Paddling our canoe along the narrow, winding waterway through the cypress swamp, we heard a loud, unmistakable splash from around the next bend. An alligator, alerted by our noise, was taking refuge in the dark, swampy waters. Cautiously we approached the bend, paddling slowly and straining our eyes to see him. Was he upstream, downstream, hiding on the riverbank-or under our canoe?
For most Florida visitors that scenario is played out on a jungle boat ride in Walt Disney World. But the more adventurous can spend a leisurely day canoeing an eight-mile stretch of the gentle Loxahatchee River and catch a glimpse of a vanishing Florida.
That`s where my 70-year-old father and I unintentionally disturbed the alligator, which we never sighted.
In a state where most of the rivers have been straightened into channels or irrigation and drainage ditches to facilitate development, the Loxahatchee is Florida`s only designated wild and scenic river.
Paddlers encounter few signs of civilization and a diversity of plants, trees and animals along its banks.
Canoe Outfitters of Florida rents canoes, paddles, safety cushions and a rudimentary map Thursday through Monday mornings at the launch spot in Jupiter, 20 miles northwest of Palm Beach. They also pick you up downstream later in the afternoon and return you to your car.
There were only three other parties making the trip on the sunny weekday when I accompanied my father. We pushed off at 10 a.m. and headed downstream under a canopy of cypress trees, some of them 300 to 500 years old.
At this point the Loxahatchee is a narrow, winding, northward-flowing stream, just over 20 feet wide. The current helped us move quickly through the dark waters, testing our relatively unskilled paddling technique by pushing us into the banks at almost every turn.
Within minutes we reached the first small wooden spill dams built to control water level and limit salt water incursion. After pulling in to the riverbank, we hauled our canoe over the sluice and then lowered it to the river`s new level.
Paddling on, we continued our circuitous journey through the winding, tree-choked channel. Branches jutted out into the stream, forcing us to duck as we passed, while cypress knees protruded from beneath the water, demanding some adroit maneuvering. It was along this stretch that we came upon the alligator.
After about an hour and a half we reached the second spill dam, portaged around it and continued on under the double overpasses of Interstate Highway 95 and the Florida Turnpike.
The intrusion of noise and exhaust fumes from the cars and trucks atop the bridges was a rude shock to our senses after the river`s tranquility.
Loxahatchee means ”river of turtles” in Seminole, and many of the seagoing amphibians were taking advantage of the winter dry season by sunning themselves on logs exposed by the lower water level. While the logs were a boon to the turtles, they were a bane to us, impeding our progress on this stretch at almost every turn.
Several times I had to get into the water to push the canoe over the obstructions.
Another 90 minutes of easy paddling brought us to the Trapper Nelson Interpretive Center, about five miles downstream from our starting point. Nelson, the son of Polish immigrants, left New Jersey and came to this river landing in the 1930s to carve out a living as a trapper and woodcutter.
Every weekday, it is said, he would paddle eight miles downstream to Jupiter with a load of wood, sell it, then read a Wall Street Journal over a cup of coffee before returning home.
Trapper later exhibited some of his captured animals in a ”wildlife zoo and jungle garden” until state authorities closed it for health and safety violations. Now his outpost is part of Jonathan Dickinson State Park, and rangers are on hand to give visitors lectures and tours.
The site, accessible only by boat, has a small dock, picnic tables and bathrooms.
From this point on the Loxahatchee turns eastward toward the ocean, widens, deepens and is navigable by powerboats. As the river begins to change from fresh to salt water, vegetation along the banks changes from cypresses, maples and fresh water plants to mangroves.
Here the broader Loxahatchee affords more open vistas of the surrounding wetlands, and I could spot herons, ospreys, ibises, woodpeckers and an eagle. Several powerboaters were trolling for the fish we had seen jumping in the river.
As we paddled closer to the ocean, the onshore breeze blowing in our face and the disappearing current slowed our progress. We kept close to the bank and speeded up our strokes, the only hard paddling of the trip.
The expanse of sun, trees and water compensated for the extra work we now had to do. Shortly after 3 p.m. we put in at the public boat dock at Jonathan Dickinson. Within minutes the other canoes joined us, as we awaited our pickup.
For more than five hours we had traveled along a river and had seen a part of Florida little changed by encroaching civilization. Other than the freeway overpass and the buildings at Trapper Nelson`s, I had seen few signs of civilization on the waterway-only two houses and our fellow boaters.
I would take this trip over the Disney version any day.
