There is a pretty large paddling community in Tampa Bay. Many of these people I have met out and about. However, other than those encounters, we rarely ever meet face to face. With that, most of my communication is by message boards and e-mail.
This is a long way to say that I got an e-mail from an acquaintance that a few of them will be fishing the Alafia (pronounced Al-a-fy) River on Sunday morning. So I decided a trip would be in order. We would put in at the Riverview Civic Center and fish that stretch.
At 6:45 am I launch after a brief talk with another paddler. Rich headed out and started fishing directly across from the civic center. I decided to paddle upstream so I could give him some room.
Sunday morning was overcast with some high clouds. There was also a bit of a breeze. I was a little concerned we may get some rain but I continued upstream.
As I was paddling, I was looking around just observing. This area of the river is pretty developed with homes and the occasional trailer park. They are some really lucky people to live there. Most are boaters, and many have canoes or kayaks. It was a beautiful quiet paddle.
Continuing up stream, I see a yellow kayak heading towards me. It was a gentleman out for an early morning paddle. He and his companion, looked like a brindle pit bull sitting in the tank well, were just out enjoying the morning. We exchange good mornings and nothing else. Sometimes the less said is better.
A couple bends later; I come across an Island in the river. This is the local gathering spot with 2 rope swings. I have been told there is a spring that empties into the river here. So I decide to look for it and check it out for a moment.
I paddle over to the riverbank and see a crystal clear stream emptying into the brown salty river and I decide to paddle up the stream. No more than 100 feet from the salt, I cup my hand and take a drink of the clear water. It is just as fresh as water out of your tap. Eventually I get to a point where I can no longer control the canoe and I beach it.
The water is cool, clear and fast. I am standing on a firm white sand bottom, about 6 inches deep. The banks are a black mud from eons of oaks, cabbage palms, and cypress trees. The air has a slight sulfur smell to it. The sky is all but blocked out by the oak canopy. I decide to walk up stream to the spring. After crossing a couple of fallen cabbage palms, and an oak, I come to an old steel and wooden bridge. For some reason, I am hesitant to walk under the bridge and decide to turn back.
Now I am back in the canoe and am headed back upstream. This was a spot where in my younger days, I could have been found, drinking beer, swinging on the rope swing and doing other stuff youngens do. Now, as a “so calledâ€Â
This is a long way to say that I got an e-mail from an acquaintance that a few of them will be fishing the Alafia (pronounced Al-a-fy) River on Sunday morning. So I decided a trip would be in order. We would put in at the Riverview Civic Center and fish that stretch.
At 6:45 am I launch after a brief talk with another paddler. Rich headed out and started fishing directly across from the civic center. I decided to paddle upstream so I could give him some room.
Sunday morning was overcast with some high clouds. There was also a bit of a breeze. I was a little concerned we may get some rain but I continued upstream.
As I was paddling, I was looking around just observing. This area of the river is pretty developed with homes and the occasional trailer park. They are some really lucky people to live there. Most are boaters, and many have canoes or kayaks. It was a beautiful quiet paddle.
Continuing up stream, I see a yellow kayak heading towards me. It was a gentleman out for an early morning paddle. He and his companion, looked like a brindle pit bull sitting in the tank well, were just out enjoying the morning. We exchange good mornings and nothing else. Sometimes the less said is better.
A couple bends later; I come across an Island in the river. This is the local gathering spot with 2 rope swings. I have been told there is a spring that empties into the river here. So I decide to look for it and check it out for a moment.
I paddle over to the riverbank and see a crystal clear stream emptying into the brown salty river and I decide to paddle up the stream. No more than 100 feet from the salt, I cup my hand and take a drink of the clear water. It is just as fresh as water out of your tap. Eventually I get to a point where I can no longer control the canoe and I beach it.
The water is cool, clear and fast. I am standing on a firm white sand bottom, about 6 inches deep. The banks are a black mud from eons of oaks, cabbage palms, and cypress trees. The air has a slight sulfur smell to it. The sky is all but blocked out by the oak canopy. I decide to walk up stream to the spring. After crossing a couple of fallen cabbage palms, and an oak, I come to an old steel and wooden bridge. For some reason, I am hesitant to walk under the bridge and decide to turn back.
Now I am back in the canoe and am headed back upstream. This was a spot where in my younger days, I could have been found, drinking beer, swinging on the rope swing and doing other stuff youngens do. Now, as a “so calledâ€Â
So am I.