ape Sable26 ̊ N82 ̊ W 80 ̊ W28 ̊ N(^060120)
Nautical Miles
FLORIDA
Pine Island Sound
Marco Island
Cape Sable
Lake
Okeechobee
The Evergladesverglades
Stuart
St. Lucie Channel
Charlotte Harbor
Indiantownndiant
Moore Haven
Punta
Gorda
Captiva Island
Caloosahatchee
River
Fort Myers
island’s water tower, where if we squinted,
we could imagine the boats that had come
before: Calusa and Seminole canoes,
Cuban fi shing craft, and elegant wood
runabouts with wealthy dropouts, artists
and writers, fi lm stars and dignitaries,
island owners and castaways. Near the
tower, two of the charming local tortoises
were working on making the next
generation of tortoises, but the male was
getting nowhere fast. I chased Rebecca
around the nature trail, which took us
over a shell midden, the high point of the
island where shells cast here by ancient
inhabitants still crunched under our feet.
Then it was back to the yacht and
south to an inauspicious afternoon. We’d
managed to keep Liberte off the bottom
all this time, despite the shoal depths
that sometimes had us tiptoeing gingerly
through skinny waters as we sang the new
Lady Gaga song from A Star Is Born: “In
the shallows, the sha-ha-lowwws...”
Happily abuzz with our Cabbage Island
outing, exultant in the sunshine, and egged
on by what turned out to be dodgy advice
from a longtime local mariner, we took a
gamble we wouldn’t have ordinarily taken,
and parked our boat soundly atop a sand-
bar in midchannel to Captiva Island. We
applied plenty of rpm in reverse, then in
forward, with no results. I unfurled the jib
to heel the boat in the wind and Rebecca
gave it full revs again, but it was obvious we
were here to stay for a while. We’d made
the mistake of not leaving ourselves the
margins we normally do. Captiva was to
be our shelter for the night with southerly
weather coming, and now the tide was
going to turn and it would soon be dark.
I called TowBoatUS for the fi rst time
ever and asked for help. In fact, it was
the only time in 15 years of owning and
extensively cruising Liberte that we’d
needed this kind of assistance. But sooner
or later, as they say, there are two kinds of
sailors, those who have been aground and
those who lie about it. So consider this my
true sailing confession.
Fortunately our Gold Unlimited
membership meant there’d be no charge.
But there was an interminable wait, and
when our rescuer arrived in fading light,
we found out why. They had been pulling
boats off the bottom all day due to south-
erly winds affecting the depths and time
of tides in the sound. With the tugboat
straining and our boat heeled way over,
there was a lurching release, and, we were
fi nally free—(with shouts of triumph) a
remarkably joyous sensation unrivaled in
humdrum daily existence.
We made the most of that freedom with
the rest of our time in the Florida sun-
shine. Sailing friends Marie and Bill fl ew
in, and we picked them up for a best-of-
the-islands itinerary. As we left Pine Island
Sound to go south, we encountered fog
we hadn’t seen since San Francisco. Now
dodging crab pots, the constant watch in
these waters, became a more interesting
game. The fog cleared as we made the
channel to Factory Bay on the north end of
Marco Island, where we took a slip, walked
to West Marine and the grocery store, and
watched the Super Bowl.
The contrast was stunning the very
next night, when we were the only boat
anchored north of Indian Key in the
Everglades. No condos, no crowds—just
the moon, stars, water and our cozy
fl oating home, which now seemed much
bigger than when tied to the dock among
the behemoths. The next morning as we
sipped our coffee, the pelicans put on a
stellar fi shing exhibition, joined by osprey
and an eagle.
The Everglades treated us right, with
few bugs and no other boats. Rebecca
and I celebrated a milestone anniversary
at Cape Sable, another marvelously
remote anchorage. We’d married 20 years
ago on a beach in the Grenadines and run
off on a sailboat, so this was the very best
place we could be. We hadn’t even pulled
the dinghy ashore before the ladies were
squealing with joy. Strolling the beach
at low tide, they found handful after
handful of bright shells: Sunray Venus,
Turkey Wing, Paper Fig, Lettered Olive,
Lightning Whelk and many more. I went
on ahead, and found the tracks of sea
turtles and something far bigger. South
Florida is the only place in the world
where alligators and crocodiles coexist,
and while I pondered these tracks all
alone, I felt the thrill of astonishment.
As we watched another epic sunset
from the cockpit and saw the stars come
out, we felt the pulse of our own planet
beneath us. The only sign of civilization
was the glow of Key West. We were
spoiled beyond measure, once again
rewarded for pointing the bow toward
new places, just to see what we’d fi nd.
David Kilmer spends his summers running
the 60-foot daysailer Sizzler in Coeur d ’Alene,
Idaho, and his winters by the sea, cruising
warmer waters.
Florida shows its down-home side at backwater bars where cruisers or Harley riders are equally welcome (below, left).
Showing up before the tour-boat crowds at Cabbage Key is one befi t of sailing on your own boat (above). A trip through
Florida’s expansive inland and coastal waterways provides surprises of the best kind.
THIN WATER, BIG SUNSHINE