Pardon Me, Do You Have the Time?

The next day was essentially more of the same. I waded through water, usually no more deep than my ankles, but occasionally past my knees. After spotting a small, cute little turtle during one wading adventure, I started slowing down and looking very carefully where I put my foot--assuming I could actually see all the way through the water. I didn't want to step on any turtles inadvertantly.

I saw several more turtles hiding in the water this way, and hoped my tromping from the previous day hadn't gotten any.

The day was beautiful. Partly cloudy, not especially warm, and I wanted to take advantage of it to push on as far as I could. The weather was expected to grow nasty the next day, and I wanted to be within walking distance of Bristol to insure I had a motel and a dry bed to use at the end of the day. At a minimum, I figured, I should at least reach the Camel Lake Campground.

And I did, and what a beautiful campground it was. Several sites overlooked Camel Lake, and they were some of the nicest campsites I ever laid eyes on.

The restrooms had flush toilets, and garbage cans could be found all over the area. It was much nicer and far more elaborate than I expected. I was thinking it would be something like the previous campground I passed the day before with composting toilets and no regular maintenance. This place, though, was NICE.

I went ahead and made use of the facilities, filling up with water, using the restrooms (flush! flush!), and throwing away my trash. I checked to see how much staying at the site would cost--I knew a campground this nice wouldn't be free--and it wasn't. It ran $10/night, so I walked up the trail a quarter mile or so and set up my tarp in the woods. I could actually still see the American flag flying above the campground from my location, but I figured I was far enough away that no authority figures would ask what I was doing there. =)

I hoped the rain would start early, pour all night all while I was under the protection of the tarp, then have stopped by morning. What actually happened, however, was that the night stayed nice and calm and by morning, the rain finally started.

So I ate breakfast, brushed my teeth, and even peed all under the protective cover of the tarp. I packed my gear into the backpack while under the tarp--making use of the super extra large ZipLocks since I still had them--and only when that was done did I finally come out from under the tarp and into the rain.

I took down the tarp, stashed it into a mesh pocket, took out the umbrella,
heaved on the pack, opened the umbrella, and started down the trail singing Spiderpig to myself. (You have to watch The Simpsons movie to understand that reference.)

The trail continued to go through bogs, but my feet were pretty wet from the rain anyhow so the bogs didn't bother me as much this time.

I only had about six or seven miles of trail walking anyhow. Then there was a 10.1 mile road walk up CR 12 into Bristol. Ugh. Road walk. And a long one.

The trail went past the library in Bristol, so I stopped in to check e-mail and Atlas Quest. Originally, I planned to stop for the night at a hotel in Bristol, but the night before, I realized that Blounstown was less than four more miles along the trail. I hadn't realized the two towns were so close since my guidebooks put the two in different regions, splitting the regions right down the time zone. I hadn't looked ahead at the next region--which, if you remember, I tore into pieces back in the Keys and have my mom mail to me on the trail as needed, so the two regions had been physically torn apart.

Only now did I look ahead into the next region and realize that a much larger town, with more motels and food options, lay just another four miles down the trail.

Onward I went, crossing into Central Time Zone over a large, long bridge that crossed the Apalachicola River. The bridge seemed to last for a couple of miles--certainly one of the longer bridges I've crossed since the keys.

And just like that, I went back in time one hour. Alas, sunset now occurred one hour earlier too.

I was rather excited about changing time zones. =) It felt like real progress in my hike, and it hit me that my days in Florida were numbered. Perhaps not *quite* in the single digits, but I had now hiked about 1,000 miles--well past the halfway mark for Springer Mountain, in fact--and had about 200 miles of Florida left. I suddenly felt elated to be rid of Florida so soon.

Don't get me wrong, here. Florida has its nice areas, but it's the state that Never Seemed To End. The Appalachian Trail goes over 500 miles through Virginia, or about 25% of the entire trail, and I was positively elated when I first reached that Welcome to West Virginia sign. Thank God, I was finally done with Virginia!

Now I had done twice that amount in Florida, and I *still* hadn't finished with the state. I could have started on the AT at one end of Virginia, hiked to the other end, turned around and hiked back.... and still be done faster than Florida.

Florida is a freakishly big state, and crossing into another time zone, it finally hit me. I'm almost done with Florida!

Not to mention the fact that I've never hiked to another time zone before.

Completely unrelated to my hike... did you know it's possible to call Oregon from Florida and have it be the EXACT same time in both locations?

It only works one hour each year, but it can be done. The panhandle of Florida, as I've already said, crosses into Central time zone. The southeast corner of Oregon, for some bizare reason unknown to me, was lumped into Mountain time zone. So if call after Central time zone loses an hour due to daylight savings but before Mountain time zone does, you can have two people, one in Florida and one in Oregon, who would both report the exact same time.

It makes a great bar bet. ;o)

Back on topic, however, I continued to walk into Blountstown. The rain finally stopped during my walk through Bristol, and in Blountstown, I actually got to see a pretty nice sunset when most of the sky had cleared.

I checked into the Cherokee Motel (room number 5 for those keeping track) and ran a few errands well into the night. Restocked food supplies at Piggly Wiggly (and who couldn't love a supermarket with a name like that?) I was underwhelmed with options for dinner, however, and settled for Burger King since it was closest to the motel.

That night, I mostly watched--my favorite--the Weather Channel, hoping to glean details about what I should expect to come. The next two days: sun. The night of that second day, rain and thunderstorms, continuing into the third day.

The Neverending Swamp

The one incident in the swamp tromp that took me by surprise was when I ran out of water. Completely and totally out, without a drop to drink.

I'm still puzzled by this since I deliberately filled up with water to last the whole day, and it wasn't an especially warm day so I hadn't had much to drink, but near noon, I went to take a sip and nothing. I was out.

But I was in a swamp walking through water sometimes higher than my ankles, so it wasn't a critical problem. Just a perplexing one.

The swamp tromp officially ended at a dirt road. Still having plenty of daylight left, I took a small snack break then continued on.

I thought the water walking was largely over, but how wrong I was. Time after time I tromped through water, usually up to my ankles, with every dip in the road or trail. Once I realized how much water there was still left to walk through, I decided to push on as far as I could in the hopes of getting past it all. The water was annoying, but a minor one considering that my feet were already wet. The tricky part were the pools of water in the dirt roads, however, because I'd often find myself slipping into knee-deep water when I put my foot on the edge of a ledge but not realizing it. The dirt roads sometimes had deep grooves where the truck tires went through, and I'd put a foot near the grove in ankle-deep water to suddenly find my foot sliding down into knee-deep water. You can't see these these grooves either--the water is too murky--unless you probe for them with a trekking pole. Very annoying.

The trail crossed the Ochlocknee River over a bridge when I first realized that the Ochlocknee River seemed particularly high. I could see the top few inches of palmettos--not normally underwater plants--sticking out from the water.

Perhaps this, I thought, was the reason my swamp tromp didn't seem to end. The trail had flooded, though it did so conveniently after the end of the Bradwell Bay Wilderness.

I stopped at the Porter Lake Campground where I filled up with water and ate some snacks. One other family was camped there, with a stack of firewood about five feet high, and I considered walking over to them and asking if I could buy a cold soda off of them. I was hot and sweaty and a cold soda sounded good. Perhaps if I played my cards well, they'd even give me one for free. =) But I'd still have paid for one if necessary.

Before I had a chance to act out, however, the husband walked over to me and asked if he could buy a cigarette off of me. Heh.

"Sorry, I don't smoke." I'd have traded a whole pack for a cold drink if I could, though.

"I didn't think a hiker like you would," he replied, "but I figured it didn't hurt to ask."

I asked him about cold sodas, and he whispered, almost in a conspiratorial tone, "The wife didn't want to go anywhere today. I don't have smokes, I don't have ice, I don't have cold nothing."

He seemed especially bitter about the lack of smokes. I was disappointed about the lack of cold drinks.

We chatted for several more minutes, and I explained a bit about my hike to him before continuing on my way. I was half tempted to set up camp right there--it was a nice campground and the cost was right (free). At the very least, I could enjoy their campfire. =)

But I knew that a storm was blowing in and was determined to get as far up on the trail as I could. I wouldn't beat the storm into Bristol, but I hoped I'd have a nice, dry motel room after slogging all day through rain. I needed miles to pull that off, though.

So back on the trail it was. I didn't get far before I spotted three kids ahead of me carrying guns. Kids, as in pimply-faced teenagers. They looked like trouble to me, but there didn't seem like any other way around them except through them.

"So what are you hunting?" I asked them, wondering if it was even legal for them to be hunting.

"Just shootin' some squirrels." The kids smiled, and I was surprised to see some of their teeth already missing. Yikes!

Then one of them asked, "Do you know if hunting is allowed right now?"

I suspected not--hunting season for most areas had already passed--but I wasn't completely certain either so I said I didn't know.

I wished them good luck, and mosied on past. They seemed friendly, but their guns made me a bit nervous.

Another dip on a dirt road, and another wade through water. This particular dip was deeper than most, however, and I quickly found myself past my knees in water and probing with my trekking pole only showed even deeper water ahead.

It looked like a small creek normally crossed the road here, but it had badly flooded. I found a couple of logs on the right side of the trail, under about three feet of water, which seemed oddly out of place and surprisingly secure. I think it might have been the normal route over the creek for hikers, but the fact that it was three feet underwater suggested that my theory of the flooded creek had some merit.

I carefully stepped up onto the log and slowly inched myself across. I couldn't see the log--only feel it with my feet and trekking pole--and testing each side of it with my trekking pole, I figured I'd be well past my waist in water if I slipped off. This creek was deeper than the dreaded Monkey Creek!

Glad all my equipment was still safely tucked away in super-sized ZipLocks from the swamp tromp. If I slipped, I'd be taking quite a dunk!

Fortunately, I made it across the underwater logs without slipping, and managed to get through the creek barely keeping the cojones dry. =)

I set up camp at Indian Creek where it intersects CR 67. It was a bit closer to the road than I would have preferred, but it did the job. I hoped I'd gone far enough so I wouldn't have to walk through water again for a second day, but only time would tell....

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The Swamp Tromp

Monkey Creek was bigger than most creeks, but I felt confident that, at least at this particular crossing, I could get through without going into the water deeper than my waist. The water was slow moving as well, so no worries about the current knocking me over or carrying me downstream.

If that was the *worst* I had to face, I would have no trouble. Monkey Creek, up to my waist, then perhaps the rest of the swamp tromp wouldn't go past my knees. Definitely doable.

Onward, always onward, and I was considerably relieved after seeing Monkey Creek. I could do this. =)

Then I smelled smoke again. A shift in the wind? I left the burn behind me, after all. At least I thought I did. Then I noticed a couple of particles of ash floating in the air.

Crap. Ashes! I had to be REALLY close to the burn to be seeing ashes. And a few minutes later, I heard a helicopter. I still had no idea where the burn was actually happening, but I knew it was close and my worries went back to the fire.

Ironic, I thought, how my worried flipped from drowning in water to burning in fire in mere minutes. Only in Florida.

The trail came out on FR 348, and I stopped to make an early dinner. I wanted to hike further, as close to the swamp tromp as I could, but the trail left the Sopchoppy River at this point and I figured it would be the last reliable place for water until the swamp. I wanted to make use of it while I could.

I made a bean and rice burrito--oh so good! While cooking it, a kayaker pulled in at the road crossing. He kayaked down the Sopchoppy for about seven miles and stashed a bicycle there to ride back to his vehicle after hiding his kayak.

My immediate thought was that maybe he knew more about the prescribed burns than I did, and that's what I asked him. He had talked to some forest rangers who originally suggested he should not kayak down the Sopchoppy, or at least wait a few hours to do so because of the burns, and he did see the actual burning.

Not good for me, I thought.

He wasn't sure all where they burned, but he thought it was mostly in the Bradwell Bay Wilderness.

Double crap, I thought.

But it should be a lot better by tomorrow.

Good news, kind of. I'll take what I can get, though.

The man stashed his kayak, and I finished cooking (then eating) my dinner before heading out on the trail again. I figured to get in another three or so miles, but I didn't even get a mile before I started seeing evidence of recent burns.

And after another mile or so, I found smoldering trees and burning bushes. It was time to stop.

Not knowing where all the burning had taken place, I felt my safest option was to camp in the burn zone that had already burned. If I hiked out further, and the flames weren't large or difficult to pass, my fear was the fire would grow during the night and catch up to wherever I set up camp.

By camping in an area that had already burned, I could be certain my campsite would be safe from additional fires.

So that's where I set up camp, about one or two hundred feet away from the area that was actively burning. Kind of like a campfire, and the smoke blew into camp all night long.

Late at night, I could see the orange glow of flickering flames, a rather neat thing to watch. About once each hour, something particularly flamable went up in flames and you could hear a loud crackling until it finished burning and died down again.

And several times during the night, I heard a loud THUNK! as a tree fell, overpowered by the fire.

It was a memorable night! =)

Packing up camp took a bit longer than normal due to my worries about the swamp tromp. In preparation, I bought a number of those super extra extra large ZipLock bags which I intended to use to make sure my pack, or at least its contents, could survive a prolonged dunking in water. My pack is what I'd call 'water resistant'--which under normal conditions is fine, but not acceptable if the pack is completely submerged.

Frankly, I don't know how well my extra super large ZipLocks would work, but they seemed sturdy and a heck of a lot cheaper than true drybags, which seemed like overkill to use just once.

So I stuffed all of the contents of my pack into ZipLocks--sleeping bag, food bag, stove and cookset, clothes, and all into ZipLocks. Only the water bottles didn't get bagged, because that would have been silly. ;o)

The most critical items that need to stay dry--my sleeping bag, clothes, and food--I double bagged.

The burn area I stopped at continued to smolder, but I hiked through keeping my eyes open for flare ups. I followed through several miles of burned and unburned areas before reaching Monkey Creek and the official start of the swamp tromp.

I stopped to snack, unsure how wet it would be over the next five miles and wanting to go in with a full stomache. Monkey Creek looked deep, but I didn't think it would come up past my waist.

Normally I wear a fanny pack around my waist and put things like cameras and snacks in it, easily accessible without having to take off my pack. (I really don't understand why all backpackers don't do this--I couldn't imagine doing a backpacking trip without a fanny pack. If you backpack, give it a try. Seriously!)

Rather than stringing it around my waist, though, I strung it over one shoulder and under the opposite arm like a sash--a trick I used for Big Cypress. Then I put on the pack and stepped into Monkey Creek.

The water was cold. It seemed ice cold, but that seems unlikely in Florida. These aren't glacier fed streams, after all! But I'm a whimp, and any water below 80 degrees is cold to me. =)

I used my trekking pole for balance and it probe the depths of the creek looking for the shallowest path through, which ended up being along the cypress trees (often using the underwater roots as steps) near the downstream side to get across.

The water was the deepest yet I had to clear, well past my knees but--thank God--mere millimeters below my crotch.

On the other side, I checked my pack--the bottom of it might had dipped low enough to get a dunking--but no, it came out completely dry.

The swamp tromp was supposed to last another five miles, but the Monkey Creek crossing was to be the deepest. No sweat. =) It might be slow going, but I felt like I was in the clear now and hoped the water wouldn't pass my knees anywhere else.

The rest of the swamp tromp wasn't even that hard. Most of the trail was completely dry, and the sections with water rarely got deeper than my ankles. I figured I'd give myself all day to get through, and I did it in three hours.

This is Ryan, checking in from Shelton's Store. (That's at the intersection of CR 274 and SR 73 for those keeping track.)

To Die by Fire or Water--That is the Question!

I swear the whole state of Florida burns at least once each year. Before this hike started, I'd never witnessed a forest fire. At least not close up and personal, and already now I've witnessed several. Not to mention the prescribed burns I could see at a distance, such as yesterday, and the sugar cane fields. Florida sometimes seems like one giant fire.

Even when the trail isn't actively burning, you can often tell it had been recently where everywhere is burned black except for recently fallen pine needles.

And now, once again, walking down the trail, I found a sign hastily put up warning of a prescribed burn in the Panacea Unit. Which, unfortunately, was my goal for the day: Panacea.

I thought I had escaped the prescribed burns in St. Marks, but apparently the Panacea would burn as well. The note did not say that the trail was closed nor was it dated, but I kept my eyes on the horizon for new signs of fire and continued along the trail.

I finally spotted a large plume of smoke near the Marsh Point Campsite. I pulled out my compass to get a precise bearing on it and determined it was well to the south of the trail, but very much in the direction of the town of Panacea. I was just happy the trail wasn't burning this time. I couldn't tell if the fire was before or after Panacea, but I felt confident they'd leave the main road into the town open and I could walk to town with no problem.

Walking into town, the dark plume of smoke seemed to bellow out from the center of town, but that was just an illusion. The town, of course, was not on fire, but rather, the burning was going on behind the town.

I checked into the Panacea Hotel, rather a luxury really since I had come clean out of Tallahassee just the day before. I was so clean, in fact, I didn't even bother with a shower until the next morning when I hit the trail again.

The main reason for my side trip to Panacea was to resupply food. I could have gotten plenty more while in Tallahassee, but chose to resupply in Panacea so I could carry a very light pack for those first two days out of St. Marks. My guidebook showed an IGA (Amanda wasn't too happy about me calling it IAG earlier. *wink*) in town, which I figured was good for resupplying.

I never did find the IGA, but I did find a Big Top Supermarket where it was supposed to be with a large banner proclaiming 'Now Open!' It would have to do.

The store generally worked well for resupplying, but I was rather surprised that the vast cereal section did not have one, single type of granola available. Even CVS has a better selection!

Actually, calling the store a 'super' market is giving it more credit than it deserves. It's just an average, run-of-the-mill market. Generally good for resupplies, but not a lot of choices. For instance, there were no frosted cherry Pop Tarts, but that's okay because they did have the frosted cinnamin Pop Tarts which I like too. They didn't have granola cereal, but I found an intriguing banana nut something which looked promising.

I had about 80 miles to my next resupply point, which normally I'd plan to do in four days. I planned for five days, however, knowing the swamp tromp was just around the corner. I didn't know how easy it would be (or not!), but I was giving myself a whole day to do it--just in case. So five days, four nights I'd be out in the wild. Plus a couple of extra meals which I like to carry just in case I'm slower than expected.

And I picked up a handful of items for dinner that night and breakfast in the morning before retiring back to my hotel. Room #4 for those keeping track. And get this--no bugs! =)

The next morning, I headed out early, determined to get as close to the Bradwell Bay Wilderness as possible so I'd have the whole of the next day to get through that swamp.

The day was beautiful, crisp, and cool. A perfect day for hiking!

Until, a few hours later, I noticed smoke on the horizon. I didn't see an obvious plume where the smoke originated, so I could only tell that the fire was, vaguely speaking, somewhere northeast of me. Which, alas, was the direction I was hiking.

Throughout the rest of the day, I worried about the fire. I had little doubt it was another prescribed burns--they were really enjoying themsevles burning everything up, I thought. I kept my eyes open for notes pinned to trees or another information about where precisely the burns were happening.

But there was nothing. Near the approach to the Sopchoppy River, I could tell the smoke was getting visibily thicker and starting to obscure the sun a bit, casting a reddish glow across everything like it was sunset. Except sunset was still another five or six hours away.

Then I smelled the smoke. It was close, but by this point, the bulk of the smoke seemed to hover towards the west and at this point, the trail curved north to follow alongside the Sopchoppy River. Whew. It was getting close there, and I had no desire to hike through the burn area.

A couple of miles further up the Sopchoppy River and the smoke largely disappeared. I could see it on the horizon, but it was no longer covering the sun nor could I smell it anymore.

So my worries went back to the infamous swamp tromp I'd have to deal with the next day. To give you an idea of what it was, here are a couple of quotes from my guidebook:

"You will get wet crossing the Bradwell Bay Wilderness...1 MPH or less is normal. Keep gear as light and watertight as possible. Pack all gear that might be damaged by water into watertight bags before hiking this section. Hike with a companion if at all possible. Use hiking sticks, as the footing is unstable and each step ahead of you must be probed so you don't fall into a hole."

And my personal favorite: "It's not unusual to wade through water as deep as a tall man's chest."

This description made Big Cypress sound easy by comparison, so needless to say, I was a bit worried. And I sure as heck wasn't going to tell my mom about that 'as deep as a tall man's chest' bit until I was long done with that section!

So I kept my eyes open for Monkey Creek, which I knew I'd be passing soon. While the Swamp Tromp wouldn't start until tomorrow, the start of it is marked by wading through Monkey Creek. The trail today would cross over on a bridge, but I wanted a close look at the creek since I knew I'd have to wade through it further upstream.

And, according to my guidebook, Monkey Creek would be the deepest section of all. Consequently, I was very curious to get a good look at Monkey Creek.

And I did. I walked up to the edge of the water and studied the creek.

Plan B

I last left you with me shivering, wet, and cold, stranded on the east side of the St. Marks River with no way to cross.

I resorted to Plan B, which meant hiking back four miles on the Florida Trail, then following a one-mile blue-blazed trail to the Plum Orchard Visitor Center.

I borrowed a cell phone from one of the employees there manning the front desk and called a fellow turtle who now resides in Tallahassee.

"Hey, there," I said, "Have room for a wet, miserable hiker?" =)

Originally, it was my intention to call her for a ride into Tallahassee and a night off the trail from St. Marks--thus my preoccupation with reaching St. Marks. There's not much to see or do in the town of St. Marks, but for me, it was the gateway into Tallahassee and comfort. =)

I gave my updated location, and she said she'd be there in about an hour.

I took off my shoes one last time--they'd carried me from the I-75 rest area on Alligator Alley to the east side of the St. Marks River (about 700 miles), and their end had finally come. Say what you will of Payless Shoes, but they did a wonderful job. =)

Turtle would have a maildrop from my mom which included a new pair of shoes which I also purchased at Payless before I left SLO. Wassamatta_u had joked that I should have sold the first ruined pair on eBay. At least I think it was a joke, but I decided to mail these now old shoes to him to do whatever he wanted to with him. A letterbox gathering, perhaps, where the teeming millions can admire the well-used shoes, and the shoes being giving away in a raffle? I don't know what he'll do with them, but I sure wish I could be a fly on the wall when he opens THAT package. =)

To kill the time, I looked through the gift shop and museum, then read through much of a magazine about running a business for birders. It astounds me that there are enough people who own stores selling birding supplies that they have a whole magazine dedicated to them, and there's no magazine for letterboxers?

It was a fascinating magazine, though. Learned quite a bit of interesting things about birding. Not sure when it'll ever be userful, but it was interesting. =)

Turtle arrived and whisked me away to Tallahassee.

Oh, it was wonderful. I got to shower, work on Atlas Quest, and even watched the Simpsons movie which was pretty darned funny. The temperature would drop below freezing the next couple of nights, so it was nice to spend it in a nice, warm bed.

I ran a few errands, such as replacing my digital camera which appears will never be back to normal after the dunking it took from the canoe ride. I also had developed the roll of film from the disposible camera I had been carrying while hoping the digital camera would suddenly start working properly again.

I ended up taking a zero day in Tallahassee, which isn't to say the trail wasn't trying to catch up to me during that time! That evening, I got an e-mail from my mom, worried about me since some folks from St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge were trying desparately to find me. They wanted to do prescribed burns, but didn't know exactly where I was and they didn't want to burn me up. =)

The only reason they knew I was (or had been) there was because of the permit I mailed in, so I guess they were trying to make sure all hikers were safe.

I'd listed my mom's phone number as an emergency contact, but had no cell phone for them to contact me directly, so they called my mom several times during the day trying to find me, and even were out looking for me on the trail driving around in ATVs.

All the while I'm completely oblivious of the search, and well out of the way tucked away in Tallahassee. =)

I called the woman back who had kept calling my mom all day, who seemed relieved to finally know exactly where I was and my future plans. They were planning to burn the area around Port Leon, the area I'd hiked the day before, but I planned to continue my hike from the west side of the St. Marks River (after all, I'd already hiked everything east of it--no sense doing that again). So I'd be well out of the burn zone the next day. Much ado about nothing.

On my way out of Tallahassee, I got to see the state capitol building. Normally, I wouldn't mention something as mundane as a building, but for those of you not familiar with the Florida state capitol, there are two things I'd like to tell you. One, it is, hands down, the single ugliest state capitol I have ever seen in my life. I've seen jails with more class. And second, at least from the particular angle I approached the capitol from, it looks amazingly like an erect penis with testicals. I am not making this up. Floridians everywhere should hang their heads in shame. Everyone else should laugh at them.

Two days after she picked me up, my fellow turtle dropped me back off on the trail at St. Marks. I never did cross the St. Marks river by boat, which would have been fun, but I figured if hailing a boat was acceptable to cross the river, nobody could complain much that I chose to hail a car instead. =)

From St. Marks, large plumes of smoke could be seen rising from the forests on the other side of the river. The prescribed burns were well on their way, and safely on the other side of the river.

There's not much to report about this particular day of hiking. The trail followed a bike path north from St. Marks, a nice easy walk. I stopped at a convenience store near where it intersected US 98 for lunch, then continued along the trail--which did require walking through pools of water, bleh--until stopping for the night at Wakulla Field Campsite.

How to Set Up a Tarp In the Wind

I meant to describe some things I did differently to set up my tarp with such strong gust of wind to consider, but those stupid PocketMail limitations cut me off...

First, one side of the tarp would face directly into the wind to act as a windbreak. Its edge I staked right at ground level. Usually I leave several inches which I can look under, but not this time. At most, that left a two-inch gap under the edge of the tarp, which was small enough to block the wind.

I kept the inside height low as well, so less of a profile was there for the wind to hit. That's as far as I ever took matters in windy situations before, but these gusts were so strong, it was yanking the center of the tarp down ridiculously low, like a wind tunnel over the middle of the tarp.

I took some extra rope and tried tieing down the 'lifters' on the side of the tarp, but that just helped push the tarp down lower.

Took that rope off, then decided to run it from the top of my trekking pole, over the top of my tarp through a loop in the middle, and cinch the other end high on the tree trunk on the other side. It would pull up in the middle of the tarp and give me head room to work with.

I left the end where my feet would be low--it was at the head and in the middle of the tarp I wanted enough room to move around in.

With that final rope in place, the tarp rose in perfect definance against the wind. Another tarp job well done. =)

Of course, the real test would be sleeping under it that night....

I cooked dinner on the far side of the tarp, using the pitched tarp as a windbreak for my stove. It worked reasonably well, but being outside of the tarp definitely provided less protection than under the tarp.

I saturated the ground around my stove with water before lighting the stove. Given the strong winds, I didn't want to inadvertantly start a wildfire! I also kept a particularly large amount of water nearby--just in case.

Dinner turned out fine, though, and no wildfires were started in the process of making it.

At sunset, I crawled under the tarp and was swarmed by mosquitoes. I think they were hiding out from the wind under my tarp! On with the mosquito netting and gloves, and all was right with the world.

The wind continued blowing strongly all night, and by morning it included a few drops of rain. Or maybe it was condensation that had shook loose from the handful of palm trees around the site?

Looking out, it seemed like a foggy day, until I realized that I could see some distant trees, well over a mile away, while the sky was grey and menacing. It wasn't fog--it was rain.

Bleh.

At least I stayed dry and warm under my tarp. I was quite proud how well it held up during the blustery night. I did get up to pee and tightened some sagging ropes.

The bugs under the tarp were merciless, though, so I didn't loiter long after that. In my sleeping bag and covered with mosquito netting, I was quite fine. It was when I needed my hands unemcumbered to make breakfast (a bowl of ground up Raisin Bran) or eat it that the bugs pounced on me.

The rain mostly threatened a few sprinkles on and off for the next hour or two, never very long and hardly worth the effort of taking my umbrella out for.

I pushed on to St. Marks, where I planned to get off the trail--for one night, at least, maybe two. I had one worry, however: the St. Marks River.

The trail crosses the river into the town of St. Marks, but there is no bridge across. The river is much too large to be swimming across, and anyhow, I'd probably drown if I tried to swim with my pack on.

No, the expected way hikers are to get across is to hail a passing boat and ask them to ferry you across. There is a local one can call to shuttle you across for a fee, but my resources say it's "usually" easy to hail a boat during the day.

It was the word "usually" that bothered me. I've never been to St. Marks before and really didn't know what to expect. How busy is the river with boat traffic? Does that include windy, cloudy weekdays? I had my doubts, but the only information I was was that it was "usually" easy to hail a boat. I hoped they were right.

I could have called the local to pick me up from a nearby visitor's center, but that was a mile off the trail and he wanted 24 hours advanced warning, so I din't go that route.

Anyhow, hailing a boat to cross the river seemed quaint and fun. I'd probably be disappointed if I didn't at least give the option a try.

So off to the river I hiked, having no way to cross it.

The river wasn't nearly as wide as I imagined it to be. I might have been able to throw a rock across. Maybe. With the wind blowing in my direction. But I definitely could not cross it on foot.

I took off my pack and sat down at the water's edge, waiting for a passing boat to take me across. It was a little before 1:00, and I decided I'd give this hailing a boat thing a try until at LEAST 2:00 before I started making alternative arrangements.

The only boats I saw were in their slips on the other side of the river. I ate some snacks for lunch, while waiting.

Ten minutes later, I still hadn't seen a single moving boat, and I began thinking today might be an "unusually" hard day to hail a boat.

I could now hear thunder in the distance, which I figured didn't help my chances any. I don't know of many people who rush to their boats when a thunderstorm hits.

I looked downstream, hoping to spot a boat, perhaps coming back for the afternoon and saw the calm surface of the water near me turn into a splatter from heavy rain not more than 200 feet away.

The sheer ferocity of the splashing river startled me into action, and I grabbed my umbrella and opened it, tucking my legs and my pack under it.

A half second later, sheets of rain hit. It was a drenching I'd seldom seen before in my life, seemingly an inch of rain in mere minutes.

A flast of light lit up the sky, and a shockwave of thunder followed another second later. BOOM!

A particularly strong gust of wind nearly blew the umbrella out of my hands, and I clenched onto it tightly.

The rain was so thick, I could barely see the town of St. Marks anymore. And I'm huddled with all my possessions under a flimsy umbrella at the edge of a river I couldn't cross.

Frankly, I felt like an idiot sitting there, and an audience was somewhere, indoors and dry, watching me on a large screen TV and laughing.

It was still 20 minutes to 2:00, but I'd had enough. For nearly an hour I sat there, and I hadn't seen a single boat with an occupant. It was time for Plan B. I called it the 'hail a car' plan.

Sinkholes, Mines, and Tarps

Upon waking up in the morning, I was somewhat surprised to see gloomy skies and a thick layer of fog. I generally don't sleep deeply at night--at least not in the woods where you want to be alert of man-eating alligators and food-hungry bears--and peak around my surroundings all night long. You can do that easily from a tarp. I'll look at the sky and try to discern a pattern to the weather or listen to the splash of something entering the water.

I would actually sleep quite soundly at night, and usually do at first, to tell you the truth, but it gets dark so early and stays dark so late, I end up getting about ten hours or more of 'sleep' each night. Have you ever tried to sleep that long every night? It ain't easy, and I often end up tossing and turning wishing the night would go by faster. =) Not a big problems as problems go, but that's the real reason I'm often alert to the sights and sounds of the darkness. I'm bored with nothing better to do.

But I digress.... So all night long, I notice the brightness of the nearly full moon lighting up the area and casting long shadows. I can see the stars twinkling brightly all night long. So when I finally opened my eyes to get a start in the morning, it was a shock to see it so gloomy. A mere hour or two before, I was admiring twinkling stars. What happened?

I feared another storm had rolled in, knowing there was supposed to be another one behind the one that already passed. Maybe it rolled in early like the last one rolled out early? It wasn't raining, at least.

I made up breakfast--the last one in my sack of food--and packed up camp. A hint of blue started showing through the clouds. It was simple river fog, pure and simple, and the fog was starting to burn off. Fooled by river fog. Silly me. =)

The trail continued to follow the Aucilla River, or at least what was left of it according to my guidebooks. The Aucilla gets swallowed by a sinkhole, in its entirety, then can be spotted occasionally on the surface where it runs under other sinkholes.

So it didn't look like a river anymore. It looked like occasional pools of water. Scenic, but the water seemed stagnant. I imagine the bulk of the river is still flowing underground, below the sinkholes.

A few miles later, the trail dumped me back onto a road and the road walking continued. Almost by habit, I started singing 'On the Road Again' to myself.

The road passed what is labeled as a dolomite mine on my map, which I found entrancing to watch huge trucks moving around what looked like huge mounds of dirt. I didn't know what dolomite is or what it's used for (kind of sounds like an ingredient in Doritos, though, don't you think?), but I was impressed with their mine. Actually, I was impressed that Florida had something to mine other than limestone and coral.

The trail eventually passed J.R.'s Aucilla River Store, which was supposed to be good for 'hiker supplies.' I suspected this was another way of saying 'short-term supplies,' and I was right. They had a choice of about four different cereals, and I picked Raisen Bran or something like that. The flakes weren't very sturdy, though, and I suspect I might end up with a bag of crumbs by the time I'm ready to eat it.

Although I didn't need it, I also grabbed a box of mac 'n' cheese since I prefer to always have at least one extra meal on me at all times.

And then I picked up a bunch of snacks and a bottle of Coke to eat right then and there for lunch.

When the road walk finally ended, the trail led into St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. It was immensely disappointing to see a large pool of water across the trail. I was led to believe that the trail throught St. Marks was largely water free. The walking through water part was still further up ahead.

Maybe this water was a fluke, I hoped, and carefully bushwhacked my way around the water where clearly so many before had tried to do as well.

After several of these water bogs and an unpleasant experience with a bush with sharp, long thorns, I decided that walking through the water was the best thing to do.

Frankly, I couldn't go wrong. Knowing my luck, as soon as I walked through one of the bogs, it would likely have been the last bog anyhow. And if it wasn't, and there were lots more bogs ahead, at least I didn't waste anymore time trying to get around them keeping my feet dry.

So into the bog I went. And another. And another. Then, to add insult to injury, they provided a bog bridge to get across. Not sure why they bothered since our feet were already wet, but I used them anyhow since it seemed like the right thing to do.

I walked through more bogs, and over more bog bridges, in alternating patterns as if it taunt us.

Finally the trail came out on a dike and the walking went faster and drier.

I stopped to rest when I reached the Pinhook River campsite. A nice site with lots of pine trees (my favorite), but it wasn't even 2:00 yet. How cool was that? I'd probably hiked about 18 miles, and it was only two!

On to the next campsite, another six or seven miles ahead. My permit wasn't for the next campsite, but then I also reached St. Marks early so it wasn't actually good for Pinhook River camp either.

I lounged at the campsite for nearly an hour, first noticing that the hole on my right shoe had grown dramatically larger since I put it on that morning. Alarmingly fast, in fact. My left shoe took the better part of a week to do that, and my right shoe did it in a matter of hours. Probably that bog walking. I thought it was a sure thing that my left shoe would fail long before the right one ever became a problem, but now I wasn't so sure anymore.

Between the two camps is the official Florida Trail and a blue-blazed high water route. Based on the bogs I had to walk through, I'd give the high water route serious consideration. I suspect it was meant for REALLY high water, like up to one's waist, but there was no sign saying how high the water had to be before the high water route was an acceptable alternative.

But as an act of pennance for my last blue-blazed shortcut (camping under that horrid bridge), I took the official Florida Trail. And I walked through more bogs. Blah.

Both shoes came out muddy, but otherwise no worse than going in.

And I finally reached the Ring Levee campsite.

The views are wonderful. There is very little tree cover here, so you can see for miles in every direction.

The campsite was remarkably gusty, though. The wind didn't bother me, and if it kept the mosquitoes at bay, I'd have even encouraged it. But the wind was strong enough that I put some extra considerations while setting up my tarp.