Kevin and Our Kayak Adventure

Kevin and I sat in the driveway of his mobile home, as we often did. It was a cute, at least 30 year-old two-bedroom bachelor pad. I had helped him decorate it with a collection of nautical art from the previous owners and some that I had acquired. We sat in big red adirondack chairs made of compressed wood and plastic next to his grill and began dreaming of doing a big paddle together. He was my neighbor-turned-best-friend and my best paddle buddy. We wanted something achievable as he was 70 and I needed to keep Goko, my paddle business, open. It didn't take long before we agreed to make this dream come true and circumnavigate Old Tampa Bay.

I have paddled big paddles before, but I wanted to make this one meaningful. Turning it into a fundraiser quickly popped into my mind and Kevin believed people would be moved to donate if we paddled for manatee. I asked our then head guide, Lynn, what organization would put our hard-earned money toward manatee and she offered the Fish and Wildlife Foundation of Florida. She had just met their representatives at an eco event and trusted their mission. It was all coming together. Kev and I decided to leave as soon as possible to avoid spring sun and spring break, the latter of which can be a boost in kayak business. This left us two weeks to plan, train, and start fundraising. It didn't seem like enough time, but neither of us are good at waiting once our minds are made up, so we got to work!

We had crossed Tampa Bay that winter. A first attempt at a shared big paddle. We picked a day midweek and low wind. Maybe a little too low. It didn't blow at all. This is very rare for Tampa Bay. The water was beautiful and still, an eerie still. As the saying goes, smooth seas don't make a skilled sailor. Or an amused one. The paddle edged on boring. Kevin and I aren't adrenaline junkies, but we are adventurers and were definitely left wanting more. With this under our belt, along with many other eventful paddles, planned and unplanned, this was all the training we needed and we knew nothing could stop us.

Two days. We gave ourselves two days to paddle the circumference of Old Tampa Bay. From Philippe Park in Safety Harbor, FL to Tampa, then into Mobbly Bay and back into Philippe Park. Dear friends of ours, Chelsea and Kelsey, live on the water in Tampa. They graciously offered to let us stay in their home overnight, since Old Tampa Bay does not have islands to camp on. I started a Go Fund Me and set a goal of $10/mile. Guessing the paddle would be about 30 miles total, I felt $300 would be a great start. Wind was predicted to be decent and weather fine. We gathered our gear and got ready for the biggest adventure we would ever have together.

Wednesday, March 8th 2023

Running 30 minutes late due to me, we set off from our campground neighborhood. Sophia, my wife, drove us and our kayaks to Philippe Point, a little wild-looking beach with native vegetation including mangroves, old oaks, palm trees, and soft, white sand. Sophia helped us unload and launch. Excitement filled us as we settled into our kayaks. For me, it was Maybell High Tide, my 14ft composite cockpit. For him, it was his 13ft Hobie sit on top. Designed for fishing, but surprisingly narrow. The sun had just come up and we were off.

It was a hazy morning. Visibility wasn't bad, but the thick haze really had an impact. I soon stopped to take some photos. We paddled on southward towards Coopers Bayou. Suddenly, the smell of toast filled the sea air. We were at least half a mile off shore, making the breakfast smell more of a mystery, but it was unmistakable. Finally, Kevin realized we were passing the resort and spa in Safety Harbor. No doubt their guests were enjoying slice after slice of toast. Mystery solved. Coopers Bayou was now in sight and the Florida sun had burned off every bit of haze. We hit Coopers Point and shifted our bows to cross under the Courtney Campbell Causeway, a bridge neither of us had been under before. A couple dolphin popped up just before we went beneath and just after an aggregation of manatee! We were so happy to see them as they were the focus of this all! We paddled past them and alongside the causeway west to the Bayside Bridge. The sun was growing hot and with some miles in already, we hunkered down until we could take our first break.

Kevin got a hot spot from holding the paddle, the beginning of a blister. He had brought gloves, so we paused for him to get them out. Paddlers often wear gloves to prevent blisters. Paddle gloves are made of lightweight and quick dry material and no fingers. I will never forget what he pulled out - a pair of old military gloves made of thick wool. Winter gloves! In his defense, he had cut off the fingers. I laughed and am laughing now. It was March in Florida, at least 75 degrees and full sun. Well, he put them on and and we got back to paddling. After several strokes, I asked him how they were helping. He replied earnestly, "I think it's worse." I laughed some more as he took them back off.

We paddled under the Bayside Bridge. It had been hours now and we needed a break. Scanning the shoreline, we saw nothing but thick mangroves - healthy, but not a good rest stop. So we paddled on. We passed back under the bridge heading southeast now, staying true to the circumnavigation. It looks like a short paddle to the Clearwater Airport, but boy did we hit some waves. Only about 1-ft chop, but plenty to soak us. A society of dolphin fished around us, making up for the less than favorable conditions. We both became desperate for a break now and decided we had to make a stop even if it wasn't perfect. We found one of the runways that stuck out into the water was surrounded by shallows and slightly shielded from the wind and waves. Slightly. And we soon realized the shallows were rocky and oystery. We got out because we had to. We stretched, took care of business. It wasn't restful or long, because we noticed an airport security truck now speeding down the runway to us. We sloshed back into our kayaks and got out of there! It was just in the nick of time, too; the truck had arrived, but I guess they saw we were paddling away, so left us alone. Whew. Later that day, we realized not only was that the airport, but the USCG Air Station and they did not want amphibious visitors. Whoops.

Back at it, the dolphin had dispersed and the sun got hotter. The chop turned into comfortable 1ft swells of blue-green. Not much to see here, but we were eager for our next stop and ready for our first real break. We paddled against Feather Sound neighborhood, approaching Big Island, water we knew well. There are some mangrove islands and shoreline along Feather Sound that we hoped we could land on since we still really needed a break. We eyed a sandy spot and paddled in for rest. To our surprise, the sand was pure mush. Our feet sank easily 4 inches with every step, and sometimes more. So much for a leisurely break! We made a live Facebook video, I found a soccer ball, and we got our kayaks back in the water to head to Big Island.

Big Island really isn't all that big, but the biggest uninhabited island in Old Tampa Bay. Luckily for us, the tide was low enough for a semi-restful stop this time at the northern nook of the island. We were able to get out, but it was still mushy sand. We ate lunch and marvelled at the largest king crown conch we had ever seen! These guys are the most common conch we find on our side of the bay, usually 3 inches, but this one was at least double. The sharp looking points around the spiral give it its name. Sandwich now in stomach, I followed Kevin around the inside of the island and under the Howard Frankland Bridge and the 4th Street Bridge, which is known for good fishing. The passage under this bridge took us onto smooth green water. The wind had died. Usually this is desirable to a paddler, however, like when we crossed the bay, it was boring. The sun was high in the sky now, beating down on us. No animals, no nothing. Just us on motionless green sea and perfect targets for the sun. This would have been a four-ish mile paddle. When we finally spoke, it was about how the next bridge, Gandy, seemed to be getting farther.

I can only assume the crossing of this water was like the crossing of a barren desert. Each stroke became labored. An old neck injury from my last big paddle was making itself modern. And the bridge just wasn't getting closer. After what felt like 40 days and 40 nights, we creeped up onto the bridge. We found the best rest spot. Firm sand, shade, and rest, finally rest. Kevin laid there, covered in sweat and filled with doubt. He didn't think he could go on. The next leg was potentially the hardest and definitely the most dangerous. We were crossing the bay, no land, just water; 3.3 miles of it till the first bit of next land. But, we had done it before. This was the exact place we crossed the bay earlier this year and found it boring. I wasn't going to quit, I knew that. I also knew Sophia would not be happy with me if I went on alone. Kevin had been thinking about her too, but in a totally different light. He remembered how she had been getting on us about drinking electrolytes as well as water. So we shared a Gatorade and felt life coming back into us. He gave his cbd pain-relief-oil to me for my neck, which worked wonders. We enjoyed the shade and firm sand and pumped ourselves back up to push on the last leg of the day!

Gandy Bridge is my favorite of them all. I paddle the water on the west side of the bridge the most, for pleasure and work. The marine life is plentiful and it has become a comfort zone for me. At this moment in time I wouldn't say I was comfortable, but invigorated for the last challenge of the day. Kevin was, too. We chatted along the way. The sun was lower in the sky now, making it much less of an issue. There was a slight breeze and so many tug boats going home for the night. Big and small tugs and in shapes we hadn't seen before. Some left huge wake behind that we greeted, cutting right into it with our bows. These passing boats made the time fly. Before we knew it, we were in Tampa. We were under airplanes now taking off and landing at the Tampa International Airport. After less than a mile more, I could make out the roofs of our friends' waterfront apartment complex.

The sun was setting, and even after the day we had, we lingered on the water there that night. Knowing that we had made it and remembering why we love to kayak. We gazed into the dark sky and out onto the dark water and at the bridge we just conquered. The lights of it and the cars driving by were silent and magical. This remains one of the most beautiful paddle moments of my life.

We rejoined the waking world and paddled into the mangrove canal that reached our friends' back yard. The landing was muddy, really messy muddy, but the peace and accomplishment that filled us was all that mattered. Chelsea, an immensely caring girl, came down to meet us, eager to help. She brought down a gallon of water for us to rinse the messy mud off of ourselves. As fast as we could, we broke down gear, unpacked what we needed for the night, including a bottle of wine we brought for our hosts, and secured the kayaks next to the mangroves. Like mules, we carried stuffed dry bags and PFDs up the stairs to their 2nd floor apartment to where we would be spoiled for the next couple of hours. Chelsea and Kelsey had ordered in dinner. There we sat at their high top kitchen table, eating, drinking and being merry. They listened to our stories from the day and made sure we were full and snug for the night. We excused ourselves after this wonderful experience to the balcony to make one more live video. Donations were coming in and in a big way. So much so, I raised the goal to $30/mile.

Sleepiness set in and we made beds in their living room. Kevin took the floor, giving me the couch. Almost camping. Was it the new surroundings or the excitement to get back out there? I don't know, but we both woke well before sunrise and hauled our gear back down the stairs to our waiting kayaks. It was warm, calm, and very dark. We launched back through the mud and into the bay. Stars were shining as bright as the bridge lights and the moon was reflecting off the saltwater. We paddled along the Tampa coast and stopped to make a quick video and get a selfie. This would be that last picture I would take for 6 hours. This perfectly peaceful morning was going to take a turn neither of us could have predicted.

I looked back at the rising sun, wanting to take a photo, but the water was getting wavy, so I decided to take a picture in my mind. I still have it. The water grabbed back my attention. We were paddling straight north towards the Howard Frankland Bridge for our 2nd passage under it. Less than 3 miles away and yet the most terrifying. Wind predictions were up, but if I remember correctly, not more than 13 mph, which is high, but not crazy. At 17 mph we stay off the water. The wind wasn't making it hard for us directly, it was how the wind was blowing the water that was the giant problem. Since the wind was predicted, we had a plan, this is why we paddled south first. However, the plan was no match for Mother Nature that morning. These violent waves were easily some of the biggest I've been in. They were choppy and the water was swelling, too, by several feet. Powerful enough to flip us and that's what scared me.

I've paddled 4ft chop before and Kev has come close, but this was different. I can count on my hand how many times I have felt unsafe in a kayak over my 16 years paddling and this counts as 2. The way the water was moving, I changed our course to an angle so we could break some of the aggressive waves with our stern rather than our side which had full potential to flip us. We were loaded with gear which complicates rescues, but the most severe complication was how angry the water was acting. I believed if I flipped, I would not be able to get back in, making me a victim at the mercy of the waves. When I tell you these waves were big, I mean it. I would look over to Kevin and would not be able to see him, he was hidden behind water. All we could do was survive in this moment. I didn't see any safe place to land and couldn't afford to look at my phone to see if there was anything nearby. We pressed on, deeming it our safest and only option.

The Howard Frankland Bridge drew near. Bridges often create a special current around them. I've seen great paddlers smash into bridges from the forceful water. The bridge was also under construction at the time, or rather, more lanes were being built. Barges lined the north side of the bridge holding cranes and other equipment. We were advised to stay clear of these by 100 yards. Being aware of the potential dangers of paddling through a construction zone, we hoped to pass by before they began work for the day. This huge slow down, however, was going to make it close. We could see the morning commuters so we knew any minute the construction crew would arrive. Honestly, though, we couldn't worry about that, not while the waves demanded all of our concentration. Purely soaked in saltwater and nerves wracked, we also found our muscles tense, all of them, as we sat rigid in our small kayaks on this big water. It has been hours since we set off that morning and it has been almost entirely a battle; us against the waves.

We cautiously approached the enormous columns of the Howard Frankland. The water, moving to the max, swirled around us, but the chop was a little less. Under the bridge, we saw the construction workers clocking in. Kevin and I connected with each other for the the first time since the selfie before sunrise and tried to come up with a plan. We needed to get to land. Sadly, this bridge merges onto the water only after a mile of steep, unlandable land. So to paddle a mile out of our way to look for safety didn't feel right. We planned to paddle on an angle, still on course, but to an appropriate landing. Much to our dismay, when we got on the other side of the bridge, the water was worse. Worse! How could this be? It didn't make sense. Quickly, I scratched the plan. I saw a barge about 100 yards in front of us. The wind was blowing from the east, so there was a small slice of serenity on the west side of it. Though warned to keep clear, we had to take this refuge. I pulled out my phone and found land that we could reach safely with conditions. 2 more miles away.

It became evident how taxing the morning had been. Our bodies fatigued and aching, minds only on survival and draining fast. We took a deep breath and left our barge of safety and took on another 2 miles of chop, not the chop from earlier but still wet, agitated chop. I led us, with the help of Google Maps, to the 1st break of the day. Another mushy and rocky break. Turns out there was no land to land on, but shallow and protected shore line where we could eat breakfast and stretch out tight muscles. Whew, what a leg. We got back in and headed another 1.3 miles to Ben T Davis Beach. Now that was a break. We sprawled out on the beach and could finally rest our minds. I got out my camp stove to make morning coffee. Kev walked to the beach bathroom. He had the lighter, so I had to wait to light the stove, but it was ok. I sat there in the sand, looking out into the bay and at the sea shells sprinkled around. I noticed several dead roosters washed up, but I carried on resting. When he got back, I turned on the propane and lit the stove. The coffee was hot, not really what we needed with the hot sun already sending its fiery rays, but it was a nice morale boost even though I burned my lips. A quick live video and back to paddling. Ben T Davis Beach runs along the Courtney Campbell Causeway. Thankfully, we could see an opening in the causeway that would allow for a much needed short cut to carry on our circumnavigation. When we approached it, however, there was a sign not to go under. We monitored closely as to why the sign was posted. We scanned for danger, shallows, oyster beds, and saw nothing of the sort. Rule number 2 broken for the day as we paddled under anyway.

On the other side, we were facing mangroves, a nice nature sight after the am of waves and bridges. It was shallow, but oh so lovely. So calm, and really, just what we needed. All was well until I felt my lips still burning from the coffee, but they felt numb and swollen and I got sick to my stomach. I realized they were sunburned. I suffer from burns very rarely and never my lips before. It really unsettled me, but what can ya do? I tried to get back into the nature. I rafted up with Kevin, or held onto his kayak as we sat next to each other and floated along these dazzling shallows loaded with life underneath us. We chatted, rested, still returning to ourselves after the last stressful leg. It felt like an hour of us just being friends together on the water. We regained the gumption to start paddling again and made our way to the best and most beautiful stop of the whole trip. It was this tropical sandy stop at the mouth of a little river. We saw some boat traffic, but other than that, it was just us there. Behind us were palm trees and mangroves. Crabs shared the sand with us and we were in heaven. We made a live video. I marked down the coordinates so I could return, but have yet to do so.

Our next leg was a quiet one. Rested, but still pretty fatigued from the morning, we paddled in silence and with space between us. We crossed over into Mobbly Bay. It was hot now. My skin was red, so I anxiously applied and reapplied sunscreen. My skin was actually just hot, but paranoid from my lip burn, I kept slathering it on. We spotted Mobbly Bayou Beach Park. It made the next perfect stop. Sandy, bathrooms, and shade. Snacking, Kevin pointed across the now narrow bay at Philippe Point, where we began only yesterday. Of course, wanting to complete a true circumnavigation, I wanted to continue north, as north as the bay went. It took some convincing, but not that much and we were up there in no time. Whether it was Kevin's fatigue or

severe back pain (unbeknownst to me at the time), he was making jokes the whole last leg. He noticed my paddling had gotten slower, so challenged me to a race. We made it to the top and turned around to paddle back down and Kevin was still lively. We enjoyed seeing the extinct Tocobaga Tribe's mound, said to protect Tampa Bay from hurricanes.

And just like that, we landed. No fanfare, not even Sophia to meet us. I will tell you what did meet us, hungry hungry mosquitos, making it impossible to relish in the moment and the giant paddle we had just completed. 84 mosquito bites later, she arrived in the big red truck to pick us and our kayaks up. We dropped Kevin off and went home.

I had a little energy to unload some gear and shells I had collected along the way. Suddenly, a mangrove tree crab popped out of one of them and down the crack between my house and Florida room. I burst into tears. I knew it would die down there and the last thing I wanted to do was harm anything especially when trying to help manatee. Sophia found me sobbing, and chalked it up to tiredness. She was right, I was tired, and after the lackluster finish, it was nice to be reminded of the feat we had just accomplished. The next day, I walked over to Kevin's. He was in agony. He was having trouble walking, and moving around his little mobile home. My heart sank. To this day, I know I broke him. But he has never, not once, agreed. Though in pain, he said he felt like he was on top of the world for having completed this adventure. Even though his back was giving up, he sure wasn't. Kev spoke proudly about this paddle for the rest of his time in Florida. He moved away about a year and a half later, back home to Indiana. He is still being seen by the VA for his back pain. The big paddle reignited an old back injury from the Air Force. We only paddled together few times after that. A shame after all the adventures we had been on together.

One day, years before this, Kevin told me, kayaking was the best thing that happened to him. His kayak journey began and ended with me. I hope, even if only a little bit, he still believes it. I miss him so much and honestly think back on our era with only the best memories. He enhanced my life, Sophia's, our dog Homer's, and the life of Goko. He taught me so much and I guess still is teaching me not to live with regret. Though I blame myself, I truly pray he wouldn't have had it any other way.

We paddled 36 miles, 18 each day. This was a new record for me and ironically, my favorite and very spiritual number. When it appears to me, I know I know I'm on the right path. We raised awareness and nearly $900 for manatee. The money went directly to the emergency feeding fund since their food source, seagrasses, were and still are dying. In 2022, 800 manatee died due in majority to starvation. In 2023, the year of this big paddle, the number dropped to 565. I like to think we played a small part in that. The summer, fall, and winter, we taught about manatee and I took people to paddle with them as often as possible. We need to continue to protect them and every creature on our planet and I intend to do so each year with a big paddle. I will always be grateful to Kevin for making this big paddle dream come true.