Sunset Paddle, Edward Medard Conservation Park | Plant City
Responsibilities and flooding rains thwarted my plans to paddle the nearby Alafia River. However, a chance diversion from a planned route revealed a gem unknown to me and opened new possibilities. A sunset paddle through a mirrored landscape of birds and trees under an evening sky reminiscent of N.C. Wyeth. Cloud giants were no worry, but would giant reptiles abound?
I like my beauty with a hint of danger. And a life-vest. And a whistle.
A left turn at Albuquerque
I took a risky shortcut and discovered a lake only twenty minutes from home. I realized as I sped along that it was a man-made reservoir and the sight of several canoes skimming the surface answered the first question that popped into my head.
Speedy McSpeederson didn’t catch the name of the place but I was familiar with my location. Turkey Creek Road was the way to Alderman’s Ford Preserve. I’d have to look this place up when I get home.
A fine line between boat and platter
A hike requires nothing but your limbs and whims and an open trail. But another world exists for exploration beyond the range of our feet or wheels—our rivers, streams, lakes, and oceans. Some years back I convinced my wife that we should buy kayaks that were on sale at Costco. We expanded our world of adventure with these molded shells of plastic, and many sights were seen from the waters of Pennsylvania, Maryland, and, recently, Lake Myakka.
The two of us had yet to enjoy a kayak trip together since moving here. Christa has a healthy fear of encountering a gator with nothing but a thin sheet of plastic between her and the 2100 pounds per square inch clamping force of stank-breath jaws. I’m less concerned, but not naively so. And I’ve got my whistle. It has a built-in compass.
I’ve been meaning to paddle a portion of the Alafia, but have yet to. And now that time is available, wouldn’t you know it, the rainy season has raised the level of the river beyond the safe point the county has set to use their convenient launches. As a new resident, I don’t know of any access points without restrictions. Besides, I don’t know this river’s character; I could take a spill and get eaten.
There are gator-free springs in which we could paddle without fear. But none are near enough to be convenient for a last minute whim for a kayaking. Edward Medard Park is close enough to home to solve our pain of want. I mean, there are no gators in a reservoir right? Right?
A rare opportunity
I googlety-mapped my shortcut and found the lake. It was indeed a reservoir and a part of the Edward Medard Conservation Park, under the care of Hillsborough County. Formerly the Pleasant Grove Park and Reservoir, it was part of a spent phosphate mine donated to the county after the minerals had been extracted.
As I scrolled down the page I found an event announcement: After Dark in the Park Sunset Paddle. A ranger-guided tour on the lake. The paddle offered a rare opportunity to engage in (legitimate) nocturnal activities in Municipal parks, as most close their gates at dusk.
The opportunity to have a guided tour was a real bonus. I’d been hiking and paddling solo and relying on the internet to seek answers to questions. You’d be surprised how frustrating it is to track down a plant or animal based on a visual description. Having a knowledgeable guide along would more than worth the $5 fee. We could make a lot of learnin’ ‘for the sun goes down.
Initially, Christa was not as enthusiastic. I emailed a reservation request (space is limited to 14 participants) before popping the suggestion. She had her own reservations but went in optimistically when I suggested that a reservoir would be gator free. Besides, there’d be a guide along.
Strap ‘em down and buckle up
The day arrived and I passively disregarded Christa’s advice to get the kayaks lashed to the car early in the day. Instead, I waited until an hour before we needed to leave. As a battleship of a storm rolled in, I managed to get my homemade wood rack on the roof of the sporty little runabout and both kayaks into position when the slate sky rent and the deluge fell.
The black clouds drifted away and the rain reduced to a drizzle as we strapped the boats in place and our gear stowed under the hatchback. We were off and running late. Luckily, the boats stayed attached and we got to the park in the nick of time.
Edward Medard Conservation Park
6140 Turkey Creek Rd.
Plant City, FL 33567
Phone: (813) 757-3802
Hours:
Spring/Summer: 7:00 a.m. – 7:00 p.m.
Fall/Winter: 7:00 a.m. – 6:00 p.m.
Fees:
$2.00 per vehicle. Up to 8 people per vehicle. Camping, rentals and boat ramp access extra.
After Dark in the Park Sunset Paddle: $5.00 per person plus rental fees.
https://www.hillsboroughcounty.org/en/locations/edward-medard-conservation-park
The woman in the booth took our two dollar parking fee and directed us to the meeting place for the paddle. She radioed our guide, Ranger Chris Kiddy, that we were on our way. He walked over to greet us as we unloaded and geared up then he directed us where to put in and meet the rest of the group—a woman and her eight-year-old son.
Only two others? Was no one else in the county interested in this rare opportunity? Well, all the better for us with a better guide-to-guest ratio. We all got acquainted—everyone was super friendly—and prepared to launch.
We scooted our kayaks across the dense mat of aquatic lettuce which extended ten feet over the surface of the lake. I was shocked at how hot the water was at the edge, like stepping into a cabbage soup. Our weight helped the boats break the lettuce barrier and we paddled free from the vegetable raft.
A guided sunset tour
Once in open water, Ranger Chris told us the frightful sea tale of the massive raft of the invasive species of lettuce that broke free during hurricane Irma and drifted into the park’s boardwalk. The impact weakened the pilings causing the pier to give way to the winds and collapse. Lettuce. Took out a pier.
The tour shifted to the subject of birds and what we would soon see. Our path would take us past the rookery islands in the middle of the lake. The rookeries were the protected nesting place of many varieties of wading birds. We would have to be cautious and not interfere with or molest the birds.
Also, alligators.
Yes, Christa, there is an alligator. Many of them, in fact, do live in the reservoir and may very well be under us as we paddled along. I don’t know where I got the idea the reptiles would not be in the lake, but I guess the term reservoir tainted my thinking. That and wishful thinking.
It was nesting time for the reptiles with hatchings soon to occur. The creatures would certainly defend their eggs, but we were fairly safe as long as we kept our distance. They wanted as much to do with us as we wanted to do with them. Christa steeled her resolve and paddled on.
We followed the banks clockwise and studied the various birds that crossed our path or collected in the branches and pennywort. On the shore, some hawks and hordes of black vultures hung out, but the islands were mostly wading birds. A pair of pelicans was acting as sentry in an oak as we drifted by and toward the large rookery. They literally looked down their noses at us with dour expressions, like sack-beaked cousins of Sam the Eagle crossed with Alice the Goon.
The rookery was a cacophony of calls and warnings. Limbs were laden with snowy clumps as white ibis colonies formed the bulk of the population. The waning sunlight made identification less and less easy, but it was no less a treat to witness. The other residents included the brown-feathered glossy ibis, several varieties of heron (great blue, little blue, green, and night), egrets, and limpkins.
The remaining sunlight was just enough to see the larger details and observe the different species, morphs, and their activity.
Keeping their distance from the larger wading birds were the grackles and red-winged blackbirds. They clustered in the reeds, gripping the shafts of grass in sideways clamps. The wind slightly waved their perches, but they maintained purchase and went with the flow. Ranger Chris pointed out the pink bubblegum-like globs also stuck to the grasses. These were the egg sacks of the apple snails. Apple snails are also invasive, but they do no harm and the limpkins love them. This is why it’s nice to have guides.
I glanced at Christa when Ranger Chris pointed out the first alligator, about fifty yards from us, submerged up to its eyeballs and nose holes. She didn’t flinch; safety in numbers. We saw several more throughout the trip and a striped teenager on a shoreline past the boat ramps. As we headed toward him, approaching no closer than twenty yards, he slipped into the drink, evading an encounter.
Ranger Chris told us that when this was Pleasant Grove Park and Reservoir a beach was maintained and visitors would swim here. He laughed at the idea in the way one would if saying athletes used to drink strychnine.
Still what else did people do to keep cool in the summer before air conditioning and affordable backyard pools? Gators were just a fact of life and maimings and deaths were probably as uncommon as shark attacks at the beach. Maybe.
He said they would have to pause swimming regularly to sweep the area for gators. The county later deemed swimming to be a liability and made it prohibited. I’m not for stopping those who’d like to go for a swim from endangering themselves— it’s their body— but you wouldn’t catch me taking a dip. I won’t even drag my hand in the water.
We wound our way to the boardwalk and recalled the calamitous lettuce raft. The damage was severe with the skeletal remains of the ruptured walk disappearing into the murky lake. The park needs volunteers to repair it and I’m considering lending a hand. I’ve not hammered a nail since we sold our house; the tools could use some exercise. I need to manage my time better and make some room to help.
Halfway through the tour, I asked Christa what she thought so far. We were both smiling as we effortlessly paddled through the serene expanse. Hope springs eternal for her to build up courage for some river trips down the road with any gators we may pass along them.
I was pointing out birds and Ranger Chris would then confirm or correct my recently learned identifications. I mentioned I’d not yet had a confirmed sighting of a night heron. He said there were two residing here, the black-crowned and the yellow crowned. He knew of a spot where they frequented further along our path and would point one out if he saw it.
We circumnavigated the remaining edge of the lake where it straightened out to a perfect line along Turkey Creek Road before veering right and retracing our path to the launch site. It was around here that several white-bellied birds with black crests darted in front of us. Ranger Chris called back that they were night herons; the black-crowned, to be exact. Maybe I had seen these before but mistook them for sandwich terns. They looked similar gliding by in the twilight.
The sinking sun cast the horizon in spectacular bands of pink, purple, red and yellow, silhouetting the trees into a mass of green-whispered black. Birds from all corners were gliding into the rookery for the night. It was downright picturesque as wedges of ibis would arc in flight over the yellow-white eye of the setting sun.
As we paddled the last leg, Ranger Chris told us about the tilapia and how they arrived in Florida. He said this lake was ground zero for the introduction of the fish that were hyped to be great for sport fishing, but that officials imported the wrong species. The blue tilapia swarmed this lake and the county allows commercial fishermen to net them at night for sale as food fish.
No sooner had he shared this info when we turned the last bend of the treeline to pass an outgoing boat of fishermen starting their shift. It seems like an interesting vocation—night fishing on the little lake with the birds calling, insects chirping, and gators drifting.
Beaks wet, hungry for more
As we landed on the lettuce shore, we were deceptively still far from the edge. I offered to push Christa’s kayak closer to dry land, but she declined my offer. Stepping out, she wound up hip-deep in dark water. Calmly, she trudged through the lettuce and out of the drink. After our boats were strapped down, she warned me that that I had just witnessed the first and last time she’d be so deep in gator-infested waters. I thought she handled it very well.
We agreed that this had been an exceptionally enjoyable evening. Even with the alligators. These $300 kayaks were one of the best purchases we’ve ever made. Thanks, Costco.
We thanked Ranger Chris and said goodbye to our tour companions. He reminded us to look into the Bird Walks and Native Plant Walks available at Lettuce Lake and other Hillsborough County Parks. And we headed home with sore arms, wet pants, and vivid memories (and an iPhone full of images of questionable quality).
So much to see- plans to be made
We had a great time and would definitely sign up for the next Sunset Paddle. Ranger Chris also guides one at the Upper Tampa Bay Conservation Park, Camp Bayou Outdoor Learning Center, and E.G. Simmons Park, among possible others. Check the event calendars on those park’s websites if you’re interested in participating.
I let too much time pass between kayak trips, whether paddling a short length of the river, or longer explorations. Every time I get in the water I find myself scolding me for waiting so long, or trading a couch surf for a paddle. It’s too easy to load up and put in, especially on a lake. A river run usually requires two cars, unless the current is weak enough for an upstream trip.
Lakes can be enjoyed with only one vehicle, making solo trips easy. A great alternative for when Christa has better things to do than ferry me upstream. Thanks to After Dark in the Park Sunset Paddle, my eyes were opened to the riches to be found on lakes, with which Florida is pocked like swiss cheese. My world of adventure and exploration has been expanded.
As I said, it’s not a good time for novices to get on the Alafia river. If one intends to put in at Alderman’s Ford, you might have problems. The rains have caused the river to rise beyond the yellow caution pole, enveloping the red danger pole. This means putting in at the park is a no-go. Now, if the Alafia were gator-free, I might risk a paddle. But I’m new to the scene and unfamiliar with the river. I don’t need to capsize and get eaten. So, in the meantime, a paddle around a halcyon lake can suffice nicely while the rivers rage (as much as Florida rivers can rage).
All I need now is to put an “I’d rather be kayaking” sign on the television and make use of a calendar to plan some more trips. And leave some time for volunteering.
I couldn’t be happier that I turned onto Turkey Creek Road that day. You never know what you’ll find by taking an unplanned path. I find Edward Medard Park to be a jewel with many facets yet to be enjoyed: camping, hiking, fishing, and disc golf. We’ll eventually return for more, but it will be hard to beat this evening paddle through a living, breathing work of art.
Thanks for reading!
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