WACISSA - Along the Wacissa River on a recent morning, four white ibis waded in the water, their snowy feathers a sharp contrast against the dark green swamp.

On an adjacent riverbank, a dozen would-be explorers, ages 6 to 67, stood in a circle. Each spoke of what he or she would like to see on this half-day kayaking trip.

Some say they want to see a limpkin - a rare bird to glimpse anymore, or even hear - an osprey, or a jumping mullet. But several agree with Ackerman. They want the thrill of spying a long, scaly line undulating in the water, or better - a giant alligator basking on a log.

The only paddler less than eager to see a big reptile is Mary Alice David, mother of Emily, 8, and Isabelle, 6, both along on the trip.

"We just want to see our girls not eaten by gators," she semi-jokes.

But gators or not, we're all raring to go. Although it's not yet 10 a.m., it's already a scorcher: high 80s, with one foot in the 90s. Slathered in sunscreen, swaddled in life jackets, we settle into our kayaks and stretch out our legs. Finally, we push off - a parade of crayon-colored kayaks, red, orange, blue, yellow and green.

The water streams down our paddles and feels like just-melted ice.

What was that?

Behind us, at the Wacissa boat ramp and tiny park, three teen-age boys swing from a rope and plunge feet-first into the river, punctuating their dives with an occasional wha-hoo!.

Ahead of us, the quiet river - it's a weekday and there's not an airboat to be heard - stretches out like a broad ribbon, each side lined by tall cypress, oak and pine. The river's banks are so dense that you can become trapped on the river in a thunderstorm, leaving you desperate to find a place to get off the water and onto dry land. But on this day, the sky is postcard blue, with puffs of cloud, and local forecasters have promised it will stay that way until late afternoon.

Just ahead of us, 10-year-old Cole Zelznak spots something.

"Big mullet," he calls, "coming your way."

Silver flashes by and disappears. Earlier, on the van ride over to the Wacissa, Cole was buried in "Eldest," a thick book about dragons. Now, he's reading the river - something he's learned from his mother, today's guide, and father, Rick Zelznak.

From the river's edge, a limpkin shrieks. Once you've heard the loud, rock-star cry of this unassuming brown bird with white spots - sort of a yer-eck, yer-eck - you won't forget it. It's a rarity to hear one these days, because the bird's treasured food - apple snails - has become scarce. Some say the snails can't take the increase in nitrates in the water, nor the hydrilla, an invasive weed.

"She's got babies back there," Ackerman, a regular visitor to this river, says of the limpkin. "I'm not getting any closer. I don't want to disturb her."

One by one, the kayakers avoid the bird. Even Nick Baldwin, a 63-year-old retired Nims Middle School teacher and amateur wildlife photographer, hangs back.

Farther down the river, we veer to one side to visit a small spring in a swampy nook, one easy to miss. The water is clear, but darkly so, making it hard to see the water boiling up. We head for our trip's destination: a popular swimming hole fed by one of the Wacissa's 12 or more big springs. To get there, you must turn off the main river and paddle a short way down a finger of the river.

Chilling

At Big Blue, as most call it, there's an anchored raft someone's generously built for all to enjoy.

Most kayakers steady themselves using a log and and scrabble out along the shallow edges of the swimming hole. From there, it's a quick dive in - guaranteed to focus your attention better than a dozen espressos. Back in the kayak, you notice everything - a dragonfly skimming across the river, droplets clinging to its gossamer wings; the perfect S formed by a white ibis' coiled neck.

Young Emily and Isabelle, meanwhile, have been busy diving on and off the raft. Deciding that's not a sufficient challenge, Isabelle announces her intention to dive from the raft into her father's kayak. She is dissuaded and plunges instead back into the water. Later, it's Emily's turn to be daring. After seeing Cole stand up in his kayak, she decides she, too, should stand up in the kayak she shares with her father.

"Please don't do that," her dad says.

"I'm not afraid," she says.

"It's not a matter of fear," Ken says calmly. "It's a matter of falling."

Emily sits down.

Eventually, Ackerman convinces everyone it's time to head back. We paddle upstream on our return, getting some of the exercise that Hal Mullett, a retired Presbyterian pastor, says is one reason he's become a regular kayaker.

"For the last 10 years, I've combined kayaking and bicycling," the 67-year-old says.
Although he's a pro kayaker now, this trip allows beginners and experts alike to enroll.

No one saw a gator this day, but it doesn't seem to matter. We've soaked in the tranquility of a wild place, and it's quenched something in us. We return to the Wacissa boat ramp. The temperature is pushing 100 now, but we're like bottles that have been chilled in ice.

Boomers and families seem to most enjoy the short, half-day trips like this one, Ackerman says as she sets up a small table. Folks meet at her Woodville Highway store at 9 a.m., and are back by about 2 p.m. The Wilderness Way provides the guides, kayaks, transportation - and snacks. And with that, she pops open a bowl of strawberries and another of brownies.

It's a sweet way to end a cool trip.

Tallahassee Democrat Photos:  A Good Paddling

IF YOU GO

The outfitters: Guided kayak tours are offered at The Wilderness Way, 4901 Woodville Highway.

The trips: Most outfitters provide the kayaks and gear, transportation, and oversight. Check for specifics. You bring sunscreen, bug spray and drinking water. Prices vary from roughly $35 to $65 per person, depending on the length of the trip.

For more info: