Ten Thousand Islands

The islands are the work of the red mangrove, a tree that grows on stilted, arching roots out in the salt water where almost nothing else can live. As mangroves take hold on an oyster bar or a shoal, their roots trap sediment, leaves, and shell, slowly building up soil and land. Island by island, over long spans of time, the mangroves have raised this entire coastline out of the shallows.

That tangled root system is far more than scenery. It is one of the most productive nurseries on the planet, sheltering young snook, tarpon, redfish, and countless smaller creatures among its roots, feeding the birds and dolphins that hunt them. The mangroves also absorb the force of hurricanes, buffering the mainland from storm surge. What looks like an impenetrable green wall is really a living machine that makes the whole ecosystem work.

Long before the fishing towns, this coast belonged to the Calusa, a powerful people who thrived here for thousands of years without farming, drawing their wealth instead from the sea. They built towns and ceremonial mounds out of the shells of the oysters and whelks they ate, and some of those shell mounds still rise out of the mangroves as islands of higher, drier ground. The Calusa were shattered by disease and conflict after European contact, and their descendants and neighbors dispersed.

In the centuries that followed, the region became home to the Seminole and Miccosukee, who fought long wars to remain in the deep Everglades and whose people live in Florida today. Later still came fishermen, plume hunters, and famously the outlaws and hideaways drawn to a place with no roads and endless hiding. The old settlement at Chokoloskee, built partly on a Calusa shell mound, carries the memory of that hard, isolated frontier life.

The star of a boat trip is often the bottlenose dolphin, which patrols the passes and frequently rides the bow wave of a slow-moving boat. West Indian manatees, huge and gentle, drift through the warm, sheltered water, surfacing to breathe with a soft huff. In winter they gather in the calmer inland creeks where the water stays warm.

Overhead and along the shorelines the birdlife is extraordinary. Brown pelicans dive, ospreys carry fish back to their nests, and great flocks of white pelicans winter here. Herons and egrets stalk the flats, magnificent frigatebirds hang on the wind, and the roseate spoonbill sweeps its odd spatula-shaped bill through the shallows. Beneath the surface, the mangrove roots hide the sport fish that make this some of the finest backcountry angling in Florida.

There is no single way to see the Ten Thousand Islands, and that is part of the appeal. Guided boat tours out of Everglades City and Chokoloskee are the easy introduction, covering ground quickly and putting a knowledgeable captain between you and the wildlife. Kayakers and canoeists get the intimate version, slipping into narrow mangrove tunnels and camping on remote beaches and chickees along the Wilderness Waterway, the long paddling route that threads down to Flamingo.

Whichever way you go, the maze demands respect. The islands look identical, the tides run strong, and a wrong turn can leave you lost among miles of mangrove that all look the same. Rangers and guides stress preparation: charts, a plan, plenty of water, and protection from sun and insects. Handled with care, it is one of the last truly wild coastal wildernesses in the country.

The closest Boutel™ stays, so you can turn this stop into an overnight. Each is an independently owned, editorially selected place to stay.