The next morning my camp mates are up and off an hour before I am. I enjoy my coffee, morning peanut butter and honey sandwich, along with a homemade fruit leather. Once off, I quickly notice that my pack and I aren't feuding as we had been the first few days. I make good time and overtake the group within two hours. I stop to chat and learn that their goal is to make it to Oak Hill camp, some 12 plus miles from our previous camp. Now my first day I did 9 miles mostly through heavy mud and shallow water. The second, I did around 8 on mostly dry ground. Given my late start I had debated whether to try for this same destination or stop at 13 mile camp a mere 6 miles off (you might have noticed these campsites bear no connection to there place along the trail). I decide the best option is to make the effort to get to Oak Hill, otherwise I would be spending an extra night inside Big Cypress.
Again, like the previous day, the trail is mostly dry and passes in and out of pine woodlands while skirting cypress domes along their perimeters. There are definitely portions of mud through the cypress strands (open groves where tree height is more uniform), but nothing so deep as to soak my feet.
At our first meeting along the trail today, my compatriots informed me of a critical shoe failure. My friend from yesterday, let's call him "Blisterfoot", had half the sole of one shoe come loose. Some quick work with a strap from a pack, and he was back in business.
Again I am off with a good pace and make it to 13 mile camp with my friends not far behind. There I read the trail registry and find several recent posts from hikers heading in the opposite direction as us. Apparently the trail ahead may be muddy. We leave off separately and I again pass them as they break from the trail further along.
When I come upon the more muddy portion of the trail, I grow disheartened at the prospect of soaking my feet, but it is an inevitability. The going here is like that of the first day, slow and difficult. The muck just doesn't want to let go of my shoes. Each step requires twice the effort. It goes like this: step into 6 inches of deep mud, then pull opposite foot out while trying to stabilize myself with trekking poles as now newly stuck foot slides into limestone pocket.
With my pace slowed and spirits dampened, I begin to question the feasibility of making it to Oak Hill, and so keep a look out for possible campsites. Although occasional pine islands appear in this vast sea of cypress strands, none are dry, flat or cleared enough. As noted in my day 2 post, mile markers are posted throughout this Big Cypress. As the sun begins to set just after 5:00, I am still a mile plus off from Oak Hill. The trail is turning into deeper and deeper mud and appears to be heading into a fully flooded strand. Just as the sun sets below the horizon, I enter knee deep water. With darkness setting in all around me, I retrieve my head lamp and slog on. Soon the last bits of twilight are gone. No city glow on the horizon. Just me the stars and this light to guide me from blaze to blaze along this flooded path. Once resigned to the notion that going forward is the only option, a little of the fear subsides. There exist many tangible things to fear, but the unknown is often the thing we fear the most. Fear can be a positive emotion given the context. It helps set limits to our actions, allows us to know when we are in danger. If I saw a snake or an alligator in front of me, that would be one thing. Simply being afraid because it's dark, is fearing something that does not exist. At least that's what I keep telling myself as I proceed further into the night. After close to an hour of trudging through the dark night and deep water, the trail emerges again into a muddy strand, and angles sharply around a dense group of pine and oak trees. There before me is Oak Hill Camp. Relieved for dry ground, I duck in and head back 30 paces to find several flat spots for tents underneath the oak canopy. I set up my tent and begin collecting wood for a fire to stave off the night (there is only so much fear one can shuck aside).
It is only once I get the kindling going, that I recall my 4 companions. Surely they did what I should have and stopped earlier. As this thought occurs to me, I hear a call break the night, and I stop to listen. It is my name being called out loud and from a near distance. Abandoning my fire I run out from the camp and yell back into the darkness. A few indistinguishable responses later and I am again at the waters edge waiting on their approaching head lamps. As they draw near I can tell they are in poor shape. One, let's call him "Nighthawk" as he would prefer, is leaning on his friend, intermittently dry-heaving.
Apparently both Nighthawk's and Blisterfoot's shoes have fallen apart. One is wearing Nick's boots while he goes barefoot. Nick has taken charge and kept them going through this morass. Their call out to me was a last ditch effort to keep hope alive and it worked. We make it to camp and, though exhausted, they set about making a fire. They have more than just fear to stave off, they have their spirits to rebuild for the long trek out in the morning.
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