Summer of 76: The River
Proximity to a variety of natural attractions is a frequently-cited quality-of-life benefit in Gainesville. Every weekend during the summer, college kids from Gainesville pile into cars and trucks and drive up Highway 441 to Ichetucknee Springs State Park. The drive takes you through High Springs and into Columba County. Everyone stops in Fort White to rent inner tubes from one of several several roadside stands, then proceeds on to the state park. I have been to the springs only a handful of times since I’ve lived in Gainesville, and two of those times were this summer.
On a hot Sunday back in mid-June, eleven of us met at Matt and Kerri’s house in the morning, then carpooled up to the park. Kat and Laura rode with us, and our convoy stopped at Ichetucknee Tube Center in Fort White – the first place we came to. Choosing a tube is a matter of personal preference. Like Kyle, I opted for the smooth, clear variety. Like Sarah Jean, Miriam chose a big blue tube. The shirtless man with skin like leather took our nine dollars and helped us load our tubes. It’s a procedure that he seemed to have mastered, but as we learned, it wasn’t so simple.
Matt and Kerri rode with Sara, and as we drove behind them we noticed that their tubes were flailing wildly on the back of her SUV. They were whipping about so violently that we were certain they would soon be jettisoned. There was a car between us as this was happening, and it began to slow down as its driver, no doubt, recognized what was about to happen. When the tubes did fly away, that car avoided running them over. Sara realized she had lost her cargo, and stopped down the road a ways. I stopped our car and ran into the road to save the tubes. Sara pulled off the road, and as she and Matt re-secured the payload, they discovered the cause of the disaster: the twine the leathery man used to tie the tubes had been rubbing against a sharp piece of plastic along the back portion of Sara’s car; the rope was sliced through. With the tubes safely stowed we continued the short distance to the park, where the car with Robin, Sarah Jean, Adrienne, and Kyle was waiting for us.
We parked our cars, and as Kat inflated her two red tubes, I changed into my river-ready clothes, and switched from sneakers into flip-flops. I had taken my Nikon camera with me and I used it to take a great group photo before we set out to catch the tram to take us up the river. Knowing it would be foolish to take a digital camera into the water, I had purchased a waterproof disposable camera ahead of time, and I used it to photograph our river run. It stayed attached to my wrist with a rubber band.
I am always nervous when I get to the bank of the river. Like all of Florida’s spring-fed rivers, the Ichetucknee is seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit all year. While that makes it refreshing on a hot summer day, diving into the cold water still takes your breath away. Some people wade in slowly, trying to get acclimated instead of shocked. I find that that is useless. Plus, on a busy weekend, taking your sweet time can irritate those in line behind you. I just drop my tube in the water and jump into it. I squeal, of course, but it beats the alternative. The water moves swiftly, and if you mean to keep together with your pals that have already–or not yet–entered the river, you have to do some paddling. It took us a couple minutes, but we all got in the water, and thanks to Robin, who wore flippers and swam like a Rhinemaiden, we were united.
The strategy for keeping together on the river varies from group to group. Some don’t worry about it, and simply spread out. Some bring rope and tie their tubes together, forming, in effect, one large raft. That has its drawbacks, chief of which is inflexibility. The Ichetucknee, like any pristine river, is wild, and its banks are lined with downed trees and limbs. Below the surface of the water, logs and limbs, often invisible to the eye, wait to snag tubes. You sometimes see groups of tethered tubers struggling to dislodge themselves from such an obstacle. On our June excursion, we opted for the more flexible “grab-hold” system. Each of us held on to the handle of the tube next to us. When hazards appeared we were able to quickly reconfigure to avoid disaster. And should one of us chance to be left behind, Robin the mermaid was there to tow him or her back to the party.
Passionate tubers arrive at the park early in the morning in order to ride the river all the way from the spring itself, a process which takes several hours. In general, if you go after ten o’clock it’s too late to do the whole river. We certainly did not arrive in time, but we decided to make two runs from the halfway point, with a break for lunch in between.
Everyone had brought some sort of foodstuff, and back at our cars we set our tubes on the ground and ate. I was delighted that Matt and Kerri brought IBC cream soda, which is a rare and special treat for me. Miriam made a potato salad that everyone seemed to love, and people ate it with chips made out of dried beets. It was blazing hot in the parking lot, so we didn’t bother waiting the suggested hour before returning to the river. We reapplied sunscreen and hoofed it back to the tram and down once more to the river’s half-way mark.
Since I had totally dried out in the hot sun, I still gasped when I leaped into the chilly water. But our second run was more relaxing than the first. We had gotten the lay of the land, so to speak, and knew what hazards to watch out for. So when a downed tree forced tubers through a narrow safe channel, or when the rare snail habitat came up quickly around a bend, we were ready to avoid them. The river was somewhat less crowded, and I remember looking up at the sun shining through the cypress trees and thinking how enjoyable the whole experience was.
There are no signs on the Ichetuckneee River telling tubers how far they are from the end of the run. You just become familiar with the landmarks on the way. The fallen tree that hangs over the water that people jump from; the cave; and the power lines all provide clues to your whereabouts. The power lines mean you’re near the end. You see them crossing over the river, then around the next bend a sign tells tubers to move to the left to exit. The river ahead becomes rougher, apparently, and further on it exits the park altogether. A net is there to catch any tubes or riders that miss the exit. If you do it right you can stay seated in your tube until you are safely over the dock, then stand up without completely submerging yourself. 
We all made it out alive. Robin distributed our flip-flops, which she had carried with her in a mesh bag for safety. We walked together up to the tube drop-off, and waited for the tram to take us back to the parking lot. It was late in the afternoon, and we were all starving, but it was a Sunday, so our hopes for dinner at Conestoga’s in “downtown beautiful Alachua” were thwarted. In fact, all the restaurants we thought of nearby were closed. We returned to Gainesville.
We returned to the Ichetucknee again in August. Kyle and Adrienne couldn’t make it then, but a few other friends could, including Emma, and Kerri’s sister Kristen. Sara brought her twin brother, and he seemed to enjoy it a great deal. We had a full-scale picnic, complete with barbecue. It was twice as crowded then, but still very fun.
The Ichetucknee is seventy-two degrees year-round, but I suppose it will be next summer before I go back down to the river.
Filed under: Friends, Recreation on September 7th, 2010 | No Comments »