Day 1

I am not known for early starts, as many of my climbing partners may attest. The morning of the first of January, 2011 sees me up by 5:30 am, and my dad and I are driving south by 6:00. What we think is around a 3 hour drive takes well over 4. This is mainly due to the last 15 miles. Loop road is a deeply rutted dirt road, on which we can not often reach, let alone exceed, the posted speed limit of 15 mph. Our instructions are vague about how far we must travel down this poorly maintained road to reach our destination, the southern terminus of the Florida Trail. What is clear though, is that once there, a new destination awaits me.
We arrive just before 11am (a downright late start). At this point there are no more adjustments to make, no loose ends. I put my pack on, say goodbye, and start walking north. The section that passes through the Big Cypress National Preserve is often wet. Depending on how much rain has fallen the previous year, it is not uncommon to expect to be in hip deep water. The first portion of trail I encounter is definitely wet, but it is more mud than standing water. With these conditions I manage to keep my feet dry. The going is by no means easy, though. My feet sink into three inches of thick mud that grabs hold of my shoes. Each step seems to take more effort than the previous. After two and a half miles it is obvious that I will not be able to do this without thoroughly soaking my shoes and thus my feet. The trail is flooded and so I step off into ankle deep water. I intentionally did not bring waterproof footwear for this reason. Water more than 8 inches deep would render even the most water tight lined boot a wet weight. The trail's shoulders are a mess of muddy tracks. Apparently those who've passed before, have seen fit to take whatever route involves the least trudging through of water. I occasionally follow their lead, but try to keep to the beaten path.
I pass through open cypress groves, with bleach white bark, and knee high grasses sparsely spread between. No tree seems to stand above eight feet tall. This is very unfamiliar terrain to me. The trail does occasionally give way to tall pine forests with low palm bushes and the occasional fern grove. In these spots, it is more obvious the geology underfoot. I am treading directly atop limestone, very uneven limestone. Large gaps, or pockets, abound, requiring more measured foot falls.
As the day progresses I am more and more aware of my pack. We do not agree on one basic thing: this is supposed to be fun. I want to dash about unencumbered, and it, well it wants to constantly remind of everything I'm hauling. Thus, I am constantly adjusting straps in an attempt to find the right balance.
By mile 4, I enter a deeply wooded hammock, where mature cypress and pine islands coexist. The water is spectacularly undisturbed with just a bit of tanic coloring. Here I must wade through calf deep water from island to island. I balance on logs when I can, but mostly move quickly for fear of whatever reptile might be close by.
It is one leap of faith to step ankle deep into water where you can very easily gain solid ground with just a step or two. It is another one altogether, to step into knee deep water that spreads out all around you as far as the eye can see. This is where I find myself after emerging into a large cypress grove. It seems the trail has brought me inch by inch, to this moment. There is no turning back, no alternate route, only the path before me. I step off into the cool tanic water and for the first time today, I have found a rhythm. Unlike the previous portions of trail, underlain with limestone and covered in mud and muck, here there is vegetation underfoot. I make my pace with the shlish shlosh of the water I am trudging through.
This gives way to the most unbearable of slogs. Deep mud, past the ankle. It takes me well over an hour to make the next mile. Frustrated and tired, I am uncertain I will make it to the Oasis Visitors Center, where I plan to camp just beyond an airstrip to the north. I trudge on and soon am met by a volunteer from the Florida Trail Association, here to do maintenance the following day. We chat for a bit and he assures me of my proximity to my goal. Both his camaraderie and reassurance raise my spirits as I sludge through the final half mile.
It is after 4:30 pm when I emerge onto. Tamiami trail and cross over to the visitor's center. The map shows there is a potential campsite just past the airstrip. When I reach this area all I find is a dry marsh with no cover. I am certain this is not the spot, but daylight is fading fast. Ahead I can see the trail enters a pine scrub forest and decide to move on in search of a better spot, risking having to set up in the dark. Sure enough, a small side trail to the east opens to a perfect campsite; flat, dry ground with a fire ring. After a little scavenging, I have enough wood for a modest fire. I remove my soaked and muddy shoes, and set about making camp. After dinner I crawl into my tent, slip on my wool long johns and it's off to bed. So ends my first day on the Florida Trail.