There’s a routine to waking up in South Florida. The mist is down and that beautiful breeze I had at sunset is long gone. The tent is soaking wet but the mosquitos are a degree less voracious.
I know this all sounds awful, but I am cozy inside. It’s the getting up part that’s a bit of a challenge.
I kept my hiking clothes inside with me, in the giant plastic garbage bag. They’re dry enough, so I just have to sit up and get moving.
That’s the problem. I don’t quite want to sit up.
It takes super human strength, it seems, to make the initial move. Then momentum moves me along and I’m dressed and out, lifting a soggy door to exit to my beautiful scene.
Two alligators have moved into trolling position below and a few cranes crackle.
I make porridge as I pack up, eating while I stretch and watch a semi-circle of sun emerge through fog.
I love being out here. It’s not the mountains, that’s for sure, but it has a subtle and wild feeling. Unidentified noises waft from secret hiding places. Whoever lives here seems to tolerate me well.
Last night around 9:00, a car drove past on the other side of the canal. It moved slowly and loud, its muffler modified. I heard voices down the road as someone got out and dogs yipped. Then they drove off just as slowly.
I don’t think they ever saw me.
As I walk away now on mowed grasses, I see that there’s a gate on the other side that’s locked. That explains why someone got out, to lock the gate.
It spooked me a bit last night, but they moved on and afterwards I slept soundly. A good thing the gate got locked to keep the wrong types out.
The trail sends hikers too far north to this camp-spot, so I double back before heading east to Miami Canal. It makes sense really because that spot is pretty inaccessible unless you’re the gate keeper!
I come to the railroad tracks and another train sounding its horn. I hear it all night, though faintly and romantically in the distance.
One hiker camped here and came to regret it as you can imagine.
My walk is all on lumpy ground sheered to the nubs. It slows me a bit and is harder on the feet, but definitely a variation on things.
There’s one more well stocked water cache and I am deeply grateful. Because now it’s five lumpy miles of unshaded walking, my view looking at crop fields, canal and a row of power lines.
I find it oddly relaxing though, my mind occupied solving puzzles and creating talks. Every so often I hear a loud kersplash! as a gator slides into the water from his sunning station on the bank.
I move well and reach my turn, finally taking me north and out of the direct sun. I find a shady spot to drink and rest before walking the final bit on bright white, dusty road again.
Lake Harbor is tiny but people live here, one hanging out in his car at the post office, which appears to be open.
Highway 80 is loud and fast. At first it looks as if the trail goes under the road, but I soon realize they intend for us to simply make a break for it and cross.
Not a single car drives the speed limit, but I have enough of a hole to cruise through and head into beautiful John Stretch Park. Picnic tables are shaded by lovely live oaks and I find one to set up lunch – plus dry my gear on the grass.
I ask a couple set up with a brightly colored table cloth and four chihuahuas in a cage where I can get water. They immediately hand me an ice cold bottle. Life is good!
Such a great spot to relax and eat the last of my bars. The tent dries quickly, and I pull out the sleeping bag too. Just then the woman walks over.
“Are you hungry?”
“I am!”
“Let me fix you a plate!”
Miriam heads back to their table and returns carrying a plate loaded with food and a bag with four waters this time.
Had I mentioned that life is good?!
I am so grateful because I have already walked over 12 miles with a little over 7 still to go. Eating now makes things just that much easier.
And it’s delicious too. I thank Miriam and Miguel for their generosity. “Our pleasure to be a part of your journey!”
We exchange numbers and then I move on, climbing up to the levee and a view of this giant lake.
I parallel the loud road for most of the way. It’s the hottest time of the day, but the wind is blowing. Mostly I see a channel, then some marshy islands. Palm trees poke out from the marshland.
The trail is paved which makes for easy, if tiring, walking. Several bicyclists pass by including a trio of very tanned shirtless senior citizens.
In time, I reach a covered picnic table called Bean City. It’s below the levee and as I climb down, the sound immediately dissipates.
I drink some of Miriam’s water and rest my feet, before climbing back up. The trail soon loses the load road as it heads north. Below is a large RV park where I might have camped had they not forbidden metal tent stakes.
Many boaters ply the waters here and I can see my island ahead. But I know now just because I see it doesn’t mean it’s close.
More bikes pass and two young men, one who asks why I use poles. I make a big U to come around another canal on a green girder bridge. Dozens of men fish here where angingas hang out.
It’s not far to the final bridge, but the campsite is another 1/2 mile in, I hitch a ride with a couple of Canadians who pile me in the front seat with them and my pack and poles.
The camp is enormous, and very friendly. Cindy checks me in then offers a ride in the cart to the store and finally my site – right next to the showers.
It’s a cold one, but refreshing, and someone left shampoo and soap. Bless you!
They must spray here because the mosquitos are less voracious. My skin is bitten up and has some heat rash, my toe destroyed from the swamps but healing up nicely. Overall, I feel great.
A huge change from my lonesome site in the canals and this time, no view of the sunset. But the shower makes it all worth it.
