Well, I've got some more catching up to do.
After the last post, I waited for the thunderstorm above me to pass over before I set out for my campsite. At about 5 pm, I got my chance. The edge of the storm was still over me as I set out. With lightning still in the area, I paddled south from the Ranger station as close as I could to the shore. My plan was to paddle the first 2 miles along the shore and try to time it such that, when the pocket of blue sky in the distance finally reached me, I could cross the 1 mile of open water to the campground. As far as I could see, the blue patch in the sky was the only relief from the storm I might find all evening. Having changed into baggy pants, wading shoes, a long sleeved shirt, and my wide-brimmed hat, I paddled hard and hoped I was prepared for the bugs of which I had been warned.
My plan worked, except for that I did not know where to leave the bay side of the shore and paddle farther into the lagoon. Luckily, my phone service was good and I was able to get an idea of where I was located. I am not proud that I used my phone, but the tail end of the storm was quick approaching and soon afterward would come nightfall. I paddled across the bay with the sky open above me and found the island that the Orange Campground was supposed to be located on. Admittedly, I grew a little nervous when I had paddled along the island for at least fifteen minutes without seeing any sign of the campground. There were very few landmarks in the lagoon and I was beginning to wonder if I was even on the correct island. But, low and behold, I finally found the small sign indicating the campground and, with a loud "WHOOP!," I landed my vessel.
The site was nice, with a picnic table and fire ring. Expecting that my deteriorating rainfly would not work against a Floridian downpour, I strung a huge blue tarp between a large oak tree and a sapling to cover my tent. I arrived on the island at 6 pm, had my tent and tarp up by 6:30, got dinner cooking at 6:45, and was eating canned beef stew by 7. The bugs were out, but they weren't too bad yet.
After eating dinner, I paddled out to watch the sunset. As I paddled, a huge flock of swallows poured over me as they left a nearby island (I would later learn that they do this every night at about the same time), and I watched porpoises and manatees surface all around. The storm never struck again that night, and the foreboding clouds turned out to complement the sunset to perfection.
I paddled back to my campground and had a jolt of panic when it was not where I expected it. However, it turned out that I had just drifted farther than I realized and I soon found the site. The bugs onshore were much worse now. I pulled my canoe onto the shore, stripped off my clothes, and dove into the tent. I thought I had tricked all of the pests and was safe and sound in my tent... but I was wrong. I slept on and off all night and eventually woke up to find two bloated mosquitoes in my tent (I think I know who provided them a meal) and tons of no-see-ums. The mosquitoes were easy to get rid of but the no-see-ums, on the other hand, were not. In case you have never experienced no-see-ums, they are tiny gnat-like bugs that bite you. I consider no-see-ums worse than mosquitoes because they arrive in droves and you don't know they are on you until you feel the sting of their bite or find a red bump the next day. I spent half an hour crushing the little bugs in my tent. I then shined my light onto the mesh of my tent and realized that the outside was covered in them! There were so many that some were coming through the minuscule gap where the two zippers of my tent door met. So, I wadded up a little piece of paper, soaked it in bug spray, and wedged it between the zippers. Finally, I got to bed again and slept through the rest of the hot and humid night.
Sunset from the canoe
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