As promised, Part Two! (Better a little late than a little never.)
First off, I'd like to correct myself on the proper name of the boat I built. I guess its because the origin of the boat, the Everglades, I keep referring to the design as a "Glades Skiff," when the actual name is "Glade Skiff." And the plural would be "Glade Skiffs." It may be a small point, but I'd like to get it right.
A question was asked about how well the boat moved through the saw grass. Well, that is exactly what this boat was designed to do. I had a hard time believing just how easy it was to pole through what looked like a solid prairie of sawgrass. The sharp bow of the boat acted like a wedge that parted the grass, allowing the boat to slide right through it. Same thing when I moved through thick beds of water lilies. For the most part, the hole I slid through closed up behind me with no lasting damage being done to the vegetation.
I have to say that the push pole is a lot less work when used in the right conditions, than a paddle would be. If the water is less than two feet deep, a single push will have the boat gliding 50 feet or more, no problem. And the longer the pole, the better. Mine is on the short side, as I was thinking "swamp" when I built it. And in some areas, that 12 ft. pole might be too long. But in the 'Glades, a pole as long as the boat would be considered about right. When done right, the pole moves the boat further and faster, with less energy required than a paddle would take.
I am posting a video in this thread that I made with a camera mounted on a tripod in the front of the skiff. You'll get something of an idea about how the boat moves with the pole. But the conditions were less than ideal. WAY too much wind! I will have another video that was shot from an air boat of my Glade Skiff moving through some heavy stuff. (And in to a sun set, no less!) It was shot by Marshall Jones of Mack's Fish Camp. When it is available, I'll post it. Its just too good!
Navigation out there is pretty simple. I was told to "follow the "trail" down to where it meets the main trail at "the Glory Hole." (You'll know it when you see it.) When you get there, follow the main trail to the right, you'll see the tree island in the distance. Just follow the trail out to it."
I guess it takes a certain amount of faith, but all I did was get to the "Glory Hole," spot the island and headed that way. I kept looking behind me, so I'd know what the way back would look like. In some places, the trail, which was the beaten down path made by continual air boat traffic, could be lost. But looking ahead, you can usually see where it was more obvious and keep going until was was more visible. They do tend to run in straight lines.
What doesn't come across very well in the pictures or videos is the fact that the water depth is fairly consistent. There are some man-made canals that run deep. And the occasional, naturally occurring depression or hole. But for the most part, when the depth under your hull is a foot and a half, that will be the average depth as far as the eye can see. And what you see is very deceptive. It often looks like a field of tall grass, maybe a puddle of water here and there. But that isn't the reality. All that grass is growing up through that foot and a half of water. Any time you doubt it, just step out of the boat and take a walk.
You can actually do that in most places. For the most part, the bottom is pretty solid, with a minimal amount of mud on it. Often the push pole will be pushing off of what feels like solid ground, often you'll feel bed rock when you go to push.
But don't depend on it, I also ran across some patches where the pole just sunk down into some pretty loose muck! Those places were more the exception than the rule, though.
It's a friendly place, but it will turn on you if you start to take it for granted.
Did I mention that I'd be a little "talkier" in Part Two?
Right. OK, they call them trails. Here is the trail I left going out and back in for my 2nd day video shoot:
I've been told that in the "old days," such a trail as I left would not last very long. It would be "self-repaired." But continual traffic, even by a Glade Skiff or a canoe would create a trail that would last a long time. In fact, such trails made travel by skiff pretty easy for the most part. You could get nice long glides with each push and not spend much energy guiding the skiff, as it would be guided by the trail itself. It got harder only when you left the trail to stop off at some point along the way, of if you decided to move off the "beaten path."
Here is probably about the only picture I've ever taken of a water lily that I hadn't planted myself:
The dry-looking brown stuff isn't actually dry, but it probably was at one time a dried leaf or stalk, sometimes a cluster of pollen, that dropped into the water. The water itself is actually quite clear. It's only the fact that there is so much vegetation growing in it that you don't usually see the bottom. When you do, there'll often be a good-sized snapping turtle sitting on it.
These pics were taken on my last day out there, and I'm on the way back in. I'm not one for taking pics of myself, but I noticed the camera on my phone had a funny little button on the display and when I pushed it, instead of seeing the scene in front of me, I was looking back at me! Seems the sneaky little thing has two camera's, one looking front, one looking back. . .
And now you know why I don't do "selfies."
'Nuff said.
Next, I've stopped for a rest, that poling into the wind kind of gets to you, and the thick weeds make a fine anchor. Looking ahead, I'm picking out some distant power lines to guide myself back in.
And a look behind, shows the island finally getting smaller! Remembering my trip out, keeping the island directly behind me and the right set of power poles in front of me, keeps me going right where I need to go:
Ahead is the Glory Hole. All I have to do is to cross it and then take the next trail to the left, back to Mack's Fish Camp where I put in.
Now that I've made my turn, the wind is no longer a direct issue. (More about that in a moment.) I catch a glimpse of movement ahead, and it turned out to be a good sized gator moving off of a slide, into the water. Before I could even get my hand on a camera, he had submerged and vanished. Here is that slide:
For those who haven't seen one, a "slide" is just a mark left by a gator where they've slid into the water. In this case, the slide was a resting spot on a patch of mud floating as part of a root mass that came up off the bottom. Kind of a floating island of sorts. Gators often make these, themselves. Some say that this can be how some of the hammocks or islands began. I'm not in a position to say it isn't so.
After being surprised by that large lizard moving off the slide, every time I came across a wide spot or side trail, I moved to the far side just in case there was another occupied slide back in there, somewhere. Places like this:
I said the wind was no longer a "direct issue." But it was the wind that moved a lot of stuff from the sides of the trail out into the middle of it. This made the final leg of the journey a little more difficult:
The spatterdock, close relative of the water lily, isn't much of a problem. But past that, there is a blanket of some kind of just barely submerged weed-mass, that stretches across the trail, completely. Where it is only an inch or two thick, you can easily paddle through it. But a lot of it is 6 inches to a foot thick. The paddle just won't work here. If you are careful with the push pole, you can treat it like a floating carpet and push gently, avoiding pushing the pole through it, and glide across it. Push a little too hard, the pole goes through it, you loose your forward momentum and when you recover the pole, you have to pull it up through the weeds and that will bring the boat to a complete stop.
I hate that stuff. . .
And the wind also sent several floating masses of roots and plant tubers, complete with the muck they were once growing in, across the trail, looking for all the world like an earthen dam. (Or is that "damn?")
The pic above was taken over the stern of the skiff, after I did my "Arctic Icebreaker" impression and plowed through it. It took about ten minutes of paddling and pushing, and after finally making a hole big enough to pass through, one piece about 6ft X 3ft was stuck to the bow and I didn't want to push it the rest of the way back, so I had to stop and move up front with the push pole to pry it loose from the boat.
After that, little things like this didn't slow me down much at all:
Just used the floating tubers as something to push against with the paddle or the pole, and they helped speed me on my way. After this picture, another 15 minutes had me tied up at a floating dock, and it will all done. Well, all but the 300 mile drive back home, anyway.
I did what I set out to do. I learned as much as I could about the Glade Skiff, then learn more by building one. Then I took the boat to where the design originated and spent some time with it, in it's native environment. Kind of like I brought it home. While I was at it, I met some of what I can only describe as "good people." Probably some of the best I've ever had to pleasure to meet, in fact.
Hopefully, I've started to at least gained a little understanding about a little known culture, Florida's Gladesmen.
For many, the pic below is something of an iconic figure of the Everglades, and of "Old Florida."
But now I understand that it is actually just a small part of a much larger picture:
Now then, before I forget, I did shoot a little video from a tripod mounted camera on the skiff, to give you an idea of what it's like poling a Glade Skiff through the Everglades. However, the best depiction of that will come in a couple of days when I'll have a video that Marshall Jones shot from his air boat of me and the 'Skiff, moving off into that sunset. I will post it, or a link to it, when it's ready.
In the meantime, here's mine:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8mLI6iMKng
Hey! I TOLD you I'd likely get a little long-winded on this one. And yes, I know I kind of prattled on kind of aimlessly in the vid. . .
Mike S.
Spring Hill, FL
First off, I'd like to correct myself on the proper name of the boat I built. I guess its because the origin of the boat, the Everglades, I keep referring to the design as a "Glades Skiff," when the actual name is "Glade Skiff." And the plural would be "Glade Skiffs." It may be a small point, but I'd like to get it right.
A question was asked about how well the boat moved through the saw grass. Well, that is exactly what this boat was designed to do. I had a hard time believing just how easy it was to pole through what looked like a solid prairie of sawgrass. The sharp bow of the boat acted like a wedge that parted the grass, allowing the boat to slide right through it. Same thing when I moved through thick beds of water lilies. For the most part, the hole I slid through closed up behind me with no lasting damage being done to the vegetation.
I have to say that the push pole is a lot less work when used in the right conditions, than a paddle would be. If the water is less than two feet deep, a single push will have the boat gliding 50 feet or more, no problem. And the longer the pole, the better. Mine is on the short side, as I was thinking "swamp" when I built it. And in some areas, that 12 ft. pole might be too long. But in the 'Glades, a pole as long as the boat would be considered about right. When done right, the pole moves the boat further and faster, with less energy required than a paddle would take.
I am posting a video in this thread that I made with a camera mounted on a tripod in the front of the skiff. You'll get something of an idea about how the boat moves with the pole. But the conditions were less than ideal. WAY too much wind! I will have another video that was shot from an air boat of my Glade Skiff moving through some heavy stuff. (And in to a sun set, no less!) It was shot by Marshall Jones of Mack's Fish Camp. When it is available, I'll post it. Its just too good!
Navigation out there is pretty simple. I was told to "follow the "trail" down to where it meets the main trail at "the Glory Hole." (You'll know it when you see it.) When you get there, follow the main trail to the right, you'll see the tree island in the distance. Just follow the trail out to it."
I guess it takes a certain amount of faith, but all I did was get to the "Glory Hole," spot the island and headed that way. I kept looking behind me, so I'd know what the way back would look like. In some places, the trail, which was the beaten down path made by continual air boat traffic, could be lost. But looking ahead, you can usually see where it was more obvious and keep going until was was more visible. They do tend to run in straight lines.
What doesn't come across very well in the pictures or videos is the fact that the water depth is fairly consistent. There are some man-made canals that run deep. And the occasional, naturally occurring depression or hole. But for the most part, when the depth under your hull is a foot and a half, that will be the average depth as far as the eye can see. And what you see is very deceptive. It often looks like a field of tall grass, maybe a puddle of water here and there. But that isn't the reality. All that grass is growing up through that foot and a half of water. Any time you doubt it, just step out of the boat and take a walk.
You can actually do that in most places. For the most part, the bottom is pretty solid, with a minimal amount of mud on it. Often the push pole will be pushing off of what feels like solid ground, often you'll feel bed rock when you go to push.
But don't depend on it, I also ran across some patches where the pole just sunk down into some pretty loose muck! Those places were more the exception than the rule, though.
It's a friendly place, but it will turn on you if you start to take it for granted.
Did I mention that I'd be a little "talkier" in Part Two?
Right. OK, they call them trails. Here is the trail I left going out and back in for my 2nd day video shoot:
I've been told that in the "old days," such a trail as I left would not last very long. It would be "self-repaired." But continual traffic, even by a Glade Skiff or a canoe would create a trail that would last a long time. In fact, such trails made travel by skiff pretty easy for the most part. You could get nice long glides with each push and not spend much energy guiding the skiff, as it would be guided by the trail itself. It got harder only when you left the trail to stop off at some point along the way, of if you decided to move off the "beaten path."
Here is probably about the only picture I've ever taken of a water lily that I hadn't planted myself:
The dry-looking brown stuff isn't actually dry, but it probably was at one time a dried leaf or stalk, sometimes a cluster of pollen, that dropped into the water. The water itself is actually quite clear. It's only the fact that there is so much vegetation growing in it that you don't usually see the bottom. When you do, there'll often be a good-sized snapping turtle sitting on it.
These pics were taken on my last day out there, and I'm on the way back in. I'm not one for taking pics of myself, but I noticed the camera on my phone had a funny little button on the display and when I pushed it, instead of seeing the scene in front of me, I was looking back at me! Seems the sneaky little thing has two camera's, one looking front, one looking back. . .
And now you know why I don't do "selfies."
'Nuff said.
Next, I've stopped for a rest, that poling into the wind kind of gets to you, and the thick weeds make a fine anchor. Looking ahead, I'm picking out some distant power lines to guide myself back in.
And a look behind, shows the island finally getting smaller! Remembering my trip out, keeping the island directly behind me and the right set of power poles in front of me, keeps me going right where I need to go:
Ahead is the Glory Hole. All I have to do is to cross it and then take the next trail to the left, back to Mack's Fish Camp where I put in.
Now that I've made my turn, the wind is no longer a direct issue. (More about that in a moment.) I catch a glimpse of movement ahead, and it turned out to be a good sized gator moving off of a slide, into the water. Before I could even get my hand on a camera, he had submerged and vanished. Here is that slide:
For those who haven't seen one, a "slide" is just a mark left by a gator where they've slid into the water. In this case, the slide was a resting spot on a patch of mud floating as part of a root mass that came up off the bottom. Kind of a floating island of sorts. Gators often make these, themselves. Some say that this can be how some of the hammocks or islands began. I'm not in a position to say it isn't so.
After being surprised by that large lizard moving off the slide, every time I came across a wide spot or side trail, I moved to the far side just in case there was another occupied slide back in there, somewhere. Places like this:
I said the wind was no longer a "direct issue." But it was the wind that moved a lot of stuff from the sides of the trail out into the middle of it. This made the final leg of the journey a little more difficult:
The spatterdock, close relative of the water lily, isn't much of a problem. But past that, there is a blanket of some kind of just barely submerged weed-mass, that stretches across the trail, completely. Where it is only an inch or two thick, you can easily paddle through it. But a lot of it is 6 inches to a foot thick. The paddle just won't work here. If you are careful with the push pole, you can treat it like a floating carpet and push gently, avoiding pushing the pole through it, and glide across it. Push a little too hard, the pole goes through it, you loose your forward momentum and when you recover the pole, you have to pull it up through the weeds and that will bring the boat to a complete stop.
I hate that stuff. . .
And the wind also sent several floating masses of roots and plant tubers, complete with the muck they were once growing in, across the trail, looking for all the world like an earthen dam. (Or is that "damn?")
The pic above was taken over the stern of the skiff, after I did my "Arctic Icebreaker" impression and plowed through it. It took about ten minutes of paddling and pushing, and after finally making a hole big enough to pass through, one piece about 6ft X 3ft was stuck to the bow and I didn't want to push it the rest of the way back, so I had to stop and move up front with the push pole to pry it loose from the boat.
After that, little things like this didn't slow me down much at all:
Just used the floating tubers as something to push against with the paddle or the pole, and they helped speed me on my way. After this picture, another 15 minutes had me tied up at a floating dock, and it will all done. Well, all but the 300 mile drive back home, anyway.
I did what I set out to do. I learned as much as I could about the Glade Skiff, then learn more by building one. Then I took the boat to where the design originated and spent some time with it, in it's native environment. Kind of like I brought it home. While I was at it, I met some of what I can only describe as "good people." Probably some of the best I've ever had to pleasure to meet, in fact.
Hopefully, I've started to at least gained a little understanding about a little known culture, Florida's Gladesmen.
For many, the pic below is something of an iconic figure of the Everglades, and of "Old Florida."
But now I understand that it is actually just a small part of a much larger picture:
Now then, before I forget, I did shoot a little video from a tripod mounted camera on the skiff, to give you an idea of what it's like poling a Glade Skiff through the Everglades. However, the best depiction of that will come in a couple of days when I'll have a video that Marshall Jones shot from his air boat of me and the 'Skiff, moving off into that sunset. I will post it, or a link to it, when it's ready.
In the meantime, here's mine:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8mLI6iMKng
Hey! I TOLD you I'd likely get a little long-winded on this one. And yes, I know I kind of prattled on kind of aimlessly in the vid. . .
Mike S.
Spring Hill, FL