The Everglades Challenge is a race from Fort DeSoto, Florida
(Tampa) to Key Largo, Florida. It is
approximately 300 miles, depending on the route
you take…and there are many
route choices ranging from mangrove swamps to open water.
Over 5.5 days I rowed from Fort DeSoto, Florida to
approximately the middle of Gullivan Bay, short of the 2nd
Checkpoint at Chokoloskee, for approximately 178 miles, according to Spot. So I
got 60% of the way to the end.
This averaged out to 32.3 miles/day. In order to finish I
needed to do about 43 miles/day.
Using FitBit, my total caloric burn for 4 days before the
FitBit died in the surf was 31,978 calories, for an estimated 117 miles, or 273
calories/mile. Average was 7,994
calories/day so for 5.5 days burned 43,967 calories. It is interesting to compare with the caloric
burn of a 26 mile marathon, which is approximately 2,500 calories. So I burned the equivalent of 18 marathons, or
3.1 marathons/day.
Winds were very favorable the first 1.5 days, from the
north. From then on, however, winds were
south/southeast at 20-25 mph. So most of
the time, I rowed against strong winds and waves of 2-3 feet; at end in
Gullivan Bay waves were at least 5-6 feet.
I rowed on average 20 hours per day.
At the start of the race on Saturday, March 5, I weighed
about 181#; by the time I got home on Monday night, March 14, I weighed 176;
however my feet were swollen, probably from taking predisone (for sore back
muscles), and by the next day, my weight was down to 172.5. This seems to have stabilized; so lost 8.5#
or 1.5#/day.
One of the advantages of the boat is that it has a sleeping
berth, so I didn’t have to look out for tenting spots—an advantage I used a lot
on this little venture.
The race started with a fog horn blast at 7:00 am March 5th. I decided to not follow the pack, and
instead go outside in the gulf to take advantage of the straighter route and
perhaps faster transit. The first day
went splendidly. I reached speeds of 9.5 mph, and the boat showed no signs of
broaching with following seas of 4-5 feet.
However, when I got to Stump Pass, about 60 miles down the coast, I had my first disaster. When I approached Stump Pass, from the
outside, it being about 1:00 am and as dark as the inside of a whale, I could
not see the pass to Cape Haze, the first check point. From the outside the
shore looked like continuous breaking waves, sand beach, and mangroves. So I spent precious hours and energy
searching up and down the beach looking for the entrance—thinking that my
waypoints were wrong, but that I should be close. During this time waves were breaking all
along the shore and against a very large shoal, driven by the high winds,
creating thunderous, frightening sounds.
At one point, near shore, I got too sideways to the waves and they
rolled me, nearly knocking me out of the boat, and soaking me in the
process. I pulled the boat up on a
shoal, rather shaken and cold in the wind, took stock of myself and put on my
Sharkskin top, which warmed me instantly.
I made a dehydrated meal, and continued up and down the coast, looking
for the pass until daylight, when I could then see it. Part of the problem was that the GPS does not
indicate direction reliably when one’s speed is less than about 1.5 mph—the
little blue arrow just spins, pointing this direction and that. Consequently part of my problem was knowing
what was north and south. I found that
my compass was invaluable at this point, and I relied on it nearly exclusively. This issue (an unreliable GPS at low speeds)
was also a problem later on.  |
| Fort DeSoto to the open Gulf and South |
I got further delayed after I entered the pass by not
following my route—I thought I’d be clever and so I took a short cut. This ended up with me getting stuck on two
separate mudflats, which I had to pull myself out of.
I got to the Cape Haze checkpoint Sunday, March 6th,
at 8:06 am; having lost about 5 hours in
the little exercise of looking for Stump Pass.
After registering and refilling with water (and snitching a
couple bratworsts from another event), I started out with favorable north
winds. I moved south down the
Intercoastal Waterway until about 1:00 pm, when I found
a small key in Gasparilla Sound, just past the bridge, and slept until 4:00pm
—having not slept in about 35 hours.
This little nap was probably a mistake, as during this time the wind
changed and started coming from the southeast—I should have taken advantage of
the north winds rather than lounging.
It was at this time that I discovered a seal had failed on
my Garmin 64st that had my marine maps, and all was corroded. I also discovered my SnowLizard waterproof
iPhone case had leaked, and was sputtering and eventually failed. Fortunately my iPhone was not in the case at
the time.
I had an older Garmin 62st that had my routes loaded, but
didn’t have a marine map. This later
proved a problem regarding shoals.
So when I started out again, I was fighting very strong
southeast winds. I struggled against the
wind and waves for approximately 9 miles, when finally I discovered that I was
slowly being blown west, and was finally forced on a lonely, barren stretch of
beach on the northern tip of Cayo Costa at about 11:00 pm.
I pulled the boat up on shore, above the tide line, crawled in, and slept
until 6:00 am Monday the 7th.
In retrospect I probably should have headed to the eastern
side of Pine Island, where there may have been more protection from the
winds. On the other hand, winds coming
from the south have made forward progress equally difficult on this route.
 |
| Drying cloths and resting on a small key in a swiftly rising tide |
I continued south, but decided that I needed to move east
towards Pine Island for whatever protection it afforded against the south east
winds. At about 10:30 am, I made a short
rest stop at Hemp Key (which is absolutely loaded with seashells of every
description—there was a very nice whelk shell I wanted to grab and then
didn’t….), and then proceeded south to Sanibel Island. I made a short rest stop in mangroves at the
tip of Pine Island, at 5:00 pm, fought off some no-see-ums, then moved out into
the main channel where I promptly got caught in a very strong counter current.
I struggled with the current, my GPS providing little assistance because of the
low speed (that little blue swinging arrow again), navigated by compass and
stars, and finally at about 10:00 pm threw out an anchor and stayed put for
perhaps an hour, watching the traffic on the Sanibel Causeway. When it looked like the current had abated
somewhat, I continued to the Sanibel Lighthouse, where I pulled up on the beach
on the south side of the peninsula at about 11:30 pm. I was able to sleep a few hours, until about
4:30 am, Tuesday, March 8th, when I roused myself. Soon there were early morning beachcombers
wandering the shore; I made some food
and made haste.
Proceeding on March 8th across the Sanibel
Channel to the inside passage of Fort Myers, I continued fighting weather and
powerboats. The powerboats were as
aggravating as the weather, with their huge wakes, which the majority of
boaters did not try to mitigate. I made
very slow progress and finally stopped on a small key across from Estero Island
at about 11:00 am to rest, cook some food, and dry clothing. However, the rising tide nearly extinguished
the tiny key, and I proceeded on.
I exited the Inside Waterway at the north end of Big Hickory
Island at about 3:45 pm, seeing how I’d fare against the southeast winds out in
the ocean. It turned out that if I
stayed close to shore, just west of the breakers, I could make progress. However, if I went too far from shore then
the wind reduced forward progress. So I
found the sweet spot, and plowed on. And
on.
Finally, at about 5:00 pm I saw a sign that said
“Beer.” I figured they’d have food, so I
pulled up to the shore, which was filled with well-coiffed hair, flowery party
shirts, folks in swim suits, sockless-boat shoes, martinis with tiny umbrellas,
and all lounging and standing on the beach enjoying the sunset.
Turns out I was out in front of Doc’s Beach House, Bonita
Springs.
Now, by this time I’d been rowing hard for four days. I’d been soaked. Sunburned. I’d seen the elephant and stabbed it in the
eye. I was wearing my red life preserver
with orange whistle, PLB, and knife. I
had on my silver Sharkskin athletic water sport top. I had my black half-fingered
black gloves and blue Nike pants and black Chota neoprene rowing boots. All was
white stained with salt, including my dark matted hair. So when I pulled up on the beach amongst the
tourists, I felt like a Viking in a foppish French court. Like Ragnar Lothbrok amongst the pygmies.
Like Blackbeard the Pirate at an English tea party. Like Gulliver amongst the Lilliputians.
I stepped on shore and yelled, “AARRGGGH. IS THERE A MAN
AMONGST YA?” Neither seeing nor hearing one, I gave them all the evil eye, strode up to
Doc’s, and ordered two cheeseburgers but hold the onions.
Turned out no one asked me a question. Or looked at me, at least directly, near as I
can tell. I didn’t worry about my
equipment on the boat while I was ordering food—I’m sure they all thought that
if anyone touched my boat, I’d kill everyone on the beach. Except that one man, who looked like he might
be a florist, or maybe a dentist…carefully inched up to me with his arms crossed while I
was sitting in the sand eating a burger and timidly asked if I was rowing. Rowing? What do these 10 foot oars look like I’m
doing? Do you see an outboard motor? A
sail? Hell yes, I’m rowing! All the way from Tampa to Key
Largo! Anyway, he asked about some of my
electronics and then kind of sidled away, before I could challenge him to an
arm wrestling contest.
I’m sure I lowered the sperm count along the entire Florida
Coast.
So I got back in the boat and continued south, much to the
relief of the men on the beach, I’m sure, who then went back to their
posing. At 9:30 pm I stopped along the
shore in North Naples. Now, I was going
to use my anchor, but when I threw it out of the boat, the anchor came
off. Just unsnapped. But, the carabiner-like snap was still there,
so I ended up snapping the line to a buoy and slept in my boat, bobbing in the
current and wind out in front of the Gumbo Limbo Restaurant, the Ritz Carlton,
and the Bay Colony Tennis Club, Naples.
Slept soundly knowing I was saving $849/night…
There wasn’t a soul on the beach.
By 2:00 am Wednesday, March 9th, in the dark,
I proceeded south. At about 8:30 am, at
Gordon Pass, just south of Naples, I decided to duck inside to have a look at
the Inside Waterway there—thinking the wind may be calmer. I rode the current in, took a peek and the
wind was roaring down the channel. I
turned back but now I was rowing against the tide. I pulled in amongst the mangrove swamp on the
south side, and made myself some food.
After finishing my meal, I decided to go north across the current to see
if I could work my way west back out into the ocean, taking advantage of any
eddies. This worked, and I was able to
get myself back out in the ocean, rowing way out around a rock jetty—where the
wind was really blowing and didn’t bode well for continued progress.
I continued south, and after a while I thought I needed some
refuge—a place to stop, a cove, something to get out of the wind, and to
rest. But it turned out this coast is
straight as a razor without an interruption, all the way to Marco Island.
Now Wednesday, March 9th, was also a critical
day, as it was the day I was supposed to be at the second checkpoint at Chokoloskee. But I was a long way off. At least one whole day. Maybe two.
So on this day I was disqualified from the race.
The winds were howling, and there was a small craft
advisory.
So at about 11:30 am on Keewaydin Island I decided on a
beach landing. Now, beach landing in
ocean surf is something that one should practice. I live in Oklahoma so there
wasn’t much of an opportunity to practice, but the theory is that one should go
straight into the beach, no turning sideways in the slightest. So much for theory—hell I knew better, and I went
in slightly sideways (nose into the wind, as with any lake or river
landing). The powerful ocean waves
promptly rolled the boat about 90 degrees, and pushed/forced me out. My feet were strapped into the rowing
platform, and I was pushed with such force that my feet broke the rowing
platform off. I didn’t notice this at
first as I was running up and down the beach retrieving those items that I
hadn’t tied down—such as my VHF radio, thermos of coffee, and prescription
sunglasses—the latter of which I never found, having been washed from my face.
Seeing the rowing platform floating along in my cockpit was
a bit of a shock, as at first I thought that that might be a show-stopper. But, it turned out I was able to use four
plastic zip ties (I can’t speak more highly of these handy things—never leave
home without them) and affixed the foot platform. As tight as ever.
So I continued south to Marco Island. Now, at Marco Island I had a choice of
heading east past Coconut Island in the Capri Pass to an inside route that runs
east around Marco Island, or going south along the outside. You’d think that I would have taken a hint
from Mother Nature, as she did her best to warn me to turn left into the Capri
Pass. She provided such a notice when at
7:30pm I rowed/crashed onto a huge uninhabited shoal, known, I think, as
Coconut Island. Though there wasn’t a
tree in sight. Fortunately I was rowing
slowly at this point, being rather fatigued, and it was no big deal. I thus found Coconut Island because I had
gotten off my route (again and always dangerous, and without my GPS marine map),
and had it in my head that I’d camp on the beach at, say, South Beach Drive,
which had some very nice little refuges along the beach. I ran into Coconut Island on the way.
I launched off the beach and made good progress heading
south on the outside of Marco Island, and at 10:15 pm heaved up on the beach of
the Veracruz CPE at Marco, or maybe it was the Tampico Condominium Association.
Anyway, thankfully the beach was empty—no people walking their tiny dogs along
the beach and calling the police.
Now this was stealth camping in high style. I directed my
headlamp so it pointed down (although I was really wanting to cast about with
my light to see what was up, peak in some windows….you know). But I pulled my boat up above the high tide,
and went to sleep. I woke up about 2 am
Thursday, March 10th, there still not being a soul on the beach.
And so I struck off for Checkpoint #2 at Chokoloskee. Not knowing I would never reach Choko.
Again the route I chose was the outside—in retrospect I
probably should have taken the inside route through Caxambas Pass and into the
refuge supplied by the 10,000-island area. But I continued south. And south.
And the current must have been flowing against me, as I made very poor
progress. At one point I headed east to
what I thought would be refuge, but the coast there is all rocky. I now see I could have gone into the pass
between Kice Island and Cape Romano, but for the direction I was heading, I
could not see it (again missing my GPS marine map). Only breaking waves. It now looks obvious from a satellite map,
but at the time I couldn’t see it.
So I came around Cape Romano, and stared mouth agape at the
now vacant and haphazardly askew Dome Homes (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cape_Romano_Dome_House).
They really do look like something from an alien world. (I really wanted to
take a photo but was afraid to take my hands off the oars).
Anyway, at about 8:00 am I came around the point and into
the first calm water I’d seen for days.
There to greet me on the beach were a couple very nice young men out
sailing around the area, who were quite intrigued by a person out rowing in those
weather conditions.
I made some food, got my bearings, and groaned when I looked
east towards Choko. I couldn’t see
anything except a heaving, empty sea. No
boats. No thin green line of
mangroves. Nothing.
At 8:50 am I headed valiantly east. The wind blew. The waves grew. At noon I was getting tired. I was thirsty, but was afraid to take my
hands from the oars, from heading into the wind, afraid wind might turn me
broadside. There were 5-6 foot breaking waves, making a roaring, a sometimes
sizzling sound as the tops raced by. I
still could not see shore, and was not sure what the entrance to Choko was
going to be like. I thought I might have
to swing somewhat north, which would put me quartering into these huge seas. I
thought of the (slightly modified) Ed Viesturs quote “getting to Choko is
optional, but getting home in one piece is mandatory.” So at almost exactly
12:00 pm, I turned tail and ran with the wind back north. And boy did I fly!
I finally fetched up on Coon Key at about 1:00 pm. Dejected, (I’m no quitter!) I called my wife
Ann and told her I was OK, but that I had quit.
She asked me what I was going to do, and I told her I didn’t have a
clue. Make it back to Marco Island,
leave my boat at a landing, rent a car, and head to Key Largo to get my van and
trailer. She said “why don’t you just go north to the town of Goodland?” So I checked my GPS and she was right!
Goodland!
I got some food, rested, and launched. I plotted my course and headed for Goodland,
running with a fine south wind. By 3:00 pm the wind had blown me up on the
Goodland Boating Park boat ramp. There I
stayed until Friday morning, March 11th, when I put my portage wheels on the
RowCruiser and pulled her up on a well tended lawn.
It turned out that my son Seth had landed in Miami on
Thursday afternoon (he and his girlfried Liz had come to watch me cross the
finish line…yeah, right!), and Friday morning he picked me up in Goodland and
took me to Key Largo, where I got my van and trailer.
Thoughts on nutrition: I figured that this event was going
to require 30,000 calories, and that I’d lose about one pound a day. I ate dehydrated food, gels, power bars,
trail mix, and candy, as well as protein shakes with Ensure and raw eggs
(yes, I had a dozen eggs—wish I’d had two dozen) and a thermos of coffee a day. I
feel as though I ate all I could, and in the end I lost 1.5# /day. So overall my plan worked out well.
Thoughts on conditioning: In preparation I rowed 20 miles on
Saturdays, and Erged 18-20 miles on Sundays.
Twice a week I went to the gym and worked on chest pulls, squats,
weighted pull-ups, and a campus board. Twice a week I did between 100 and 150 pull-ups in the mornings. Rested only one day a week. This regime must have worked for me, as I
felt as though I performed well under the conditions, working close to 20 hours
a day. I also worked hard at
conditioning my hands, including sitting at work twisting on a wooden
dowel. This paid off as I developed no
blisters.
Thoughts on equipment: The RowCruiser is an outstanding
boat, very stable, with excellent tracking. I felt very safe in it and felt it
moved well under the conditions. For
exiting and entering in shallow water I used my Chota neoprene boots, which
kept feet warm even when wet. I had NO
chaffing, and this was perhaps due to not only conditioning but also my
Exofficio 94% nylon, 6% spandex smooth-as-silk underwear. Under shirt was a
Adidas Ultimate Tee 85% polyester and 15 % cotton, with over wear an Icebreaker
merino wool shirt. But by far the best
piece of clothing was a 52% polyester, 34%
nylon, 12 % elastane, 2% polyurethane Sharkskin top, which is like a
cross between a dry suit and a wet suit. It kept me warm when wet, and was
comfortable to wear while rowing at 80F.
A seal failed on my Spot device, and the batteries corroded. If it wasn’t for the micro usb, I’d have been
sunk. So recommend keeping Spot under
wraps—as with all equipment when out on the water—and don’t count on anything
being water proof.
