On Island Time: Kayaking the Caribbean Read online

  On Island Time

  Kayaking the Caribbean

  Scott B. Williams

  www.scottbwilliams.com

  Second Ebook Edition

  Copyright © 2016 by Scott B. Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Interior photographs © Scott B. Williams

  Cover: University Press of Mississippi, 2005

  06.05.18

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  Preface to the Second Ebook Edition

  On Island Time: Kayaking the Caribbean was originally published in 2005 by University Press of Mississippi. The original paperback version by that publisher is still in print and available. I am releasing this second edition of the ebook now in 2016 with a new cover, but the contents are the same aside from this added preface.

  The trip described in this book took place from the fall of 1988 through the spring of 1990, with an extended break to return home and earn additional travel funds over the summer and fall of 1989. I was 25 years old at the time I set out, having sold or given away everything I owned that didn’t fit into or wouldn’t be needed in the kayak. My intention all along was to see new places, challenge myself and experience an alternative lifestyle reduced to the basic necessities of survival on the water and along the coasts of the islands I visited. It was a solo undertaking to test myself and see how far I could go, and also to see the islands I dreamed of. I wasn’t out to prove anything or break any records. Others had already paddled farther and in more difficult conditions, and since the time of my trip many incredible sea kayak expeditions have been completed all over the globe. The journey described here is a walk in the park compared to some, but it was a life-changing experience for me in my mid-twenties and has influenced everything I’ve done since.

  I knew all along that I would eventually write a book about the trip, and at the time I kept a journal, updated each night in the tent by candlelight, the pages salt-stained and smeared with smashed mosquitos and candle wax. It seems hard to believe now, nearly 30 years later, but there were no smart phones, tablets, notebook computers or even digital cameras with which to record the journey. I had to make do without GPS navigation, online weather reports and social media updates to let my family and friends know where I was and whether or not I was still alive. I did have a handheld VHF marine radio for weather forecasts and communication with other vessels. I had a small solar panel to recharge the batteries for my radio and flashlights. Entertainment was provided by a Sony Walkman cassette player/radio and a small collection of my favorite tapes. Countless photo opportunities were lost because I simply couldn’t afford to buy enough film. What film I did have in the kayak was exposed to months of storage in the tropical heat before it could be developed. My waterproof camera gave up before I reached Puerto Rico, and I have no photos of the weeks of paddling there and in the U.S. and British Virgin Islands.

  By the late 1980’s, touring sea kayaks were starting to show up more often in Florida and in the islands, though never as popular in southern waters as in places like the Pacific Northwest. Many people I met at the time had never seen such a boat, and the novelty of the way I was traveling led to making lots of new friends along the way. Most thought it was much more dangerous or daring than it really was, but to me, discovering sea kayaks was discovering real freedom for the first time. I came to see the advantages I had in my simple craft the more I encountered others aboard various boats and yachts, and though I have owned and built many types of larger boats since those days, sea kayaks are still among my favorite watercraft.

  The trip described in these pages was possible because of the simplicity and low operating cost of the kayak, and also because of my footloose attitude during that period of my life. I was ready for a change—a major change—and getting rid of the possessions tying me down was necessary to make that change. Most of the money needed for the gear and the expenses of the trip came from what was left after selling those things. It’s always easier to break away like that at a younger age, so I would tell those who want to do the same and pursue such adventures to go sooner, rather than later. It can be accomplished at any age, but it’s easier when you’re single with no dependents and few anchors ashore, especially anchors such as houses.

  Some costs, like food and other consumables have increased since the time of my trip, but adjusted for inflation, I think gear costs have stayed about the same or even decreased. New technology has certainly produced lighter, more compact gear and equipment for expeditions like this, most of it more durable and more waterproof than what I was able to purchase in 1988.

  Another aspect of attitude necessary on a trip like this is a willingness to break the rules and in some cases even the law when it comes to camping and trespassing. This was a real issue along the coast of Florida and the situation has surely gotten worse, if anything. There is a limit to human endurance and though I often paddled through the night to get past populated areas or other places camping wasn’t allowed or feasible, I also practiced lots of “stealth camping” along the way. Fortunately, this is easy to do with a kayak, as the boat can be pulled out of sight into the vegetation or hidden among other features ashore. Technically, camping is not allowed at all in some countries I visited, like the Bahamas, but in reality it was never a problem camping there, even in plain view. The hassles of hiding out and often having to break camp and leave before dawn is tiresome over the course of a long trip though, and it was because of this I later became interested in a variety of small sailboats on which it was possible to sleep aboard. Anchoring out and sleeping on the boat is not nearly as restricted as camping, but it comes with its own set of worries, especially regarding the weather. And even the smallest boats with space enough to sleep aboard are infinitely more complex and usually more expensive than a simple sea kayak.

  It is the simplicity of the kayak that is its true appeal. That, and the ability to go almost anywhere there is water, in almost any weather and sea state, landing on surf-bound shores inhospitable to all other boats. A good sea kayak is true freedom on the water, and I highly recommend that you try one for yourself and see. You may find it your ticket to some “island time” of your own.

  —Scott Williams

  July, 2016

  Foreword

  I met Scott Williams in 1985 when my wife signed up for his Kenpo karate course in McComb, Mississippi. When Scott found out I liked to canoe, he suggested we make a float together. Soon we were embarked on a three-day trip down Red Creek and the Pascagoula River in flood conditions, a real swamp adventure.

  On that trip I learned that Scott has the first trait necessary to be a good adventurer: a sense of humor. We kept up a stream of ridiculous stories, puns and jokes, meanwhile enjoying the fabulous scenery of giant cypress trees, redbuds, cottonmouth snakes, herons and beavers.

  Later we tackled a more challenging trip, a week’s paddle in the Florida Everglades. On the fourth day we forced our canoe up a narrow channel in the grass until it would go no farther. Then Scott pointed to a distant clump of trees and said, “Want to hike over there?” Hiking in this environment meant wallowing up to our knees in snake and alligator-infested marsh. That’s when I knew he possessed the second quality necessary for a good adventurer: a love of exploring.

  Scott and I kept paddling over the years. Meanwhile he discovered and fell in love with sea kayaks, and ev
entually set off on the trip described in this book. He kept me posted on his exploits, and I ran excerpts from his journal in the McComb Enterprise-Journal newspaper where I work.

  When the journey was over, Scott and I met on the banks of Bowie Creek, where he regaled me with his experiences. I saw then (and other times) that he had the third characteristic necessary for a good adventurer: humility. Despite his incredible accomplishments, Scott did not – and still doesn’t – believe he’s done anything extraordinary. I’m sure you will agree with me how wrong he is in that regard.

  As I’ve read his journals and later magazine articles and other writing, I discovered Scott has another attribute which, though perhaps not necessary for a good adventurer, is mighty helpful: a talent for writing. As you will see, Scott is a top-notch writer – as good a writer as he is an adventurer, in fact – and that’s saying a lot!

  —Ernest Herndon

  One: Leaving

  I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

  —Henry David Thoreau, Walden

  There was never a question as to where I would begin my journey south. I was not sure if I would ever return, or even if I would survive what I was about to undertake. I wanted this time on the river so that I could indelibly imprint the sights, smells and sounds of a favorite place into memory and carry a part of it with me. I wanted perfection for the first week of my travels, and I knew I would find it there, as I always had.

  The color of well-aged whiskey, tannin-stained but clear, Black Creek flows over a bed of pure white sand as it meanders through cathedral forests of old growth pine and southern hardwoods. Days of paddling this stream would be days of stillness and peace, punctuated by the quiet music of the gentle current and birdsong from the walls of green surrounding the way. I knew that wind and rough water waited beyond this ribbon of tranquility, but that would not intrude into my thoughts yet.

  I would begin on Black Creek, because it was the beginning of everything that led me to the first step of this odyssey. My first overnight canoe trip had been there, and later my first experience of multiple days alone in the woods, camping and paddling and becoming comfortable with solitude.

  This was to be a journey of solitude beyond anything I had ever known, but it would not start that way. I would have company for this first week, an escort downstream to the Gulf of Mexico. My canoeing partner, Ernest Herndon and I had already paddled many waters together. We had explored the wilder reaches of the Everglades in south Florida, and there I got my first taste of the tropics. Ernest was not among the doubters when I began announcing my intentions to friends and family. He would take this week to paddle Black Creek with me and see me off, but he was not enamored of the sea. And being married and gainfully employed, he was not free to travel for the many months I expected to be gone.

  We waited until late afternoon on a Sunday to arrive at the launching site near the community of Brooklyn, so that the weekend day-paddlers would be thinning out and thinking about getting back to work on Monday. A small mountain of gear began growing on the sandbar under the bridge as we unloaded the vehicles. Ernest had arrived with his wife, Angelyn. My ex-girlfriend had graciously agreed to bring me to the river in her car, since I no longer owned one. A few other friends had come along to witness my departure as well.

  A couple of curious canoeists came over to look at our unusual boats. Sea kayaks were not often seen on Black Creek. Ernest was paddling the first one that I’d acquired, a yellow 16-foot Aquaterra Chinook, and I had an identical model in white, brand-new and provided for the trip by Perception Kayaks. I had insisted on the neutral color after reading somewhere that the bright shade of yellow of my first kayak had been dubbed “yum-yum yellow” by shark researchers trying to determine which colors might be most likely to provoke attacks. The kayaks were equipped with waterproof bulkheads and hatches for gear storage fore and aft of the cockpit. Each had a stern-mounted rudder connected to foot pedals in the cockpit so that the paddler could focus on forward motion rather than steering strokes.

  I told the canoeists we were paddling to the coast, a trip of about 150 miles with all the bends, most of it on Black Creek and the last stretch on the much larger Pascagoula River. The afternoon was almost gone and we still had to pack the boats and paddle down to a more secluded campsite. I didn’t have time to explain myself and answer lots of questions, so I didn’t mention where I was headed after I reached the coast. How could they comprehend that my destination was in the West Indies – and that I planned to paddle this 24-inch wide boat down the coast of Florida, then island-hop along the chain of the Bahamas and Antilles all the way to Trinidad, just off the coast of South America? Would anybody other than Ernest believe it was possible? I wasn’t sure what he really thought, but at least he didn’t try to talk me out of it like so many others did, and for that I was grateful.

  Ernest had packed for a canoe trip, with all his gear carefully arranged in two large duffel bags. He dumped the contents of the bags on the sand in disgust when he saw how I was carefully pushing each item one at a time through the small hatches of the kayak’s storage compartments. If we were canoeing, he could simply place his bags in the bottom of the canoe, tie them to a thwart for security, and paddle away. Sea kayaks are much more complicated to pack, and just as aggravating to unload at the campsite each evening after a long day of paddling. Even though the gear would be inside watertight compartments, I knew from experience that it was also wise to seal things that mustn’t get wet inside waterproof bags before putting them in the kayak. I had lots of Ziploc freezer bags as well as specialized waterproof gear bags for this purpose.

  Ernest was not prepared for this kind of packing. Some of the larger items he was used to carrying in the canoe had to go back in Angelyn’s car. He found room in the kayak for his groceries, campfire sipping whiskey, coffee pot, propane stove, sleeping bag, camera, and a hammock and novel, as if he expected to spend a lot of time lounging around camp on this trip.

  I sorted though my gear, looking for those least likely to be needed items that would be stuffed into the far extremities of the bow and stern of my kayak. This included my tool kit, spare rudder parts, and the snorkeling gear that I didn’t expect to use until I reached clear tropical waters. Everything had a designated place in the boat. I had test-packed the kayak numerous times in the previous weeks of the gear selection process.

  I marked every item off my 3-page checklist as it went into its respective home in the boat. There was the usual wilderness camping gear: expedition-quality tent, sleeping bag, Coleman stove, cookware, hammock, machete, various knives, matches, candles, and two waterproof flashlights. There was gear specialized to sea kayaking: life jacket, bilge pumps, spare paddle, spare sprayskirt, large waterproof lantern with rechargeable Ni-Cad batteries, hand-held VHF radio, a radio direction finder, a marine compass mounted on the deck of the kayak, emergency flares, and carefully waterproofed nautical charts.

  Because of the anticipated length of my trip I had other items that would never be taken on weekend getaways. This included the usual camping and beach clothing, but also some nice casual shirts and slacks presentable enough for the occasional civilized stopover. I had an extensive stock of first aid supplies. Also in the emergency category was an expensive hand-operated reverse-osmosis desalinator, capable of converting seawater to drinking water, in case I was lost at sea or stranded on some waterless island. I had means of procuring food as well: an assortment of fishhooks and lures, rod and reel, pole spear for underwater hunting with the mask and snorkel, and a compact .22 caliber survival rifle that could be taken apart; the barrel and receiver stowing inside the hollow plastic stock. I also had the means to defend myself against sharks in the low-riding kayak; a .223 caliber “bang stick” that would be carried right on deck in tropical waters, as advised by another kayaker who had p
addled extensively in the Caribbean. A compact .22 caliber Beretta pistol would be kept beside me in the tent on all those foreign beaches where I knew I would feel lonely and vulnerable.

  My library included: How to Survive on Land and Sea, Fundamentals of Kayak Navigation, A Cruising Guide to the Caribbean, a booklet about the Everglades’ Wilderness Waterway, a guide to blues harmonica playing, French and Spanish phrasebooks, and a few novels.

  There was a large assortment of gear in the miscellaneous category, including a waterproof 35MM camera, notebook, harmonica, and a small solar panel to recharge my flashlight and VHF radio batteries. I had a Sony Walkman cassette player and about a dozen favorite tapes for entertainment. Several of these tapes were of Jimmy Buffett, whose music was largely to blame for my desire to go to the islands.

  Somehow, all of this fit into the kayak, along with a more than a week’s supply of groceries. The total value of this stuff was about $4,000, excluding the kayak. I had another $3,500 in cash and traveler’s checks. This was all that was left after I sold everything I had that would not fit into a kayak or the new life I was about to embark on. I had paid debts and gotten rid of my car and everything else that came with a monthly note. I was determined not to let money, or the lack of it, enter my thoughts for a long time. I could travel this way on a few dollars a day. I had reduced my needs to a level place to pitch a tent each night and a good meal to give me the strength to paddle the next morning.

  Because I now had no possessions that were not with me in the kayak, I had no keys to any locks. Not a car key, a house key, or an office key. I viewed keys as a sign of responsibility, and a definite impediment to the freedom I was seeking. I could find this freedom only in a sea kayak.