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

A cow town, re-created

I'm fasincinated by Osceola County because it has such extreme contrasts. It's where old Florida cattle country collides with the kingdom of the mouse. In Patrick Smith's epic tale of pioneer Florida, "A Land Remembered", the cattle raising protagonist visits Osceola's largest town Kissimmee often, as it was one of the few towns accessible to cowmen in Florida's interior. The cattle industry is still part a big part of life in Kissimmee but its more and more obscured by the glare of the mouse. It's hard to imagine any town in Florida has had as many demographic changes in the last 40 years.

A Cracker homestead in Kissimmee.

Note the whip held by the gentleman in front. Some assert that the crack of the whips
used by Florida Cowmen is where the term "Cracker" comes from.

A Parade in downtown Kissimmee- the Silver Spurs Rodeo
is an on-going Osceola County tradition.
Images from the Florida State Archives.

One of the best ways to get a glimpse into the Florida Cracker lifestyle of the 1800s is at Osceola County's Pioneer Village and Museum. Located surprisingly close to the tourist corridor on 192, this collection of archival buildings is a breath fresh air from the tacky architecture just blocks away. Two old Cracker houses are closest to the road, the Tyson and Lanier homesteads. The Tyson house has been turned into a general store, complete with artifacts from Narcosee's post office. Next door, the Lanier homestead is set up with actual furnishings of the period and one can get a sense of what it must have been like to live in Florida in the late 1800s. On the Fall day I was there, the weather was perfect and it seemed like a pretty good way to live. But I can't imagine what it would be like in the summer.


Another highlight for me was the one-room schoolroom. Complete with books and desks it's very quaint. Other buildings include a wash house, a smoke house, a blacksmith shop, a citrus parking house and a small museum.



Across the street is the Mary Kendall Nature Preserve, part of the Shingle Creek Regional Park. This 78 acre area has boardwalks and trails that leads to 2 more Cracker structures, the restored Stefee homestead and the Caretaker's house. Both were closed on my visit, but the walk was beautiful and serene and I was happy that this little piece of old Florida had been preserved. Visiting the Preserve and the Pioneer Village made for a memorable afternoon and I left with more insight and appreciation for life in nineteenth century Central Florida.

About a hundred yards from the preserve, lies ground zero for Central Florida tourism.

Kissimmee follow-up

This weekend I returned to the site of some older posts to see what had changed since my initial observations. First I went to the site of the shuffleboard courts of the Kissimmee All State Tourist Club in downtown Kissimmee. The courts were long gone and a new picnic pavilion is almost completed in its place. Part of a larger plan for a new lakeside park, the shuffleboard complex was booted after decades of good times next to the Monument of States. I was surprised to see the area still closed off about a year and a half after my previous visit, with very little lake access remaining for the public. I'm not sure what happened to the members of the KAST club, but it seems like a rather disappointing situation as the park seems stuck in limbo.

In some cases, the neglect of the lakefront park has yielded beautiful results

Next I drove down 192, the tourist corridor leading to Disney. On my previous visit it was easy to see the effects of the recession and Disney's strategy to keep all of their guests on Disney property in Disney hotels. Boarded up businesses were frequent, ugly scars on this busy Osceola County roadway. This weekend I found even more businesses had fallen by the wayside and was surprised that some that some of them appeared to very recently built. In fact, a year and a half ago I noted a brand new A&W Drive-In across from the former location of Xanadu House of the Future. It appears that the Drive-In was one of the victims of the 192 recession and it too now sits vacant.

I found it fascinating that in some places the natural landscape was consuming man made structures. I pulled over at a closed miniature golf course and found it so overgrown that no part of the course was visible from the road. Next door, the Viking Motel, appearing freshly painted, sat empty as its swimming pool area flooded and and the roadside signage disintegrated. While I feel empathy for the business owners and the their former employees, it is kind of nice to see nature making her own land grab, even if it is only temporary.

This is actually the walkway to the pool area

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This sign on U.S. 441, sits in front of an overgrown empty lot, pointing at nothing but sky.

Alligator Capital of the World

Florida has a long, interesting relationship with the alligator. These prehistoric looking creatures, seem docile and slow but actually possess incredible strength and quickness. It is easy to find numerous historical images of people wrestling, feeding and riding these massive reptiles, however, well into the early twentieth century. In fact, Orlando's signature historical image, reproduced in bronze in front of the History Center, shows gator wrestler Bunk Baxter sitting atop a crocodile in downtown Orlando.

Orange County Regional History Center

State Archives of Florida

The first to wrestle alligators were the Seminole Indians and early attractions sprung up in South Florida where gators and indians provided entertainment to northern tourists at places like Musa Isle and Tropical Hobbyland. A narrative by a contemporary alligator wrestler explains: "When we are alligator wrestling we are demonstrating what is really just a traditional barehanded technique for catching alligators as the Native Americans here in the glades have done for centuries. The Native Americans of Florida would catch alligators to feed their people. We catch them for the same reason, to make money to feed our families. Alligator wrestling is very dangerous and if a wrestler makes a mistake it could be disastrous, resulting in the loss of valuable body parts. I have seen a lot of people I know bitten by alligators."

State Archives of Florida

And so it was on a previous visit to Gatorland when I just missed one of the gator wrestlers being bit on the head during the show. My out-of-town visitors, who I left at the park to go back to work, got to witness the spectacle and fortunately the wounds to the Gatorland employee were not serious.

Gatorland opened in 1949 as the Florida Wildlife Institute according to an article in Reflections from Central Florida. Owen Godwin's family opened the park on US 441 to capitalize on the post WWII tourist boom as vacationing Americans took to the road in record numbers. The Godwin family still runs the park, a "110-acre theme park and wildlife preserve, combining "Old Florida" charm with exciting, new exhibits and entertainment." The park carries on the Florida traditions of hand-feeding alligators and gator "wrestlin'" but the only gators you can sit on today are made of fiberglass.

State Archives of Florida

The Breeding Marsh, where the rookery is located, is towards the back of the attraction. Towards the front lies "Gator Lake" and "Alligator Island" as well as assorted man-made ponds where one can witness gators of all shapes and sizes, in some places they stack themselves 4 deep. Guests can feed the critters in these ponds, which include brave turtles, so wading birds hang out in hope of a free lunch. This affords another opportunity for great photography.