The Wendlands plan excursions to help cure this winter malady.
By Mike Wendland, F246141
January 2015
This is peak time for cabin fever, and it has hit us big-time.
Cabin fever, as described by Wikipedia, is “a claustrophobic reaction that takes place when a person or group is isolated and/or shut in a small space, with nothing to do for an extended period. Cabin fever describes the extreme irritability and restlessness a person may feel in these situations.”
That’s us — my wife, Jennifer, and me — every winter. And also, I suppose, Tai, our Norwegian elkhound, who is as hooked on the motorhome lifestyle as are his human companions.
It’s not that we dislike winter, though, admittedly, the older we get, the more we tire of the cold. But what gets us most about winter is that it keeps us homebound a lot more than we are during the warmer-weather months.
We’ve traveled to a couple of RV shows even after the snow started flying; visited our grandkids in Georgia; and, as I write this in November, are planning a January campout in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, which already has seen snow.
Each winter we also want more than the occasional forays. We break out from our sticks-and-bricks home for the warmer temperatures of the South.
At some point in February, we hit the Gulf Coast and take in Mardi Gras. (This year, Mardi Gras is February 17.) From Mobile to New Orleans and all in between, the fun starts as early as two weeks before Fat Tuesday — the day before Lent begins. If you time a visit right, you can take in Mardi Gras parades every day, and many a night. RV parks can be found all along the coast in Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana, and this time of year, when the weather can still be slightly unpredictable, we have encountered plenty of vacancies.
We make our way to the town of Gautier, Mississippi, and Shepard State Park. We are part of a group of two-dozen-plus RVers from all across the country invited down there for fun and food and Mardi Gras festivities at an event called “Pogo’s Smokin’ on the Bayou.”
Pogo, whose real name is Paul Konowalchuk Pogorzelski (see why we just call him Pogo?), lives on a bayou that connects to the Gulf of Mexico. He times his event to coincide with Gautier’s big Mardi Gras night parade. Not that we need an excuse. Cabin fever is everywhere among RVers in winter, it seems.
Pogo and his wife, Vicki, open their hearts and home to our band of RVers — even finding a way to squeeze a dozen Type B motorhomes into a vacant lot two doors down. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Pogo’s next-door neighbor, Gordon Gollott, just happens to be the mayor of Gautier, a town of 18,500. Last year, the mayor even invited me to ride on the official town float in the nighttime Mardi Gras parade.
High temperatures there in February are typically in the 50s and 60s, just enough to hint of spring. From Gautier, Jennifer and I usually head east and south to southwest Florida, where the high 70s and low 80s cure us of any remnants of cabin fever.
One of the places in southwest Florida that has a special hold on me is the Everglades, a wild, huge place filled with birds and wildlife that populate the flooded cypress and sawgrass prairies that make up the largest subtropical wilderness in the United States.
Every time I’m in south Florida, I budget time for the Glades. I’ve ridden my bicycle along an 8-mile paved loop at Shark Valley, cruising yards past snoozing alligators that doze with their huge, toothy mouths open (supposedly, to cool off). We check out air boat rides; nature walks where you actually can get wet and wade in the swamp; and fishing that is so good, it’s not to be believed.
The winter dry season, which lasts from December through April, is the best time for wildlife viewing in the Everglades. Weather conditions are generally pleasant during the winter, and standing water levels are low, causing wildlife to congregate at central water locations. Shark Valley, the Anhinga Trail at Royal Palm, and Eco Pond in the Flamingo area are popular areas for viewing alligators, wading birds, and other wildlife. Boaters have additional access to wildlife viewing opportunities in Florida Bay and along the Gulf Coast.
We especially like the Big Cypress National Preserve, more than 729,000 acres whose crystal-clean fresh water plays a vital role in the health of the entire ecosystem of south Florida. We take the 24-mile Loop Road that runs south and east off U.S. Route 41 at about mile marker 59. It’s a dirt and gravel road; well maintained, but meant for slow travel. All along the route are trees, frequent drainage ditches, and small open spots. It’s fine for Type B or Type C RVs but too rough for a Type A. And once you commit, you find few spots are available for turning around.
Dozens of species of mammals, birds, and reptiles unique to Florida’s climate live here. It is easy to view and appreciate Florida’s largest reptile, the American alligator, living here in its natural environment. They are in almost every water hole, all along the banks, and even sunning themselves on the shoulder of the road. The birds are something else. Anhingas, egrets, wood storks, and herons are found in plentiful numbers, feeding, displaying courtship feathers, and nesting in and among the cypress trees.
There’s a reason the speed limit is 25 miles per hour. Herons often launch from the trees and fly right across and over the road. Because of their bulk, it takes them considerable wing power to get to altitude. On several occasions, if we had been traveling faster, we would have hit one.
Occasionally, one can witness river otters, bobcats, black bears, and the endangered Florida panther on the preserve’s back roads and trails. We didn’t see any panthers, but U.S. 41 is peppered with warning signs noting that they frequently cross the road.
We’ve never had trouble finding a place to stay overnight. Numerous federal campgrounds line U.S. 41 from Naples to Miami. Most have openings every day.
Alas, though, all good things come to an end, as does our escape to the South. By March, we’re usually back in Michigan. We have re-winterized the RV and await the coming of spring, which usually is still another four to six weeks away.
Just long enough for cabin fever to flare up again.