Ever Glad for the Everglades

Leaving the neon Miami behind us, now in possession of Ruby, our Chevrolet van home for the next few weeks, we head south-west into the great Floridian grasslands known as the Everglades.

Occupying the southern tip of the southern-most state in the lower 48, the Everglades is as tropical as it comes. Once the widest river on the planet, taking up most of the peninsula, the National Park is the third largest in the US, behind DeathValley and Yellowstone, and the 114th declared national conservation area - including both National and State Parks and National Monuments - declared in 1934. It has been the boon of Florida, providing a vital cog in the ecosystem of the State and ensuring that the rich farmlands to the State's north remain fertile.

It is best known, perhaps, for the airboats that glide, barely touching the surface, over the river of grass, that vast expanse of green/brown grassland that gently sways with the tropical breeze and belie the swamp, gators and snakes that lie just below the surface. Frame by crystal blue skies that stretch for miles, and marked by the overwhelming heat, this is a completely unique environment, not just of the US, but in the world.

At the park's south, around the small park town of Flamingo, we pull up for two nights - one to the north or the visitor's centre and one to the south. Here, the mosquito and the fly are king. But we brave the horde and set up the camping table and stove to prepare a hearty curry - camping gourmet.

The following day we hire a two-man kayak, a first for us, and paddle up the  Flamingo Canal to Coot Bay. In the searing humidity, and expecting to see alligators and, if we were lucky, crocodiles, we instead have to make do with semi-submerged logs that look like alligators and the occasional crocodile. Nevertheless, lunch on the water amid the beauty of this park remedies any misgivings.

That night we brave more mosquitoes, a few vultures, one bald eagle and one snake to camp by the water in Flamingo.

The following day, and a drive out of the park that included detour through some poor farmer's fields, we head into the park's northern entrance at Shark Valley. If we were disappointed at not seeing 'gators yesterday, we wouldn't be today. On bikes we only ride a few metres before the first sighting - only five metres away and with no fence between us. The following seven miles into the river of grass provide more gators, bird life and the occasional turtle. But that is nothing to combat the indecent heat. It is little wonder that the tourist high season in Florida is NOT summer.

As we leave Southern Florida for the gulf coast and beyond, I am a little sad to have left the immense grasslands be hind us.