Florida Trail: Day 53
Feb 27, 2022
Mile: 465.2 to 489.0 (23.8 miles)
Start: Backyard of the 88 Store, Ocala National Forest
Finish: Small campsite nestled between pine trees in Caravelle Ranch Wildlife Management Area
I woke up at 6am and Shannon was still sleeping after having enjoyed many rounds of drinks bought by the locals at The 88 Store last night. We were camped behind the store and all night listened to the wailing of tomcats, deer browsing in the woods and what might have been a black bear crunching leaves as it perused the forest for something to eat. The sounds of nature were complemented with the whir of fans and buzz of loud electronics kicking in every 10 minutes. Shannon got up around 7:45am and we cooked a slow breakfast of oatmeal, tea and coffee before packing up our tent in the backyard of the store and heading out back to the trail.
We thought that we were headed back to the soft sandy ATV trail but instead we jumped on a packed dirt path headed north on the Florida Trail. The trail followed a fence line behind trailer park homes and rusted out junkyards which we quietly and quickly passed not wanting to disturb the people who were out and about their property and didn’t look too happy. The morning was a fast hard packed trail through the pine hills and forest that had burnt up maybe only a few weeks ago in a wildfire or prescribed burn. You could tell it was a fairly recent burn as the tiny green blades of grass were only barely poking up through the thick layer of charcoal that blanketed the earth. The needles on the tall Ocala Sand Pines had been scorched by flame and now transitioned from characteristic emerald green to a burnt umber, falling like a soft caramel snow that covered everything in sticky sap and long two pronged needles. The pine cones of these trees cannot unfurl to disperse their seeds unless they’ve been scorched by fire. As we walked alongside the blackened cones we could see that the scales were blown wide open exposing the high calorie pine nuts to scatter and grow amongst the charred earth.
The day started to heat up as we didn’t leave to start hiking until a very late 9:30am crossing through pine hills and sandy forest. We saw quite a few hikers today, mostly section and weekenders since it was Sunday and a busy access point for the trail. Surprisingly we ran into two guys hiking southbound who couldn’t stop admiring the burnt trees and claimed that they saw a smoldering tree but all we saw were the gray and white ashes of burnt logs. After bushwhacking through an active fire only a few days ago, we were 100% okay with not encountering any more flaming trees ever again.
It was a searing hot walk today as much of the leaf cover had burned during the last wildfire. My skin was baking under the unwavering glare of the sun despite being covered up with a 50 UPF long sleeve sunshirt, hat, sunglasses and hood. In order to deal with the intense, inescapable heat we listened to podcasts as we hiked behind campgrounds where it’s BYOW (Bring Your Own Water) and people lounging around their giant RVs, trailers and tents. There was no reason for us to stop this morning as the water sources were limited, the views were minimal and the sun was intense so we hiked a solid 14 miles before having a rest during the hottest part of the day. Today was more of a “mind over matter” day trying to stay cool by lingering a moment longer in the shade or picking your head up when a faint breeze came through. It was such a relief when we crossed under the shade of the pines and palm trees as you tried to drink in the coolness of the shade.
The trail wasn’t terribly exciting this morning but it was still pretty terrain amongst the sandy pines. At times we had to jump over fallen trees, ducking through downed brush and wriggling our way through the maze of logs. We celebrated when we finally reached the shores of Lake Ocklawaha which is actually a river that has been flooded by Rodman Dam up ahead on the Florida Trail. There was a beautiful campsite right on the lake under an enormous gnarled oak tree whose boughs were decorated with wispy strands of Spanish moss that moved delicately in the faint breeze off the water. The campsite was so peaceful set right next to the sandy lakeshore as the tiny waves lapped softly against the washed up logs. As we admired the soft sand underneath our feet and listened to the siren song of the refreshing cool lake water calling to us to jump in for a swim, we had to remind ourselves that we were in Florida and that the body of water in front of us was likely filled with alligators.
The idyllic peace was shattered by a rumble and roar of a couple of young dumb dirt bikers driving down the Florida Trail. I had to yell at Shannon to jump back as the dirt bikers would’ve run him down as he stood on the hiking trail. I was pretty sure that dirt bikers are technically not supposed to ride on the Florida Trail. We gave them some dirty looks as we were forced to jump out of the way and shortly after we heard them turn around as there was a big tree that had fallen and blocked the trail. We had only got around the downed log because we had ducked and climbed through the jungle gym of branches. The two young idiots blew past us on their motorized bikes and we had a fleeting moment of peace before running into another pair of hikers, a girl and a guy both barefoot. We weren’t sure what they were up to but it was interesting since the ground was filled with sticks and mud and sharp things.
Only a few minutes north of the campsite was a little keyhole in the oaks and hanging moss where you could peek into the water. A dead tree standing in the lake held an osprey nest filled with a mama osprey tending to her eggs. She was so huge and it was crazy to see such an enormous nest of sticks stretching a diameter of 5 or 6 feet wide perched high atop a dead tree surrounded by nothing but water. We do see a lot of ospreys on the Florida Trail with their infamous sharp piercing calls as an almost daily or multiple times a day occurrence.
The trail popped out of the woods and onto the Rodman Dam Road where dozens of ATVs and trucks were parked as locals fished the lake and enjoyed the Sunday afternoon sun. To me it was so searingly hot that it felt like my brain was leaking out my ears and we continued another mile down the approach road until we hit the dam and some covered picnic tables. On top of Rodman Dam the lake water roared out out of the locks churning the tannin stained water into a frothy yellow foam. Clusters of fishermen lined up on either side of the outflow with their lines dropped into the intense cascades, their bodies leaning against the chain link fence next to bold posted signs saying to keep a 6 foot spacing between fishermen because of Covid. It was more likely than not that they were staying 6 feet away because they didn’t want to get their fishing lines tangled.
The fishermen were dipping their lines right into the dam offshoot where enormous schools of fish swam headfirst into the current. These schools of fish were not small potatoes fish and my mouth watered as I looked at the good sized 12-18 inch long fishies. One guy pulled up a catfish of a decent size and there were signs posted everywhere indicating to throw back the fish that you don’t want to keep. He didn’t want to keep the catfish but he asked around him if anybody would like to keep it and finally another guy asked if he could take the catfish. It was a cool gesture because you never know what people are going through and if these fish are the only meat they can afford for their families. The guy was happy to give away his catch which was a big fat catfish and he had not even hooked it in the fish’s mouth – he accidentally snagged it on its belly.
Above the falls an enormous osprey kept circling the churning water below the dam diving down occasionally for fish but rarely flew back up with one. The birds that were really thriving here were the inky brown feathered cormorants who had lined up on the white buoys blocking off boat access below the dam. The dark diving birds perched precariously on the line of buoys soaking up the sun as they dried their plumage. When they got peckish, the cormorants would fly over to the frothy waters below the dam where they’d dive down looking for fish. Almost every single time the cormorants would come back up with a silvery fish in their mouth. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was almost like the cormorants didn’t have to try too hard before they would be gorged on the silvery tiny fish. Besides the dense shoals of fish thick in the water of the churning dam, the skies were filled with vultures, gulls and ospreys.
We trekked over the dam of churning water, down past the fishermen on the other side and picked our way carefully on the slick path where we held our breath as the stench of fish carcasses rotting in the sun here was powerful and unpleasant. The trail was littered with mummified fish body parts all the way down into the park which we dodged trying not to slip as we descended the stairs to the grassy lawn and picnic tables. Under the shade of a small picnic pavilion, we took a load off and rested during the hottest part of the day. Shannon rehydrated some instant mashed potatoes and I made gluten free ramen which are both easy to digest with lots of salt which we needed after sweating all morning. We each drank 2 L of electrolyte drink and water while we sat, took in some much needed minerals and let our bodies cool down.
With nowhere to hide on the trail from the sun today and it being so oppressively humid we’re finding the Florida Trail more challenging than even the deserts of Southern California on the Pacific Crest Trail in terms of maintaining the balance of your body’s electrolytes and water content. At least in the desert the dry air keeps you a little cooler because it would conduct the sweat away from your body as it evaporated. Here in Florida the sweat just clings and sticks to your skin as the water content in the air is so high that evaporative cooling doesn’t happen as much as in the desert. The sweat that collects on your exposed skin attracts dirt and pretty soon into your hike you’re covered with grime so more so than any other trail I’ve hiked, on the Florida Trail you’re just always sweaty, dirty, salty and gross. It’s also evident much quicker out here that if you don’t keep up on your electrolytes that your muscles feel the negative effects. If I don’t drink electrolytes at lunch, my leg will start twitching and the muscle starts pinching and you have to chow down on some salt pills or stop to mix up an electrolyte drink.
Lunch was a long drawn out affair but I felt like we deserved it after a morning of nonstop 14 miles. After the peak hottest part of the day, we reluctantly headed back to the trail after enjoying the beauty of the area and some excellent people watching as our eyes trailed on beautiful bass boats and both lucky and unlucky fishermen. It was another mile walk to Rodman Campground where we had mailed one of our resupply packages. At the campground entrance we were greeted by park ranger Kathy who pulled out a large heavy cardboard box out of the mailroom for us. Kathy was almost barely able to carry our resupply box which we honestly didn’t remember mailing so much food but thanked her immensely. She gave us Florida Trail hikers special permission to enter the campground for free, telling us to sit as long as we needed to unpack our boxes, use the bathrooms, fill up on water and even shower if we wanted to. It was very nice because it’s like $30 a night to camp here and to be able to use the showers without paying a dollar was awesome. Sadly we still had miles to go and we’d still be dusty anyway by the time we finished this evening.
On our way over to the benches to unpack our boxes, Kathy asked us if we wanted some ice cold Gatorade and handed us two orange Gatorades before pointing us in the direction of the dumpster and sitting spot. We thanked her immensely and sat down where we unpacked our boxes, sorted through them and re-packed our food before heading back out to the Florida Trail. It was difficult to leave the beautiful Rodman Campground that spilled out onto the lake where the bathrooms were spotless and very different from the bathrooms of Rodman Dam down the street where I had to bring in my own toilet paper and soap. Here the restrooms were spotless and so nice that I felt like I could’ve slept in them and not been completely skeeved out.
On our way out of the campground, a couple of bicyclists pedaled up to us and chatted asking questions about our Florida Trail journey. One of them had hiked about 1,000 miles of the Appalachian Trail and we shared with him our excitement for finishing up the AT. The cyclist said he’s going to try to go back this summer and finish it and we told him we believed in him. He had stopped at Front Royal in the Shenandoah National Park which is where I had seen the biggest black bear of my life while thru-hiking the AT. The bear was maybe 500 or 600 pounds his shoulder coming up to my shoulder as he snuffled through the brush for grubs next to the trail. I had seen him around sunset hiking by myself so it was pretty scary. I recalled how I hiked really fast after seeing the bear and come across freshly dug up 150 lb boulders flipped over in the middle of the trail where the bear had been looking for grubs to eat.
Anyways we said goodbye to the bicyclist, headed back to the Florida Trail where we dipped into the woods briefly and then came out on the side of the infamous cross-Florida canal, an engineering feat that would’ve connected the Atlantic Ocean in St. Augustine to the Gulf of Mexico in the town of Crystal River by waterways. I didn’t realize that part of the canal had actually been built before the project was scrapped due to WWII and later conservation efforts. Here we followed the old canal via an overgrown beautiful flat high trail for about 4 miles. At points we got sick of walking on the top of the dike and traveled down the steep slope to hike amongst the trees next to the water. We saw a banded water snake swimming in the sand under the highway overpass bridge as well as what appeared to be the tail of a venomous cottonmouth slithering amongst the rocks along the shores of the canal.
We were hiking and reminiscing about ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends and how stupid they were (and we were) when all of a sudden two mountain bikers came out of nowhere. They scared the living crap out of us to the point where even “Minnesota nice” Shannon scolded them with a scathing, “Normally when people come up on bikes they announce themselves.”
The clueless guy and his wife just kind of chuckled awkwardly. Then the guy bragged about how he was going to sleep in a nice comfy bed tonight after they were out biking. It was almost sunset and they didn’t look like they had headlamps so I don’t know how they were going to get back after biking away from their campground for another couple miles but good for them. The douchebag bikers took off and we hiked on to an equestrian camp that we thought we might be able to camp at for the evening. Despite having no signs posted that camping was or wasn’t allowed, we figured from the place having its three metal gates surrounding the camp locked and chained tight, it seemed to us that this place was probably closed and that we couldn’t camp here.
With the little bit of light left from the setting sun, we passed by a couple young teenagers fishing in the canal and then headed across Buckram Lock which is one of the more notorious canal crossings on the Florida Trail. Hikers have to have in their possession the knowledge of the secret code that is used to unlock the padlock, cross through a series of gates and locks and then unlock another padlock to leave. The lock keeper was around from 6 AM to 3 PM and you were supposed to call if it was after hours but for Florida Trail Association (FTA) members and thru-hikers the code had been shared in our navigation app so we were easily able to dial the numbers in and cross the lock.
The canal water shimmered in luxurious tones of peaches, corals and golden yellows as the colors of the late sunset in the sky reflected back on the still surface of the water. There was even a little sign showing how this canal lock has an automatic trigger that will open the canal gates when it senses a manatee swimming in the area and then shuts the gates after the manatees have gone through. It’s pretty neat. After we had locked up the lock (ha!) we stopped at what was now a temporarily closed visitor’s center that was shut down due to Covid. The area was empty so we had our pick of pavilions where we sat at one of the almost brand new picnic tables, filled up water from a spigot and ate a quick dinner. It was a very nice park and had been recently built with a visitor’s center but unfortunately it’s been closed and I’m not sure if it’ll ever reopen. We hung out for a while as the stars started to pop out in the sky, taking pictures, eating and relaxing before packing up.
Other FT thru-hikers had mentioned in the navigation app comments about the possibility of stealth camping in the back of the park in the woods. If you don’t remember, stealth camping means that you discreetly set up your campsite as the night is getting dark and leave before first light. It’s often used in areas where it is questionable or possibly illegal to normally camp somewhere. We try to aim for established campsites normally but tonight we were kind of beat from all the sun exposure today so we thought we’d be able to stealth camp utilizing user-generated commentary about the area from our hiking app. However, with the navigation app comments you often have to judge for yourself whether the commenters have actually done the acts that they write about or if they are making up B.S. that’s going to get you in trouble. During dinner we assessed the number and quality of comments about camping next to Buckram Lock and it seemed like at least one FT hiker had successfully stealth camped in the forest here.
So we followed the instructions to a T, traversing the parking lot towards the back of the park and headed through a wooden gate with a sign posted over it reading “Hiking Trail.” Everything seemed hunky-dory and found ourselves in the dark forest away from prying eyes. Shannon found us a good spot behind some palms that provided some coverage from the road and we started to unpack. All of a sudden a truck pulled into the parking lot and I got a little nervous that it might be some local rednecks coming in to mess around so we stopped moving. Shannon hissed at me something about my headlamp and I didn’t understand what he was saying.
“Shut off your headlamp NOW!” Shannon whisper-yelled and I fiddled with the button to go completely dark. By the time I extinguished my light, the truck had slowed down and you could tell from how it stopped and patrolled the parking lot that it was searching for something…or someone. All of a sudden it hit me – the truck was looking for us.
“Pack up your sh*t!” Shannon yelped as he shoveled his gear back into his bag. Quickly I grabbed what was in front of me and shoved my tarp, some clothes and other gear into my bag before clipping it together. The headlights continued past us, searching the back of the lot and I hurriedly felt around on the ground in the darkness to make sure I didn’t miss anything, stuffing anything loose into my plastic trash bag like my knockoff crocs and fuel canister. We stood stock still in the blackness, crouching behind the large palmetto tree as we stared intently at the truck moving slowly forward as it searched with its headlights before inching ahead in the dark to continue its hunt for the trespassers.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” I hissed. “This guy is looking for us.” Shannon and I were arguing whether the truck driver was onto us when all of a sudden the driver left his truck and started shining a flashlight in the woods. I froze and let loose a string of curse words.
“Follow me,” Shannon whispered before bounding off into the depths of the forested area. Using the stars as our light source, we scurried deeper into the dark woods, the trail thankfully flat and wide between the tree trunks. Every so often we’d turn around to see the spotlight closing in on us and staying calm, we put our muscular legs to good use and hiked faster. The adrenaline was flowing like crazy as we ran away from the security guards or whoever was out searching for us. We ended up coming up against a 5-foot-tall metal fence paralleling and yet blocking access to the entry road. We tried to get out of the fence but we couldn’t find a break in the twisted metal barrier and I felt like we were absolutely screwed. Shannon led the way on the hiking trail as our pursuer chased after us, trying to guess where the Florida Trail actually went. We couldn’t look at our phone for fear that the light would give us away. Just as it was seeming hopeless, we spotted a low spot in the wire fencing where the metal had been bent and high jumped with our backpacks over the property line. Our shoes hit the pavement of the Buckram Lock entrance and exit road and we hurriedly hiked on in the darkness as fast as we could using our nighttime adjusted eyes to our advantage.
“What do we say if we get caught?” I asked Shannon in a low whisper.
“I guess we just tell them the truth that we thought we could camp here and we’re two dumb Florida Trail hikers. I guess we can’t camp here and we can say that we thought they were rednecks and got scared and ran.” Shannon replied, shrugging in the darkness. All of a sudden it looked like our pursuers had called in back up as another truck came tearing down the dark road towards us and pulling their truck into the grassy area ahead of us. The vehicle blocked our walkway and we thought for sure this was it – we were done for.
Somehow luck was on our side and the vehicle turned out to be a mother and daughter putting mail in someone’s mailbox in the pitch dark. With a huge sigh of relief, we walked around the truck, down the entrance road and eventually turned our headlamps on in order to see where we were going as we neared the highway. I was carrying a plastic bag full of random stuff but didn’t dare stop to sort it out until we passed a stop sign, crossed the highway and ducked into the woods back on a trail.
Our adrenaline was flowing and there was no way we were stopping now after being pursued by a security guard who probably thought we were either domestic terrorists, homeless people or teenagers trying to mess around at the canal. Shannon suggested that we hike all the way into the town of Palatka which was another 6 miles or so. There was also a campsite about 3 miles ahead so I suggested that we check it out and see if it looks good so we could save some money on a hotel. The miles absolutely flew by on the flat logging roads recounting all of the craziness that just happened and hoping that our voices would let any larger animals like bears or wild hogs know to get out of the way. We scared up what I think was a raccoon at one point as it charged off into the dense brush and finally reached a random campsite nestled between rows of a pine plantation. It was a little patch of public WMA land where you can camp without worrying about security guards or park rangers coming after you.
My heart was still pounding as we recounted dodging the law to get out of Buckram Lock and cursed the idiot hikers ahead of us who claimed that you could safely stealth camp near the locks. I made sure to leave a comment for future Florida Trail hikers to not camp there so that the info was correct. We’re still not sure what triggered the security guards to come, if it was our headlamps flashing in the woods that we caught the eye of someone in the area or if there was a hidden camera somewhere that we tripped. Regardless, we didn’t mess around getting out of the area and looking back I guess I’m glad that there were security guards that patrolled the area. Canals are kind of like bridges and other important infrastructure that if someone decided that they wanted to blow them up it would be really bad news.
Back on the tiny sliver of the Caravelle Ranch WMA it took us about 10 minutes of exploring to find the supposed campsite which was supposed to be not very exciting or luxurious but offered some flat ground. As I bushwhacked in the darkness 30 feet back in the pine plantation through overgrown grass and brush, I found two tiny spots where the pine needles had been disturbed and flattened by other hikers. We wedged in our tent which barely fit in between the tight rows of pines and cat briars and snuggled in for some much-needed sleep. I was so thankful that we were able to get out of the craziness of being chased by security guards or whatnot at the canal. It was nice to not spend the night in a jail cell although truth be told it probably would’ve been nicer than some of these places we’ve camped in. Between the fluffy pine boughs we had the stars overhead watching down on us. Our tent was warm and peaceful and we rested easy knowing that we wouldn’t have to dodge the law again tonight and that tomorrow we might be going into town for a shower and a rest day.