Part Two, Chapter 3 --Deep Creek, St. Johns River, FL

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The entrance into Deep Creek was not as difficult as Tom had first thought, but it did take a concerted effort. Poles stuck up and things were sunken and all had to be avoided.  Once past the entrance, it was as advertised — deep. Maybe because it was billed as being difficult to enter, it exuded a forbidden beauty that was private, primordial, and pristine. Strangely, we were off the charts of the iPad, so as far as it was concerned, we were on land and the navigation app didn’t follow us down the river. We were still located by GPS, but with no waterway or roads shown on the maps, no one could find us now. 

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“Narrow Bends”

It was late afternoon so we wanted to find our anchorage soon. We had motored along the narrow, winding curves, until we got the feeling that the dead end was not appearing any time soon. Little coves hid under overhanging branches, and delicate white tree branches added white lightning, completing a texture and palette. It was stunningly beautiful and I wanted to capture every new composition that was displayed as we moved. 

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“White Lightning Trees”

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“Focal Point”

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“Reflection Composition #1”

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“Reflection Composition #2”

A strange kind of muted quiet overlaid the usual forest and water sounds. Flying insects touched the water creating concentric circles. The blush of peach brushed a canvas of lush foliage with an enlivening glow before the gold of the sunset, and the peridot leaves glistened their yellow-green amid the the darker background. 

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“Gold Shimmers”

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“Gold Sheen”

We turned around and went back to a wider part we had passed figuring that if someone else came in, we might be in their way and they might not be able to avoid us. I didn’t want to be too close to shore or directly under tree limbs loaded with critters that might feel free to drop in and join us. We found a beautiful spot, dropped anchor and had dinner, then I grabbed my camera for the evening shots.

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“Tangerine Lace” 

A russet orange lace undulated on the water. 

As lovely as it was, I was acutely aware of the alligators around us quietly dividing the water or leaving foggy bubbles after an invisible pass. No other boats appeared, which layered a creepy, gloomy feeling onto the increasing shadows now overtaking the vegetation’s defined edges and the delicate yellows of new growth. I wondered what we didn’t know that others that had avoided the place did know. A precarious serenity infiltrated the isolation. It was a wary sleep time for living things as dusk permeated the trees and water and the tingling verve held tension. A heron’s loud squawk shattered the atmosphere, and the edge of its sharp noise sliced through me, leaving me a bit raw. Then, the palpable, humming vigilance regained its balance, sinking into a zombie meditative state.

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“Zombie”

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“Two Spiders”

 I noticed that some limbs and vines and their reflections looked very much like gigantic spiders.

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“Broad-shouldered Spider”

The camera decided it was too dark to compensate, so I went inside to read before bed. I was up at 2:00 a.m. when a boat came motoring quickly down the water but slowed before it passed by us, then paused. No lights were signaling it as a patrol boat. The boat was shaped for speed, carrying two men. The hair on my arms bristled and a chill straightened my back. Why had they stopped? I was about to wake Tom as the two men talked a bit but then they went slowly on ahead. What could Tom do anyway? It would take time for him to go out to raise the anchor and start the boat before we could move away. I watched wondering if they would turn around, but they disappeared and stayed gone for a while. I decided it was better to keep the lights off and not be “witness” to their boat. I guessed our old boat or whatever else might be on the boat, like us, wasn’t of interest to them — at least not now. I felt vulnerable, like the proverbial sitting duck. And there were alligators all around in the waters and land. Were we prey in Paradise?

About an hour or two later, the boat sped by again on its way out, contradicting the lie I had told myself that they had slowed down earlier to avoid disturbing us with their wake. I was relieved that they were truly leaving. Between their obvious familiarity of the river and their shallow boat, I knew they would have no problem threading back out through the entrance obstacles. I waited until the invisible, disrupted lives of this small jungle quieted down again, and then I also turned in to try to sleep.

Sun-up time came, and Tom had tea for me when I rolled out of bed. It was beautiful again and the sounds seemed happy and appropriate for Paradise. Alligators still plied the waters around us, but it was their home after all. I took pictures of the area all over again in the new light which spotlighted different sections of ferns and leafing green and white trees. 

The alligator lying at the base of a leaf arrangement was a textured blue-gray and beige. It was replicated by the calm reflection so that it looked full bodied rather than skeletal bones half-submerged.

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“Alligator Rest”

I loved the beauty of the place all over again. Still, one night was sufficient to get the full impact and I didn’t really mind leaving Paradise for others to discover. It was an incredible place to experience by ourselves when no boat or people blocked the photos I wanted to get. On another day, a group of other boaters may have added an ordinary cheerfulness of a picnic atmosphere, and the alligators and a passing morning boat might not have felt so ominous. Since all was well, I was glad we had had this unique spot to ourselves, and I am so complete that I will never need to return.

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“Rock Encased in Alligator”

Near the exit, I saw this fellow sunning himself, merged on the rock. His pose reminded me of a baby in deep sleep. So where is the mother? Maybe she leaves him here to warn away other people who might think that Deep Creek is just a beautiful, innocent ride.