-Suspension bridge, Ravine Gardens State Park, Palatka.
In order to reach Palatka, we’d departed Ortega at dawn. With the wind at our backs and overcast skies, Ed guided us past some of the most beautiful small towns and shorelines of the St Johns River: Mandarin, the home of Harriett Beecher Stowe; Hibernia, where Margaret Fleming taught her slaves to read; and Green Cove Springs, location of the famed “Fountain of Youth, and the “Mothball Fleet.” So much history and Palatka would offer even more.
“Yes, the area of the paper mill, and a coal-fired power station I think.” I yelled back from the bow.
“Isn’t Palatka the place you read there was once a giant lumber yard?”
I shook my head up and down. “Wilson Cypress Company, established 1891-the second largest cypress mill in the world! I can’t imagine cutting down all those giant trees!”
-Adrift
Before we went exploring, Ed wanted to take the dingy out and go across to East Palatka. It was windy and clouds were in the distance but I agreed. We made it across and explored but on the way home the engine sputtered and died.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Ed said.
I remained silent. Ed fooled with the battery. Watching the clouds rolling in from the west and checking my phone, I could see it read: “Lightening in Area.”
“There is lighting Ed. You better start rowing!” Ed looked sternly into my eyes. “That’s why I have the paddles!” he replied. I knew this was not the time for discussion. So like a modern Cleopatra I sat looking at my phone while Ed rowed across to Palatka proper. Luckily, Ed did a great job and we made it safely across. Ed immediately got a beer and went over to look at the old riverboat and see if I could find the alligator.
“What do you think they are catching?” I asked. “There must be something really incredible in those waters! What do you think? Catfish? Mullet? What could it be?”
Ed kept snoring and when we awoke the next morning, the fisher people were still there. When we went to dinner that evening at a great Mexican restaurant, the fisher people were still there! On our walk home, I just couldn’t take it anymore.
“Let’s go visit the dock Ed!”
“Shrimp Ed! “They are catching shrimp!” They were not bring up many, maybe ten to twenty at a time. Each person had a five gallon bucket. Little kids would pick up the shrimp that got free and place them back into the bucket. I saw one they’d missed at the edge of the dock that certainly would have shriveled up. I snuck it into my hand. I looked at the people working.
“May I take a picture?” I asked one of the sitting men.
“Sure,” he said.
“No mam. They are here just once a year. This is the St Johns River shrimp run.” Ed and I smiled. We walked to the end of the pier. “I can’t believe it!” Ed said, “I never would have guessed!” I threw the shrimp that had been snapping in my hand as far off the dock as possible. “Stay low.” I whispered, hearing the shrimp are caught as they ride a rising current.
“Incredible,” Ed said grabbing my hand.
So many things we didn’t yet know about the wonderful St Johns River. Next stop Astor.
Watch a video of the locals shrimping!