Little Lochloosa Lake from Cross Creek

Feckin' Hydrilla! Is it edible? If so, we're in business in North Central Florida. It's either rotting or fresh and thriving in every lake I've been in, especially Orange and Lochloosa. It wraps around your paddle or propeller or whatever you use for forward progress and, yes, it is invasive and despised by nearly everyone. How invasive? Well, all our hydrilla comes from folks who dumped their aquariums in the lakes in the '60s. Highly adaptable, if you have it on your boat in one lake, it will gladly take root in another as soon as you put in, even if it has dried out a little.

I got a late start, which meant I was paddling into the sun the whole way out. I am privileged just to be able to paddle, I know, but this was blinding and unpleasant, made more so by the airboat nearby. The wind, though, was lovely and brisk and the anhinga posed for me without complaint. In fact, the more I spend time with the birds out on the waters, the more distinctive their personalities become. The Great Blues are old men playing shuffleboard with their polyester trousers hiked up to their nipples; the white egrets are pre-pubescent head cases trying to figure out how to open their lockers at school; and the anhingas are ancient gods, wiser than all of us.

It is rare that I don't feel much better after a paddle than before, but today I was exhausted and petulant and felt like this whole enterprise of daily paddling was a self-indulgent whim that I would tire of soon. I realize I am keeping this blog for me (literally, as I am often the only one who reads it. Damn you, Google Stats!) but there is a strong part of me that hopes it is of some good to others. /self-pity


Well-needed day off tomorrow. I need to clean my boat and do some readjustments and, well, sleep a little.