The Kissimmee River

The mouth of the Kissimmee River, where it empties into Lake Okeechobee, is not as spectacular a place as I had envisioned. A campground, public boat ramp, park and large parking areas are all that is there. Here I take the opportunity to fill up with water from the municipal source and dump all the filtered water from the lake. I have come to prefer the taste of filtered water I collect from the various surface sources I encounter (lakes, streams, springs, swamps), to the treated municipal water sources. Even though the filter I have cannot remove the tannic coloring from the water from many of these sources, it does remove all particulates and bacteria, leaving no distinguishable taste. The treated municipal water tastes, well, treated. Because of the potential for herbicidal treatments along the banks of the Okeechobee and also the Kissimmee I’ve learned about, I opt to use the municipal water at the Okee-Tantie Recreation Area.

It is also here that I find I have cell phone reception for the first time in several days. My 3 days on the dike around Lake Okeechobee have left me mostly unconnected. Upon checking my voice mail, I learn that a member of the Army Corp staff has tried to contact me regarding my inquiry about these herbicidal treatments. I return the phone call then, and the man I speak with assures me the chemicals are only active when they are exposed to the leafy matter of plants, disperse once contacting the water, and perhaps most encouraging not in wide use this year. This is the answer I had been hoping for, and because I am no chemist, I can only take his word.

Newly reassured, I proceed north along the Kissimmee River. Here too, I had envisioned more. Rather then walking along the banks of the river, I am disappointed to find that I must mostly walk relatively far from the river on the levee that parallels the river.

As the sun draws lower in the western sky, I decide to try my luck with my fishing pole. It is along the Kissimmee River that I caught my first fish as a child. My dad took me to one of the many locks and within minutes of casting I had an 8” catfish dangling from my pole. I guess I had hoped that I would have as easy a time now as I did then. That was not to be so. Mildly disheartened, but knowing full well that fishing requires patience, skill and time, none of which I offer in my effort, I look for a place to camp for the night. Finding a flat secluded spot just next to the river proves easier than my last endeavor. I settle in for my first night on this new section of trail, along the banks of the Kissimmee River.

Many decades ago, the once broad and meandering Kissimmee River, was dredged and straightened into a deep canal with many locks to control the water levels. This drained much of the surrounding land allowing for more reliable agricultural use. What is now happening is that the Kissimmee is being restored to a more natural path. Levees and locks are being removed and more natural bends and flood plains being restored. This has required that much of the adjoining land be impounded from private landowners. I am uncertain of how this process works, but believe that people were compensated for loses, and much of the land is still leased for cattle grazing. This is the land that I hike through in the initial trek north along the Kissimmee once leaving the dikes.

The land here has been used for decades for cattle grazing and it shows. I must keep a close watch of each footfall so as not to land in any of the ubiquitous and giant cow pies that dot the pastures. Beef cattle abound in these undeveloped cow pastures and I learn quickly that they spook easily. All it takes is me walking anywhere within close proximity to them and they take off running in the opposite direction. These are large creatures, these cows are. The adults stand shoulder to shoulder with me and easily outweigh me by several times. I have never considered cows to be dangerous animals. Observed from a passing vehicle they appear placid almost to the point of sloth. Seeing them up close, how they gallop off and cluster together when stricken with fear, makes me consider the dangers that they may present. A herd of scared several hundred pound animals charging across the trail that I must pass, seems dangerous no? Besides the danger of stampede that the masses of cattle present, there is also the matter of the male variety. The bulls are not as inclined to take flight when I get close. They, in fact stand their ground. Oh, and they have rather large and very pointy horns. I am not trained in animal husbandry not do I have an extensive background in animal biology, but I can guess what those horns have evolved for. Though many stand and stare none decides to charge. Still, hiking much of the afternoon alongside them is unsettling.

The camp that I have chosen for tonight is right along the east bank of the Kissimmee River underneath sprawling live oaks. With their expansive low hanging limbs draped with spanish moss, these trees offer a wealth of shade in the daytime and an eerie air in the even’ time. The night air is seems decidedly cooler than any on the trip thus far. So after dinner and my fire begins to die down, I bed down for the night.

I awake just after midnight shivering. The temperature has dropped and must be well below freezing. I zip in as tightly as possible in my sleeping bag, but cannot manage to stay asleep more than what seems like 30 minutes, before being startled awake by my own shivering. After numerous spells of this, I ball up my jacket and stuff it into the only opening that will not fully close, the one reserved for my face. I curl up in the fetal position and continue to shiver off the cold.

In the morning I put on all of my layers and force myself out of my tent. The shade oaks have not allowed much light into my campsite and so I dash out into the adjoining field to gather my wits in the morning sun. To break camp, I make half a dozen trips to my tent to bring all of my gear out into the sun. I forgo my typical breakfast for a few frozen granola bars, because it is just too cold to take off my gloves.

Once packed and still fully layered, I proceed north along the trail.

My feet are still numb with cold and the ground is wet with dew. Within an hour I reach a sign that informs me that 4 miles ahead a 500 foot swamp crossing awaits. This is definitely a warning sign as it also indicates the depth of water is potentially waist deep and alligators may be present. There is no immediate go around. The other option is a high water bypass along two county roads. Given the temperature, I opt for the road walk.

The road walk goes quickly and right after I pass the swampy area on the main road, a white SUV with a yellow state tag pulls off ahead of me. A white haired man gets out and walks toward me. He extends a friendly handshake and introduces himself. Doug is a former section leader with the Florida Trail Association. He’s on his lunch break and offers to give me a ride up to the local convenient store for a quick resupply. While on the way in his vehicle we talk about the section I have just passed, the one I am headed into, and of course the weather. Apparently last night was around 25 degrees (the exact temperature rating of my sleeping bag). He also informs me that last year a man died crossing the same section of swamp that I just bypassed. It was similarly cold, and he got his leg caught in a barbed wire fence and went into cardiac arrest. Though a frightening and tragic tale, I felt reassured in my decision to bypass that area.

It is fortuitous that Doug passed my way as my provisions were stretched thin. I had intended to go to this same convenience store, but his ride saved me an hour detour.

Today I have an additional road walk ahead that will take me into Highlands County (the place from which I come) and to the Istokpoga canal. In total I will hike about 20 miles today.  When I reach the small park that adjoins the canal it is dark. Before proceeding into the woods I make a call to my parents to make arrangements for my dad to come meet me for my first break off the trail. The coming weekend is the Martin Luther King Day holiday and I intend to make a big push the next two days to take that Sunday and Monday off with my family. Once we’ve decided on the time and place, I head off along an old grade road canopied with live oaks.

The draping oaks offer an intimate space to walk, insulating me from the night. The trail progresses into a tighter corridor with saw palmettos lining each side. Though, they are dense, I do my best to not announce my position to whatever may be out there lurking in the night. Soon though my head lamps reflects off 6 distinct pairs on eyes set low to the ground. As I move ahead cautiously the little sets of eyes dart up a nearby tree. When I am close enough to make out their forms, I discover a little clan of raccoons. Not knowing them to be social or familial animals, I am a little surprised to find them so grouped together. Once the novelty of a roving band of raccoons stalking around the night has worn off, I make my way to the Hickory Hammock Camp. This is a large and charming camp nestled in, guess what, a hickory hammock. The closest water source is a dried up pitcher pump. Not knowing that the full and fowl smelling bottles of water at the base of the pump are actually used to prime it, I use my remaining water sparingly and decide to fill up at the next water source five miles into tomorrow. That night is cold but considerably more bearable than the night previous. With no water to spare I eat a cold meal and am off to bed, anticipating the two days ahead when I will pass more closely to my roots and eventually make it home for a well-deserved break.