Camping, Kayaking, and Tram Tour – Myakka River State Park, Sarasota
I had a long list of things I wanted to do this spring. One of them was to take the tram tour at Myakka River State Park. I know—A tram Tour? Here’s the thing: The tour was $15 per person and the reviews were very positive. So I thought it might be a rewarding and relaxing way to learn about the Myakka River State Park history and ecology. Then I learned that the tram tours only run from December 16 through May 31. It was now May 23. Schnikes. I’d have to make something happen.
It crossed my mind that this might make for a good opportunity to get in a long-sought camping trip. As well, we could put our VW Kombi camper—Fatty Lumpkin, aka Gertie the Blue Dinosaur, aka Der Geld Pit—through her paces. We haven’t camped in her since I’d got her running again. So I booked a camping spot through the Reserve America online reservation system (the TicketMaster of State Park camping and lodging reservations) and set to giving Fatty Lumpkin a once over for the trip.
Did I say, “once over?” No, I meant, “change the rear bearing seal on the left wheel.”
Fatty had blown a seal (hey, fix the darned thing and leave her private life out of it), and I had been putting off repairing it since I gave her a lick and a promise in November. It needed to be done before taking the long drive.
I don’t mind taking her for a spin around the neighborhood, but for long drives, all the gear oil slings out. No oil is no good for the tranny or the reduction boxes. This is an inside baseball way of saying, if I don’t fix that seal, Fatty’s going to leave us sit. That’s a Lancaster County way of saying the bus will break down and we’ll be stuck on the side of the road waiting for a tow truck with a five-figure tranny rebuild in our immediate future. So, I set to work getting greasy and got the job done within a day.
With the seal repaired and the gear oil topped up I now set to outfitting our bus for the camping trip. The roof rack had to be reinstalled, but I couldn’t remember where I put the clamps. I found them a few hours later. After rooting through my assorted jars of fasteners (why didn’t I put some kits together while I worked at a fastener company?) I had enough to get the rack mounted. So after remembering to back out of the garage first, I installed the rack and the canopy rail. I couldn’t find the hardware for that either, so I improvised.
Later, when I unzipped the canopy, the hardware came spilling out. It was a grand idea at the time. My mistake was in thinking future me would be as brilliant as past me.
Then I repaired the pop-up bed, made sure the refrigerator still worked and cleaned out all the stuff left in the cabinets since our 2004 road trip. By the day before the trip, we were ready. Or as ready as one can be for a camping trip planned in the last minute in a VW bus that hadn’t been camped in since 2004.
Wednesday morning we rose with the sun and headed for Myakka.
No, we didn’t. I was still fiddling with stuff that morning and we left after lunch. I didn’t want to take the Interstate for fear of throwing the alternator belt (hashtagbuslife), so we stuck to Rt. 301. At Parrish, we turned to take the back way as the map app suggested. However, what both we and the map were painfully unaware of was that the north entrance we were being led to was only open on the weekends. So with much huffing and puffing, we blew a ninety-minute trip into a two and a half-hour trip.
I am the chaos bringer; the destructor of order. That sky is beautiful, innit?
I cooled off by the time we pulled into the park and signed in. We found our site, backed in, and set up the camp. I plugged into the power and got our fridge cooling down to keep our hotdogs and Milo’s iced tea cold. Then we set to pulling out the awning and filling up our water tank, etc. You know, making a sandlot a home.
Myakka River State Park
13208 State Road 72
Sarasota, FL 34241
Phone: (941) 361-6511
Open Sunday – Saturday
8:00 a.m. to sunset
Fees:
$6.00 per vehicle. Limit 2-8 people per vehicle.
$4.00 Single Occupant Vehicle.
$2.00 Pedestrians, bicyclists, extra passengers, passengers in vehicle with holder of Annual Individual Entrance Pass.
www.floridastateparks.org/park/Myakka-River
It was a nice and cozy site. We had our lounge area set up and were relaxing when the volunteer campground host walked by with her little pupper. She welcomed us and chatted for a bit. Her camper was only a few doors down and she’d be available if we needed anything. I had great flashbacks of our cross-country trip and became sad and longing for the adventure and all the people we met. We thanked her and I decided to do a short hike before dinner and before it got too dark to see anything.
I wanted to get to the canopy walk and get some sunset pictures from the high vantage point. There was one problem—the late spring rains contributed to the annual flooding of the Myakka River floodplain. Practically everything other than campsites was underwater up to the shoulders of the roads.
I walked up Park Drive and across the bridge where we saw our first crocogators in January. After a stop to say hello to a lonely limpkin, I soon arrived at the canopy trail entrance. Crossing my fingers, I darted into the jungle only to find it flooded almost to knee height only at twenty-five yards in. Bummer.
I walked back out as a hawk swooped in under the canopy to perch just above my head. He held fast to the limb like Bubo. I almost thought he was clockwork until he took off without a click or whir.
I tried my luck at the other end of the trail. At that head, I met a woman who warned me it was flooded and not worth my time. And with such enthusiasm that I half expected to find her accomplice burying a body a short distance in.
I ventured in nevertheless to make something fruitful of the trek. At about a quarter mile in, I hit the flooding again. I considered just trudging through, but these were the only shoes I’d brought and that water was deep in places. On my way out, I paid it forward by warning a guy that just pulled in on his Harley. Did he have a shovel?
On my way back I took a side trip to the new lakeshore where I heard something massive splashing around. I imagined a gator grappling a blue heron in a frenzy of green and white…and red. When I got there, there was nothing to be seen but a half-submerged bench. Until a little blue heron alit not far from me.
A hundred yards out I spotted a snowy egret plodding around. Plunks and plops persisted, but every time I glanced in the direction—nothing but ripples. I watched the birds come and go until I realized the sun was nearly set. I headed back for camp.
A scurrying in the woods pulled my attention to the left. I looked in to see three young feral pigs. My eyes grew to saucers as I fumbled for my camera. Way to go Jimmy Olsen. I had been waiting six long months for a sighting of a feral pig and they were trotting off.
The young ones were different colors and patterns. They looked to be a cross between a wild boar and a domestic pig. In a few seconds, a dark blur and a snort alerted me to the mother. She was a full-on boar and staring at me as I ventured into the tree line to get a better picture. I paused, took her advice not to get any closer and snapped a few more pics as she trotted after her young. I was ecstatic until I replayed the shots on my camera and realized most were out of focus. I’ve got to figure out how to tune-in that autofocus.
Back at the camp, I regaled Christa on my adventures while I fried up some hamburgers (frozen ready cooked—who knew?) and some homemade beanie-weenies. You don’t eat green vegetables when camping. It’s a rule, look it up.
After dinner, we cracked some contraband adult beverages and sipped them responsibly as twilight dimmed. time to get the bed popped up and sheeted. It was hot and muggy as several days worth of rain evaporated from the earth. We wouldn’t need blankets and I cranked the windows open for ventilation. We brushed our teeth and said our prayers (Sorry Hulk, I don’t take vitamins) then climbed onto the narrow bed upon which we hadn’t slept in almost fifteen years.
As I was settling back, I suddenly remembered something. Something we used to enjoy nightly on our cross-country trip. Something that I’d forgotten to bring with us this trip—a fan. We hardly slept all night. Well, I hardly slept—Christa did not sleep. The heat was sticky and unbearable for her and the six-inch thick mattress was not enough for our now forty-something spines. We’d have to solve this problem before the next trip.
We woke early—I woke early. Christa just sat up. My brilliant idea to bring our old single-cup coffee maker was thwarted by a mineral-clogged siphon. Thanks, Lancaster hard water. So, we boiled some water and made a couple cups of instant. Or that was my plan before I said nuts to hot beverages and pulled my jug of Milo’s out of the fridge. We used the hot water for our instant oatmeal packets and soon learned why they were on clearance. “No, banana walnut oatmeal. No.”
Christa had decided at home that she was not yet psyched up enough to encounter gators with only a millimeter of plastic between them and her. So, she declined to bring her kayak. I’d be paddling alone while Christa read her book at the Myakka Outpost. There was a cafe, too, in case that discount oatmeal failed to sustain or if she wanted real coffee.
We struck camp and drove to the Outpost on Upper Myakka Lake. After inquiring about the tram tours, Christa agreed to buy the tickets once the booth opened to beat the rush (lol). Then we dropped off the kayak at the lake and parked the bus.
The eight a.m. sky was clear blue with a haze from the morning burnoff of dew. I strapped on my PFD, donned my hat and shades and put my phone in its waterproof case. I brought it in case of an emergency and to snap the occasional pic. If something particularly attractive warranted taking the risk of dropping it in the drink.
I also strapped on my stainless Mora for a last resort if a one-ton reptile clamps my leg and drags me to its lair. The least I could do was sink a blade into its head. Or into my leg when it glanced off the leathery hide. Hey. it was a psychological device. For me.
If Upper Myakka Lake resembles a pelican on the map (and it does to me)…
…then the left leg looks to be dragging a knotted length of fishing line that is Myakka River. A weir separates the river from the lake, though I wasn’t certain the flooding had not overtaken the dam. The outpost rests on the banks of the right pegleg and from there the airboat tours launch. I put in my kayak just off the inner thigh.
Just before climbing in we noticed something drifting across the entrance to the right leg. It was a crocogator. Like a screen from Pitfall, it was a full-body floater from tip to tail, drifting like a log from left to right. I kissed my wife goodbye, told her where the will was kept and paddled out into the lake. I decided that the known was better than the unknown and turned right, trailing fifty yards behind the gator.
The flooding had extended the lake’s bank well inland. This made the surrounding oak, willow, and ash woodline navigable It looked like a Delta bayou and the morning haze lent an eerie cast to the depths beyond the sentries. It may be navigable but I don’t think I should go in there.
About twenty-five yards out from the new bank, the tops of wetland grasses protruded from the water denoting the original lake rim. Behind the grassy palisades were black wedges with eyes. As I entered their line of sight each wedge would start out into the lake ahead and toward my path. My original intention was to paddle the lake rim, but these wedges had teeth and inspired me to change plans. I kept the grass line between us.
I kept glancing over my shoulder to see if I was being followed. My paranoia was for nothing. No creature was following me. I was all alone on the big lake but the big gators were merely curious. None ventured beyond the grass line for now.
I cruised counterclockwise around the circumference maintaining my distance from the gator ridden bank. My aim was toward the distant bird walk. The long wooden pier extended about 300 feet out over the lake. From the dry and safe footing, visitors could view the various birds, fish, turtles, and gators.
The loud croaks of herons, egrets, and frogs could be heard from every bank and clump of ash and willow. I could see no sign of the creatures, but they were in full chorus and the sounds skipped across the water and to my ears from all directions.
At the bird walk, seeing no black wedges with eyes, I crossed the grass line and paddled along its length in search of any birds that may be wading along its flooded base. Seeing nothing I decided to cross the lake at this narrower width, avoiding the pelican’s beak tip.
As I paddled out into the middle of the lake, I began to see little peach-sized orbs floating at the surface. I aimed for one and pulled alongside to discover an apple snail. This was the first one I’d seen not pried open and gutted by a limpkin.
I continued for the opposite bank past a dozen or so snails and encountered an open treeline. This side of the lake laked the barrier line of grasses present on the other side. The angle of the sun revealed more detail in the depths of the woods and I could see the water stretched far into it.
The thrill of adventure buttressed my nerves. Paddling into the canopy of oak branches, I found a cove of sorts. I had entered into a wonderland of creepy shadows and eldritch moss-draped branches. Danger lurked.
I kept hearing this sound that was different than the croaks of the frogs and herons. I navigated in and out of the murky bayous along the tree line and getting more relaxed. The grass became more prominent, poking through the water’s surface. I stayed within their boundary and the treeline.
Suddenly, something darted straight out from the brush and glided across my path a few dozen feet ahead. Gators. The black wedge with eyes was followed by the little hump of a crenulated back. No regard was given toward me, though I soon knew I must be the reason for the venture out from the cover of the grasses.
More and more of the reptiles launched out ahead of me as I paddled along the edge. They seemed to ignore me once I was behind and past them, so I decided to disregard them as much and continued my exploration of the cavernous flooded oak and cypress groves.
Something heavy made a large splash. I had entered a large cluster of trees around an immense grandaddy oak. Looking in the direction of the sound, I spotted a particularly large gator. He cruised from a spot toward which I was heading. I maintained course as he slipped into the barrier grasses that sealed us from the outside lake. It paused as unmoving as a sculpture in the dense brush and stayed put as I paddled behind it.
Gators can’t swim backward, but they can twist around fairly fast, so I kept my eye on him. I paddled forcefully but with as little splashing and motion as possible—a challenge since the network of oak roots was only inches below the water’s surface.
Exiting the black water glade, I continued my way along the treeline. I had about forty-five minutes before I needed to meet Christa at the Outpost. So, I scanned ahead for a where I might turn left for open lake and cross over toward the left pelican leg.
The first of the airboat tours had embarked and the behemoth boat was fanning it’s way across the mouth to the weir. It was a noisy thing and I couldn’t imagine how the riders could hear the guide. How could that be any more enjoyable than the experience I was having right then? We’ll find out the next time we visit and give the ride a chance.
Though, a guide would be a nice thing to have. I was compiling a litany of questions regarding plants, birds, sounds, and these menacing (not really, but I was responsibly cautious) crocogators. Answers at the ready would save the frustration of combing the web.
I chased an osprey from tree to tree for the next hundred yards. And one after another, several more gators launched out from the cover of grasses to cross my path and form a holding pattern around the lake.
A check of my phone said it was time to head back. I started across toward the weir which I wanted to check out on the way. Halfway across, I entered a community of water lilies. The silver dollar leaves trailed tendrils like green jellyfish but bore no flowers.
My judgment of distance and my speed and stamina led me to doubt my ability to see the weir and meet Christa in time. I changed course toward the Outpost and soon found myself pulling ashore, arms well worked out. They were hamburger. I was hungry.
We had some time before the tram tour began, so I changed clothes in the bus and we sought an air-conditioned respite in the privately operated Outpost. It’s a two-story building featuring the Pink Gator Cafe serving breakfast and coffee drinks, as well as a sundries and souvenirs shop. Wifi was available, too. I checked my hunger to save room for a larger dinner. Instead, I rested my arms over a cold soda in a booth marked “for customers only.” After a few minutes, we then set off for the tram.
Myakka Wildlife Tours
Phone: 941-365-0100
Winter Session: Airboat and Tram – December 16 to May 31
Summer Session: Airboat Only _ June 1 to December 15
Tickets:
Adult-13 years & older. $14.00 plus Tax ($14.98)
Children-6 to 12 years. $7.00 plus Tax ($7.49)
Children 5yrs. & under, free in adult’s lap. One child per Adult on a lap.
All fares are sold same-day and on premises.
First come first serve. Tickets go on sale at 9:00 a.m.
https://www.myakkawildlifetours.com/
http://www.myakkaoutpost.com/activities.html
A full sized pick up was hitched to a train of green canopied trailers with bench seats. Our guide was getting things situated when we approached. It seemed that, though this was the last day of the tours for the season, few people were interested, at least for the morning tour. We introduced ourselves and took seats at the back of the middle car, then waited for any remaining guests. One more couple arrived and we set off.
As we were exiting the loading area onto the road I realized I had left my camera battery charging in the bus. Bummer. I’m such an amateur. My phone camera lens is clouded and the battery was nearly depleted from the kayak pics. Christa offered hers, but I was pouting and declined. For this reason, I will substitute pics from the prior day in no particular order.
The tram tour was a leisurely and informative ride through the wilderness areas of Myakka State Park. We were driven along the main drag and a few other unpaved roads that are off limits to personal vehicles.
Any wildlife tour comes with the risk of seeing zero animals. Afterall, you can’t exactly coerce a wild animal to wait by turn number 3 at 11:45, 2:15: and 4:05. Sometimes you’ll see something, sometimes you won’t and it’s nobody’s fault if nothing wants to show up on the day you visit.
Our guide (Nick?) who clearly studied voice work under Todd Barry, delivered the information with a soothing, deliberate cadence. I want to hire him to record my voicemail greeting. He seemed born for this and I said as much. He explained that he had been wanting to be a guide since gaining employment at the park as a teen. While learning the ropes and honing his skills, he bided his time. A position finally became available and he’s been doing it ever since. Even without the back story, we could tell he loved his job and really put his heart into the tour.
The tour was very informative and quite enjoyable. We saw birds, a wild boar, and a deer, but little else of the fauna variety. I wound up with little regret for forgetting that camera battery. That’s not to say it wasn’t scenic or without lots to see, only that the stuff we did see could be seen all over the park. The tour simply paired the sights with information or anecdotes. And the info and anecdotes are where this tour pays off.
The scenery was pleasant, but the real prize was learning the history and ecology of the park and region. Our guide stocked his mellow schpiel with interesting facts and figures about both the natural history as well as the peopled history of this area. Through a gate, we left the main road for a dirt trail. This traced the former narrow gauge railroad that used to serve the area. This path takes us from the hydric surrounds of Upper Myakka Lake and into the dry prairie region.
Of particular interest was the recounting of the exploits of Bertha Honoré Palmer. She was a Chicago powerhouse and real estate pioneer largely responsible for the growth of Sarasota and who built a ranching empire that included the present-day park grounds. A documentary exists on the lives of her and her husband; here’s a trailer. Our guide recounted how Palmer cleverly purchased the parcel of land we were currently tramming through from the curmudgeonly old feller that resided there.
Also interesting to learn was the fact that if left to nature most of Florida including Myakka would look less forest-like. The peninsula would not be covered in the dense and ubiquitous oak, palm, and pine jungle with palmetto underbrush presently seen all over the state.
I erroneously thought that to be the natural ecosystem if not for the presence of man. Instead, the landscape–other than the hydric and wetland areas—would be broad swaths of scrub. This due to the lightning strikes that spark wildfire thus keeping the cycle of growth at a sustainable pace. It seems that the wild hoary overgrown areas are a result of civilization, though they look creepy and untamed.
When we or our guide spotted anything of interest, he’d pull off to discuss it further. Whether it be a boar that trotted across our path or a tree with poisonous thorns. Which of course I’ve forgotten the name of. I should have taken notes.
We really enjoyed the tour and thanked the guide for time well spent. I recommend it as worth the $15 each. The information learned is worth it alone, but the relaxing ride is a pleasant way to spend time in nature. The benefit of seeing the park beyond the paved roads with a knowledgeable and pleasant guide was also of value. As I suspected when considering the value of the airboat tour, we appreciated having a guide. It was worth it to have someone to identify the various plants, animals, and history that you might otherwise miss along the way.
Our return to the Outpost brought our Myakka visit to a close. I fired up the old blue bus and we headed back for home. This time taking the more direct route than we used to get here the day before. Our being hungry and it being just after lunchtime, we kept our eyes peeled for a good looking spot.
We found a place with potential called The Oaks – Open Pit BBQ on the Tamiami Trail (US 301) in Sarasota. It wasn’t bad and it satisfied the ravenous hunger I developed on the lake. With some deliciously fried gator bites and tasty pork barbecue that I’d rank as average, I’d call it a safe stop if passing through. They offered vinegar for the greens, so points for that.
After our lunch, we hit the road and commenced a long haul of stop and go. That type of traffic is torture when you’re exhausted. It’s worse when operating a fifty-four-year-old vehicle with no power steering and a manual transmission that likes to pop out of fourth. After an hour, I asked Christa to navigate me to I-75. I risked throwing a belt by taking the high-speed route, but no harm came by maintaining 60 mph. We arrived home safe and only a little worse for wear, though naps were required.
It was only an overnight trip and nothing more than a resilience test of the old Dinobus as well as us. A fan would certainly have made things more tolerable. Though not camping in the sultry summer in Florida might be a better option. I’m a glutton for punishment, though and will likely do more solo trips, saving the husband-wife outings for winter. Still, the old girl—the bus—did well and we had an enjoyable time.
I really enjoyed the paddle around the lake and wish Christa had come along. It’s impossible to express exactly what the experience was like and I think she would have enjoyed it. There’s nothing quite like the unknown of drifting into the blackness under the low branches that shade the flooded glades where danger or beauty lurks in every cluster of grasses.
I hope to return to Myakka soon to take advantage of our discount tickets to the airboat tour. I’d also like to get some nice pics from the canopy walk once the floods subside. Perhaps a solo camp with the hammock tent will be in order. Until then, I’ll work on getting Fatty Lumpkin, aka Gertie the Blue Dinosaur, back in the pink for further overnight adventures.
Thanks for reading!