For nine days I paddled. Stroke after stroke after stroke. Sometimes through fog so thick, you couldn't see the land. Was that land? Hardly. Salt marsh is no-mans land. Halfway between liquid and solid. Sometimes I paddled beneath the blazing sun. Sometimes it was against 20 mph winds. Other times the water was like glass and the sky brilliant blue streaked with torn clouds. I paddled for 100 miles from the Aucilla River to Suwannee, along Florida's Nature Coast. This is one of the nation's hidden gems. In the old growth subtropical hammocks hides stories forgotten for a half-century, stories of war and struggle. Now, new stories are being created upon new foundations, stories of adventure and perseverance.

Here are several images along the 100-mile Big Bend Saltwater Paddle Trail. I am one of the few who have completed the entire trail. With the help of my friends, Tom Hart, John Moran, and George Tortorelli, I was able to complete one of the most remote coastal adventure excursions in the country.

(Before you start, know that if you want to read more about my Life on the Edge conservation project you can click here.)

Here is my story in pictures ...

Day 6 – Leaving Dallus Creek camp, clouds choked the ceiling above me. I left at 7 am, just like I did almost every day. Winds were calm. I was thankful for that. Any day the winds were calm was considered a good day. Facing east toward Steinhatchee, streaks of light pierced the ugly gray clouds. My camera equipment lay between my legs, always at the ready. A 400 mm telephoto lens was attached to my 40D, and a wide angle 10 mm attached to my XTi. I grabbed the telephoto, made a few shots of the "God Light" and kept moving. 

Day 2 – When Tom and I arrived at Rock Island we could hardly see it the fog was so thick. All day we paddle through fog, using the GPS to find the island. We pulled ashore and set up camp. I set out alone at sunset to an adjacent island to make photographs. As if on cue, the fog lifted, creating a surreal seascape. The two islands use to be connected. When the tide goes out, you can walked between them.

Day 6 – Pine Log Creek was site of my only stealth camp. The Big Bend Saltwater Paddle Trail has 7 designated campsites along its route, but it takes 9 days to complete. Somewhere along the way, a paddler must stay either in a town or stealth camp. Stealth camping is a term used for backcountry campers who delicately slip into a night of sleep in the wilderness, then depart without a trace. Using Google Earth and my own personal topo map software, I identified Pine Log Creek as a good possibility to find dry ground, this before I even set my canoe in the water. When I arrived in person, it was better than I had imagined. Beautiful forests grow just out of reach, separated by a thin margin of salt marsh. Here, fresh and salt water begin to mix.   

 Day 2 - Simple, sublime. Day two was my best day photographing. It was the most dynamic sky day. Opaque fog turned to translucent mist, then to blue sky only to turn back to fog again. As Tommy and I entered the Gulf from the mouth of the Econfina, we said goodbye to the last sliver of land as the fog and sun battled in the distance. 

Day 2 – I stepped out of the canoe to find a photograph. Rather, Tommy, dropped me off. The no-see-ums swarmed us. While I entered their marshy domain Tommy, unsuccessfully sought refuge in the main channel of the Econfina River. I spotted a line of palm trees that intrigued me and made a few photographs. Not satisfied, my search continued. I love palm trees, especially old ones. Ones that have been through countless storms and even a few hurricanes. Ones that have lost their unique serrated "bark" to look more like imperfect telephone poles with a bad-hair-day head. Walking, searching through the marsh, I came upon a creek. There it was, circumstances colliding: clouds, water, reflection, land, light. I walked back to the boat, telling Tommy, "I think I've got the shot."  

Day 2 – Even a small flock of white pelicans is a sight to behold. When a flock of 1,000 soar by, it's nothing short of magnificent. They fly in a line, roughly. When one moves, the entire line behind it undulates in accordance with the first movement. It looks like a ribbon come to life, dancing with the wind. 

Day 8 – Or should I say, night eight. John Moran, a friend and photographer, loves to photograph at night. He inspired me. Mostly I shoot alone. But as John and I work more together, I find great inspiration in his experience and energy. This is not one of my best images, but it's the start of something great.

Day 8 – The sun drops below the horizon for the last time on my 100-mile journey. Butler Island was a fitting place to end the trip. I was with friends on a beach lined with chordgrass, watching a burning star millions of miles away disappear before my eyes. A campfire and laughter help heal my tired muscles. I was a stones throw away from civilization, but it seemed a world away.  

Day 1 – Towering palms behind the first night's camp on the Econfina made for splendid hiking at last light.

Day 7 – A cedar tree, mostly dead, clings to life in a merciless environment. Sink Creek, location of my sixth night camping, has many dead cedar trees. As sea levels rise, the trees will continue to slowly die. 

 Day 7 – John Moran captures me heading toward the Gulf at the mouth of Sink Creek.

 Day 6 – Leaving Pine Log Creek required all of my attention. I could hardly see the land that was only a few hundred yards away. It was my only real point of reference. I had another point of reference that was virtual. My GPS turned out to be an invaluable piece of equipment navigating on the water. It's humbling to know how fine a line divides right from wrong. 

Day 4 - Tommy, my companion on many adventures, joined me four days and 45 miles of my journal along this remote stretch of coast. Here we leave Spring Warrior Creek for the open water. We had 12 miles to go. It was our only day with a tailwind. Three-and-a-half hours later, we were in camp. It was 11 am and New Year's eve. 

Day 2 – Tommy and I explored the shoals at low tide. Amazingly, even canoes have problems in this water at low tide. It is so shallow normally submerged oyster bars become exposed and waterways become pathways for anything with legs. Tommy and I would stop for lunch on the shoals to wait for the high tide.  

Day 6 – John Moran (on the ladder) and George Tortorelli arrive at Sink Creek where their journey with me on the last 30 miles begins. 

Day 5 – New Years day, my first solo day after Tommy left the trip. The wind blew in my face at 20 mph, tiring me out. Just before "crash landing" on an island I took this portrait of myself dragging my canoe the remaining 100 yards to the sandy shores of that island. I was pooped from vigorously paddling in those impossible winds. Thank goodness the island was there. It was the only thing keeping me from being blown out to sea! I almost called my trip off at that point. But I didn't want to give up. After waiting a few hours on the island, the wind started to die down a little bit and I continued on to Dallus Creek camp five miles away. This was the first day of 2009.

Day 5 – I survived a 20 mph headwind, 2-3 foot seas, and nearly getting lost attempting a "shortcut" to Dallus Creek camp. This on the first day of the year. Happy New Year. Happy to be alive.