Juniper Creek

I often write in this blog about my whitewater experiences. I am proud of my life as a guide and whitewater expert. I helped develop many young people's river skills and was integral to making the Pigeon River the attraction it has become. I frequently attest that my whitewater career began on the Chattooga River, and this is certainly true. However, that statement neglects to account for my formative experiences as an amateur boater and rafter during my childhood years.

My first real paddling experience came on a camping trip with my parents when I was a young boy. We spent a week camping at Juniper Springs in the Ocala National Forest, the only time I ever camped with my family. The forest and springs were quite enjoyable although the water was very cold from my perspective. I remember getting raided by raccoons and seeing deer, adventures I couldn't get in my hometown of Tampa, Florida. The highlight of the week, though, was the disastrous canoe trip my Dad took my Mom and I on.

We rented the canoe and set off from just downstream of the springs. Juniper Creek is a slow, quiet river, in some places quite narrow, that eventually spreads out into saw-grass and marshes before approaching the take-out. I was designated full-time passenger and assigned a seat in the middle of the boat. The early part of the trip was dominated by my parents, novice canoeists at best, developing their communication skills and a unique navigation system. The technique my Dad, who sat in the stern, preferred was vigorous paddling on his part while my Mom, who sat in the bow, steered us by "fending off", with her paddle, the banks and tree-limbs that we inevitably plowed into. This generally resulted in our canoe running into the various river hazards at significant speed and with the momentum our combined mass added to the equation. My Mother, of course, lacked the strength to significantly arrest our motion and usually had her paddle knocked from her hands or forced back into her person causing many bruises. A number of times, also, we overturned as a consequence, causing mayhem among our various unsecured possessions in the canoe and adding to the general chaos of our leisure activity. The character of the situation was further compounded by the occurrence, at regular intervals, of downed trees which crossed the river, barring our transit, and requiring poorly executed mid-stream (rather than on-bank) portages. These invariably involved some error that caused my Dad to fall in or get left behind, requiring a swim in the cold water.

My Dad began to be frustrated by our lack of success at maneuvering the craft, which was certainly the fault of his crew (my Mom) and her failure to adequately push us around the obstacles he was paddling us into. His principal motivation technique, haranguing loudly, seemed to be effecting little change on her performance, also. After a couple of hours like this, he finally had to face down a mutiny and accept the resignation of his mate. Fortunately, he had brought a spare paddler in the form of me so I was promoted to the bow and the task of deflecting our momentum away from whatever the boat rammed.

I have noticed in my many adventures on the water that the river gods often take it a little easy on novices (sometimes called turkeys in this blog). This may have been the case that day as well because, soon after I took the helm, the banks dissipated away into reeds and mud, and the river's channel opened up into the common marshy "river of grass", typical in much of Florida. Also, I believe my Father's exertions had worn him down and he eased off from paddling.

Finally, the take out appeared. We pulled off and climbed wearily from the canoe. The entire trip was an obvious ordeal for my parents and certainly was tiring for me, but I had really enjoyed a lot of it (not the shouting and the anger, but certainly the swimming and the flipping-over and the novelty of the experience). I loaded into the canoe company's smelly, old passenger van for the first of what would become many long shuttles after a day running the river.