PULSE The Magazine
of Mount Dora, Eustis and Tavares
Dora Canal
Nike Bolte February 27, 2010
Sometimes the solution to a problem is right under one's nose-and in this case, I found it to be practically in my own backyard. The past few months have been hectic ones-orchestrating our semi-annual migration between New York and Florida, participating in the voluminous personal and social commitments one finds themselves involved with during the holiday season...just the daily business of living, with its obligatory duties and often unanticipated additions to one's agenda, can provide countless excuses to put off enjoying a leisurely activity. Add the unseasonably cold weather to the mix, and I was experiencing my own personal version of cabin fever. I needed a complete break from my routine, and I needed it NOW!
With a deadline, and two impending trips out of town, one of which required precise planning and thorough preparation, my window of opportunity for any mini-adventure would be small. I needed fresh air, a little exercise, and next to no travelling time...and I had the perfect vehicle for such an endeavor-my kayak. Except for a brief paddling trip in early December, it sat and sulked in the garage, having not seen the light of day for the last two and a half months. It was time-time to stop making excuses and "just do it," as the company of my same name touts as its motto! Armed with motivation, I now focused on location...where could I get the biggest bang for my buck? The answer-the Dora Canal, a mere six miles from my home in Mount Dora.
After successfully appeasing that not-so-tiny voice in my head which nags at me when I am pressed for time, I decided to take it one step further-I would launch in early morning and fulfill, at least in part, a New Year's resolution to get up and get my days going earlier. That would, of course, require some of my night projects to END earlier-a habit, dare I say a skill, which I have honed to perfection over the years. Ask anyone that knows me-I am NOT a morning person...with me, sunset always trumps sunrise. Ask anyone who kayaks, however, and they will tell you that the early morning hours are quite possibly the best hours to be out on the water. Wildlife viewing is generally more plentiful than during mid-day, and interlopers of the human variety are found in fewer numbers. I am familiar enough with mornings-the group I paddle with on periodic Sundays always musters up early, and earlier still if we are driving any distance to our destination. There is always the initial struggle to yank myself out of a semi-comatose state, especially if I have been burning the midnight (a conservative figure!) oil the night before-but I do, because I love to kayak.
Having traversed the Canal fairly frequently over the years, I was looking forward to the earlier start. Boat traffic would be at a minimum which would likely maximize bird and other wildlife activity. I much prefer the uncluttered nature of waterways, and since I am 'captain of my own ship', albeit small, I will often seek out the quieter times of day to paddle a tourist destination.
Historically, the Dora Canal has attracted sightseers for a couple of centuries. Grantland Rice, a nationally syndicated sportswriter in the 1930s, commented that the Dora Canal was the "most beautiful mile of water in the world". Known for his powerful and inspirational style of writing, he likely drew more attention to an already popular destination. Originally known as the Elfin River, its main channel is a scant 1.25 miles of natural waterway connecting Lake Dora to Lake Eustis. Part of the Harris Chain of Lakes, these cypress swamp waters make their way north through the Upper Ocklawaha River Basin, ultimately draining into the Atlantic Ocean at Jacksonville. In addition to its natural beauty, the Elfin provided a crucial link for the commercial transportation of goods, vital to the growth of the area in the 1800s. Its original passage was not an easy traverse, and in the early 1880s, Alexander St. Claire Abrams, a local steamboat captain, gathered a crew of laborers to clear, straighten and generally make the Elfin more passable. If you study the 'shoreline', and gaze beyond and back into the thick, primeval forest of cypress trees, you will see some of the remaining giants-stubborn sentinels that have witnessed many more hundreds of years.
Anticipating, at the very least, a modest struggle to awaken on the day I had picked to go, I gathered all my gear together the night before and loaded the kayak in my mini-van. Fortunately, I had gotten two friends to commit to the journey with me, rendering the repeated hitting of the snooze alarm a non-option. Included in the opting-out process were my usual cups of morning coffee, a necessary sacrifice considering the lack of viable' facilities' once I left the boat ramp. The uninhabited sections of the Canal have little or no access to solid ground and, except for the portalets in the park towards the end of our journey, human habitation at the headwaters of Lake Dora precludes getting out for a pit stop. The only time I have disembarked in the Canal was for a photo op-I could not resist the temptation to go ashore and wrestle a large ceramic alligator I saw on an embankment across from a mobile home. Fortunately, I was not cited for trespassing -and I knew the initial look on my friend's faces when they opened their email attachments would be priceless!
There are numerous ways to access the Dora Canal. The choice is dependent on the type of boat you have, and your time constraints in getting there, and back. Being of the non-motorized persuasion, I wanted to put in at one of the two closest public boat ramps-either Summerall Park (on the banks of the Canal, not far from the entrance to Lake Dora) or in Tavares Recreational Park (a large, paved parking area just west of the bridge over the Lake Eustis entrance to the Canal, off of Hwy. 441). I was inclined to get into my 'urban wilderness' post-haste, so I chose the ramp just beyond the mouth of the Canal, on Lake Eustis, which would let me experience the uninhabited section first. By 7:30, my friends and I were on the water.
Paddling around the reeds, we got our first, water-level view of Lake Eustis-a massive display of sky and water, separated by a thin, dark band of distant land. The pale pink and yellow-hued clouds were reflected perfectly in the flat-as-glass water. Mixed with the subtle grays and blues of the morning sky, it was an impressive and calming sight. The sun peaked through another, heavier band of clouds near the mouth of the Canal, providing a brief but intense display of light on the water's surface. We quickly rounded another bend, passed between several dead and dwarfed cypress tree and headed into the darkness under the bridge. An other-worldly image greeted us as we emerged. Tall cypress trees towered over our heads. Spanish moss swayed in the gentle breeze from barren, winter limbs. The yellow-orange tint to the water contrasted sharply with the grays of the tree trunks. We couldn't help but pause to take it all in.
There are several smaller waterways of varying lengths and widths branching off from the west side of the main passage. All ultimately dead end, and pass through varying degrees of human and natural habitation. We make a quick turn into a small, narrow passage that opens into a cul-de-sac behind the old Gator Inlet. There is an old boat, parked and rotting along the bank that conjures up an image of the "Minnow" from Gilligan's Island. Reflecting perfectly in the calm waters, I find myself, yet again, taking another photograph of it. Although appropriately named, we do not spot any alligators plying the waters.
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