The docks in Everglades City. Everglades City provides 95 percent of the stone crabs sold in the United States.
my son to disclose our float plan, which I initiate whenever we are out of contact by usual means. That way someone knows our plans. If we don’t report on time, they can take appropriate action. A glass of wine and cheese crackers finished us off for the night. Ten hours later—only partially rested but somewhat revived—we awoke for a cup of tea and a happy Halloween. Tied to an abandoned dock, we didn’t expect any trick-or-treaters. We feasted on whole wheat pancakes and bacon. Bezy made an effort to clean up some of the salt we’d brought into the cabin while I checked on the weather, and wrote the log. Despite the long night’s sleep, we took morning naps. We were exhausted, physically and emotionally. The past few days had taken their toll. We were ready to be home—but not until the storms passed and the weather improved. Part of our “Harbor of Refuge” plan was to find out about Everglades City. We walked the mile into town, not sure of where it was, or exactly what we were looking for. It’s not the sleepy, Florida cracker fishing village I had pictured in the back of my mind. As we turned onto the main road, there was a large trailer park, a 100-unit apartment building under construction, and a condo development with units “starting in the $400,000s.” The center of town has a traffic circle, with the Everglades City Community Church on one corner, Suzie’s Restaurant on another, and the city hall, complete with tall white columns. The waterfront was three blocks to the left. A small local museum was open. We inquired about a restaurant. She recommended the Seafood Depot. “The new season is just starting and the stone crab claws are great. Everglades City provides 95 percent of the stone crabs sold in the U.S.” We dined in a sprawling restaurant with the feel of an old hunting and fishing lodge. The stone crabs were the best I ever had. We feasted. As we enthused over the crabs, our waitress responded that she dated a crabber. “He’s not too great, but he brings home great crabs.” On the way out, we met a couple from New Zealand on holiday. I took their picture with a stuffed 12-foot-long bull gator. They invited us to visit, recommending a two- or three-day stopover in Waikiki Beach on the way. Now that’s thinking. Baron Collier and the Collier Company built Everglades City as a company town. Collier bargained with the state of Florida that he’d build the Tamiami Trail, if they’d treat his considerable land holdings as a separate county. The state agreed. The construction of the Trail connecting Tampa with Miami was a mammoth feat. It crossed 57 miles of Everglades swamp, and was built primarily with 36
August 2011
SOUTHWINDS
hand labor, over nine grueling years. Everglades City was the county seat of Collier County until 1960 when Hurricane Donna devastated the town, disclosing its vulnerability. The town of only 600 year-around residents has a colorful history, attracting notable tourists to fish and hunt in the nearby Everglades. The young proprietress of the local ice cream emporium regaled us with stories about the Everglades, the defunct development whose dock we’re using, and the damage from Hurricane Wilma, two years earlier. We walked back to the boat in the rain. Again, we collapsed and took it easy. Noel is holding to plan. It’s crossing Cuba now and is expected to turn and move up the East Coast. Our winds remain high, but there are prospects for change...maybe tomorrow. A friend from Fort Myers e-mailed that the ICW under the Sanibel Causeway would be closed Tuesday through Friday to clean up the concrete debris from the old opening bridge. Had we pushed on and arrived on Wednesday, we’d have been seriously disappointed, waiting two days there. We spent most of the day opening and closing our ports and hatches as the rain showers moved over us in rapid succession. Again, we crashed early—still trying to catch up on our rest. The crabbers woke us about 4:30 on their way out the channel to tend their traps. You’d hear the low thrum of their engines as they approached, getting slowly louder. Then, as it began to move away, the wake gently rocked us. Soon another passed by. After four or five boats, I was fully awake. I spotted the constellation Orion. Wisps of clouds flew across the sky providing a thin veil over the stars and the half moon...a nice way to wake up. Our verve is returning. After breakfast, we dropped the dinghy and explored the canal toward the city. We took along our diesel can. If we can get six gallons, we’ll have enough to get us home and not have to go seven miles up the river to Naples. They generally provide fuel only for the fishing fleet, but they agreed to sell us some. The canal took us past the Rod and Gun Club, a large, sprawling old wooden structure, built nearly a hundred years ago. The club has hosted presidents and all the good ’ole boys of Florida. You could almost hear the tall tales of hunting and fishing exploits whispering through the windows....”Remember the time I grabbed hold of that cotton mouth...twice as biground as your arm....he was thrashing.” And... “How ‘bout that bobcat we treed in Gator Creek Hammock...waited half the night for him to make a run for it...” “Remember when I hooked that 150-pound tarpon...worked him most of the day and into the night...my arms about fell off....” www.southwindsmagazine.com