The big push out of Big Cypress (part 2)

I wake the morning of the 4^th to a one sided conversation.  “We’re on the Florida Trail in Big Cypress at Oak Hill Camp and the shoes of two from our party have fallen apart. I don’t think they can make it out of here. Duck tape is not going to work.”

Paul, the group leader, is on his cell phone with the park service dispatch (somehow he has enough coverage to make a call in the middle of the national preserve).  He is making a desperate attempt to get these two rescued. It is hard to imagine how they could possibly be “rescued” out here without a helicopter airlift. What we went through the previous night was epic, and the trail ahead passes through the “Black Lagoon” which is briefly noted in my guide as the “deepest water on trail in big cypress”. Despite this, the dispatch confirmed with him that they had the capacity to retrieve the two shoeless hikers, and that the other two should begin hiking out. So Paul and Nick pack up and hit the trail, leaving Blisterfoot and Nighthawk in wait of coming help.

Again I am slow in leaving camp. I first must filter water for the day ahead. Though surrounded by water it is mostly a muddy mess in the immediate quarter mile radius, so I end up filtering water from a two inch deep puddle.  This takes quite some time and once I return to camp, pack up and wish the two stranded hikers well, I am off to another late start. As my guidebook had assured me, the next portion of the trail is deep, almost to the knee. This honestly is not that bad to hike in because the footing is relatively stable compacted vegetation.  This, though, gives way to an open cypress strand that is bigger than any I encounter.  Imagine an open field as far almost as the eye can see, filled with 3-5 foot cypress trees devoid of any foliage. The footing is again deep mud and the trail shows of heavy use. According to my map I am headed at a diagonal from one corner of this massive strand to the next and I of course must trudge on.  Due to the poor state of the trail, many hikers have taken to forming side trails along either side.  I occasionally succumb to the temptation to follow these. These parallel trails assure better footing but no trees have been cleared and sharp cypress branches reach out to snag me and my pack with every step. So I am motivated to stay to the main trail, less by the ethic of Leave No Trace (to stick to the beaten path), and more by the desire to stay scratch free.

Within an hour of leaving camp I hear the sound of vehicles off to the east, and soon see two park rangers in ATVs slowly proceeding along buggy paths a quarter mile away. The rescue squad is on the way. Obviously there is more than one way into and out of Big Cypress.  Perhaps this portion of the Florida Trail is just like a Disney theme park for hikers. In the same way that behind the façade of castles and pirates, there exists a complex infrastructure to maintain the myth of Neverneverland is real, so the Florida Trail Association has chosen the deepest water and muddiest sloughs to send hikers into just to foster the image of Florida as a dangerous untamed swamp.  Regardless, I am glad to know that my two friends will make it out, for surely today is proving to be more difficult than yesterday, and I am sure they may have suffered some tragic fate had they attempted this sans shoes. This portion of trail is not for the faint or heart or weak of will, and most certainly not the poorly shod. The more casual recreationalist would be better off enjoying Big Cypress via an airboat or swamp buggy tour.

As I have mentioned my guidebook has pointed out that I must pass through the deepest water thus far. What it fails to mention is that this is the most consistently wet portion of the Big Cypress trail. It is perhaps cliché (however fallacious) to say that the Inuit have over 100 words for snow.  I wonder if the Seminole and Miccosukee have a similar number of words for mud. I only have one: frustration. I am slipping and sliding all over the place. I feel more like Paulie in Rocky IV when he falls over into the snow and less like Rocky as he shakes the KGB and runs off into the snow to summit the mountain in triumph.  You know the scene, right. It’s set to “Hearts On Fire” by John Cafferty. Ok so maybe you don’t remember that scene, but you’re going to now go look it up on YouTube... and somehow I think I’m going to regret putting this in my blog.

The day proceeds as such and I make slow progress until reaching more sure footing.  Late in the day I leave the cypress strands and progress into pine scrubs (tall pines, with low palm underbrush). With the sun retreating toward the west I pause and remove my pack for a welcome break on the dry ground. Cypress domes dot the horizons at each cardinal point. This is my last day in this portion of Big Cypress and I take a moment to reflect. There have been many extremes thus far. I have felt frustration and elation, fatigue and triumph, apprehension and curiosity. If I had to describe this moment, looking out onto pine and cypress, I would say I was at the exact middle ground of all of these emotions: contentment.

Self (re)assured I proceed north to the junction with I 75. Once there I reach the rest stop and go in to fill up with water.  Have you ever seen a guy on the side of the highway, kind of scruffy, a little dirty, with a big pack on? You know the guy you’re not inclined to offer a ride to. Well I was that guy, right then. Today though, people are curious. The people filling the vending machines had seen many other hikers in similar states of unkemptness and wanted to hear my story. After chatting a bit with them with a couple of curious folks listening in on the conversation, I went outside to the picnic table to relax before heading back into the woods to camp for the night. A young couple approached me and said I looked liked I was traveling. They offered me a piece of cut melon and an apple, which I gladly took. We exchanged stories as I ate their generous offering. He was driving her back to Gainesville to begin the new semester and so had a long way to go that night, as the sun was just then setting. They were bright and hopeful and I was glad for their company. We parted ways and I proceeded under the overpass and back into the woods, encouraged for the journey ahead.