In the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, under an ebony sky, my family’s yellow two-masted sailboat ploughed through the deep water, bobbing with every wave that hit her bow. I sat in the cockpit and stared at the lonely ocean, trying to stay awake.

We were halfway through our first overnight sail.

We’d left the rivers and channels of the southeastern United States two weeks ago. The last port we had passed through was in Mobile, Alabama. Most large shipping traffic bypasses Mobile for New Orleans, 150 miles to the west.             But while Mobile is a much smaller port, it was still striking. Tied up at Mobile’s wharfs were container ships, some nearly 1000 feet in length, hailing from ports all over the world. They’d come in to load and unload, and to be worked on in gigantic dry docks (metal platforms that sink so ships can move onto them, then float back up to expose the whole ship to workers).

It was quite a sight, one that dwarfed our little boat, the Terrapin.

After a couple hours of passing by these giants we sailed out of Mobile River and into Mobile Bay. It felt wonderful, after months of claustrophobic rivers, to be surrounded by water on all sides, and to feel Terrapin moving with the swells.

Now, two weeks later, we were in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, but I longed to be back ashore. When we’d left Panama City, Florida early the evening before, the forecast predicted north winds for two days -- just long enough for us to make it south to Tampa Bay, on the west coast of Florida. However, the predicted north winds barely lasted 24 hours before veering southeast, turning our quick and easy sail into a head-on battle with the ocean winds.           

By the second morning at sea we were all thoroughly sick of the cramped boat, the endless jerky motion, and the lack of sleep. My dad, the most ardent sailor among us, even remarked that moving ashore and becoming a farmer didn’t sound so bad.

Finally, mid-afternoon on the third day, we sailed into Tampa Bay. We spent a couple days recovering, and then headed off down the west coast of Florida. One of our most interesting stops was Everglade city, which is home to the wetlands of the Florida Everglades

At over 1.5 million acres, the Everglades represent the third largest remaining wilderness area in the continental United States. The area is a unique place, containing all sorts of ecosystems: saw grass marshes, lakes, rivers, and hardwood hammocks. All are filled with a myriad different species, some of which can be found nowhere else on Earth.

We reached Everglade City in a fitting manner: sailing through red mangrove swamps under a hot sun. The mangroves, with their red-tinged roots rising high out of the water, made an obstacle course through the swamp. As we maneuvered through this maze and left the swamp, I stood in the cockpit and watched the Everglades fade from view behind us.