Hiking north out of Hickory Hammock camp, I encountered some of the most pleasant and poorly maintained trail thus far; stunning live oak hammocks juxtaposed with trampled tall grass floodplains. It is my intention to hike 19 miles per day for the next two days to reach River Ranch Resort, a modern day working tourist ranch. It is at River Ranch that my dad will meet me for a two day break from the trail.
My goal for the first day is to reach Fort Kissimmee Camp, a popular hunt camp on the Avon Park Air Force Range. It is hunting season and the Air Force leases much of the land not only for cattle grazing, but also for hunting. This means that I may only camp at the designated campsites, for my own safety I am sure. The trail here follows the Kissimmee River along the western bank, though rarely within close enough proximity so as to really see the river much. Throughout the day I am variously in an out of striking shade hammocks. I occasionally emerge into open pine scrub stands but mostly am close to the oaks. Like much of the land I encountered the day previous, this is cattle land. The greatest contrast lies in this. The broad oak hammocks present a very intimate shaded space ideal for hiking. The cows have provided a minefield of droppings that are a constant distraction from the beauty of the oaks, as I am most often staring at the ground to avoid them.
Like I have so often come to do, I end up hiking well past sunset and into the dark of night. Though this is not a new experience for me at this point, I still must quiet my own fears that naturally pop up. At twilight I still have 4 miles to reach my camp. Upon setting out each morning it has not been my intention to hike past dark, but my mileage goals demand it. Still I do question my motives for continuing on in the dark. My heart races, my eyes focus on the trail ahead, my ears attune to the slightest sound… The thought occurs to me that I may just be an adrenaline junkie. I hope that this is not the case and proceed. Eventually I reach a dirt road that will take me to Fort Kissimmee Camp, and within an hour of reaching this I see a fire flickering off to the right of the trail. Because it is hunting season and because this is the designated hunt camp, I expected company at the camp. I draw near the fire and find two 60 something hunters encamped. All of the camps I have encountered thus far have been intimate spaces; maybe a picnic table and maybe a fire ring, a little flat space and that’s about it. This seems somewhat larger as these two have spread out to utilize every inch of the camp with their tents, coolers, generators and lights. They ask if I am lost, and I explain my situation. Hiking the Florida Trail, 1100 miles, looking to cook my dinner and hit the sack… blah, blah, blah. They seem curious and inquisitive, but not wanting to share the space. They inform me of a pavilion up the way with a “wouldn’t you be more comfortable up there?” So I wander off into the night to find, said talked about pavilion. I soon realize that this is not a camp like any I have yet encountered. There is a veritable city of hunters at every turn, with every available space occupied. I settle for a space right next to a large oak in and adjoining field. After clearing a few dried cow patties, I make dinner and set up my tent eager to get into my tent and not be noticed. At no time more than now, have I felt as much an outsider.
I awake to the sound of gunfire. Though startled, I am not surprised. It is Saturday of Martin Luther King Day weekend and this is the day of all days this long weekend for hunters to be out. The two hunters from the night before informed me that it is mostly bow hunting for deer and bird hunting with shotguns that is in season now. This is a relief, as neither present great or grave dangers at long distances.
I pack up and go down to the banks of the Kissimmee to filter water for the day. Here are many fishers set about their trade. I am glad to get a glimpse of the river, as today will be my last day in this region. Once leaving the bombing range, I will be on the old Kicco Ranch, where my grandfather once worked and my dad and uncles spent some of their youth.
All day I hike through undeveloped cattle land. That is essentially, open oak hammocks with sometimes dense and sometimes sparse understory. In daylight the marked trail is easy enough to follow. Several elements aid my progress. There is the dollar bill sized orange blazes. Also there is the beaten path. When the understory is dense, these two things conjoin to form an unmistakable trail. When it is sparse, I must rely mostly upon the blazes. One thing further complicates this. Cows tend to create their own paths through this space as well. Several times throughout the day I get off onto a cow trail and am forced to backtrack to regain my way.
One such diversion lands me smack in the middle of a wild orange grove. From experience, I know that most of these are too sour to pallet. Before returning to the trail I spot a solitary lemon tree and decide to try one out. It is remarkably good, as lemons go and I decide to pick a few to take home to my parents that night. In my excitement I collect 18 baseball size lemons. Because I have eaten most of my food I have the luxury of space to accommodate such a load. This new weight does well in slowing my pace but I am 100% confident in my timing and have planned out each break during the day so that I arrive on time. I am supposed to meet my dad at 8 ‘clock at River Ranch.
When I reach the old Kicco town site I am a little disappointed to find it is mostly unrecognizable as anything other than what it now, a campsite. So denied my grand vision of a reconnection with my familial past I set out along the access road and eventually rejoin the wooded trail as dusk sets in.
In the daylight hours the cattle trails were a mild annoyance. With only my headlamp to guide me, they are major problem in the more open portions of trail. I get off the main trail no fewer than 4 times. Backtracking is not a problem, as I do not go far without the aid of a marked blaze. It is finding the correct path that will lead to the next the blaze that proves challenging, and frustration begins to set in. This is mainly because I have an appointment to make, and I don’t want to leave my dad waiting or worrying. It is after dark and his youngest son is out wandering in the woods somewhere.
Letting go of someone that you love, requires a degree of trust. Trust that they know what they are doing and will eventually find their way back. This is not the first time that my parents have let me go. When I went off to college at FSU, my dad drove me up to Tallahassee with all my stuff, helped me unload and left that very day. Then, though, he knew that I had my two brothers close by and several friends from my hometown in my dorm. There is also the structure of an academic environment to calm ones worries. Driving your son into the Everglades, where snakes and alligators reside and leaving him there to fend for himself must take a great deal of confidence that he knows what he is doing.
All of this I am aware of as I stumble around in the dark. I have yet to get lost on the trail, and with only one hour and 2 miles left before I am to meet my dad, I can’t seem to stay on the trail. This is perhaps the greatest reason for my growing frustration. I do manage to find my way though and right on time. There my dad is waiting for me in the prescribed place with a warm meal from my mom to melt away all the frustrations I have allowed to build up. We hit the road and within 45 minutes I am resting comfortably in the familiarity of my parents house. Home!
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