I must look like a complete crazy person while I am swimming about. My head pops up every minute or so from the center of the swimming area, only to pop back down again after a few heaving breaths. I've never been afraid of drowning in the cool clearness of freshwater, despite that innate panicky feeling that my lungs send to my brain after too long without a breath. My chest heaves as I swim up from the depths, pretending to breathe, and I pop up again with a sound escaping my throat that would usually signal that one is done for the day. But no, not me. A few more breaths, and I go back down into the blueness. Hold still, and you can hear the wee swirling shells and rock bits near one of the boils click around on bare limestone as they turn and turn until they are worn away. It's a close sound, almost coming from inside your body - a bit like pop rocks in your mouth. I see them, and I challenge myself to grab one, to bring it to the surface, and to show it the interest and respect that no one else would give it. So I try; I dive once... no, too short. I dive again... no, ran out of air. But the third time's a charm, and I surface, my hand clutching three small pebbles. I inspect each one, show them to the sun, and after a short rest, I return them.
Now, I know these are just wee bits of rock and shell, but to me, they are like little secrets that Florida likes to tell to anyone who would listen. They are down there, making that clicking noise, eternally swirling their existence away, but I acknowledge them and return them, to live their intended lives. For a split second in eternity, I talk to the aquifer.
* * *
Wekiva Springs State Park is an interesting specimen as far as ADVENTURE goes. Really, it's surprising that something so wild could exist in such a place (just outside jolly ol' Orlando). My dad and I got there early to take a CANOE ADVENTURE, and found it to be a pretty straightforward setup. Concrete pool containing the springs, large grassy knoll containing spring-goers, and a long river that splits off into two rather opposite types of runs.
Upon setting out, I nearly lived a thousand lives in a few minutes. We were greeted by a Swallowtailed Kite taking his morning skim across the water. I actually got actual footage of an actual kite, and although my dad was rather unsentimental about the situation (we're an amazing team, he and I - we balance where we should and we go overboard where we should) I knew he was slowing the canoe down so I could get a good shot. Once we passed him, the kite noticed I was no longer watching, shrugged his feathered shoulders, and flew off to start the day's business. It was an excellent omen.
The map we had was pretty explanatory, or so we thought. Straight ahead, the Wekiva River oozed out and about with various spots along the way to visit and remember. However, branching to the left off the Wekiva, there was Rock Springs Run. As we made our way to the junction, we noticed that pretty much no one was heading down the latter, so of course, I voted for Rock Springs Run as our path. The committee delegated, and it was decided that it was "not a bad idea". So, turning against the current, we headed upriver upon the road less traveled.
The oddest thing about this whole CANOE ADVENTURE was the lack of wildlife. At all. We were out early, and it was warm but not stifling. No birds, no fish, no nothing. Then again, the water was almost red with tannins and the shores were close - perhaps creatures prefer wider, clearer waters.
Anyway, there were many sticks in our path. While I type "sticks" I really mean "submerged spears set to hinder your advancement, annoy your dad, and also punch your beloved canoe in its underbelly". Going upstream the entire time, with vile "sticks" in the water, and the eeriness of no wildlife made Rock Springs Run a CANOE ADVENTURE that was hard to really define. Sure, it was neat, but it was also unforgiving. We paddled for a good long while, cursing the poorly drawn map ("We must be near the end by now!"), and hoping that our assumptions about the distance key were all wrong.
Alas, we came upon the dreaded Otter Camp, an event of which we had been joking due to the incorrectness of the river map. It was relieving, frustrating, and hilarious all at the same time. And above all, more fun than anyone is ever allowed to have. (Otter Camp, by the way, is a lovely little place and I plan to spend perhaps Christmas there or some other holiday that requires the visiting of people with whom the nature of the holiday compels you.(i.e. I want to stick it to convention while also enjoying a quiet few nights alone in the woods.)
On the way back from the aforementioned camp, we saw birds, turtles, tadpoles (!), and an otter. It was almost like it was challenging us on the way up and rewarding us on the way down.
When we finally met up with the Wekiva River again, we merged into paddled boat traffic. Few things annoy my dad and I more than a couple of novices in a self-propelled watercraft. We know that they have to learn sometime, but COME ON, IT'S A PADDLE NOT A SOUP LADLE. USE IT ACCORDINGLY. We learned from one of the rivergoers that there was a big bar with a party down the river apiece, and "everyone goes there on weekends". With that, the committee reconvened, took a vote, and unanimously declared that not only was Rock Springs Run "not a bad idea", but as a whole "a much better idea and good lord what a hot crowded mess this river has become in the few hours we were away from it".Thanks, Mr. Kite. You gave us some good juju.
