The Florida Keys are made up of some 1,700 islands.  From Miami to Key West, this archipelago stretches over 150 miles alone.  It’s here where I found some unique saltwater kayaking opportunities stretching from the Cow Key to Key Largo.

Kayaking through the Cow Key Channel

The two hour, 1.5 mile roundtrip through the Cow Key Channel beginning at US Highway MM (mile marker) 4.1(just outside of Key West) with Lazy Dog Kayak Guides involved a steady current that’s heavily influenced by the two high and low tides coming from both the Gulf of Mexico and Atlantic Ocean each day.  The firm breeze helped to counter the muggy conditions.  Bethany and her four-legged companion Tucker (a.k.a. “Mr. T”) served as our guides.

Through her guidance as we kayaked through open waters 2-10 foot deep, a natural mangrove creek and one “hurricane hole” (a pond surrounded by mangroves that offer more protection from hurricanes), I got an up close and personal view of primary Red Mangrove trees, whose prop roots filter out about 95 per cent of the saltwater while the trees leaves sacrifice themselves to filter out the rest of the salt so the trees can have “potable” water.   Their death means decomposition in the channel, which creates the soil ingredients to build up the small islands.

In my 12 foot Perception model, I heard the soundtrack of osprey, Great Blue and White Heron as I paddled through the waters, ranging in depth of two to ten feet.  Bethany often stopped alongside the mangrove growth to educate our group about the plant and animal life thriving here, letting us hold them.  Creatures like the prickly-feeling Florida Spiny Sea Star, and the Sea Cucumber, which has the feel of its vegetable counterpart.   She was excited when she came across a government-protected Queen Conch, a large creepy-looking snail that would make the subject of a good horror film.

Venturing to the Key with “No Name”

Just four miles off of US 1 at MM 30, I found a more isolated, off the beaten path world, where I kayaked roundtrip over a couple of hours in waters 1-18 feet in depth from Big Pine Key to the No Name Key (where the 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion was staged).   The winds whistled through the palms on a mostly cloudy morning and afternoon, helping to keep the heat and mugginess in check.   Our guide from Big Pine Kayak Adventures, was Bill Keogh.  He’s kayaked some 800 Florida Keys.

Like Bethany at Cow Key, Keogh’s four-footed friend joined, a friendly mixed breed named Scupper, who quickly won my fondness.  As we set off from Big Pine Key, the scent of sulfur permeated my nostrils because of the decomposing seagrass which this Key catches from Florida Bay.  Getting to the Key with “No Name” meant crossing the Bogie Channel’s choppy waters (about a 1/3 mile long) in a 12 foot Vapor that weighed 50 pounds.

When I looked down into the more shallow waters, I caught the sight of flat Turtle Grass, round Manatee Grass, and soft-looking Shoal Grass waving back and forth.   Being out in this wide channel heightened my sense of isolation from the hustle and bustle only a few miles away.  My eyes took in the sight of a kettle of Turkey Vultures heading south for winter.   Arriving at the No Name Key, we paddled into a deep mangrove forest via a very narrow creek, so narrow that I dismantled my paddle into halves, using one along with low-hanging branches to navigate hundreds of feet.  But awaiting my camera was a camouflaged Yellow-Crowned Night Heron bouncing around from tree to tree as well as a variety of crabs climbing the densely-packed branches.

Breakfast and pelting rain in Boot Key Harbor

“Kayak Dave” said this about how one paddles a kayak, “It’s like sex, so long as you’re having fun, it doesn’t matter how you do it!”   He admonished me to turn my body more instead of my elbow during my three mile roundtrip to and from Boot Key (where Radio Marti broadcasts to Cuba take place) as light to moderate rain pelted me from above the first half of my journey.  Thunder and lightning thankfully weren’t part of the storm.  We started out at Sombrero Beach on Marathon’s Vaca Key, facing the Atlantic.  This Key is named for “the cow of the sea,” the manatee.  Vaca is Spanish for cow.

En route to Boot Key via Boot Key Harbor my eyes caught sight of million dollar homes sharing the shorelines with red mangrove forests.  The snowy egrets were plentiful, but very camera shy when approaching them for a close up shot.    My 12.5 foot, 44 pound Cobra Navigator was much more prone to capsize as I navigated through this Key’s creek.  The tree branches created such an obstacle that leaning into them wrongly could result in capsizing. “No-see-ums” (biting midges) terrorized my eyes inside the still waters, but I was covered up otherwise, avoiding further torture.  I at least caught my first glimpse of a yellowish nurse shark as it swam at the bottom of the creek.

The longest 1.5 miles in the Key Largo area

I’d never forget the challenges I faced over 1.5 miles using a sea kayak the first time.   One of the realities of this sport is that weather plays a pivotal role on one’s experience.   I set off from Key Largo into Garden Cove in a Current Designs 17 foot, 52 pound sit-in model.  The 25 knot winds immediately caused me to drift about in the rough waters either because my foot pedal adjustments (foot pedals move the rudder) made on shore didn’t lock in and/or I didn’t keep my feet fully on them.

It came at a time when I needed to cross an area shared by motorboats; and thus, fear almost got the better of me.  But thankfully, my guide Todd of Florida Bay Outfitters and another really skilled kayaker came back to “rescue” me, getting on both sides of my vessel to readjust the foot pedals.  I made my way southward down North Sound Creek, which separates Key Largo from Rattlesnake Key.   It was here where I’d see the beginnings of another red mangrove island, as numerous red mangrove trees were scattered about like an archipelago obstacle course.

For as the gusts of winds blew this way and that in the creek (which were less strong), I found myself getting stuck against the trees, which meant that Todd had to fall back from the rest of the group to bail me out.  I’ll admit that the wind is something that I found hard to deal with even as sunny skies above at least kept me dry.   Nonetheless, as we ventured back to Key Largo across the cove, the guide had to tow me in the headwinds part of the way.  Still, I had to still paddle my kayak, trying to emulate the strong motions he did in leading me safely, even as the swells hit my boat, splashing salt water on my jacket, face, and mouth.   I found shelter against some mangroves while waiting for him to come back with others.

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Pictures credit to Roy A. Barnes and may not be used without permission.

 Disclosure:  The writer attended a pres trip sponsored by Florida Keys Tourism Council   but what he wrote are his impressions and were not vetted by the sponsor.  He  writes from southeastern Wyoming. 

The road was only a dirt lane leading up to the house.  We huffed and puffed our way past cows lowing in the fields at the dairy farm nearby.  The calves lying close to the fence started and darted away as we approached. Then, we ran past more fields with horses swatting flies with their thick brown tails.    On occasion we would hear a car or tractor off in the distance.  For the most part, we were alone with the steady pounding of our feet.

We were in Moyen, Belgium,  which is in the French speaking region of Eastern Wallonia in the Semois Valley near the French border.

A good, long run, followed by a hearty breakfast feeds the soul like nothing else, which is one of the reasons we came here. We wanted to “rest” on this vacation—mentally as well as physically. We did not want to fill our days rushing around crowded tourist sites trying to squeeze in everything in a few days. We were looking for a “local” experience.

We found Le Charmois, a lovingly restored nineteenth century farmhouse resting on several acres of pastoral land in the Belgian Lorraine. According to DK’s Eyewitness Travel Book on Belgium—a most unlikely place to find such a quaint bed and breakfast.  Normally the best B&B’s are found by stumbling upon them, not scouring guidebooks. Luck was on our side when we booked the reservation by calling directly to the farmhouse.“No, problem,” said Frans in his heavily accented English. The caretaker of Le Charmois went on to tell me the week was very light indeed, and we would be the only guests on the premises.  Prices were 80 Euros per night for two people including breakfast.

When we arrived, Le Charmois far exceeded our expectations. We were greeted warmly by the caretakers and shown to a lovely guestroom on the second floor. Although simply decorated, the room was charming and very comfortable with fluffy down comforters and pillows on the bed. A rocking chair was placed casually by the window with an exceptionally pleasing view. Our room overlooked the front of the farmhouse and gave us a picturesque view of rolling hills and green pasturelands dotted with cattle.

The stillness was almost overwhelming. We heard a lonely train whistle off in the distance with the clickety-clack of the wheels rolling along the rails.  An open door beckoned us across the hall to another room. The view of the valley below was even more spectacular than the one from our room. Rooftops brushed across the landscape in small clusters where quaint hamlets were positioned along the Semois.  Small farms peaked from behind trees clumped together. The sky seemed endless. We had found the perfect place for our relaxation vacation.

What a pleasant surprise to find our bathroom was not the size of a closet, which is common in European guesthouses. All the utilities were perfectly and conveniently installed inside a comfortable sized bathroom.  Everything necessary for our comfort was provided.

Though the farmhouse had a rustic feel, the public rooms, guestrooms, and bathrooms, and furnishings had a comfortable flair. The focal point of the large common room was the big stone fireplace with wood and kindling stacked conveniently nearby. The room shared a living area and a farmhouse table, which seated 30 people. While no cable was provided in the guest rooms or the common room, a large flat screen television was nestled near the sofa for movie watching along with a selection of DVDs. The farmhouse also boasted an excellent WiFi connection, which made it very easy to check emails and call our family on Skype.

One evening, on a particularly rainy day, the caretaker came in and built a big fire for us. The temperatures had dropped due to the weather even though it was August. Imagine that!  A roaring fire in the middle of the summer!

Each morning a European style breakfast greeted us at the end of the long dining table. Frans drove daily to neighboring Chiny, a little hamlet down the road, to pick up fresh bread and meats for breakfast. Croissants, jambon, yogurt, Nutella, and cheeses were served along with an array of jams and coffee or tea. We especially enjoyed the fresh apple juice from the apple orchard on the farm. We ate each morning gazing out of the paned windows which overlooked a lovely brick patio area with lounge chairs and tables.

The nearby town of Florenville, just minutes away by car, provided a place for dining and light grocery shopping. We wandered through the grocery aisles searching for breads, meats, wines, and, of course, Belgium beer. We found multiple cafes in the quaint town square where we lingered over coffee along with the townspeople. We indulged on Belgian pastries at the local patisserie and chocolates at the chocolaterie.

The 12^th century monastery Abbaye d’Orvale, with its Romanesque-Gothic ruins offered picturesque scenery, a brewery, and a restaurant. Only a few kilometers away, the Abbey is famous in Belgium for its Trappist beers and cheeses. We stopped in the local brassiere at the entrance and enjoyed a hearty lunch of salads and meats. Various other historic sites, such as the Chateau-Fort de Bouillon which overlooks the River Semois, and Bastogne, the focal point of the Battle of the Bulge, are also within driving distance.

We managed a day trip into elegant  Luxembourg City, the capital of the grand Duchy of Luxembourg.  We walked around the city exploring the cafes and watching city life.  We shopped among 18^th and 19^th century buildings in a pedestrianized shopping district with modern retail stores, outdoor cafes, and restaurants. The Place d’Armes, a grand plaza in the cross section of the shopping district, was filled with diners and shoppers under big market umbrellas. We parked at a nearby parking plaza that offered reasonable prices.  Although we chose to shop and enjoy the city, Luxembourg offers many things for historians— the Palais Grand Ducal, the Notre Dame Cathedral (looking very similar to the one in Paris), a history museum, and an art museum.

Our DK book outlined two different driving tours along the Semois through the Belgian provinces of Luxembourg and Namur into France. Each offered dramatic landscapes and rolling hills.  We did not take the time out to follow these tours, but vow to do so upon our next trip to the area. The Semois Valley area offered biking, camping, canoeing, and other adventure sports.

Our trip was exactly like we dreamed—-relaxing, restful, and not too expensive. Le Charmois was a perfect place to move at a slower pace. The farmhouse offered excellent accommodations along with good service at a fair price in beautiful surroundings. We felt at home away from home.

Resources:
DK Eyewitness Travel Belgium & Luxembourg, 2009 Edition, Eastern Wallonia, pgs. 213-245.

July 4, 2011

We’re continuing our journey using only our own steam and public transportation in England and France. So far, so good—a real fun adventure.

In London, with our light bags, we took the tube from our hotel to Paddington Station, then walked to the Brit Rail terminal there to connect to our train for the short jaunt to the quaint village of Henley-on-Thames. My partner Landon, was competing in the Henley Masters rowing regatta.

We settled in for the trip and relaxed– someone else was in charge, our job was to enjoy the beauty of the changing countryside as it unfolded in front of us.

We passed neat farms, quaint villages clustered around a church steeple and fields of bright yellow and purple wild flowers. We read and day dreamed. I relished the ease of the train and the relief from driving.

When we arrived in Henley, we walked the several blocks to our apartment, which overlooked the river. For the next six days, we got around by bicycle or walking.

Having an apartment meant that we could prepare some of our own meals, or make ourselves a cup of coffee or tea. I enjoy shopping in other countries, looking at all the interesting foods and their unique labels, buying fresh fruits and vegetables at the open markets and feeling like a local.

My partner won both of his races and I enjoyed cycling along the Thames or wandering around the quaint village of Henley.

We rested up for a big day of travel on our next jaunt—back to London, then to Paris on the Eurostar and then continuing on to Normandy.

• For information on traveling by train in England, visit BritRail.com
• For information on renting an apartment in England, visit HolidayLettings

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More in this series:
Part One: Arriving in London – but without the luggage
Part Two: The English Countryside and on to Paris

By David Grant

picking up where we left on in Part 1…

Sunday (New Year’s Eve)
Terence cleans out the Davenport by cashing his Traveler’s checks – so the first stop is to the bank.  During the walk the gag is set as “The Edge” story is told and the key is carefully handed over from my hands to Terence. “Room 134, don’t forget”.  Around noon we are walking to the Dublin Castle.

The weather?  Clear.  Gray.  Rain.  Wind.  Wind.  Rain.  Rain.

Dreadful weather, leading me to spend five Euro on an umbrella ($27 after conversion) that is ruined within two minutes by the wind.  Only half of the umbrella is still operational. After being led around the entire castle, getting soaked by the rain in the process, we realize the castle is closed so we head to a Pub for food and drink.  Another meal, another group of satisfied people as the food was once again amazing (not to mention the several drinks). While inside the Pub the sun shined outside.

Off to Christ Church where the weather quickly turned to awful again, making us run into a church that expected people to pay $5 ($27 after conversion) to see their sanctuary.  We decided against it (I believe Beth dropped an F Bomb) and then took a taxi to Mulligan’s, self proclaimed home of the best pint of Guinness.  This is where “Joe Friday” was sighted behind the bar. Rain. Rain. Gray. Rain.  We drank pints of Guinness and then went to O’Connell street where I took 45 pictures next to the James Joyce statue. Then we went to a Pub where Terence played Delilah and I showed off my new Grilz I got for Christmas.  In addition to the music and mouth accessories, Pints and Baileys were consumed as well.

Outside we move another few feet.  Another Pub.  More pints and more talk of “The Edge”.  “Remember, room 134”.  On our way to the Ha’ Penny bridge we came across a Russian bar called the Pravda. Terence had a tall strong Russian beer, Olga had Vodka, Beth wine, and a Bulmer’s for me. Crossing the Ha’ Penny Beth almost flew off it thanks to the weather. There were several more F bombs screamed while crossing the bridge. Dinner was at Boticelli, another Italian place, another bottle of wine. On the way home I (yes..I was drunk) confessed that for 2007 my goal was to learn how to walk the dog with a  Yo Yo.  From the back seat there was a comment made regarding The Smuthers Brothers. After this, it was a silent ride back to the hotel.

A drink in the great O’Callaghan’s, the hotel bar, then a taxi to The Brazen Head, the oldest pub in Dublin. After arriving we realize there is a 24 Euro cover ($154 after conversion), but con them into letting us stay for one drink. During our stay the couple next to us dumps a drink, but it was Terence to the rescue delivering napkins, doing the old people a solid.  Next we went to The Temple Bar where Terence (definitely drunk) had sightings of Marilyn Monroe, Janet Jackson, and Benson. After a round of drinks we moved onto a hotel bar with blue lights and had several large bottles of Bulmers while random items (like a doorknob) continued to be placed in front of us. Around 11pm it was time to find a bar that was busy, but not too busy and one that we would be able to successfully ring in the New Year with.  Welcome to THE VAT.  Moments after walking in the DJ began playing “Delilah”.  Terence proclaimed that this bar would work just fine.  Obsessed (Terence especially) with a guy sporting a Mohawk we consumed many drinks and took many pictures (of the Mohawk) before the stroke of midnight.  At one point a limbo contest broke out, Olga may have won, but it’s tough to compete with European judges so we’ll never know.

At the count of 15 we weren’t quite ready, at 10 Beth looked over at me, at 5 I reached for the confetti.  3…2…1…

The way it was suppose to go down was for me to lob the confetti over the top of everyone, creating a steady sprinkle of joy.  Instead the confetti bag came crashing down, mostly landing in Terence’s glass and the rest on the floor, spilling onto the streets of Dublin.  For a full minute Terence stood in shock, and then continued drinking.

We stayed at The Vat for another hour of drinking (at least) and also Olga and Beth riding “the train” around the bar.  The next bar was in a basement where everyone was extremely trashed and a lot of George Michael was being played.  Beth and Olga danced.  I had two more Bullmers.  Terence did nothing, unable to move at this point.

The night ended with Terence and Olga at Rick’s, Beth and me finding a taxi.  Terence stopping by around 3am to say goodbye, and we all wish each other a safe trip home.

“Remember” I say.  “I know” Replies Terence.  “Room 134”.

Monday We fly to Shannon and then have a 7.5 hour flight back to Newark.  An amazing turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich is served, which for me is the highlight of the flight.

MEANWHILE, back in Dublin on New Year’s Day, Terence and Olga approach the Dublin Hotel with the key for “The Edge’s” party.  Once inside the hotel something is awry, because there is no party, and the only people in room 134 are two girls.  They go to the front desk. After several inquiries into which room the party for “The Edge” is at, the hotel manager rips the key from Terence.  At this point Terence should have turned around and smiled instead of insisting he is there to see “The Edge”.

Poor Terence. Sad really. Luckily for him Dublin lets you work off damage to public property at the Guiness factory. So it all worked out in the end.

When one thinks of the word “Mancation”, it’s associated with thrilling outdoors activities with the guys. In Spokane, Washington, I got to experience a few thrilling activities that helped me “man up” as a traveler, so to speak. Thanks to Spokane’s location, outdoor enthusiasts in general have a feast of activities that will connect them to Mother Nature.

A Bird’s Eye View

When Denny Reed of Backcountry Aerosports was first introduced to a trike, his reaction was quite negative.  He refused to set foot in what he deemed a “flying weedeater.”  As time passed, Reed became one of the trike’s best human friends, taking willing flyers like myself up – way up – in his $60,000 motorized and natural flying machine. A machine, by the way, that has a 7:1 glide ratio.  It reaches speeds of 40-60 mph, a 34 foot wingspan, a 10 foot fuselage and a range of 270 miles. The experimental aircraft can be transported in a pick up and put together in 40 minutes.

I’ve flown many times in airplanes, including classic biplanes, but this trike experience was quite unique for me. I felt quite vulnerable at the thought of flying in such a contraption. I began my triking from a spot roughly 25 minutes drive from downtown Spokane, on a beautiful northeast Washington evening. After watching an orientation video, I was fitted inside the passenger seat. A helmet and microphone were put on me so I could communicate with the pilot of nine-plus years, who’s logged thousands of miles.

The take off was right beside his home, where a flat airstrip is situated.  Trikes, like his Air Creation Tanarg, need 250 feet to take off and winds of 20 mph or less for passenger comfort. As the machine sped up, I closed my eyes. I’m still a fraidy cat about heights, but once air bound – wind blowing in my face – I opened my eyes and got views of deer grazing on the rolling hills. There were tree havens and farmland as far as the eye could see. We flew anywhere from six feet to 120 feet above the ground – at times so low that you could literally smell the flowers!  The feeling I had was one of amazement and wonder.         

The Day of the Rubberleg Nymph

There is a sense of peace when one fishes. For me, to cast out my line and let it sit, while anticipating a bite is really fun. It doesn’t matter if I catch anything.  I’ve never really had any experience with fly fishing, but after doing so on the Spokane River with G.L. Britton of Double Spey Outfitters and fly fishing instructor Stann Grater, I appreciate this kind of fishing all the more. I was hoping to catch (and then release) any number of trout (most notably the Redband) from the bottom end of the free-flowing part of the Spokane River.  This kind of trout prefers this area to more still waters. We had to navigate down foothills in Spokane’s backyard (10-15 minutes from downtown), encountering many loose rocks and even poison ivy en route to the river. This was after already putting on our hip waders and fishing boots – and I thought the trike was dangerous.

Fly fishing skills are not acquired in one or two lessons. It takes time to master the art of casting and placing the fly where you want it, making the fly act ever so natural. Britton remarked, “The river has personality…it talks to you.”  He said that what makes fly fishing ideal is water temperatures in the 50s and cloudy weather. Sadly, the sun was shining brightly over northeastern Washington as my personal instructor Stann Grater showed me the basics. He was patient, especially when I didn’t show the finesse he demonstrated. Finally, I did get the hang of at least casting the fly out into the river and seeing the orange strike indicator move downstream in the constantly babbling water. Despite the various flies used, including Beadhead, Pheasant Tail, Bloody Mary, and Rubberleg Nymph, I had no luck catching any fish. Grater loves the sport, emphasizing, “What archery is to hunting, fly fishing is to conventional fishing.”

Being Led Up the Mountain by a “Yogi”

Even though I’ve been a life long resident of ATV-crazy Wyoming, I had never ridden on nor drove an ATV. As fate would have it though, I would be led on a three hour ride by a “Yogi” up the Idaho Panhandle National Forest to see some stunning views of Lake Coeur d’Alene and Hayden Lake. Knowing I was about to drive an ATV, I felt intimidated by the challenge. Thankfully I learned rather quickly from the owner of Adventure Sport Rentals, Yogi Naresh, on how to navigate the vehicle.  There are a few primary functions that one needs to get functional knowledge of: starting it, shifting the gears, one finger on the accelerator, at least two fingers on the brake, and steering. The real fun and challenge came from going up the long and winding mountain paths to and around the West Canfield Butte, which took about two hours from Coeur d’Alene, (about a 40 minute drive from downtown Spokane in good traffic).

I was impressed by the stability and great suspension of the ATV, which didn’t bounce me around on those rugged paths full of ruts and rocks. We went up safely at speeds ranging from 5-15 mph.  Butterflies fluttered around me and I could feel a pleasant mountain wind on my face. With it, a sense of freedom that I don’t feel driving a regular car. It was as if I were one with the machine and looked forward to what I’d see and have to drive over with every twist and turn. We adventured down the hills at around 20 mph at most, as Yogi stressed traveling at safe speeds even though his 50 horsepower Polaris Sportsman ATVs can reach speeds three times that. Along with the stunning mountain and lake views surrounded by tamarack and spruce, I shared the road with hikers and motorcyclists.

Despite the thrill of driving an ATV, the vehicle and the trail roads have to be respected because of the risks involved making oneself feel so free, yet vulnerable. Don’t be afraid to ask for extra safety equipment like elbow and knee pads or for safety tips in general. You will not be breaking any “man” code of you do.

For more Spokane Tourist Information: www.visitspokane.com

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Roy A. Barnes is a freelance travel writer and photographer based in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He is a regular contributor to the Traveler. All photos credited and copyrighted to Roy A. Barnes.

Disclosure: Roy A. Barnes  attended a press trip sponsored by the Spokane Regional CVB, but what he wrote were his own impressions and without scrutiny or vetting by the sponsor.  He writes from southeastern Wyoming.