Time To Travel: Fab Kayaking, Beaches and Manatees in Central Florida

The Canadian government this week dropped its warning against international travel, a move that could boost consumer confidence. With that in mind, I’ll be highlighting great destinations over the next little while using the tag “Time to Travel.”

Here’s a post from a great trip to Florida a few years ago.

INVERNESS, FLORIDA – It’s a cool morning by Florida standards and a light fog is hanging over the dark waters of the Withlacoochee River.

The mist rises and swirls over the top of the river as we pull away from the dock for our tour of the river with captain Doug Riggs of Wild Bill’s Airboat Tours. Across the small bay, a blue heron sits motionless, waiting for its breakfast to appear in the water below. Off to our right, a startled ibis flaps its wings and sails over a patch of brilliant yellow flowers.

Riggs slowly motors through the shallow water, pointing out the birds and some native plants. I should be writing down the names of them but instead I’m gazing out at the flat water and the surprising tapestry of colours in the trees that line the riverbank.

The words “fall colour” don’t pop into my mind when I think of Florida, but we’re surrounded by cypress, gum trees, oaks and even what I think might be maple trees. It’s not quite the colour you’d see in Canada, but there’s an impressive palette of rusty reds, burnt oranges and deep yellows.

The temperatures are a little low for alligators to be sunning themselves, but we spot one that’s about a meter long just a few feet away. Riggs explains that every inch between an alligator’s eyeball and nostril indicates roughly one foot in length. I don’t have a tape measure on my person, so I take his word for it.

It’s a mostly placid ride, but near the end Riggs decides he needs to emulate the “Wild Bill” in the company title. He fires up the throttle and sends us careering and sliding across the water at a rapid speed as we head across a broad bay, the water spraying up and over the boat.

Riggs slows thing down as we mosey through a small opening in the river and creep towards the dock, the autumn colours reflected in the still waters ahead of our boat.

I was lucky enough to get out on the water or into it on every day of my recent six-day trip to central Florida, where I did a couple of days in delightful New Smyrna Beach and then headed into the interior to explore the freshwater rivers and surprising springs that pop up out of the earth in a wide arc that stretches across the state.

Most tourists heading south on the interstates in the general direction of The Mouse or Miami slide right past these glorious springs, which send billions of gallons of fresh water out of the Florida limestone every day, all at a constant 22 degrees Celsius. I got to spend four days in around the springs near Ocala and Crystal River, a Gulf Coast community that’s a couple hours north of Tampa with stunning, clear springs and hundreds of manatees.

Manatees – gentle, lumbering grey creatures that usually live in the ocean– flock to Florida’s springs every winter to stay warm; much like the Canadians flying by on Interstate 75,

The Plantation on Crystal River has a program where folks can do dives with the manatees. We gather early one morning and watch a video on the animals and are given a few rules. Manatees are curious and probably will approach us at very close range, but we’re not to swim after them, seek out their attention or touch them.

We don our wetsuits and, after a very short boat ride out into Kings’ Bay, slide gently into the water to observe the animals in a protected natural springs area that’s cordoned off by buoys. As advertised, they’re quite curious; swimming right up to our masks and showing no trace of fear. They roll and glide and move silently in the water as we snap away with our underwater cameras.

Later that day I do a kayak trip on the nearby Chassahowitzka River with Dave Perry from Hunter Springs Kayaks. We paddle into quiet, small bays lined with trees with deep orange leaves and graceful palms that arch out over the dark water. I take a deep breath and try to soak it all in.

Manatees laze about below our kayaks in the warm spring water. Over on the river bank, a dark brown/black otter slinks along the edge of the river.

I had another fine paddle on the Rainbow River southwest of Ocala. The folks at KP Hole County Park rent kayaks, stand-up paddle boards and other water gear for visitors who want to explore the area and Rainbow Springs State Park.

There are lovely cottages on the west bank of the river, with families splashing about in the water. On the east side it’s all natural, with towering trees and small parks dotting the landscape. As I round one of the bends in the river I see a woman on her paddleboard with a small dog riding up front.

Just outside of Ocala is Silver Springs State Park, where you can take a lovely glass bottom boat ride and peer deep down into the spring-fed water. They’ve filmed several movies here over the years, including Tarzan flicks and the James Bond film Thunderball.

We spot large gators sunning themselves on exposed logs, as well as a mother manatee with a couple of babies. Our guide points out a 500-year-old native American canoe that rests at the bottom, as well as underwater caves, several species of fish and a variety of birds, including sleek, black-and-white Anhingas.

A half-hour or so east of Silver Springs is Juniper Springs Recreation Area, where they’ve built a small pond you can swim in (just warm enough for a Canadian in winter, I can say with authority) that uses the natural spring water, as well as a lovely boardwalk that meanders through the palmettos and live oak trees draped with Spanish Moss. I wander through the quiet forest and take a short walk over to Fern Hammock, where the water takes on a remarkable shade of blue.

As much as I loved the springs and the kayak trips in the inland regions, I also had a marvellous time checking out beaches on both the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf Coast.  New Smyrna Beach sits on the east coast of Florida, just south of Daytona, and features a cheerful, low-key downtown with galleries, home décor stores, surf shops and old-time ice cream joints.

I have lunch one day at a casual, beachfront place called The Breakers and run into a group of winter refugees from Wisconsin, ladies passing out vanilla vodka shots as part of a birthday celebration.  A rocket is being launched down the road at Cape Canaveral that day, so we dash out onto the sand to watch it quickly rise through the deep blue sky.

Across the Intracoastal Waterway is the New Smyrna Beach Museum of History, which tells wonderful stories of pioneer days and terrific tales of the town’s first female mayor, a real fireplug named Hannah Detwiler Bonnet. Around the corner is a terrific gallery/event space called The Hub on Canal, where you’ll find artists creating everything from pastoral beach scenes to thought-provoking political works to jewelry and moccasins.

I take a couple hours to test a bike that’s specially outfitted for riding on the beach, rented by a company called Salty Rentals. It’s an easy afternoon ride as I pass kids playing in the surf and lovers walking hand-in-hand.

My last morning in town I wake up early to catch the sunrise at the Flagler Avenue Boardwalk and spot a group of locals chatting about the weather and various goings-on in the town. Dave, who hails from Indiana, tells me he’s been coming every morning for seven years.

I take a minute to listen to the chatter, then snap some photos of a glorious sunrise filled with deep oranges, pinks and yellows.

On the west coast, I take time to check out Fort Island Beach, a short drive west of downtown Crystal River. There’s a small but nice beach and a sturdy wooden pier that’s perfect for fishing.

The day I arrive a group of locals are playing in a drum circle as the sun settles into the Gulf of Mexico, pounding out a beat as a handful of folks dance and whirl in the sand.

Retired New York taxi driver Steve Schwartz, who helped form the current drum circle, tells me they play every second Sunday of the month. He tells me it’s kind of an homage to the sun and talks briefly about some kind of pyramid power. Over his shoulder, a woman of a certain age twirls a gauzy scarf around her and shimmies to the beat.

I soak up the joy of the drums and the smiles of the dancers and the colours of a Florida sunset and slowly drive back to my hotel in the fading light.