army of zippers and broke free to find a giant puddle beneath our tent. Rain water had poured from the higher grounds down into the river. Our campsite was soaked.
I’ve only camped in one storm worse than this. But even then the inside of my tent stayed dry. This time we weren’t so lucky. The water soaked through the bottom of the tent, and the only barrier between us and it was our sleeping pads.
Too tired and sick to care, I crawled back into the tent and fell asleep.
Jenny and I were feeling a little better in the morning. I guess 12 hours of sleep will do that. But considering our gear was soaked and storms were forecast for the next several days, we decided to cut the trip short and paddle the remaining 16 miles back to the vehicles.
We embraced the wet, eating breakfast and shoving everything into the kayaks before hitting the river.
My kayak photographed from our campsite before hitting the river.
Swamp buggies
Not long into our decision to return to the vehicles, we saw a rope swing and stopped.
The rope swing is second only to the siren in its ability to lure man from his voyage.
We secured our boats to some nearby roots and were debating how safe it was to swim in the water when a rumbling came through the trees.
“Someone’s coming,” Jenny said.
A few minutes later, a bright red Honda side-by-side grumbled through the woods and up to where we were standing. Right behind it came a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth … it seemed they’d never end.
Before they could finish piling onto a piece of land barely large enough to hold them all, the man in the red Honda removed his shirt, exposing a large barrel shaped belly, and then jumped into the water, floated on his back within inches of some lily pads, which I am certain served as home to at least a dozen hungry gators.
If the red swamp buggy didn’t give it away, this certainly did. This man was the alpha.
It’s a strange thing being approached by an army of self-proclaimed hillbillies. Your mind immediately begins a self-evaluation of your self-defense skills.
But it didn’t take long to realize these people intended no harm. They just wanted to drink beer and have a fun afternoon.
We exchanged small talk, Alex earned the nickname “Gainesville,” and Jenny made friends with three young girls, catching them as they took turns jumping into the water. Then we moved on.
As we paddled away, the three girls yelled a final goodbye to Jenny. “We hope to see you again!”
She was accepted.
Three bass hang from the tailgate of Sloan’s blue pickup truck at Gore’s Landing.
A man like Sloan
We eventually made it to Gore’s Landing, an established campground eight miles from the end of our adventure.
We were sitting on the shore of the boat ramp cooking Raman noodles in the rain when two men in an aluminum canoe docked behind us. I turned around to see three bass dangling from the tailgate of their blue pickup.
I walked over and asked if I could take a picture, and a man with knotty arms and a silver handlebar mustache spoke up.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “But you should have seen the size of the one that got away. The picture alone weighs four pounds.”
I couldn’t tell whether he was being serious or if this was just a joke he told often. I took a few pictures and asked him his name.
“Sloan,” he said.
Sloan. It seemed so obvious, I wondered why I had even bothered asking the question.
He was a friendly man, eager to share advice on fishing and marriage. I’d trust his advice on fishing.
He offered us a beer. Alex and I declined. Jenny accepted, and then in a wisdom beyond her years said, “When a man like Sloan offers you a beer, you take it.”
Note to self: Embrace Jenny’s wisdom more often.
Our conversation with Sloan wasn’t long, but it felt meaningful. He handed us his business card and offered to show us some good fishing locations next time we were passing through. I told him we might just take him up on the offer.
“It’s your own fault if you don’t,” he said, and then he got in his truck and drove away.
From left to right, Alex’s boat, my boat and Jenny’s boat sit at the Gore’s Landing boat ramp.
Everyone but the frogs
The sun descended quickly and quietly and a hazy blue settled over the water. Rain fell softly as we paddled.
We kept our eyes open for a campsite, but our hearts were set on going home. We arrived at the Ocklawaha Outpost shortly after dark.
If we’d have arrived before 5 p.m., Lance would have shuttled our boats and gear to the parking lot. But the Outpost was closed and they weren’t expecting us back until the following day.
Hauling the boats and gear in the dark was long and brutal and something this paragraph could never fully explain. But we eventually made it to the parking lot and loaded everything onto the truck.
We changed our clothes in the shadows of some trees, and then drove home.
Our timing was perfect. A massive thunderstorm pummeled us minutes after leaving the Outpost, and hundreds of frogs - more than I have ever seen - spilled onto the road. I made a vain attempt at avoiding them, but there were too many.
As large rain drops beat down on the windshield, I pictured us out there in our tent. I was happy we decided to go home. We were all safe. Everyone but the frogs.