Though skies remained clear through the night, the gusts grew stronger and more frequent. When we pitched our tent, Richard had peeled back the fly to allow better circulation. Sometime during the night, I heard him get up to pull it down and tie it off – the flapping had been so loud that it made it difficult to sleep. Tuckered from hours of paddling, I quickly slipped off again.

But with the dawn, I was up. I’m an early riser, and our tent faced east, catching the first light. Stretching, I felt the call of nature. With the port-a-potties not easily reached on foot, I grabbed my toiletries kit containing the all-important tissue and headed off to the extreme east end of beach, skirting around a finger of bushes which reached almost to the water. Business attended to, I returned to the campsite and made notes while waiting for Eric and Richard to rise.

The dynamic between men can be interesting. The paddle over had been largely individual efforts, each of us alone with his thoughts and his aches, punctuated periodically by a huddle among the mangroves to reassess our position. At night in camp we had been a tight little trio, sharing dried food and moldy stories. Today we would return, again 3 little sticks on the water.

Soon Richard and Eric arose – a sleeping bag seldom encourages one to sleep in – and attended to their own calls of nature, Eric heading west down the beach, and Richard opting to kayak over to the port-a-potties to do some surveying. Returning shortly (North Nest Key is not expansive), he informed Big and me that the beach at the west end was only a short, narrow strip, though the put-in was less mucky, and that we had probably selected the better campsite. He said that there was a small lake in from the west tip.

As we prepared breakfast, I (again) asked Richard if we could try to hang together on way back. I was concerned that Big had tipped the day before and that I hadn’t even known about it. I was also concerned that Jaws might put in another appearance. In any case, today we would be facing the same winds that on Saturday had been at our backs. It was going to be a more challenging day, and, admit it or not, we were all fatigued.

Over breakfast of fruit and instant oatmeal, we discussed our possible routes, trying to find a way to cheat the headwinds. We could take off east, passing behind a neighboring key before turning back south, or we could try to retrace our route of the prior day. Neither was going to be easy, and with no clear reason to make a change, we opted to return by Saturday’s route, and to try to hug the keys as much as possible, taking what shelter we could from the winds.

Breakfast finished, we policed the grounds and restowed our gear on the kayaks. We took our time. No one said it, but we all knew it was going to be a tough pull going home, and we were all preparing mentally.

Although I had to give myself a mental pep talk to get psyched, I was pleased that I was not nearly as sore as I’d anticipated. The small of my back ached a bit, but surprisingly my shoulders and neck felt good, like the kinks had been worked out of them. Perhaps I wasn’t ready for the glue factory just yet.

I did have to make a decision regarding footwear, as I had only 1 ½ sandals. In the end I opted to strip them off and to work the rudders with my bare feet.

On a brighter note, the day was gorgeous, with only puffy white cumulous clouds high above us and no signs of rain, which we had feared during the tempestuous night.

The kayaks were now fully laden, and we had no reason to stay further. Richard had found a less mucky bit of beach, so we drug our kayaking the 20 yards west and walked them into the shallows before boarding.

For those of you who haven’t kayaked before, I’ll describe a bit about how you board a kayak. Not that I’m an expert by any stretch, and my methods may not be approved by any official sanctioning committee. Getting into a kayak is a bit like getting into a canoe, but more difficult because you have to slide into the cockpit; you can’t just plop down on the seat.

I tried 2 approaches. Upon departure from Florida Bay Outfitters, I walked up beside the kayak, turned away from it, and hopped my butt up into the cockpit. Then I had to turn so my legs were facing the front, slide my butt back behind the cockpit, then slide my feet down into the cockpit before settling in.

Today I tried the “Cisco Kid” approach (think about how he would mount a horse from behind on the run), in which I approached the kayak from the rear (hoping it wouldn’t spook and leave me stranded). Straddling the stern, I duck-walked forward until I had almost reached the cockpit. Sitting on the top of the kayak, I then pulled my legs up out of water, together, and slipped them into the kayak.

Either approach works. I like to think the Cisco Kid gets more points for style, but as long as you get in with our tipping, you’ve done well.

Shoving off, Richard took the lead, then me, then Eric. Pushing off on the bottom, we eased away from shore and our haven for the past 17 hours. Already I missed North Nest. But, as I said, there were no cabs in sight, and only one way home.

Quickly we moved into deeper, gray waters. The water which was so calm close in to shore began to undulate and to slap against the prow as I set to work against it. The sea, I began to appreciate, is very big and very strong, and it doesn’t make allowances for kayakers.

While not too sore, I was fatigued from 4 hours of paddling the afternoon before, and I hoped, as had been the case on Saturday, that my muscles would warm to their task after an hour.

Our first stretch was a long one. While the plan was to hug as close to the keys we passed as possible, our first “stepping stone” was an hour’s paddle away. I found that I didn’t like the stretches of open water. It wasn’t fear of drowning, or even of sharks (none in sight today), so much as it was that I would paddle, and paddle, and paddle, and see so little evidence of forward progress. I should mention that we were always in sight of land, which was reassuring to a degree. But when you have only a distant tangle of mangroves before you as a reference point, and waves persistently hindering your progress, it’s difficult to measure progress, and easy to become frustrated. And you don’t dare rest for more than a few seconds at a time, lest you lose all forward momentum.

Richard, to his credit, did hang back with Big and me. Finally we drew close enough to the next key that I could detect that we were in fact closing in. With Richard and Eric close behind me, I struck out with a vengeance for the east end of the key, and our first rest stop.

The current was decidedly strong today. As soon as I pulled up adjacent the key and ceased paddling, the waves pushed me stern first into the mangroves. When Richard and Eric arrived, I found that I had to expend significant effort just to reorient myself and break free. What a wasting of energy that I couldn’t spare!

We held onto each other’s kayaks while Eric and Richard consulted the map and GPS and drew our next bearing. Our next stretch was again across open water, but shorter than before. If I remembered correctly, we’d just crossed the toughest stretch. I told myself that, anyway.

Not wanting to rest too long and succumb to fatigue, I broke my own rule and struck off alone, thinking the guys would be right behind me. As it was, I noticed after a few minutes (in a kayak in seas, it’s not as easy to turn around and check behind you as you might suppose), I noticed that Richard and Eric were following a course well off to my right. Not wanting to get too far away from them, I altered my course to try to intersect with theirs ahead. More wasted effort!

Big was struggling today. He had had to pump out water 3 times that I had seen. Richard, a regular runner and possessed of great focus, seemed to be doing well. I was hanging in and trying to wear a game face. After all, I had pressed Richard to set up this little excursion. Be careful what you ask for…

Pulling back together and approaching the next key, I was buoyed by the fact that we would soon be entering a channel. We weren’t there yet, though. We had to work our way around the key (Whaleback Key?), and were on the exposed side, still fighting winds. The waves were lessened this close in, though.

After 15 minutes or so (I hadn’t worn a watch, and concluded this was a good thing – constant watch-checking makes the time really crawl), we turned left around the key and began to move into the channel. I was relieved.

But to our dismay that boat traffic was heavier than the day before, and that the boaters overall were less courteous. Wakes struck at us from the right, and we had to fight to keep from being washed into the mangroves.

We had covered the longest open stretches, and could take rests more easily in the channels. It is amazing how a mental lift creates a physical one. We dug in our paddles with renewed vigor. Pulling my way past the mangroves, I could now gauge my forward progress.

We were not yet home though. While the standing waves of the sea were quelled in the channels, the boating wakes were frequent, and more difficult to compensate for. They could come from the front, side, or rear, and it was difficult to judge their strength before they were on top of you. In the end, I again decided it was best not to fight the wakes, but to just raise my paddle, center myself, and ride them out. But this wasn’t a perfect solution. A kayak skirt provides only so much protection. Water still got in, and even in the Keys, water in February is chilly, especially swirling around one’s nether areas.

But by following the channels, hugging the keys, and making short sprints across open water, we neared our goal, which we knew lay near the BellSouth tower, visible across the sound. We pulled our kayaks together for a final group chat and rest to rally for the final 45-minute pull across Buttonwood Sound. I wasn’t thrilled. The water is deep, there is no place to rest, and boating traffic was high. But there were now dark clouds to the northeast which would be blown our way. Not wanting to be caught on the sound in a storm, we took off, aiming now to the left of an American flag flying outside a restaurant just south of FBO.

Richard set the course, and I followed behind on his right flank, with Big opting for a course farther to the south, then hooking north. At this point, I was less concerned with staying together than just making it to FBO. But soon the flag became sharper. I could make out individual stripes. Then I could count them. Adjusting my course slightly left, I slid in to Florida Bay Outfitters. Shaking slightly from fatigue, I slid out of the cockpit, planted my right foot in the shallows, and stood unsteadily. It was, Richard told me, 3:30 – 5 hours since we had set out. About what we had estimated. And about as difficult as we had expected.

I had held up well enough physically, though I had carped a fair amount along the way. Midway back that day, when I asked why on earth I had signed up for this abuse, Richard calmly said, “It’s all about the struggle.” Then he’d paddled off ahead.

Standing safely back on firm ground, I realized that he was right. Humans need a struggle periodically. Mankind arose through struggle, and struggle has always been a part of our history. But in these modern times, we don’t often face real physical struggle, more often contending with office politics and unwanted telephone solicitations. A little real struggle once in awhile is a healthy thing. It keeps us grounded. It reminds us who we are. It reminds us what it – and what isn’t – important.

But my philosophizing didn’t last long. I quickly broke out my change of clothes, and scurried off to be the first to the freshwater (COLD freshwater) shower behind FBO.

Half an hour later, as we set off up US 1, we reflected on lessons learned on this trip:

• Always bring a second pair of footwear. You should never be without footwear, and a dry pair of sandals is really welcome once you reach shore.
• I needed a good water bladder to sip from. I have a camel back, but it rests in the small of the back and therefore isn’t suited to kayaking.
• I need a better base layer shirt. I have one that wicks sweat well, but it didn’t dry as quickly as I’d hoped. Richard wore a dimpled wicking shirt (looked like a long johns top) that dried fast.
• Don’t bring too much. Next time I would bring less food, so I wouldn’t haul it over and back for no reason. But although I had overestimated my need for water (taking 3 gallons), I decided that was about right. It is always better to bring too much water versus too little. While water is heavy, any overage can easily be dumped.
• We determined that the crew should always include a couple of hot girls, preferably including at least one masseuse. We needed one.
• Try to bring along a decent waterproof camera, and keep it handy for spur-of-the-moment shots. I had packed my good digital camera in a dry bag for use on shore, which was a good plan. But the disposable I kept in my bandoleer got dunked when I pulled out some sunburn lotion for Richard. A watertight camera is a must.
• To hold the camera and other items I might need easy access to (spare batteries, bug spray, ibuprofen, energy bars), I need to get a water-resistant vest with pockets, or similar carry-all. My bandoleer kept sliding down with the weight of the items it carried, and interfered with my paddling.
• Get real kayaking gloves. I had used old weightlifting gloves. They protected me well enough on this short trip, but were played out and had to be tossed back at FBO. Plus, the black dye on the gloves had bled onto my hands, there to remain for 2 days.

But I had done some things right. I had gone with experienced kayakers. I had packed pretty well, thanks in large part to Richard. And, most importantly, I had been physically in good enough shape for the trip. For an old fart.

Detouring off of US 1 and up Card Sound, we stopped at Alabama Jack’s to grab a bite. Breakfast had long since dissipated. We started with ugly but delicious conch fritters and a round of Red Stripes. Sandwiches for Big and Richard, crab cakes for me, and we were ready for the 2-hour back.

Upon reaching home, I found that I was just beat. Laundry and clean up would wait for the next day. I stumbled to the bathroom to take a hot shower, at one point leaning against the tiles for support, just letting the stream flow over me. Too mind-tired to do anything requiring thought, I sat for a couple hours in front of the TV (and couldn’t tell you what I watched) before calling it a day and stumbling off to bed at 10:00, well before my usual sack time.

Lying once again between sheets – on an actual mattress – I again felt the motion of the waves, lifting me, lowering me, rocking me to sleep. It had been a strenuous couple of days, no question, and once or twice I had questioned what I was doing out there (ohmigod, it’s a fin!), but it had been a new and rewarding experience for me, and I had prevailed. And, after all, I thought, before slipping into comatose sleep, what is life but a series of individual experiences? And it’s up to me what those experiences will be…