The Magical Waters of The Beaches of Fort Myers & Sanibel

As we headed south for the Florida Gulf and some late fall paddling on The Beaches of Fort Myers & Sanibel's brand new Great Calusa Blueway paddling trail, Tim and I weren't certain what to expect. In fact, for a couple of otherwise compulsive planners, we were basically foot-loose and fancy-free as we took to the open road, loaded with kayaks and camping gear. We had the D.C. area in our rear-view mirror and visions of paddling paradise on our minds. Who knew - there might be a manatee or two in our future.

What we got was a little bit of everything and a whole lot more: easy access to urban and wilderness paddling, lodging that ranged from any kind of camping to funky or five-star hotels and motels, fabulous fresh seafood, playful dolphins and just enough of a taste of a Florida the way it used to be to leave us hungry for more.

I hadn't visited Florida's Gulf Coast for years, but fond memories of warm blue waters, white-sand beaches and the Florida of yesteryear made me anxious to arrive, especially since the glory of autumn had faded to the growing concrete-gray of winter and cold rain. Bring on the sunshine and white-sand beaches.

Upon arriving, we began our exploration of the Great Calusa Blueway from Fort Myers Beach, the perfect place to start. From our beachfront rooms at paddler-friendly Casa Playa, we could paddle off into the Gulf or make the quick drive to Bowditch Point Regional Park and start exploring the trail. Bowditch Point Regional Park has it all: restrooms, parking, a convenient launch site and easy access to the protected side of this barrier island.

We launched there and found our first great truth as we approached the causeway that connects Fort Myers Beach to the mainland: the fishing is excellent and you don't have to go far to find it. Here we were, paddling along past downtown Fort Myers Beach, getting ready to go under the causeway, and a guy in a small powerboat was reeling in a really nice looking fish. We decided on the spot that we'd bring fishing gear next time, and that we'd have seafood for dinner that very night.

Motorboat traffic on this part of the trail wasn't bad at all, despite our proximity to civilization. Our waterside seats gave us a great perspective of Fort Myers Beach and its architecture and environs, which consisted of some beautiful homes and stately palms along this stretch of very protected water. The small downtown area also features a bit of beach nightlife, shopping, and a variety of places to eat.

The trail heads straightaway into Hurricane Bay, leaving the civilized world behind. In less than half an hour, we entered a new world of twisting channels amid the mangroves, complete with bountiful birds and sudden bays that showed no signs of human intrusion. If it weren't for the trail's signage and our maps, we would have proceeded very cautiously indeed-and even with these excellent tools, the sense of isolation was immediate and enveloping.

Wherever we glanced, there were birds that had us reaching for binoculars, and we continued to see fish in the shallow and still waters that made us wish for rod and reel. That sense of isolation must have been why we're hardly surprised when two bottle-nose dolphins came by to check us out at close quarters, showing us their Flipper grins and sleek slides. The lines of our touring kayaks were pretty sleek, too, and I think we were probably grinning as much as they were.

Although we took full-blown touring kayaks for our trip, these mangrove bays with their twisting channels practically beg for canoes and smaller recreational-style kayaks. One of our paddling partners opted for a canoe, and while he may not have made quite the time on open water that we did, he handled the mangrove channels with ease.

As we made our way from Hurricane Bay into the larger Hell Peckney Bay, a steady stream of wildlife kept us on our toes. Snowy egrets were everywhere and osprey nests could be seen in abundance. Black-crowned night herons hopped about on mangrove branches while great blue herons hunted the shallows. Later in the year, roseate spoonbills add even more color. All told, some 300 bird species use the area, including pelicans, wood storks, burrowing owls, hawks, six types of herons, a whole host of songbirds and shore birds by the score. Also we got the closest look at a pileated woodpecker I've ever been afforded.

As we paddled, it became clear that birds weren't the only wildlife. New to both of us were the small crabs that scurried through the branches. Mangrove tree crabs are common throughout the back bays and estuaries of The Beaches of Fort Myers & Sanibel. These tiny creatures live in the mangroves and tend to remain in the same general area all their lives.

At low tide, they explore the exposed mud bottom to feed on algae, small crustaceans and insects, as well as their favorite food, the leaves of the red mangroves. During the day they hide by holding themselves upside down on roots and branches. When startled, the crabs will either scamper off or release their grip and plunge to the waters below.

I was glad I'd brought along my standard bag of tricks, as a few of my old favorites were perfect companions for the Great Calusa Blueway: my big straw hat and plenty of sunscreen were much appreciated (along with insect repellent), as were my bandana, water shoes, sunglasses with retainer strap, and plenty of water. I'm not one for a lot of exposure to the sun, so I kept covered with lightweight and quick-drying nylon long pants and long-sleeve shirt.

We returned to Fort Myers Beach after a full day of paddling and wildlife to our comfortable rooms at Casa Playa. Right on the beach, in a very quiet part of Fort Myers Beach, this new hotel offers Gulf or bayside views from every room. There's a pervading sense of privacy in this modern facility, done in soft pastels. Once you meet the friendly staff at the registration desk, you leave Fort Myers and everything else behind. There's nothing but an expanse of white beach between the hotel and the Gulf; however, and it made a great place to take in the sunset.

These same Gulf beaches are also the nesting grounds of the immense and threatened loggerhead sea turtles. There are over 40 miles of suitable nesting beaches in Lee County alone, and the county has adopted stringent rules to protect the turtles. From May 1 to October 31, there is a "lights-out policy" that requires all lights visible from these beaches to be shielded or extinguished between 9 p.m. and 7 a.m. Studies show that adult females coming ashore to nest may be disoriented by bright lights at night. Likewise, the turtle hatchlings may actually be attracted inland, instead of to the sea and safety, by bright inland lights.

We dined out with newfound friends at a waterfront restaurant in "downtown" Fort Myers Beach that evening. The seafood was all we had hoped, and we enjoyed it under the stars in a soft Gulf breeze. We were certainly living a life we weren't accustomed to, but we vowed to atone for our sins by paddling hard the next day and checking out the camping.

We headed out early the next morning to begin our atonement, but we hadn't realized it would be so educational. We paddled this day in the company of local experts, and we weren't long into the day before we discovered great truth number two: people had been paddling this part of paradise well before the arrival of Ponce de Leon in the 16th Century. The Calusa ruled this land of blue water, white sand, scattered islands and expanses of mangroves long, long before the Spanish arrived. This day of paddling revealed their fascinating history to us, and like the rest of the Great Calusa Blueway, it's available to anyone with a paddle.

Our "key" destination for the day was Mound Key, a good-sized island that was once the center of the Calusa's southwest Florida empire and home to some 2,000 souls before disease, conquest and exile ended what had been the Calusa people. Reaching the island meant paddling a bit harder than we had the day before, and I found the open water a pleasant switch from the twists and turns of the mangrove bays. Tim, on the other hand, would have been perfectly content exploring their recesses for days on end. There are certainly plenty of both styles of paddling to be had on the Great Calusa Blueway, and it's all easily accessible.

Urban amenities are never far away either, and on our way to Mound Key we made a most pleasant stop at Lovers Key Resort, located on Big Carlos Pass, which connects the Gulf with Estero Bay. It really does feel like paradise when you beach your kayaks on the white-sand beach in front of this gorgeous hotel and settle into a beachfront lunch.

We made our way to Mound Key after lunch, enjoying the blue skies and open water as we approached. The island would be easy to spot without trail markers and maps, as it rises above everything else in surrounding Estero Bay. There are nice landing spots at either end of the island, connected by easy trails that take hikers to numerous points of interest, which are explained in detail by the informative signage.

We quickly learned, for example, that the name Mound Key wasn't selected at random. Mound Key is indeed a mound – a mound formed over thousand of years by the discarded shells of marine life consumed by the Calusa. I'd seen shell mounds on small islands in southeast Alaska, but never anything on the scale of Mound Key. We stood on thousands of years of human history.

Walking the trails of Mound Key didn't feel like any part of Florida I'd ever seen. It seemed more like 'The Land That Time Forgot,' primal, even primordial. We were on solid ground now, not the amphibious realm of mangrove bays. The big holes alongside the trails had been excavated by gopher tortoises, and their labyrinths support a unique ecosystem. The whole island looked like a seed would grow anywhere you dropped it, and someone had evidently dropped some pretty exotic seeds, including orchids.

Even as I marveled at the lushness, I read about the life of the Calusa on the interpretive signs, and marveled more at what their life here must have been like. Since we visited in late fall, bug repellent was the order of the day to deal with mosquitoes, but high season (December-March) should be far less buggy and no less fascinating.

We ended our day after a long paddle to our island camp site, and had plenty of time to set up camp before a very nice Gulf sunset. Tents with good no-see-um netting are advised, and the locals advocate Skin So Soft to deal with these little guys. Smoke helps, too, so we fired up my collapsible charcoal grill and got out the Dutch oven. I'd promised Tim a treat that night (with my fingers crossed behind my back), so when the coals were right and the corn bread was cooking in the Dutch oven, I put the big piece of mahi-mahi on the grill and covered it. It was rubbed down with olive oil and seasoned with the Everglades Seasoning that was recommended by locals.

We cooked it slow and smoky over the charcoals and served it with lemon over cornbread wedges. Tim brewed up some coffee afterwards and served it with one of his patented deserts from his Outback Oven. There wasn't much to do then but enjoy the stars in the clear sky above us. Camping is definitely an option when you paddle the Great Calusa Blueway, whether you "rough it" like Tim and I did at a designated campsite, or stay at a public or private campground. There are many to choose from.

Next morning, we were way lazy and decided to watch the tide move in while we cooked breakfast. Although tides and currents are gentle affairs in this part of the world, they still bear scrutiny. Not waiting for the tide would have meant dragging our fully loaded boats to the water, so we just sat in the sun and let nature take its course. We were starting to enjoy this island thing.

We spent more time that day exploring quiet mangrove back bays, hoping to see manatees. These gentle mammals are frequently seen here in the winter months as the waters cool and they move inland to warmer waters. We learned more history, too, hearing about the eccentric Koreshan religious commune of the last century and seeing some of its ruins. Overhead, a bald eagle circled in a clear blue sky and Tim finally saw his first alligator as we paddled inland to our take-out.

We returned to Lovers Key Resort for our final night, and even though we had reservations, we weren't sure a couple of rank and gamy paddlers were appropriate in the beautiful lobby. Instead, we were greeted by an enthusiastic staff who wanted to hear all about our paddling. The luxurious lobby, however, didn't prepare us for our spacious rooms. The views from the balcony and out every window stopped me in my tracks. It was surreal, as though a very luxurious airliner had been frozen in space above a beautiful expanse of blue water and mangroves as far as the eye could see.

In the distance, I could see Mound Key, and below me in Big Carlos Pass, manatees and dolphins plied the waters. Dirty and nasty as I was, and inviting as the hot tub was, I had to spend the last few minutes before dusk on my balcony, taking in that incredible view of the Great Calusa Blueway and all it had to offer.

The Great Calusa Blueway opened in the summer of 2002, and has something for paddlers of every ability level. For more information, contact the Lee County Visitor & Convention Bureau at (800) 237-6444, or check out www.FortMyersSanibel.com [1]. There are miles of smiles, 300 species of birds and whole lot of blue water waiting to be explored-and we haven't even talked about the world-famous shelling. Those who don't want to be bothered with bringing their own boats will find boats at many of the hotels, and there are plenty of guides and outfitters who can make your introduction to the Great Calusa Blueway as painless as possible.

Bryan Chitwood is former managing editor of Canoe & Kayak Magazine.