suwannee river expedition

The Suwannee begins like all good stories begin. Quiet as a chapel before dawn. Dark water sliding out of the Okefenokee with the patience of an old monk. Cypress knees rising like candle stumps. Air that smells of tannin and promise. I have returned to that river again and again, each time with a different band of wanderers, each time learning something new about what it means to travel together with purpose and wonder.

Liquid Rhythm Kayaking first carried me there when I was a younger guide still polishing the edges of my craft. Those early miles shaped me. They taught me that a river is not just a route. It is a teacher. It corrects without apology. It tests without cruelty. It rewards anyone willing to listen.

I remember one expedition with a Boy Scout troop from Clearwater Florida whose laughter echoed beneath the live oaks like small bells. Their canoes swung wide in the bends, loaded with too many snacks and all the earnestness a young heart can hold. They learned the rhythm of paddle strokes the way a choir learns to breathe together. We cooked simple meals on small fires and watched the night climb through the branches until the stars looked like a thousand silver seeds waiting for the breath of God. And that trip also taught a few the valuable lesson of listening, being prepared, and what to do when a canoe capsizes and a person panics.

There was another journey in the company of Nigel Foster and Russell Farrow of Sweetwater Kayaks, two masters of the craft whose grace on the water feels almost unreal. I paddled beside them as one might follow wandering saints who speak the language of eddies and wind. Every glide, every lean, every pivot held a lesson. On that trip the Suwannee felt aged beyond centuries, watching our small procession with the patience of someone who had seen many teachers pass through and would see many more.

And then there was the quieter expedition with Sean Fitzgibbon, a friend who understands that a river is a place where stories rise like morning mist that can also be frozen in time. Our conversations drifted between ancient rites, forgotten histories, and spicy meals shared after paddling during the cold December. We carried no bravado on that trip. Only curiosity and a willingness to let the Suwannee rearrange our thoughts like driftwood on a bar.

Each of these journeys returns to me whenever I think about planning a new expedition. The Suwannee is not just a river. It is a pilgrimage for those who believe that water remembers. It is an invitation to walk the old ways in our small boats and to let the current teach us how to live with steadiness, humility, and a ready appetite for whatever comes next.

May your own paddle slip into that dark water with reverence. May your companions be good. May your fire be warm. And may the river carry you forward as gently as it has carried me.