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Having been delayed by high winds that slowed our progress in October, we set out for Atsena Otie around 3 PM to ensure that enough daylight would be on hand for the passage through the center of the island. High winds and heavy seas, we were told, had moved off earlier, leaving calm winds and nearly flat seas before us. As we left shore, a lone airboat roared off to the east. Our five kayaks headed across the main channel with the eastern shore of Atsena Otie dead ahead.
The gulf was nearly glassy, like a pond in the early morning. On the smooth, white sandy beach surrounding our favorite nameless lagoon, we hauled the boats out of the incoming tide and explored on foot. John began brandishing an impressive arsenal of cameras and lenses as I contemplated a swim in the chilly Gulf waters. When he let me peer through a fisheye lens at the gorgeous cloud-scape overhead, I decided that the dip would have to wait. I found a dead juvenile horseshoe crab, which was the color of amber and just as translucent, and proposed that it might be an interesting subject. We held the exoskeleton against the sun, letting the rays illuminate its convoluted insides as John shot a few frames. A tangle of driftwood along the beach evoked an ancient shipwreck, a sort of memento mori to passers-by.
The tide peaked around 5 PM, which meant the central passage through the island was more likely to be navigable. Oyster beds make paddling here a risky proposition, even at high water. I tentatively paddled forward, wary of depth that can vanish without warning. The other four followed. To our left, a great blue heron croaked and flapped off behind a stand of oaks as we approached. Someone saw an osprey hovering overhead for several moments. The sun began setting, beginning the "magic hour" of golden light that softened the lush landscape in hues of reds, orange, and deep green. All was quieter here too, as the dense forest created a natural insulation from the intrusion of noise from the well-traveled tourist traps onshore.
Heading around a bend to the west, the passage narrowed and I remembered from past experience that the secret to forward motion here is to hug the southern bank where the deep water is. Two other kayakers who were visiting from South Carolina joined our group. I looked back and saw that the six boats had stretched out along the way, each person calibrating their speed in inverse proportion to their curiosity toward the landscape. Some stopped to take photographs while others lingered over the sights of osprey nests perched atop several snags.
We exited into the gulf on the west side of Atsena Otie. Here, the setting sun warmed an incredible scene of grasses, palms, oaks, and sand dunes under darkening cumulus clouds that stretched to the horizon. A few minutes later, we made landfall at the beach near the ruins of the cedar slat plant and uncorked a bottle of Shiraz to accompany our spread of cheese and apples laid out on a red and white checked cloth. A few dead horseshoe crabs were scattered on the rocky beach. As the last red sliver disappeared below the horizon, we watched for the "green flash", a lighting effect seen in the Florida Keys at sunset. The flash didn't materialize, but as the wine glasses emptied, it didn't really matter.
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