3 Days ALONE on a River That Turns Clear as Glass | Withlacoochee Canoe Camping

In short: This is a solo canoe camping trip down the Withlacoochee River in north Florida, with a trolling motor already broken once and a fix that would not hold. The heart of it is a night alone on a tiny limestone island in the middle of the river, hammock strung between two trees, an MRE for lunch and gumbo for supper. The next morning it opens up at Madison Blue Springs, where the water runs clear and cold and meets the tannic river the color of sweet tea.

A night on a limestone island

Seven miles downriver a decision was waiting that would end the trip early, but first the river handed me a gift. Right in the middle of the Withlacoochee sat a little limestone island, and I knew it the second I saw it. This might be home. I got out, stretched my legs, and set the hammock from one tree to a crooked one across the way, with the rainfly rigged back into the trees. I had to trim a few limbs so they would not touch, but it worked. The current ran hard on both sides, and I could not imagine swimming against it. That is the beauty of a trip like this. As long as I make it out tomorrow, all is good.

MREs, gumbo, and a redbreast

For lunch I tried an MRE, a honey barbecue beef and bread, and I will tell you it gives you real respect for our military eating that every day. It is not bad, just a unique preserved flavor. I climbed in that hammock about 3:30 and fell dead asleep, then got up and tossed a line in. It barely hit the water before a little redbreast took it. Supper was quick and easy, chicken and sausage gumbo with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and I said grace and thanked the Lord for holding off the rain and letting me find such a beautiful spot in the shade and out of the sun.

Where the water turns clear as glass

The second night was rougher. I had forgotten my medicine, woke around midnight, took it, and laid there until two in the morning before a crow finally called me awake at six. By 9:30 Saturday I reached Madison Blue Springs near Live Oak, Florida, with people already in the water. The spring pushes out clear and cold, and right where it meets the tannic waters of the Coochie the whole thing turns the color of sweet tea, two waters becoming one. A nice man named Nile, like the river, took my GoPro down and swam it into the cave while I sat in the cool of it and watched. A long way from where the trip began.

Knowing when to call it

Past the springs the motor started spinning loose on the shaft again. The MacGyver fix was slipping, the Suwannee was still seven miles ahead, and a man at the boat ramp warned me about a bad set of shoals I would have to portage around. So I made the call, take out Saturday, and turn a three nighter into a two. When the boat ramp finally came into view we almost paddled right past it. Two nights and three days on the Withlacoochee, and I had a blast every mile.

Questions about the Withlacoochee

Why does the river turn clear as glass?

The Withlacoochee runs tannic and dark for most of its length, colored by the swamps it drains upstream, the same kind of black water you see on rivers all through this part of Florida. But springs like Madison Blue Springs, a state park near Live Oak, push cold, clear water straight up out of the aquifer, and that clear flow does not blend in slowly. Right where the spring meets the river you can watch it happen, the two waters becoming one, the tannic river water turning the color of sweet tea as the clear spring water mixes in. I reached that spot by 9:30 on a Saturday morning, with people already out enjoying the water, and it was a striking change after two nights of dark river water upstream. Seeing the color shift that sharply, right at one spot on the river, is something you have to watch happen to really believe.

Is it safe to camp alone on a river island?

It can be, if you pick high, solid ground, set your shelter for wind and rain, keep your gear and food secured, and let someone know your route and takeout day. On this trip a tiny limestone island sitting right in the middle of the Withlacoochee made a fine one-night camp. I knew it the moment I saw it, pulled over, stretched my legs, and strung the hammock from one tree to a crooked one across the way, with the rainfly rigged back into the trees above. I had to trim a few limbs so they would not rub against the fly, but once that was done it held solid. The current ran hard on both sides of that little island, hard enough that I could not imagine trying to swim against it if something went wrong, which is exactly why picking solid, stable ground matters more than anything else. As long as I made it out the next day, everything about that camp was good.