We had found the entrance to the mangrove tunnels by accident.  We were looking for another marker, but found ourselves paddling in circles unable to locate any type of clue that would lead us into these coveted areas. Ben glanced into a small clearing and noticed that there seemed to be a disguised entrance on one side.  As we paddled closer, it looked like an entrance of sorts.  We paddled tentatively into the mangroves and stopped under the cover of the intertwined branches.  I needed some water and granola ­before we went any further.  After our quick break, we agreed to continue into the mangrove shadows and see where it would take us.  We both had cell phones in case we became disoriented or lost.

Once we were further inside the tunnels, it became so quiet; the only sounds we heard were of the crabs scuttling along the mangrove branches as we passed. One crab even hitched a ride on Ben’s kayak and I watched as it stretched out its legs and claws toward the mangrove branches as we passed close to them. We stopped to let our hitchhiker off and then continued on our journey.  Up ahead the trail became shallow and narrow; so shallow and narrow that we could no longer use our paddles and relied on the over hanging mangrove branches to help us pull our way through.  The water was deep enough to keep our kayaks afloat, but it looked like there was no end in sight of this narrow passageway.  It took close to thirty minutes until we saw the end of the tunnel and sunshine ahead.  It was sweet relief.

As we exited the tunnels we realized that the tide was out and we both became stuck in the ­muddy sand. After a quick rest, both of us eased into the muck and began pulling our kayaks.  Slowly, my feet sank in what felt like quicksand. I tried to take a step, but my leg was stuck and sinking. I sat down in my kayak with my one leg hanging over and still deep into the sand.  I managed to get my shoe off and free my leg—it took all of my strength to pull my shoe out of the muck. From that point on, I paddled barefoot.

We had managed to get ourselves to deeper water and resumed paddling and pointing at the wild things that seemed to be watching us.  The kayak trail led us out of the mangroves and into more open water where we happened upon a small boat anchored close to a mangrove patch. Two men were fishing in the shallow clear waters, and just as we were passing, they caught a big fish. Before they could reel it in, a pelican swooped down from a hidden branch and gobbled up the fish. The fish was still attached to the hook, and now the pelican found itself caught. Ben and I stopped and faced the boat, waiting to see what these two men would do. This was the first time I had ever seen a bird caught on a line—I have seen the aftermath of this occurrence with birds wrapped in nylon fishing line, seriously injured and unable to hunt for food. I searched for my cell phone and was preparing to call a bird sanctuary in case the fishermen acted irresponsibly. However, as we quietly watched, they pulled the pelican in close and with a towel they pulled the bird onto their boat.  They moved fast, unwrapping the line from the bird’s wing and using a tool to unhook the pelican.  Just like that, the bird soared over us and landed on another patch of mangroves off in the distance, probably relieved to have been freed and able to fly and hunt another day.

It had been an exciting morning paddle that both energized and drained my body. As we paddled back to the launch, we talked about buying our own kayaks and having the freedom to come back to this preserve whenever we wanted and also exploring other kayaking hot spots around the bay.  It would be a joy to experience nature up close and this personal on a regular basis—and to be able to show our families as well.

Karey enjoys the light filtering through the mangroves.

Karey threads her way through a maze of mangrove tunnels.

© Copyright 2008 by The Observer News Publications and M&M Printing Company, Inc.

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