Day 11
Wednesday February 23rd, 2022
Sweetwater Chickee to Watson’s Place to Crooked River
Miles-12.5
Total-127.5
I woke up to see Jamie already awake sitting up deep in thought looking over the bay. He didn’t notice I was awake as I just open my eyes in the morning and don’t move around first. I grabbed him snarling at the same time and scared the poo out of him. Gotta keep my friends on their toes.
The bay was very active all night and it never stopped this morning. It is a rather noisy place with all the fish jumping and swimming near the surface. A large shark circled the bay a few times and disappeared. Not long after, a pod of dolphins entered the bay. They didn’t stay long either. Our friendly alligator from yesterday glided in riding the current to reclaim his mud bank perch. The tide was still up, but as it receded, he slowly settled into his spot floating gently into place. Alligators are the masters of energy conservation. He was soon joined by another alligator who did the same little maneuver at the next open spot down the bank.
We broke camp, packed the kayaks and headed for Watson’s Place. Leaving Sweetwater, on the backside of the island next to the chickee was another fishing guide and his client. We greeted them as we passed. They asked about the mosquitoes last night.
Our kayaks are significantly lighter than at the start of this trip losing about ten pounds a day in water and food weight, but we are also growing more sore every day. Our pace remains consistently around 3 mph.
We were fortunate to see another pod of five dolphins pushing fish up the bank. They work as a team churning up the water. At irregular intervals they surface for a loud breath. They are fun to watch, almost impossible to get pictures of them.
It wasn’t long before we landed at Watson’s Place. We watched a Carolina Skiff come in moments before us taking up the whole landing forcing us to squeeze our kayaks into a small opening behind the dock. I swear this guide’s two clients looked like the Howells taking a three-hour tour on the SS Minnow. The woman had two groomed Corgis dogs with her. The guide assisted them out of the boat and gave a short history of the place while waving a small machete he had pulled from its sheath pointing with the blade for effect. The whole thing was rather comical.
I asked the guide if there were trails and more to see on the island. He replied that there was a trail with an old Ford Model T, but he wasn’t taking his clients down it as there was fresh panther scat in the trail. Not sure how he knew that as he never went near the trail entrance. He then emphasized there were rattlesnakes on that trail and to be very careful. We think he said all that because the mosquitoes on that trail were horrendous and he just didn’t want to go in the thick brush with his clients. I don’t doubt the presence of rattlesnakes and panthers on the island, but I don’t stay out of places based on the mere possibility a dangerous animal is there. In fact, I have my camera ready hoping to see animals like those. A picture of a wild panther would be the capstone to this adventure.
I also asked him what years the island plantation operated mostly to see if he would start talking and fill in some details I hadn’t read about yet. He replied with a very southern accent, “My great granddaddy dun shot Waaatson waay baaack in nineteeeen ten”. That was another statement for the benefit of his clients. I already knew more than half the town at the time shot Mr. Watson. The coroner pulled over a pound of lead out of his body. Even the town’s kids went down to the Smallwood General Store to put a bullet in the body so they too could say they shot Mr. Watson. The guide simply omitted his “great granddaddy” wasn’t the only one by far to shoot the man so hated by the residents of Chokoloskee.
The guide quickly loaded The Millionaire and his wife, Thurston Howell III and Lovey Howell with her pampered pets back in the SS Minnow leaving Jamie and I set aground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle to explore. Apparently, we needed to be on the three-hour tour aboard the SS Minnow to ask questions.
Jamie and I looked around the clearing at the water cistern, the sugar vat, the remains of machinery, and a few building foundations. I knew this cistern was here and it is why I brought along a Katydyn water filter. The Wilderness Waterway is known for raccoons breaking into people’s water supplies and stealing their fresh water. If we needed more water, I intended to use this cistern to resupply us. The truth is the water is likely safe to drink without filtering. The water is crystal clear with huge tadpoles swimming around. Back when cisterns were the most common way to have water in Florida, frogs would be placed in the cistern to be the proverbial canary in the coal mine. If the frogs and tadpoles were dead, then you knew the water wasn’t safe to drink. As it turned out, our water was never raided, and we still had plenty with us.
We next headed into the scary jungle down the trail. We never saw rattlesnakes, or the panther scat the guide was so worried about, but we did see some older footprints in the mud that may have been panther. (Check out the pictures and let me know your opinion) Watson’s Place is a remote, 35 to 40 acre island. The trails The Skipper described as going way back on the island didn’t. Those supposed long trails ended just a few hundred feet back. We are sure there are so many more artifacts left on the island, but all we found was the remains of the model T and the remains of what was possibly a tractor. Check out the attached pictures and give me your ideas what it might have been.
I am going to give a very abbreviated story of Mr. Watson. There are books and movies made about the serial killer of the Everglades. At the bottom of this post are links to more details of the story. The story of Mr. Watson is quite interesting even if more than a little macabre. Also bear in mind as with most stories like this that have grown into legend there is substantial variation in the details of the tale of Mr. Ed Watson.
Mr. Watson came from South Carolina and started a successful sugar plantation just south of the town of Chokoloskee in the Everglades wilderness. That was strike one against him. People who had lived their whole lives there had difficulty growing crops. There was considerable jealousy for his success.
It took a while, but the townspeople of Chokoloskee began to notice Mr. Watson’s hired help were disappearing. It turned out Mr. Watson was not paying his help. At that time, it was not uncommon for the plantation workers to be paid at the end of the season when the crops were sold. Mr. Watson would hire drifters nobody knew as a practice and then kill them instead of paying them. Eventually the town had enough of this serial killer and confronted him when law enforcement proved unable to deal with him. An argument ensued at the Smallwood General Store where he was confronted about the murders. It culminated in Mr. Watson raising his shotgun at the crowd and pulling the triggers of his double barrels. Unfortunately for him his paper shotgun shells were wet from the recent hurricane and the gun misfired. The folks of Chokoloskee didn’t have that problem and returned fire with about twenty people shooting Mr. Watson nearly simultaneously before Mr. Watson could reach for the revolver he always carried.
After news spread of what happened many others in town came to pay their respects by putting a piece of lead in the body of Mr. Watson. The murders ceased after his death. The details of course vary, but that is the gist of the story.
Jamie and I cast off and headed towards our destination of Crooked River for our last night in the water. We savored our last full day of paddling. The plan was to take it slow. I got off to day dreaming again and my pace became fast and steady without my realizing it. Jamie eventually caught up to me wondering what the hell that was all about. I don’t know either. I just went on autopilot.
Crooked River Chickee isn’t on the chart. It took us a little while to find it tucked down a side river behind an island. It isn’t actually on the river it is named for either.
We unloaded and took a short rest. We have been taking a near daily swim in the water to clean up. Jump in, get out and soap up, then jump back in to rinse off. I cannonballed a large gar who wasn’t impressed at all with my water entry technique. He never left his spot near the bank.
I no sooner had gotten out, dried off and dressed when two kayakers came around the island from the other direction. This was our last night in the Everglades and the first time we shared a chickee. We weren’t happy sharing as we are more fond of the solitude, but as it turned out we had a lot in common with Fred from Indian Rocks Beach and his friend, Mike, from Minneapolis who joined us. They were a couple of very friendly guys who we spent the evening with swapping stories. Mike told us about a bicycle trip he recently did following the length of the Mississippi River. Fred builds sailboats for a living and of course is an accomplished sailor. He and Jamie had a lot to talk about. They offered up some cold beer and we returned the favor with some of our whiskey.
Like clockwork the sun set, the wind died, and out came the insects forcing us to retreat to the tent.
I have a lot of emotions running through my head this last night out here. I am so thrilled to have finally gotten to do this trip after 25 years of talking about it. I am also looking forward to another hot meal at Cracklin’ Jack’s. A scalding hot shower and a comfortable bed will be nice too.
Literally, the only thing I have to complain about is the failure of my air mattress. I paid too much money for what I thought was a high-quality piece of equipment to accept this failure. First world problems meaning something like this really isn’t a problem.
Every other piece of equipment performed flawlessly. The trip has been great. The solitude and peace was healing. Everything about the Wilderness Waterway has been better than hoped for.
The last day tomorrow will be bittersweet. We end the trip but will have a memory to last a lifetime.
https://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/fl-xpm-1998-05-10-9805080291-story.html
DirtMedic 