Author - Grant
Based In – Naples, Florida
Why? – 30 Miles From The Everglades National Park
Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612679120849/
Waking up the day after being hungover the previous day is like being reborn. Flowers look prettier, water tastes sweeter and even Kate’s morning breath doesn’t seem so toxic. It was with such an optimistic outlook on life that I woke with the larks on the morning of Day 74 ready for some Everglades adventures. Today’s method of exploration was by canoe which may seem an unwise choice given the prolific numbers of alligators in the area but this was a tour led by an Everglades ranger so we had to assume they knew what they were doing. So armed with nothing more than a flimsy tin boat and a couple of paddles we headed out into the swampy marshlands of the Everglades to see what all the fuss was about.
First thing to note is that heading out in a two-man boat is not a great idea unless you have a particularly strong marriage. We witnes
sed an otherwise sedate elderly couple nearly murder each other and, within our own boat there a few times when it was lucky that neither Kate nor I were armed. Her gripe was that I am a power mad, controlling nag that apparently “doesn’t understand wind” whilst my gripe was that she was merely wetting the paddles rather than trying to propel us forward. So thanks solely to the power of my guns, “we” paddled about a mile upstream, often in water no deeper than a couple of inches, until we entered thick overhanging mangroves where the overpowering stench of sulphur was a small price to pay for the beauty of
the surroundings. The tannin in the vegetation that falls into the swamps turns the sludge a unique yellowy shade of brown and hundreds of branches hang down from the mangroves attempting to suck it up. The wildlife in this area of the park is limited to huge blue herons, marsh crabs and some other birds whose names I forget but their shear size takes them way beyond dull ornithology. Oh, and this is all in addition to the hoards of monstrous 6 foot wing-spanned vultures that are constantly circling overhead. You’d think that would be incentive enough to paddle harder…apparently not.
The drive home along the Tamiami Trail (it stretches from Tampa to…I’ll let you work out the rest) was truly spectacular as almost every inch of sun-exposed terrain to the northern side of the road is occupied by wild sunbathing alligators. Much like my other half, they are cold-blooded animals who need the sun’s rays to survive (hence they live in Florida rather than Vermont) but the sight of them just yards from the side of the road was incredible. We pulled over to take a walk along the side of the road for a closer look which was equal parts exhilarating and dumb but we weren’t nearly as dumb as the local fisherman who all looked just one small lunge away from catching dinner to being dinner.
The evening’s entertainment was a night at the local gr
eyhound racing track; an old favourite pastime of both of ours. And bugger me if Saturday night wasn’t their weekly prime rib buffet night. Coincidence? Kate still thinks so. However, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have been quite so excited about a buffet at a dog track as it was always going to be more cordon bleach than cordon bleu. In fairness, the prime rib was really nicely cooked and as melt-in-the-mouthy as you would want. It was the other dishes (seafood ravioli, 
a creamy chicken thing, coconut shrimp, roast chicken, meatballs in BBQ sauce and sides like mixed veg and mashed potatoes) that were all either cold, tasteless or both. Still, like I say, it’s a dog track buffet so stop whinging, keep nailing the booze and bet wisely. Speaking of which, anyone who has ever been to the dogs with Kate knows that it isn’t something that you do twice. Whilst, admittedly she is very good, unfortunately it is at the expense of being sociable. It is tough to have conversations with her as she ignores the rule that girls should pick dogs based solely on either colour or name and, instead, studies the form guide with more intensity than a debt-ridden addict. Whilst I childishly refuse to ever bet on the dog in track one because it always wears red (Liverpool scum), Kate utters phrases like “I like the 2,4 and 7 dogs in a box quinella” or “the 8 dogs looks tasty as her trainer had a winner 4 races ago”. The result…I won absolutely nothing in 14 races and I think one of my dogs may have been shot after falling heavily whilst Kate managed to more than double her allotted budget. Perhaps we could use her talent to pay for the entire trip? I’m not going with her though. Oh, I forgot to mention that she has to stay sober to properly study the form which meant that I could get tipsy and she had to drive home. Summary – we were both winners in our own minds. I still had to pay for dinner though…
More everglades adventures tomorrow with a 15 mile bike ride round Shark Valley Loop Road and a much awaited airboat ride. Gator-Tastic.
Why? – 30 Miles From The Everglades National Park
Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612679120849/
Waking up the day after being hungover the previous day is like being reborn. Flowers look prettier, water tastes sweeter and even Kate’s morning breath doesn’t seem so toxic. It was with such an optimistic outlook on life that I woke with the larks on the morning of Day 74 ready for some Everglades adventures. Today’s method of exploration was by canoe which may seem an unwise choice given the prolific numbers of alligators in the area but this was a tour led by an Everglades ranger so we had to assume they knew what they were doing. So armed with nothing more than a flimsy tin boat and a couple of paddles we headed out into the swampy marshlands of the Everglades to see what all the fuss was about.
First thing to note is that heading out in a two-man boat is not a great idea unless you have a particularly strong marriage. We witnes
sed an otherwise sedate elderly couple nearly murder each other and, within our own boat there a few times when it was lucky that neither Kate nor I were armed. Her gripe was that I am a power mad, controlling nag that apparently “doesn’t understand wind” whilst my gripe was that she was merely wetting the paddles rather than trying to propel us forward. So thanks solely to the power of my guns, “we” paddled about a mile upstream, often in water no deeper than a couple of inches, until we entered thick overhanging mangroves where the overpowering stench of sulphur was a small price to pay for the beauty of
the surroundings. The tannin in the vegetation that falls into the swamps turns the sludge a unique yellowy shade of brown and hundreds of branches hang down from the mangroves attempting to suck it up. The wildlife in this area of the park is limited to huge blue herons, marsh crabs and some other birds whose names I forget but their shear size takes them way beyond dull ornithology. Oh, and this is all in addition to the hoards of monstrous 6 foot wing-spanned vultures that are constantly circling overhead. You’d think that would be incentive enough to paddle harder…apparently not.The drive home along the Tamiami Trail (it stretches from Tampa to…I’ll let you work out the rest) was truly spectacular as almost every inch of sun-exposed terrain to the northern side of the road is occupied by wild sunbathing alligators. Much like my other half, they are cold-blooded animals who need the sun’s rays to survive (hence they live in Florida rather than Vermont) but the sight of them just yards from the side of the road was incredible. We pulled over to take a walk along the side of the road for a closer look which was equal parts exhilarating and dumb but we weren’t nearly as dumb as the local fisherman who all looked just one small lunge away from catching dinner to being dinner.
The evening’s entertainment was a night at the local gr
eyhound racing track; an old favourite pastime of both of ours. And bugger me if Saturday night wasn’t their weekly prime rib buffet night. Coincidence? Kate still thinks so. However, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have been quite so excited about a buffet at a dog track as it was always going to be more cordon bleach than cordon bleu. In fairness, the prime rib was really nicely cooked and as melt-in-the-mouthy as you would want. It was the other dishes (seafood ravioli, 
a creamy chicken thing, coconut shrimp, roast chicken, meatballs in BBQ sauce and sides like mixed veg and mashed potatoes) that were all either cold, tasteless or both. Still, like I say, it’s a dog track buffet so stop whinging, keep nailing the booze and bet wisely. Speaking of which, anyone who has ever been to the dogs with Kate knows that it isn’t something that you do twice. Whilst, admittedly she is very good, unfortunately it is at the expense of being sociable. It is tough to have conversations with her as she ignores the rule that girls should pick dogs based solely on either colour or name and, instead, studies the form guide with more intensity than a debt-ridden addict. Whilst I childishly refuse to ever bet on the dog in track one because it always wears red (Liverpool scum), Kate utters phrases like “I like the 2,4 and 7 dogs in a box quinella” or “the 8 dogs looks tasty as her trainer had a winner 4 races ago”. The result…I won absolutely nothing in 14 races and I think one of my dogs may have been shot after falling heavily whilst Kate managed to more than double her allotted budget. Perhaps we could use her talent to pay for the entire trip? I’m not going with her though. Oh, I forgot to mention that she has to stay sober to properly study the form which meant that I could get tipsy and she had to drive home. Summary – we were both winners in our own minds. I still had to pay for dinner though…More everglades adventures tomorrow with a 15 mile bike ride round Shark Valley Loop Road and a much awaited airboat ride. Gator-Tastic.
No comments:
Post a Comment