A Solo Finale to 1000 Miles of Self

It was 9:45 AM, and I still had four miles to go. It was going to be a sprint to the entrance of the Nightmare, and I wasn’t certain I was going to make it in time. As I looked down the river, I noticed there were several dark figures, more gators, ahead of me. But the river was wide, and there was plenty of room to maneuver around them. 

Just like the first one, these gators were also shy and reclusive and slid beneath the surface as I passed. I was grateful for their predictability. I continued on at an increased pace, still hopeful I could make it to the Nightmare on time, when I spotted something different moving quickly along the left riverbank. 

It was big, longer than my 14’ kayak, lighter in color than the shiny black gators, and it seemed completely undeterred by my presence. I had read about this majestic creature when I was researching this adventure, and here it was in the flesh … my first encounter with an American Crocodile. And it did not appear to be shy or reclusive at all. 

It held its course along the left riverbank, and I quickly paddled to the right. In fact, I paddled as far to the right as I could as it swam past. As I turned back to continue onward, I was shocked to see a second croc sunning itself on the bank right beside me. I MEAN LITERALLY FIVE FEET AWAY FROM ME! And it was a BIG fella, again, much longer than my kayak! 

I completely froze knowing that I was WAY too close for comfort. Thankfully, my forward momentum carried me past him without a sound, and he didn’t twitch a muscle. As soon as I was a reasonable distance away, I slammed my paddle into the water and sprinted away.

After that, I was on high alert: scanning, searching, and watchful of EVERYTHING around me. I dodged crocs and gators for the next three miles, each of us maintaining a safe and reasonable distance from each other. 

I flew through the water in a desperate attempt to reach my halfway point and the entrance into the Nightmare. But I was late, fifteen minutes late, when I spotted the channel marker that noted the official entrance.

It took another ten minutes to reach the turn. Twenty-five minutes behind schedule, I entered the Nightmare.

It was a narrow channel, barely ten feet at the widest point. There was a canopy of mangroves that draped over me, giving the impression of kayaking through a green pipe. I took it all in, carefully noting the lack of space for both me and a large reptile to coexist comfortably. 

I paddled on deeper into the corridor, where the bright morning sunshine was dimmed to a dusky twilight by the thick mangroves. It was difficult to see anything with clarity in the shadowy confines around me, and frequently flocks of snowy egrets would burst from the foliage right above my head, stopping my heart at their abrupt exit. 

The tube of greenery closed in, ever closer until I could’t take a full paddle stroke without disturbing the branches above me. The shaking limbs dislodged hermit crabs and sent them plummeting down on my hat. Even more alarming were the roots of the mangroves that stretched up out of the water creating a maze in the path in front of me. 

Sometimes my boat was too long to end-run the brambles that blocked my path, and I was forced to stow my paddle and pull my boat up and over the roots.