In the first week of April, 1994, friends Jeff McLellan and Kes Roberts, along with my then 10 year old son, J.D., and I paddled into the Okefenokee Swamp, the headwaters of the Suwannee River. We then paddled out of the Okefenokee, into and down the Suwannee River. The trip began at Stephen C. Foster State Park, at the end of "The Pocket" in the swamp, and ended at Stephen Foster State Folk Culture Center in White Springs, Florida -- a total distance of about 90 miles.
On April 1, 1994, Jeff and I took off work, and, along with J.D., drove down to White Springs, Florida. There we loaded Jeff's boat on top of mine and, leaving Jeff's truck at the Steven Foster State Culture Center, drove up to Griffis Fish Camp on the Suwannee River in the Okefenokee Swamp. Kes drove down in his old VW van after he got off work later that day. Here we camped the first night. Saturday we got up and drove the few miles up to Steven C. Foster State Park. Leaving my truck in the parking lot, we put the boats in the water and paddled into the swamp -- destination: Craven's Hammock, an island in the northwest area of the Okefenokee. Sunday night we again camped at this same site at Griffis Fish Camp. This time, however, we arrived by canoe via the Suwannee. The river is a couple hundred yards down a sandy hogpath that serves also as a boat ramp for area fishermen. We were awakened at the crack of dawn both Saturday and Monday mornings by area fishermen putting their fishing boats in the river. The path to the river lies in this picture at a point in a line from the chair to beside the yellow dry bag.
Numerous cypress "bogs" of stagnant water anywhere from a half acre to five or ten acres in size dot the landscape of South Georgia. Having grown up in Southwest Georgia, I am familiar with these habitats. But, also, having never visited the Okefenokee, I always had the sadly mistaken idea that the Okefenokee Swamp was just the mother of all stagnant bogs. It wasn't until after I moved to North Georgia that I first had occasion to visit the Okefenokee, discover its beauty, and learn how wrong I'd been. There is hardly any stagnant water. In fact, the Okefenokee has a current, and is constantly being refreshed. Indeed, because there are no agricultural or industrial enterprises anywhere near the swamp, and because it has such a high tannic acid content, the water tends to be more pure than any you can find just about anywhere -- at least in North America. This is Billy's Lake. Lakes in the Okefenokee are merely wide and open parts of any channel of water. Billy's Lake is the biggest in the Okefenokee.
Here's your obligatory swamp creature. This being the first week in April, there weren't as many out as there would be in another month, but we still saw a good many. We even heard the deep rumbling of their mating calls while we were camped on Craven's Hammock.
The water plant here is spatterdock. It tends to twist around your paddle, particularly on J-strokes. Here Jeff cuts a dashing profile as he demonstrates paddling form in the spatterdock. We are miles from any land.
We paddled trails winding through forests...
...across prairies choked with spatterdock and dotted with the burned out stumps of once giant cypress trees...
...and through forests of adolescent Cypress, the dark water capturing our passing image.
About mid-afternoon, after about 9 miles of moderate paddling, much of it against the current, we reached Craven's Hammock. Upon reading the register we learned that we should beware the pesky racoons, especially bob-tailed "Stumpy," shown here. There was a troup of about 10 to 15 racoons on the island, and they were very aggressive and totally obnoxious in trying to get our food. We'd run them away and up a tree, but, as soon as we turned around, they were right back again. Not so long ago, when there were families who actually lived in or near the swamp, a major form of communication across the expanse, primarily due to the fact that the voice carries farther in this mode of expression, was hollering. Those racoons heard a good bit of hollering that night. I expect, though, that they'd heard it all before. Two things to note here. One: They didn't get any of our food. Two: How they survived the trip across the water to reach the island is a mystery -- Gators love 'coon. If Stumpy could talk, he'd have no tail to tell, but, he could tell us why he doesn't.
In the early part of this century, a logging company stripped the Okefenokee of its gigantic virgin cypress. The company extended an extensive network of tram tracks on pylons throughout the Swamp to extract the massive logs. Sometimes, though, upon the rare occasion land was available, the company was able to run its tracks over solid ground. Craven's Hammock is a mile long mass of solid ground a few hundred yards wide. A logging tram ran down the center of its length. All that remains of the railway on Craven's Hammock today is the elevated and leveled path with a few burned cinders along the trail.
We walked down the tram way path to the south end of the hammock, and, where the surface of the land slides beneath the water, found the fabled "swamp." Nasty looking. Slimey feeling. And disconcerting to realize that, were one to step off into the water and head south, it would be several days before (s)he would again feel solid ground beneath her/his feet, if (s)he didn't first wind up a meal for a big ole alligator. Here, J.D. sports the brace he received after breaking his collarbone in a canoeing accident a few weeks prior to this trip.
Since there is no place to stand or squat in the miles between the put in and any of the platforms scattered throughout the swamp or one of the two or three islands designated for camping, anyone paddling an overnight trip into the Okefenokee is required to take along a portable toilet. We used a five gallon bucket -- that is, we carried a five gallon bucket. Fortunately, we didn't have to press it into service. The islands have chemical toilets, the platforms do not. As well, the islands have racoons, the platforms do not. The toilets make an excellent place to put your food to keep it away from the racoons. Be sure to let the cover down first. I suppose they're built over the water for ease of service. Bless the person who does the job of paddling the contents of these toilets the miles out of the swamp.
Palmettos, Pines, Live Oaks, Cypress, Gum and Holly make up the majority of the flora on Cravens Hammock. There is an established campsite with a fire-ring. The difference in canoe tripping and backpacking is that, while backpacking means having to carry your load on your back, you can haul freight canoe tripping. On this trip I carried a queen size air mattress with a velure surface. Had a hand pump to blow the thing up every night. You will also notice, on the right side of this shot, J.D. sitting in the chair I brought. Jeff expressed his amusement at my bringing a big ice chest, too. This was a great site. Miles and miles removed from civilization. Indeed, the closest we were to any human beings was probably in the jets flying at 35,000 feet over head. Lying in our tents in the quiet after the racoons had conceded defeat in the food dispute and left, we could hear every so often the deep rumbling bellow of a big male alligator trying impress a female. We also heard a barred owl so loud it seemed to be in a tree directly above us, "Whooo whooo whooo cooks for yooouuu." Sometimes, though, (s)he'd append an additional sound at the end. Instead of the soft "yoouu" there'd be a "Yoouu" sliding into a coarse "ouwwwwwwwwwwww." Whoo whoo whoo cooks for yooouuouwwwwwwwwww. Eerie. Cool.
On April 1, 1994, Jeff and I took off work, and, along with J.D., drove down to White Springs, Florida. There we loaded Jeff's boat on top of mine and, leaving Jeff's truck at the Steven Foster State Culture Center, drove up to Griffis Fish Camp on the Suwannee River in the Okefenokee Swamp. Kes drove down in his old VW van after he got off work later that day. Here we camped the first night. Saturday we got up and drove the few miles up to Steven C. Foster State Park. Leaving my truck in the parking lot, we put the boats in the water and paddled into the swamp -- destination: Craven's Hammock, an island in the northwest area of the Okefenokee. Sunday night we again camped at this same site at Griffis Fish Camp. This time, however, we arrived by canoe via the Suwannee. The river is a couple hundred yards down a sandy hogpath that serves also as a boat ramp for area fishermen. We were awakened at the crack of dawn both Saturday and Monday mornings by area fishermen putting their fishing boats in the river. The path to the river lies in this picture at a point in a line from the chair to beside the yellow dry bag.
