Big Cypress: 13 Mile Camp to Ivy Camp, 10 miles

I walk practically non-stop for ten miles through a Cypress Strand. 

The warnings were everywhere, that the going would be unbearably slow pushing through water, then muddy water, followed by mud hiding ankle-busting solution holes in the limestone. 

Oh, and of course, out of the water into straight up mud, soul-sucking mud that would take every ounce of muscle to pull out of and propel forward. 

It’s not that walking through water (or mud) is so bad. It’s that the effort is one of the most exhausting experiences you’ll ever have. 

But, heck, I was in the middle of a gorgeous swamp! Not the mountains with big views, but a vast, unique environment that fans out to the horizon for seemingly infinity. 

Talk about feeling fully alive. 

I sleep well alone in my wee camp that smelled a bit of smoke from a recent fire. I’m nervous starting out on this adventure since my map app builds up the danger right at the outset –

“Welcome to the toughest traverse on the Florida Trail. Between here and Oak Hill Camp (two miles) there is absolutely NO dry land. If water levels are low, you’ll struggle through muck. If water covers the muck, the going might be easier as long as you don’t slip and fall. Blazes peel off quickly in the vast strand swamp up ahead. 

Keep alert to your surroundings to look for a hint of orange up ahead on the diminutive cypresses and the beaten rut and footprints from other backpackers. Do the ‘stingray shuffle’ through the mud, sliding each foot forward one at a time, for best stability. Having two hiking sticks, you can move forward like you are skiing.

What lies ahead is one of the most difficult stretches of trail in the USA, and it goes on for the next six miles, with only three pieces of dry land along the way. Expect no better than 1 MPH progress through this vast strand swamp, the ‘Big’ in Big Cypress.”

I was kinda wondering why they named this Big Cypress. 

This was the easy part of the day, walking in knee-deep water on solid ground.

Just to get there is a wet and muddy four miles with only a few bits of reprieve as the trail rises slightly to a grassy bench with trees. One hundred feet of joy! I sing out before dropping back into deep muck. 

The day is beautiful though. Clear with large cumulus clouds. It’s not hot yet, but sticky and my hair is getting wild. 

I follow a swamp buggy road, water up to my shins, then push through deep mud to some barbed wire (here?!?) and eventually a sign indicating the hard stuff is beginning. 

I make it in good time, just 9:40. If I move as slow as suggested, I’ll arrive at the wee tree bench called Oak Hill by lunchtime. 

I pee, drink up and make sure my laces are tied then plunge in. The water is just above my ankles and the ground feels relatively solid. I glide like a skier and enter the strand, tiny cypress trees as far as the eye can see, most sporting bromeliads. 

It’s lovely in here. Snowy egrets with massive wingspans float in and perch in front of me as I slosh by. The blue sky reflects in the clear water and I make better time than I expect. 

So many people ask me how many miles I walk in a day. Of course no mile is created equally. I’m not out of breath climbing a peak at high altitude, but pushing against the water is exhausting. Plus, I’m careful where I put my feet with hidden roots at my feet. 

I reach the tree island of Oak Hill in about an hour and a half, after taking myriad pictures and video. There’s a tent here but the occupant is either dead asleep or out for the day. 

I collect water and make a well deserved lunch, leaning against a palm tree. When I study what’s ahead, I realize the hardest bits are still ahead of me, including the Black Lagoon. 

“In the heart of the Black Lagoon, you enter some of the deepest water encountered along the Florida Trail in Big Cypress. It can be waist high or deeper. The reason is that it’s a cypress dome within a deeper cypress strand. In times of drought, this may be the only easy to access water in Big Cypress. The deep water is where you see the alligator flag (tall green plants) to the east. Keep well west of those plants but within sight of the blazes to stay in shallower water. Once you’re north of the Black Lagoon heading NOBO, the landscape becomes one giant strand swamp again, just like the two miles south of Oak Hill.”

So deep water and more of the same, but this time double the distance of what I walked to get to the next tree island where I can sit down and rest. 

I stuff in more food and drink up. There’s plenty of daylight, and I’m feeling up to it. One step at a time, let’s check out that deep lagoon where the alligators hang out. 

It is dark with graceful cypress and bromeliads. The walking is easy and the water just to my knees. I talk to the gators and let them know I’m passing through. 

I don’t see anything. No snakes either. 

The trail notes are right as I head out more into the open. It’s starting to get hot and the walking is no longer easy. I begin to walk in water-covered muck that slows my pace considerably. This monumental strand is filled with less picturesque cypress that look more skeletal, bleached and vacant. 

Coming up is an area with yet another warning. 

“This part of the strand swamp has probably heard more colorful language than any other place in Florida’s wilderness. You will slip and fall into mud. You will lose the footpath. There are deep solution holes hidden under the silty muck of the footpath and you can end up with a foot or leg caught in one of them.“

I slow to a crawl. I don’t want my foot caught in a solution hole. I keep moving but test the ground in front of me before stepping forward. I often step on hard rock and carefully ensure there’s no hidden trapdoor. 

Fortunately, the Florida Trail Association has been out recently and the orange blazes are bright and well-spaced. Getting lost is nearly impossible. 

But getting exhausted is guaranteed. Even after my fear of solution hole ankle breaks is past, the watery trail is muddy and difficult to push through. I slip and fall twice, having to take my pack off in the muck to stand up. 

On and on it goes, like walking across the Sahara Desert. I spy palm trees far ahead and know it must be my next island, but I feel as if caught in a nightmare, unable to move my body forward. 

But it does move, if incredibly slowly. Tiny fish and their shadows swim in front of the wake my feet produce as if leading me on and I finally, gratefully, reach aptly named “Thank God Island.” 

I filter more water and eat something, this time taking off my shoes and socks which are filled with sand and mud. I could stop here. I guess I should stop here, I am so gassed. 

But the notes offer up advice on a better site, just 1/2 mile ahead. Of course, it could take a half hour to get there, but I suit up and walk on through water and muck, finally reaching beautiful Ivy Camp. 

No one is here (yet) and I pick a dry, flat spot to set. There’s a bench and even a raised platform. I imagine it can get damp here most of the time. 

The best part is a cypress dome sits just next to the island, so I get water and clean my shoes and socks as much as I can. 

Dinner is quick and now I’m cuddled into the alicoop. A red bellied woodpecker whistles then carves into a tree. Barred owls call in the distance, a bull frog grunts from the cypress dome only a few feet below me and the sky turns purple. 

Apparently even these islands have visitors like bears and raccoons. Good thing my food is stored in a bear canister. 

There’s only a little over three miles more of cypress strand though I’ll have a few more pine islands before I reach I-75 and put the swamp behind me. 

I must admit, as tired as I am, I have fallen in love with this wild and wonderful place. I will miss it.