Trip Report, Chipola River, 2024

Trip Report, Chipola River, 2024
Matt Keene

The best rivers to be found are tributaries, those sometimes small, sometimes immense rivers that empty into larger rivers. Our greatest Florida rivers all have showy tributaries that carry their own striking beauty and history. The Suwannee has the Santa Fe, the St. Johns has the Ocklawaha, and the Apalachicola has the Chipola. Paddle Florida returned to the Chipola River this spring and paddled a 70-mile stretch of this tributary south through the state’s panhandle, beginning at Florida Caverns State Park and ending in the midst of the Dead Lakes, a few miles before the Chipola greets and joins the Apalachicola for its final journey to the Gulf of Mexico.

I was excited to have the opportunity to be among the first to paddle into spring on the Chipola and this river was quite the welcoming host, with splashes of showy azaleas, trees budding out to leaf, pleasant daytime temperatures with cool sleeping weather, and the unmentionable but exhilarating rush of evenings free of bugs. The trip was attended by a warm and energetic group of kindred paddlers, several who have helped shape and grow the Paddle Florida community over the years. Many new friendships were established and future trips explored over coffee and snacks. For me, I had the added honor of six days on the water with my bride and her father, who were paddling the river together.

I was volunteering as a guide, helping to enforce–I mean, ensure–safety on the river. And this year, heavy rains had saturated most of the southeast, raising water levels on Florida rivers and in southern swamps, so the upper Chipola, where we found ourselves on day one, was swift-moving, telling us in no subtle way that all those who wished to approach her banks be prepared, cautious and safe.  

With this in mind, our group of more than 30 kayaks and canoes launched our journey, cohesively braiding our brightly colored boats into the serpentine bends of the river and finding a playful and alert cadence on the water. What could be better than slipping down a cool Florida river in the beginnings of spring with a week of water to unfold before you?

The Chipola River runs more than 92 miles in Florida, originating from two creeks that have their start in Alabama and nourished along the way by more than sixty freshwater springs. It is part of the Appalachicola-Chattahoochee-Flint (ACF) river basin, a natural drainage basin of more than 20,000 square miles that starts in the mountains north of Atlanta and attracts the water of most of western Georgia and parts of southeast Alabama before flowing south through Florida to the ocean. Along the Chipola, this watershed is composed of longleaf pine forests, high bluffs, bottomland hardwood swamps, wetlands, and creeks. We saw a variety of wildlife along the river, each day entertained by swallowtail kites deftly soaring above the treeline. At our first evening program, I was amazed to learn about the several species of freshwater mussels and bass along the river and how modern collaborations between landowners and government entities are helping to restore impacted sections of this watershed while also enriching the value of the property. For the rest of our trip on the Chipola, I found myself studying the ways we build boat ramps, the places we graze cattle, and the ways we define and establish the often-shifting river’s edge.

Doug Alderson arrived on the fourth evening and shared his great photos and seasoned insights on paddling and exploring the ACF river basin. His photos showed the rich extent of floodplain forest in this part of the state that we were in the heart of, and alluded to the majestic white tupelo trees that were beginning to garner our attention. According to the Florida Native Plant Society, the name tupelo is derived from the Muskogee word for “swamp tree” and as we neared the Dead Lakes, where our weeklong paddle would end, we were entwining our group into the braided channel of the Chipola and seeing, firsthand, this wild spread of tupelo and cypress swamp.

Doug’s presentation was given at Scotts Ferry in their lodge with its grand steps and sweeping porch. Here, some of the finer benefits of paddling with a group were offered, and paddlers shared stories and relaxed on the lodge’s large porch where you could watch the river from rocking chairs. Warm meals and showers were enjoyed and the authentic music of Grant Peeples stirred the entire group, providing some of the best musical entertainment I can recall from a past trip.

Our last two days took us into the lower portion of the Chipola, where, historically, a sandbar had piled up a natural barrier preventing the Chipola from emptying into the Appalachicola. This left a floodplain forest full of dead trees, and now, even though the Chipola is no longer blocked, the skeletal trunks remain and the river slows to immerse its visitors in the wistful spread of water and the awesome power of floodplains. Along Cypress Creek on our last afternoon of the trip, I spent an hour in my kayak, allowing it to drift freely with the water flow through a flooded strand of cypress. I was pulled into the reflection of trunks that spread like a mirror along the river’s edge. These forests were a true partner with water, I thought, living with its fluctuations and finding bounty with it. With acknowledgement, it seemed to me the swamp felt the same, flashing the vibrant greenness of a freshly-leafed cypress in response.

Although the signs of spring were all around, the most-celebrated flower to bloom in this area is the tupelo. In the late 19th century, Florida’s second major beekeeping operation started in Wewahitchka, where our trip would end, and this region of the Chipola’s watershed has a rich history of making honey from the swamp tree’s flower. It’s a fickle product, though, often requiring floating barges that carry hives far into the floodplain swamps, the way it has been done for generations. The bees have at best a few weeks of bloom to make honey. We were fortunate to hear the story of Blue-Eyed Girl Honey from Gary and Miss Pam, who gave a presentation on the unique process of gathering and selling some of this sought-after honey. You can read more on their story here: https://bittersoutherner.com/feature/2021/where-the-tupelo-grows.

The last night of the trip fell on the Spring Equinox. We had a long, dark and chilly night where laughter resounded around a great fire, and were greeted by an equally long and glorious spring day. Our lead guide for the day, David, rallied us to adventure as we departed Cypress Creek bound for a day of playful travel through the Dead Lakes.

Meandering south towards our last takeout, tall, skeletal tree trunks rose like monoliths. The years had sheared off weathered branches and bark and now, as though emerging from a chrysalis, the dead trees stood tall in pure form beckoning reflection from those who passed. They were sentinels on their final watch, the spread of water and people passing before them with intimate messages of travel from far to the north. We couldn’t have had a prettier last day on the river, gliding in our kayaks and canoes through these trees testifying to change, with crisp weather and a light breeze that affirmed the life-bearing beauty of spring yet to come.

At the end, we unloaded our kayaks and canoes that had carried us so well while the Chipola continued its delicate service towards the sea, and in like spirit, we helped each other and said our goodbyes, as we each prepared for the larger rivers to which our lives would lead.