Paddling Mississippi's Barrier Islands - Page 3

Leaving the tent intact and gear inside, we paddled the kayaks up the mouth into the lagoon. A loud "KACK KACK KACK!" was coming from the reeds. I had heard it during the night. The sound was almost as if someone was beating two large sticks together. At first, I thought the sound was coming from an alligator. Soon, we found that a bird, smaller than a duck was responsible. The sharp sound echoed across the lagoon disrupting the whistles of the ospreys and calls of the common loons. Some areas of the lagoon were so shallow, we had to get out of our boats and wade, pulling the kayaks behind us. We entered another lagoon, enjoying the morning sun and soft breeze, when I spotted the distinct shape of an alligator's head on the water's surface. As we paddled towards the dark image, the alligator submerged. A short time later, the alligator resurfaced behind us and slowly moved towards the beach which separated the lagoon from the Sound. Then it disappeared. We paddled back to camp, loaded the boats and paddled westward intent on crossing to East Ship Island.

Not eager to hurry, we paddled along the shore and were delighted by hundreds of horseshoe crabs and stingrays. This was mating season for the horseshoe crabs. We saw many paired together, sometimes a female swimming with a male attached to her and yet another male attached to that male. Horseshoe crabs mate in the water, then leave the water to lay their eggs in the soft sand where any exposed eggs are eaten by gulls and other sea birds.

We hadn't expected to see so many stingrays. Near shore, they were easy to spot, but difficult to approach. A huge predator of the stingray is the hammerhead shark. Hammerhead sharks can reach up to eighteen feet in length. I wondered if the shadows cast by our long, narrow sea kayaks resembled the shadow of a hammerhead to the stingrays, for whenever we approached the stingrays, they darted frantically either away from us or back and forth between our boats trying to escape into deeper water. One stingray, caught between Bob's boat and the shore, darted so quickly from Bob's boat that it temporarily ran itself aground, then darted back out to sea. They were beautiful to watch, so graceful. They reminded me of birds in flight under water. Occasionally, if we did not paddle and would only silently glide along, we would be able to pass over a stingray with no more than a foot's distance between the stingray and the bottom of the boat. They can be quick as lightning, or float gracefully along.

Bob reached in and pulled up a large horseshoe crab by the tail. A strange creature, it reminded me of a battle helmet with a long tail attached. The underside looked like a huge bug. He placed the crab back in the water and returned it to the floor of the Sound. Unaffected, it crawled along on its way as if its travel had never been interrupted.

In the hot afternoon sun, we reached the west end of Horn Island. The meeting of the Gulf of Mexico with the currents of the Sound is quite apparent in the clapotis formed at the tip of the island. We beached the boats on the hot sand for a lunch break, erected the umbrellas to provide relief from the hot sun, and stretched out on the sand gazing over the blue-green Sound. Beached Portuguese men-of-war were scattered along the shore. The extreme west end of Horn Island is fairly barren, with no trees, no shrub, and only sea oats and cordgrass. Three dolphins appeared about 400 yards from shore, feeding in the Sound, jumping and splashing. We packed up the lunch gear and paddled from shore to see if we could spot them. Too late, they were gone. The feeling is always one of excitement when the dolphins appear on the scene, free and enjoying the day in the company of each other. Mostly, they are indifferent to our presence, but occasionally they will come over to have a look. Then it is we that are entertaining them with a peek at the unusual, foreign critters.

Because we were enjoying ourselves so much in this bay, watching the wildlife, scouting the shores for lagoons, we decided we would rather stay here on Horn than attempt to cross over to East Ship Island, then to West Ship Island which would leave us no time for leisure exploration. Deciding that should be another trip at another time, we paddled back eastward towards the middle of Horn Island where the trees were their thickest. And what we didn't know, was that this is also where the bugs were their thickest, and the meanest. We stopped in the late afternoon several times looking for a campsite for the night. Each time, the deerflies were merciless in their attack. I climbed high on the dunes in search of a site which would be clear of trees in order to catch a continual breeze, all the time swatting at deerflies. When I turned around to look for Bob, I spotted him standing in the water about 30 feet from shore. The sea water was the only shelter from the biting bugs that seemed to have a particularly keen appetite for Bob.

Eventually, we found ourselves back at the same campsite where we had spent the previous night, the mouth of the large lagoon. This seemed to not only be a popular fishing spot for the feathered two-legged creatures, but also the non-feathered two-legged variety that comes in noisy power boats. Remembering the night before, we paddled down the shore away from the mouth of the lagoon. By this time, the sun was on the horizon. We discovered that it is *exactly* at this time that another man-eating bug appears on the scene. Far worse than the deerfly in that it comes in major swarms, covers your body, your clothes, attempts to fly up your nose and even get into your eyes, and has a really nasty bite. It was no easy task setting up a tent with one hand while swatting at bugs with the other. Even an application of Bug-Off didn't keep them away. They still swarmed and still tried to fly up my nose.

We gathered all the firewood we could find and built a large fire. The origin of some of the firewood was highly suspicious as the flames contained some really strange colors, of pink, and green, and purple. In the battle of the bugs, we decided the less toxic of the two was the colorful flames. Finally, after the sun set, so did the bugs... all over our clothes and the tent. They just weren't biting any more. I knew they would be silently waiting for us when the sun came up in the morning. The inside of the tent was covered with them, motionless... waiting... Could this have been the cause of Walter Anderson's insanity? Too many island bugs and too many colorful flames? Nah, his sanity was in question long before he ever reached the islands. His mental condition most likely aided in his survival of the attacking bugs. Sometimes, insanity has its virtues.

The next morning, the biting sand gnats did not attack. But the deerflies made up for the lack of them. Swatting the flies, I think we hit a record for time spent breaking camp, loading boats and getting on the water. The water's edge seemed to be the no-pass-no-play point for the deerflies.

The sky was clear, the breeze less than five knots and at our backs. After aligning compasses and checking with the GPS, we headed back to the mouth of the Pascagoula. Because the breeze was blowing at about the same speed we were paddling (or less), there was no breeze while paddling making for a very warm crossing. I tried sailing with the umbrella but there wasn't enough breeze. Then I tried arranging the umbrella for shade while I paddled and only succeeded in getting clobbered in the head.

Progress is difficult to gage on such a flat horizon. The GPS assured us we were actually getting somewhere and not just sitting in the middle of the Sound. Miles out from shore, sea life is less noticeable. No birds flew over our heads, no fish jumped out of the water. We paddled past a floating pile of broken wood in the middle of the Intracoastal Waterway. Most likely cargo that was either deliberately or unknowingly dumped overboard, then, run over by a passing freighter.

We finally arrived at the mouth of the Pascagoula, paddled up the hot steamy bayou from which we had originally emerged, and reached the park where we had spent our first night in Mississippi and where the car was parked and where we were now being attacked by more biting bugs. We loaded the car while swatting at bugs, not saying a word for fear if we opened our mouths, we'd be picking bugs out from between our teeth. When the gear was loaded, we left Gautier and a swarm of bugs.

As we headed back to Texas and passed all the swamps that we had made mental notes on the drive out as possible future paddling trips, noting all the beautiful cypress and pine trees and the remote marshes, we could only think this time "Bugs. Mean, vicious, bloodsucking, biting, nose snorting, bugs."

But I'd swear it was worth every minute of it and I'm going back.

Jackie Fenton

More photos of Horn Island...

The barrier islands are a fragile eco-system, home to many rare species of migratory birds. Please treat them with the respect they deserve. Campfires are permitted along the shoreline. The park service asks that you please dump your coals into the ocean. Please do not leave any trash behind. One of the beautiful ospreys was found dead in the park strangled by the plastic rings from a six-pack. No glass bottles are allowed on any of the Mississippi islands or the Florida beaches. Check with the park rangers about restricted areas and to give them an itinerary so that they will know when you are expected to return. The restriction on staying at least 100 yards from nesting ospreys is still in effect and should be considered so unless otherwise informed by the park service. Some areas of the islands are restricted from entry during nesting season. Signs will be posted. The sea oats and cordgrass aid in preserving the dunes and therefore, protect the islands. This fragile vegetation should not be tread upon or camped on.

Many of the barrier islands are from nine to twelve miles from shore (except for the Chandeleurs which lie even further out). Carry your drinking water and marine VHF and weather radios. Have all safety gear and equipment. Paddlers should be experienced in open ocean paddling and know how to read a compass. Much of the paddling between islands is open ocean. Storms can appear suddenly as well as fog. Also remember that the Intracoastal Waterway runs through the Mississippi Sound. Do not paddle at night without appropriate lighting. During warmer weather, be prepared for bugs, and take plenty of water as well as sunblock.

GORP Gulf Island's National Seashore" More info on the Islands than the national park site including maps, wilderness camping, history, etc.

Books:

National Seashores, The Story Behind the Scenery,
KC Publications

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