Paddling the Hillsborough River Through Wilderness Park

A Cypress Cathedral Fifteen Minutes From the Interstate

The Hillsborough River winds through Tampa from its headwaters in the Green Swamp northeast of the city, and for most of its length it is an urban river - bridged, channeled, lined with parks and condominiums. But at Wilderness Park, about twelve miles north of downtown, the river enters a corridor of bald cypress and tupelo forest so dense and dark and primordial that you half expect a pterodactyl to fly overhead. I paddled it on a Saturday morning in January, launching from the park's canoe outpost at Morris Bridge Road, and within five minutes of putting my paddle in the water, I had left the twenty-first century entirely.

The canoe rental operation is simple - they hand you a canoe, a paddle, and a vague sense of direction, and you go. The river here is narrow, perhaps thirty feet across, and the current is gentle enough that paddling upstream is easy. The cypress trees rise from the water on flared buttresses, their knees poking up through the surface like a forest of miniature volcanoes. Spanish moss hangs from every branch, and the light that filters through the canopy is green and gold and has the quality of light in a cathedral - not dark exactly, but diffused, as if the air itself is glowing.

I paddled south, downstream, for about two miles, stopping frequently to drift and look. A limpkin - that strange, brown, snail-eating bird whose cry sounds like someone in genuine emotional distress - called from the bank. A red-shouldered hawk sat on a low branch directly over the water, watching me pass with the casual interest of someone watching a mildly entertaining television program. Turtles - dozens of them, cooters and sliders - lined every available log, stacked on each other in improbable towers that collapsed with a series of plops as my canoe approached.

The river's water is tea-colored, stained by tannins from the cypress roots, and clear enough to see the sandy bottom in the shallower stretches. Mullet jump. Gar surface with their elongated snouts, looking like prehistoric fish because they are prehistoric fish - their lineage extends back a hundred million years, and they have the unhurried demeanor of animals that have been doing this longer than the river itself.

The best season is winter and early spring, when the water levels are manageable and the mosquitoes are dormant. Summer is paddleable but punishing - the heat and humidity combine to create conditions that are less "outdoor recreation" and more "voluntary suffering." The park is open daily, and canoe rentals are available on weekends. Bring water, sunscreen, and a hat. The round trip from Morris Bridge to the turnaround point is about four miles and takes two to three hours at a relaxed pace.

What the Hillsborough River gives you at Wilderness Park is the Florida that existed before the interstates and the strip malls and the stucco subdivisions - a Florida of black water and cypress knees and birds that have been fishing these banks since before the Seminole, since before anyone. It is fifteen minutes from the interstate. It is a million years from everything. Bring a canoe and go find it.