Kayaking Shingle Creek

Saturday was two days from the end of April and perhaps two days from the end of Central Florida's Spring. I judge my seasons by temperature, not calendar and any day in May in that isn't hot feels like a blessing.  So I'm getting my kayaking in while I can, because soon it will be too hot and the afternoon thunderstorms too volatile to take a small plastic boat out to far away from the safety of my air conditioned bubble.

This week's destination was Shingle Creek in Osceola County. I noticed the the relatively new park off US 192 when I visited Osceola County's Pioneer Village last year. Shingle Creek Regional Park was built a couple years ago and there isn't much about it on the Internet, so I wasn't exactly sure what I was getting into when we drove up. The satellite view on Google Maps shows a sandy banked creek that suddenly disappears into tree tops not far from the busy tourist corridor. After making the decision to head south first, it became apparent about a half mile into the trip why the water can't be seen from space. As we traveled further away from the park, the creek got narrower and narrower until finally it was so narrow that I could touch the bank on each side of the creek with my paddle. We soon found ourselves in maze of cypress knees and understood while the creek was marked so carefully – had it not been the dry season it would have been nearly impossible to find our way around, because the creek dumps right into a swamp. The water from this area eventually ends up in the Everglades, Florida's great kidneys, and it was exciting to imagine the days when one could have traveled down a natural watery corridor like this creek all the way from Kissimmee to Lake Okechobee. But the Kissimmee River was turned into boring straight canals years ago and only now are they trying to restore the river to its natural course.

The Creek starts out fairly wide but quickly disappears under the tree canopy in this satellite view

The incredible scenery starts soon after leaving the park

19th century pioneer cabin at the park

A Live Oak stretches for the sky over the creek

Signs of human inhabitants

Snail eggs on base of a large Cypress

Where the creek narrows

Along the way we saw two big gators – one so large it appeared to dwarf our kayaks – hundreds of teethy gar, bass, bream and lots of Limpkin, an indication that the water quality is pretty decent. The tanin stained water actually was pretty clear and there were many sandy beds along the bottom fanned by the tails of female fish throughout the entire length of the two mile trek. After the marked trail ended to the south, we turned around and paddled another mile north of 192. That side was wider, and we could hear music from a nearby apartment complex, although it was still relatively natural. Terminating at a park centered around a heroic live oak, the creek went on but we did not. Gorgeous Live Oaks lined both side of the creek as well as glorious Cypress trees and millions of Cypress knees which I seem to find more and more enchanting. On our way back we saw a homeless person sleeping under the 192  bridge – the only person we saw on the water during  the entire four mile trip. There were, however, frequent signs of man including some creekside houses, a cellphone tower and the constant sounds of aircraft approaching the Kissimmee airport. But that did little to tarnish the experience of a near perfect day.

One of several Limpkins we saw

Under US 192

The wider side of Shingle Creek, north of US 192

Cypress and Live Oaks

The large Live Oak at the at the park's northernmost point (me for scale)

Supposedly Shingle Creek was named because the abundant cypress trees made for a readily available source of wood shingles. From what I can tell on the map, the creek runs from Sandlake Road in Orlando all the way down to Lake Toho in Kissimmee, passing behind gated neighborhoods and fancy tourist resorts before finding freedom in the swamps we passed through. I don't know how this portion of creek survived the paving of Central Florida, but I'm grateful that it did, because it is a miraculous treasure.

My kayaking buddy William in Nature's cathedral

Spring on the lake

Spring in Central Florida makes a brief appearance before yielding to a long muggy summer that seems to last longer and longer each year. So I do my best to spend as much time as possible outside when the weather is comfortable and the light is still crisp. As a result I haven't been inside at my computer blogging on weekends.

I am fortunate enough to live on a small urban lake and springtime on this watery oasis is a celebration of life. In February female Tilapia dig out beds with their tales on either side of our pier. This prolific species of fish is native to Africa and Asia and is considered invasive to Florida. I'm not quite sure how they came to be on our little lake, but their numbers are astounding. While I wish they were largemouth bass or another Florida native, watching them spawn every year is a fascinating way to mark the beginning of the season.

Also in spring the migratory ducks head back north and wading birds sport their audacious breeding plumage and chase each other around the lake. This spring I've seen Great and Snowy Egrets, Great Blue and Black Crowned Night Herons, Ibis and Wood Storks just to name a few. Our mollusk-eating Limpkins, year-round residents, become ever more vocal, and one bird in particular has become so comfortable on our dock I have named him Larry.

Every year I'm amazed at this incredible amount of natural activity just yards from a constant stream of unaware motorists and I imagine what Florida must have been like when lakes like this were untouched by human intruders. Thanks to my little lake, I get just a little glimpse of what that must have been like.

These elegant swans appeared one day and left the next. I'm not sure if they were just passing through on migration or venturing out from Lake Eola Downtown...

Even the smaller species seem to be caught up in the rites of Spring.

Larry the Limpkin finds a steady diet of fresh water mollusks and snails around the lake

Male Tilapia flood the shallows towards the end of the spawning season. One day I came home to find a Bald Eagle dining on one in my backyard!

Tigger the cat tenses up as the bird activity outside increases

An outrageous Bougainvilia punctuates that fact that Winter is behind us for another year

Florida State Bird

Florida's official state bird
Image from State Archives of Florida

There is no doubt that the mockingbird has one of the prettiest songs in the animal kingdom. And they are fun to watch, as the animated songbird is extremely active. But the official Florida state bird is very common, not just in Florida but throughout the entire Southeast. Actually four other state share the mockingbird as their official state bird. Recently Florida students voted for a new state bird and they picked the Osprey, according to an article in the St. Pete Times. I love watching Ospreys dive for fish and they are truly magnificent creatures. But according to Wikipedia, "The Osprey has a worldwide distribution and is found in temperate and tropical regions of all continents except Antarctica. In North America it breeds from Alaska and Newfoundland south to the Gulf Coast and Florida, wintering further south from the southern United States through to Argentina."

Osprey at sunset

Based on uniqueness to Florida alone, my vote for state bird would be the Limpkin. In the US the Limpkin's main habitat is peninsular Florida. According to the Wakulla County, Florida website, "Limpkin were hunted almost to extinction in Florida by the beginning of the 20th century, but with legal protection is making a fair comeback." The Limpkin's primary food the apple snail, is an indicator of water quality. So as the water quality decreased at Wakulla Springs, so has the number of Limkins. So they are an excellent litmus test of man's impact upon the environment.


When we moved to our house on this little lake 6 years ago, the cry of the Limpkin was a persistent reminder that we lived on the water. But this year it had been quiet and I feared that the septic tanks and fertilized lawns around the lake had maybe wrecked the water quality to the point it would no longer support apple snails and fresh water mussels. But just last week the loud distinctive cry of my favorite Florida bird rattled my house at 4 am and I suspect that higher water levels were to blame for its disappearance. Although I didn't appreciate the early wake up call, I enjoy the reminder that Florida was once a wild, untamed land and glimpses of that past are still available.

Audio of the early morning Limpkin wake-up call

One of my favorite characteristics of Limpkins is they have seem to possess an unflappable attitude and are fairly tolerant of people. They have dark large soulful eyes and are one of the few wading birds that will allow you to get close enough to make good eye contact. After looking into the eyes of one of these loud Florida natives, I am more determined than ever to try to ensure they have a healthy place to live in Florida, far into the future.

I recently witnessed this confrontation between a hungry hawk and a cool Limpkin who would have no part of the hawk's attempts to turn it into lunch. Eventually the Limpkin chased the hawk away!