April, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
161 
These almost unknown waters — little, mystic sun-swept rivers that come from the 
gloomy depths of Big Cypress — are alive with fish. The scenery at times, looks 
as if it had been painted on brilliant canvas, with an eternal back-drop of blue sky 
“No good eat,” Hendry said, scowling, 
“worms!” And he had shrugged his 
shoulders suggestively. Hunters will do 
well to remember this, although some 
there are who do not share Hendry’s 
aversion. 
Both the Mae and The Spoonbill were 
safely anchored in the lee of Round Key, 
and things arranged for a sudden squall 
in case it came up during their absence. 
The Thickehunahatchee jaunt was to 
be made in two power boats. . . . their 
own and Tipley’s somewhat larger craft 
if similar design, with glade boats either 
trailing or lashed atop the cabin. 
And so, even before the day was well 
started, they set off in the direction of 
the river’s mouth, but a short distance 
away. Captain Flynt wanted to make a 
landing at Gomez Point, to the north of 
the stream, for fresh water. A little dis- 
tance inland, Flynt led them to a mossy 
barrel that had been embedded in the 
earth beneath the overhanging trees. 
Pure, cool water seeped into it and both 
boats were plentifully supplied. 
“For many years,” explained the Cap- 
tain “natives were in the habit of muss- 
ing around Gomez Point with spades 
and fancy hopes. History hereabouts, 
handed down for generations has it that 
Spanish pirates buried gold in this re- 
gion. . . . cargoes of it. And they 
never took it away. It was gold and 
treasure taken from rich prizes that 
swung wide of their course. Some day 
. . . when I’m not busy at other treas- 
ure,” and Flynt winked at Tipley, “I’m 
going to get me a spade and take a look 
for myself. I sort of think I could find 
a ton of doubloons ’er two.” 
First came the Thickehunahatchee 
River, three hundred feet wide at its 
mouth and rapidly narrowing to an aver- 
age of fifty feet. It is a small stream but 
an exceedingly picturesque one, with the 
same show of interminable mangrove 
islands, particularly at its gulf extrem- 
ity. They could look down through the 
clear water and see the wonderful oyster 
beds, and both shores were lined with 
them .... untouched, unworked, a mar- 
velous universe of luscious bivalves. 
“The Thickehunahatchee leads into the 
Glade country,” explained Captain Flynt, 
“and will be well worth our expedition. 
But wait until you get to the Chokoloskee 
wilderness and Chock’ Bay! There’s 
wild country for you.” 
The further they got into this realm 
of game and tropic interest, the more 
convinced was Mr. King that they should 
not hurry out again in order to investi- 
gate Chokoloskee. Rifle and rod were 
strictly in order, to say nothing of 
Flynt’s sudden promise of deer around 
the cypress strands. 
It was hard going for Tipley’s larger 
motor boat. Its engine refused to slow 
down, even when that became necessary, 
and as a consequence, she ran aground 
more than once, jamming her fat nose 
into the masses of mangrove or the oys- 
ter bars. On such occasions the smaller 
craft bravely yanked her oif, and this 
business was repeated until it grew 
rather monotonous, especially to John, 
who was trolling and grew quite out of 
patience with many interruptions. 
Curiosity made them stop up the river 
at a clearing on a sizable hammock. For 
here were obvious signs of a one-time 
habitation. The name “Ellis’ ’was found 
on a dingy bit of cypress board tacked 
to an aged tree, but there was no living 
thing, save the birds and scampering 
coons. At one time this lone hammock 
clearing had been under primitive culti- 
vation. There were as many as thirty 
grape fruit trees, the majority bearing, 
and they literally blazed yellow with their 
luxuriant growth of fruit. The tempta- 
tion was too great to resist and all five 
members of the party fell upon grape 
fruit with a relish that may well be un- 
derstood. As far as could be judged no 
human hand had rummaged in the bend- 
ing trees for years. The cabbage-palm 
abounded, and there were several sturdy 
specimens of the gum elumi, bananas and 
water oak. John enthusiastically called 
from the abandoned grove that he had 
counted 250 fine grape fruit on one tree. 
Soon they were off again, and at a 
distance of about twelve miles from the 
coast, a permanent headquarters camp 
was made on a beautiful hammock point 
that jutted out into what Hendry tersely 
called “much fine lake.” It was virtually 
the sixth lake up the river, for there 
are many of these tiny fairy pools, with 
their calm mirror surfaces and their 
The camp on the Point. Who can begin to describe the luxuriant ease and comfort 
and lazy bliss of those sunny days, with every stream and lake dimpled by bass 
and mullet 
