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Lost In The Ten Thousand Islands

Photo courtesy of RICK FOLSTAD

Rick Folstad shows off one of the many sea trout he caught while camping in Ten Thousand Islands.

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By RICK FOLSTAD

Tribune correspondent

Published: January 31, 2009

SOMEWHERE IN THE TEN THOUSAND ISLANDS - We weren't lost, just a little confused.

We were out there in the wild, not sure which direction to go, and it was my fault. I was the experienced Islands camper of the group, the guy who was supposed to take us home, lead us through troubled waters. And I led us into the wrong bay.

It was an honest mistake. There are hundreds of islands out there, and one looks pretty much like the other. But an experienced Islands camper picks up on the subtle differences between one mangrove island and the next. He notices shape, size, location, any landmarks sticking up. Important things. It's his job to sniff out the nuances.

"See that island over there?" I asked my two kayaking buddies who were visiting the Ten Thousand Islands for the first time. "I'm pretty sure that's Coon Key. See how that sandy spit sticks out there at low tide? If we take a right here, we should be on our last leg.

"Look for the red marker just off to our right; that opens up to Coon Key Pass."

But there was no marker. Or Coon Key Pass. Or last leg.

Because of me, we had angled to the right a little too far and turned right a little too soon and then everything looked the same, but different. And suddenly we had to turn left real quick into the stiff wind, and thank goodness for the GPS or we'd still be out there trying to paddle our way back home to hot showers and toilet seats.

Yeah. We had a GPS. But one of us didn't want to use it.

"The GPS says we should head more toward the left," Larry kept telling me during the early part of the six-mile paddle from our campsite on Gullivan Key to the Calusa Island Marina in Goodland, where we put in four days earlier.

"No, I don't think so," I told him. "We need to turn here. Remember, I've been coming here for 16 years. I'm an experienced Islands camper."

Fortunately, my confusion only cost us an extra 30 minutes of paddling, and once I got my bearings and some of my dignity back, I was able to lead the team into the warm, friendly confines of the marina.

No Infamous Folly To Report

It was the end of an easy four-day trip - seven of us fishing and stargazing in the Islands, coming out of it smiling, healthy and still friends.

Unlike other, more infamous trips down to the Islands - now almost legendary for their folly - no one broke any bones, no one walked across a burning fire pit with bare feet and no one hooked himself in the shoulder with a root beer-colored jig. No boats were left high and dry when the tide went out, and we didn't have to spend a day sheltered under our canoes as a mean tropical storm turned back on us and flooded our campsite. The only foolish thing anybody did was ignore the GPS on our way back.

The Ten Thousand Islands are located in Southwest Florida about 20 miles southeast of Naples. You can get to the islands by boat from Naples, but putting in at Everglades City, Chokoloskee or Goodland gets you there quicker.

There are several marinas in the area, and ramp fees run $10 to $20, plus an additional fee for overnight parking.

We usually camp in the late fall or winter, when the cooler temperatures keep the bugs away. It's shallow in many places, and it's easy to run aground. A depth finder helps. So does a GPS - if you use it.

And as long as you're not inside Everglades National Park, no camping permit is needed.

This is where we come when we're tired of traffic, rising gas prices and hearing about a crippled economy. We come here because there are no cars, no fast-food joints and no CNN. Just a few boats; clear, quiet nights; good fishing; and some solitude if you want it. Or need it.

Stroll 100 yards down the beach in either direction away from camp and you're by yourself. You can pick up a rock and throw it any direction and not worry about breaking anything. You can sit in the sand and contemplate the origin of seashells, or you can howl at the moon and not worry about waking up the neighbors.

That's why we go. That's why some of us have been coming back for almost 20 years. Fishing? It's not the only reason, but it's what we do when we're here.

So Happy To Be On Water

We went out from the marina on a Saturday morning, five friends in two boats and three kayaks. Dennis, Larry and I would paddle to the island, while Eric and Todd would drive the motorboats carrying most of our gear. Two more friends, Deryck and Steve, would join us Sunday afternoon in Deryck's boat.

We had just started paddling when Eric and Todd buzzed past us in their boats, quickly disappearing into the horizon on their way to the campsite. We would have felt abandoned if we weren't so happy to be out on the water on a warm, sunny day, far from deadlines, time clocks and stoplights.

We arrived at the campsite about 90 minutes after they did, so they were already out fishing somewhere in one of the boats.

After pitching our tents, cracking a cold beer and looking over the island, we climbed back into our kayaks and went fishing ourselves.

The action was slow, but the scenery was the best you're going to see in that part of Florida. We watched dolphins swim past and ospreys fly overhead with fish clutched in their talons. There were few boats out, and the only thing that reminded us of where we came from were the distant high-rises that rose up off Marco Island, the largest and only developed of the Ten Thousand Islands and the one that sits farthest north.

That first day out, we were all working the leeward side of a mangrove island when Eric hooked what turned out to be a 32-inch snook.

The fish was measured, photographed and released. Not a bad start. Except it turned out to be the only snook we caught in four days.

But we did catch a few redfish, some ladyfish and several trout, most of them in the 2- to 3-pound range. They were all returned to the water; we brought our food in with us.

Fish Tales By Firelight

Each night after supper we sat around the campfire and talked about the day's fishing and where we would fish in the morning. We told stories about our other trips into the Ten Thousand Islands and maybe spiced them up a little, though we didn't have to.

When we finally broke camp Tuesday morning, it was clear and warm with a slight breeze from the east, just the direction that could help take us home in the kayaks.

Eric, Todd, Deryck and Steve left ahead of us in their boats, and the three of us took off paddling again, fortified with Todd's GPS and my profound backwater experience and outdoor savvy.

An hour into the paddle, we made the wrong turn.

"I'm glad we got lost," Dennis said later that afternoon over a cold beer at the Little Bar in Goodland before we headed back to Tampa.

"Otherwise, the camping trip would have been just a little too perfect."

We weren't lost, just confused. But he was right. It was close to perfect.

Rick Folstad can be reached at ringfan108@aol.com.

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