For a treat in troubled times, really experience the Florida Everglades — glamping! | Opinion
Last weekend, this stressed newshound gave herself the gift of peace, so elusive in Florida these days.
I found my zen at Everglades National Park, celebrating its 75th anniversary this year, as I drove along an almost empty road, flanked on both sides by the eerie white canopy of the Dwarf Cypress Forest, swampy home to alligators and snakes.
No, not the political kind of snakes, but some equally venomous, I would learn from a guide much later.
City-girl ignorance, however, is bliss.
I got out of the car and exhaled, carefree, though well aware that, despite the look-a-like hat, journalist and conservationist Marjory Stoneman Douglas — grand dame of this river of grass — I’m not.
But I am a devotee of this wilderness she fought to save, an ecosystem of wetlands that not only are unique in the world, but also the source of clean water for South Florida. It’s our lifeline and, thankfully, politicians on both sides of the aisle have committed to investing in its restoration.
The Biden administration allocated for this fiscal year a record $447 million for the Comprehensive Everglades Restoration Plan. And in January, Florida Gov. DeSantis pledged to invest $3.5 billion over four years “for Everglades restoration and protection of our water resources, surpassing the historic investments of the past four years and making it the highest level of funding in Florida’s history,” according to a press release.
Vague, but let’s see if the promises hold up, sans the usual political games. Floridians could benefit from getting behind at least one common cause: Everglades conservation.
And so far, “Marjory Saves the Everglades,” a children’s story of Stoneman Douglas’ life, hasn’t been banned by Florida’s Department of Education for hitting liberal notes.
But, I’m losing my calm groove.
My point: Drive out here, explore and fall in love with the miracle, fragility and resilience of our precious Florida Everglades.
This is the best time of year to experience walking trails, kayaking, riding on pontoon or air boats with expert guides. And stay overnight, like I did, at the recently opened Flamingo Adventures eco-tent camp site.
“Glamping!” they call it, because, while still rustic, the tents are big enough to hold two beds and director-style chairs — linens provided.
Best of all are the views of Florida Bay — and, although spotty in some areas and non-existent others, I had phone internet access.
Pleasantly breezy, if at times gusty, I enjoyed temperatures of 60-75 degrees. I bought the park service’s expensive bug spray, but I didn’t need it. Not a skeeter around — but plenty of unscripted thrills.
Late afternoon, a manatee family staged a spectacle at the Flamingo Marina docks, using their paddle-shaped tails to playfully dance.
I saw a mom manatee kiss her calf (but I missed the photo).
On the way, I bought my food at the bountiful family-owned Robert Is Here in Homestead. Once in the park, there’s only convenience-style food at the marina and visitor centers. Lodging rooms and a restaurant are in the works.
Roughing it
Yes, you’re roughing it. That, spoiled Miamians, is the fun part.
I ate a brisket sandwich on a picnic table at a quiet kayak launching pond. Lovely, the silence, broken only by the sound of wading birds.
Some people at the camp site cooked meals on grills, but I snacked on crackers topped with orange marmalade and Mediterranean chips, and savored Pinot Noir at another table by the water’s edge.
This one, with a view of mangroves — and a yellow-orange sunset bursting through a batch of low clouds.
Near me, artfully propped atop a naked tree, an osprey mom swooped in with her catch and fed her babies.
Then, came the night — pitch dark, scary and stunningly beautiful. Every star in the universe seemed to have gathered for a party in the heavens.
I unfolded my plastic “Night Sky Guide” and confirmed that I’m no astronomer.
Inside the tent, the only sounds were my movements, chair creaking as I tried to journal without a desk or turn west to get another peek, through an open window slat, of the brightest of stars. Probably a planet or a satellite in space, the guide said.
Then, a gust of wind swept in, slapped around the tent and scared the life out of me.
I rushed to zipper up every inch of netting, with their burlap covers — and then, as if we campers were an orchestra, a symphony of the zippers began. Throughout the night, as people left their tents to walk to the bathrooms along a barely lit path, the zipping and unzipping went on and on.
Every time I closed my eyes, about to succumb to sleep, wind gusts slapped my tent.
Bolted awake, I cursed Ron Magill, the ZooMiami ambassador whose social media post about experiencing a night in this eco-camp lured me here.
Thoughts raced: “It’s an animal trying to break in, and Ron kept that part to himself!”
Only to laugh out loud and try to go back to sleep.
The wind gusts carried on until 2:50 a.m, the last time I looked at my phone before I fell into the deepest of sleep.
I woke up just in time to see a glorious sunrise and toast the new day with the Cuban coffee I brought in a thermos.
Oh, to be in the purest of natural settings at very end of the peninsula.
Joe Podgor, of Friends of the Everglades, had it right when he wrote on a brochure — words now immortalized on a T-shirt and wall at the visitor center: “The Everglades is a test. If we pass it, we may get to keep the planet.”
So, let’s.
This story was originally published February 17, 2023 at 8:46 AM.
