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Southbound Through Big Cypress

Thirty Mile Hike on the Florida Trail from I-75 to US 41

I had been imagining an adventure through Big Cypress for some time, so when my brother, Shane, asked if I was interested in hiking the Florida Trail’s southernmost section with him, I jumped at the chance.

Time felt warped & unreal during the first night’s hike. I’m unsure how long we were walking on the dirt road before we hit the water, but it felt like an instant. Dark walls of cypress lined the submerged trail covered in sediment clouds.

Ankle to knee deep pockets of water-walks, beginning sporadically, and then eventually just becoming - the Trail. It’s pretty amazing, however, how quickly you can get used to walking in water, walking in darkness, and both at the same time.

What I do remember clearly is feeling slightly off during before & during the hike, as I was a bit sleep deprived, and hadn’t eaten well that day. At one point, probably a mile in, we reached a slightly raised, dry spot where there was a fork in the otherwise flooded trail. I was silently coming to terms with my unsettled stomach and general “blah” feeling, while my brother was inspecting our maps to determine which direction of the fork to continue on. Just then, I decided to finally verbalize that I was not feeling 100%, but as I began to speak the words “I’m not feeling good.” However, before the last syllable could even leave my mouth — vomit did.

Even in the darkness, I could also hear Shane’s thoughts wondering if this was going to end our trip terribly early. But after taking a moment to evaluate how I was feeling afterward, I realized I felt rejuvenated, hopefully getting out whatever was making my stomach unsettled — at least long enough to make it to camp. Turning to him after a stretch of silence, I said, “Well, I feel better. Let’s go!” So we took the fork and continued.

It was probably about halfway to our campsite when I really started to notice the heaviness of my boots and the amounts of energy I was using up to take each muddy step. Fighting off my second successive moment of — “this wasn’t part of the plan” — I kept walking, trying to generate a solution, because I knew the current situation was unsustainable for the remaining 28 miles.

My thought process in choosing to wear my hiking boots was focused on safety — to protect my ankles from water moccasin, which are common in the Big Cypress swamps — and highly venomous.

I’ll fast forward here to say that we did not encounter any water moccasin or alligators on our hike. That’s not to say you never will, but you WILL certainly encounter mud on this hike, so I would still recommend against heavy duty hiking boots on this section of the Trail. I had water shoes in my car that, in hindsight, I would have definitely worn instead.

Again, in a time warp, I recall us having to take another turn to remain on the Florida Trail, as opposed to a side-trail or swamp buggy road. In one of the mucky water pools, we saw a greyish wormy-snake — later to be identified as an invasive Asian Swamp Eel! An EEL?! Anyway —

At some point around 11/11:30 pm, we reached our destination of Ivy Camp (3.8 miles in). It was a small hammock that had just enough room for maybe 5 or 6 tents to set up, surrounded by the swamp. We set up camp and got to bed pretty quickly that night — at least I did.

It was a cold morning — 57 degrees — when I woke up around 7:30 am. Wrapped in my sleeping bag, I scouted the island that we had entered blindly the night before. It was small and entirely surrounded by water. I quickly took some photos and then went back to my tent to get my coffee going.

Shane woke up about an hour after me. As we finished packing up camp and we prepared our descent back into the swamp, I had an idea. We both put on our same wet socks, but as my brother put on his equally wet sneakers, I resolved to go shoeless.

Was it my safest idea? No.

Was it one of my smartest? Yes.

Did Shane follow suit soon after? Yes.

Marshy-mush seeping through your toes first thing in the morning is something I hope everyone gets to experience at least once.

Again, getting used to walking in swamp water surprisingly quickly, we moved easily through the mud, sawgrass, and cypress for most of the morning. That was until Shane, shortly after taking off his shoes and socks, received an unknown bite/sting/??? to his big toe. Standing in the calf deep water, leaning against a bald cypress for balance, I went over to help him inspect the attack site. Our biggest fear, of course, is Water Moccassin — a highly venomous snake that calls this area home. We luckily did not see the two small fang entry sites that we were looking for, and in fact, found no puncture wound or injury at all. Confused, relieved, but more on alert — we continued.

My brother had told me about Black Lagoon, the infamous waist-deep water cypress dome we would encounter on this early section of our hike. About 10 years ago, Shane completed this same hike once before. He made it to Black Lagoon on his first night, where he had to wade in the darkness through waist-to-chest deep water, winding through towering cypress trees, and alligator grass — and in fact, ideal alligator territory. Each time we seemed to be entering deeper water with cypress trees, we both wondered aloud whether this place or that place was Black Lagoon. He kept trying to remember where it was based on his recollection of only slightly familiar landscapes — as nothing out here ever looks the same twice.

Once we actually reached it, there was simply no uncertainty. It also feels like, as much as we were looking for it — it still snuck up on us. Only when we were in the center of the cypress cathedral, did we really stop and take notice that we had arrived. Black Lagoon was by far the most beautiful place I saw on the hike. Light splicing through the trees, bouncing off the clear, waist-deep water. I stood eye level with the base of giant cypress & ferns, filled with joy and gratitude that I am where I am, in the center of such a remote, awe-striking, and rarely seen wilderness.

I imagined coming back here with my inflatable kayak (weighs 40 pounds, likely impractical), or a hammock (much more practical), and just lounging amid the cypress trees, floating above the aquatic life below — hopefully ignorant of my presence — continuing as it would. Starting out early enough in the morning could leave enough time to do this and still return back before nightfall. Details are still being worked out, but it has certainly been added to the “To Hike” list.

Day one, we traversed from cypress dome, to marl prarie, to pinelands, and through each countless numbers of times. Growing so used to the procession that we would groan at the sight of a cypress dome miles away, knowing that we would eventually need to enter it.

Emerging from the water, amphibiously moving onto longer stretches of dry land. As the sun began reaching the horizon over prarie and pine forests, we encountered as good of a landmark as can be hoped for out here — a barbed wire fence (est. mile 10.5 N/S)

We were in and out of the mud, with more and more dry pine land areas. However, just as the sun went down and our headlights went on — did we encounter a minefield of sink holes hidden under the fallen pine needles and ferns.

We intended to find 13 Mile Camp, but with the sun well below the horizon, way finding was growing more difficult. Since we had found a dry spot in the pinelands, we decided to make camp there and determine our location in the morning.

We had a fire that night, and enjoyed the dark sky. While Shane was looking east, and I was in my tent looking west, we both saw the brightest shooting star we’ve both ever seen as it crossed the entire night sky from his east to my west.

I still think about it like once a week. He’s also brought it up several times since. It was crazy.

For breakfast, I had a croissant, which I dipped into my acrid, quickly cooling (and generally just gross) instant coffee. The croissant wasn’t a bad move though — I have been trying to get more creative with camping food, particularly on shorter section hikes where you can pack some perishables.

Shane has never been an early-riser, and sometime in my late-twenties, I became one, so I set out on the trail before him on Day 2. He’s a fast hiker, so it was understood that he would easily catch up to me within a few hours. I set out around 8:30 am. I soon encountered a forest road, and then, maybe a mile from our campsite, I came across Thirteen Mile Camp, where we had intended to spend the night.

Walking alone in the early morning light, I just took in everything I saw as it felt like it was being presented to me.

I left Shane a few signs of life along the way. He only saw one out of like 5.

As I was walking alone through a dried up marl pararie, Crawfish.

I spotted several crawfish that seem to have gotten stuck in the marl mud as it dried out.

Beautiful flowers growing where water and fire both have been months before.

Note to self: learn more about native florida mushrooms!

As I was drawing this one in the sand in the large swaths of mud at the Mile 12 marker (meaning 12 more miles until US 41(southern terminus), Shane caught up to me.

Butterfly Orchid

Took of shoes to ring out socks.

[mile 26 N/S → 30.8 N/S, est. 4.8 miles of dense everglades & pitted limestone]

Before entering the final stretch of the Florida Trail, the southern last few miles through the thick Everglades habitat, you descend once again into a cypress lined river-trail. It reminded me of the flooded dirt road we began this hike on, only I could see it slightly better, if only for a short time.

[swamp picture]

Emerging yet again from the depths, you can sense, even in the dark, the environment makes a palpable change from open cypress to dense tropical everglades sawgrass and mangroves. The limestone begins expose itself, pitted with holes that are filled with muddy water.

This is a section of the trail that, even in the suffering of the moment, I knew I would be planning to return during the day light so I could see the Jurassic beauty I felt myself passing through. Again drawn in by the wonder of this limestone underworld, I think about all that has existed upon it before me… after me…

The last mile, if I recall, took us over a raised levee that gave a nearly pitch black view of the sawgrass prairie, a rare sight on this hike. We could feel it more than we could see it. Shane had recalled it from his previous hike as being near the airstrip. Just then, while enjoying the breeze, we caught sight of a light shining from one of the control towers, having been concealed more by the density of the swamp than distance. We were nearly there.

At some point, the trail becomes paved, and then, gravel. We begin to hear cars passing by at high speed. Soon the gravel is lined with grass. The world is getting brighter and brighter. Suddenly on our left side appears a fence, and just a moment or two after — an airstrip. Buildings, cars, people. We walked to, through, and out of a fence — closing it, and the trail, behind us.

Camping:

Water:

Food:

Clothing:

Camping Gear

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