Trail miles 770 to 877
St. Mark's to Medart Best Western:
It is Saint Patrick’s day, so top of the morning to ye! Andy, proprietor at The Sweet Magnolia Inn plays the piano and serenades us with Irish tunes while we enjoy an amazing breakfast. Songbird and a lady from Europe gather around the piano and join in. It is one of those special moments you get at B and B’s. This trip is our first experience with Bed and Breakfasts, and we are hooked.
Denise, the other innkeeper and, I assume, wife of Andy, tells us ghost stories about the inn. Apparently one room is haunted by a man. She swears he once threw a small table across the room. She also shares how overwhelming the cleanup of the Inn was after Hurricane Michael. She fell into a depression and sat out in the garden drinking champagne. It is understandable as Hermoine, Erma and Michael have all visited this B and B in the last three years. The place is currently on the market if you have a hankering for a haunted hotel. Surely, the hurricane bad luck can't last.
Best Western to Martian Camp:
Best Western breakfast, stop at Rocky’s to replace my busted headlamp and Dollar General food resupply has us hiking out after 10 am. A late start, but we aren't punching any clocks, so who cares?
When we get off the re routed road walk and hit actual dirt trail we are pleasantly surprised at how dry and fairly well kept it is. I guess the tough stuff isn't until later. It’s another perfectly cool hiking day which is great for walking, but not shooting photos.
We pass the 800 mile mark. Below, Mark shows how far our feet have carried us. We are pretty awed.
The Sopchoppy River is delightfully filled with cypress and gnome like knees. I call this one the singing woman.
(Dollar General's are surprisingly great stores to buy trail food)
Martian Camp to Langston House:
Bradwell Bay Wilderness today, baby! It’s like the Everest of the Florida Trail. At least that’s what we are telling ourselves. It’s supposedly overgrown and full of swamp water and deep mud for five miles. A complete slog sufferfest. Mark is prepared.
Along the way we see our funeral wreath, before we die in the swamp.
The trail in the wilderness is overgrown and has very few blazes. This is the trail. I am not kidding. There is often no trail.
There are these cool pitcher plants.
And they are blooming! Lots of stuff is blooming and swallowtail butterflies lead us ever deeper into the wilderness. "Come, come little children", they seem to say as we follow them into the unknown.
Then we come to monkey creek, (cue the drumbeat), which is the prelude to the dreaded water march across the swamp. I pack away my phone and all communications cease.
And a spooky old tree.
P.S- Mark says to add that we are carrying everything we need on our backs that can’t get wet as the nights are cold. We also have 4 days of food and it is heavy.
(We hiked through on a very wet winter, I have read that Bradwell often only has a bit of water to cross instead of the 5 miles we experienced and our experience was considerably drier than friends a few weeks ahead of us. Timing is everything.)
Spooky Langston House to Vilas Camp:
These look like little orchids. They are tiny.
After we finish this hike I am going to have fun doing some research to identify all these flowers.
Around the morning fire we decide to have a short day. We will only hike to Camel Lake, about 10 miles away. We’ve been told it is lovely and has showers. A shower sounds good after our last few days of swamp marching. In our concern for Apalachicola, we miscalculated on food. We each have enough for one extra day. Might as well stay an extra day, as after Camel Lake there will be over 60 miles of road walks around the damage wrought by Hurricane Michael.
It really is another lovely day that starts cold and rises to around seventy degrees. We have been really blessed with good weather. The trail is smooth sailing as well, over bog and dirt and sandy rises covered in oak and pine. We get to even walk a really long boardwalk through a tangle of woods. LOTS of pitcher plants.
Our miles are zipping by until I somehow forget the information that Mayor had told me and we continue on the trail when we should have taken the dirt road to Camel Lake.
We hit a wall of blow-downs. We don’t want to backtrack a mile, so we go under and over and through. It’s kind of fun actually, but very slow.
We are very relieved to make it to Camel Lake and then horribly disappointed to discover there is no room at the inn.
Until we meet Jackie.
She’s an amazing 76 year old from Minnesota. She has been out solo car camping for over a month. It is something she has dreamed about for a quite while. She tell us she was unsatisfied ending her days just going down to the local hang out spot. She still has lots of adventures yet to live. One adventure is letting some stinky hikers camp in her spot. She shares a bit of scotch and some lovely conversation beside the beautiful Camel lake. She’s just discovered the writings of John Muir and shares some readings too. It’s a magical ending to Apalachicola. Apalachicola, Apalachicola, we will never forget you.
Camel Lake to Blountstown:
Road-walk day after another lovely visit with Jackie sipping some of her delicious French press coffee.
Miles hiked this section: 107
Lesson Learned: Embrace the suck!
A three minute slideshow of Apalachicola
St. Mark's to Medart Best Western:
It is Saint Patrick’s day, so top of the morning to ye! Andy, proprietor at The Sweet Magnolia Inn plays the piano and serenades us with Irish tunes while we enjoy an amazing breakfast. Songbird and a lady from Europe gather around the piano and join in. It is one of those special moments you get at B and B’s. This trip is our first experience with Bed and Breakfasts, and we are hooked.
Denise, the other innkeeper and, I assume, wife of Andy, tells us ghost stories about the inn. Apparently one room is haunted by a man. She swears he once threw a small table across the room. She also shares how overwhelming the cleanup of the Inn was after Hurricane Michael. She fell into a depression and sat out in the garden drinking champagne. It is understandable as Hermoine, Erma and Michael have all visited this B and B in the last three years. The place is currently on the market if you have a hankering for a haunted hotel. Surely, the hurricane bad luck can't last.
Today is a woodsy, uneventful, cloudy and cool hiking day. Practically perfect.
It’s also a hut to hut as we finish at a Best Western. Stubbs and Frisbee, the Sobo hikers we met, told us to make sure and treat ourselves with a hotel before entering Apalachicola. Apalachicola, Apalachicola, is all we have been thinking about for days. Will it be as bad as we've heard through the hiker grapevine?
Since it is St. Patrick’s day we hike two extra miles to go to Bird’s by the Bay for a beer and some corned beef. I grumble over the extra walk, but it turns out to be quite festive and fun. It is delicious too and we all waddle back to our room.
Since it is St. Patrick’s day we hike two extra miles to go to Bird’s by the Bay for a beer and some corned beef. I grumble over the extra walk, but it turns out to be quite festive and fun. It is delicious too and we all waddle back to our room.
Best Western to Martian Camp:
Best Western breakfast, stop at Rocky’s to replace my busted headlamp and Dollar General food resupply has us hiking out after 10 am. A late start, but we aren't punching any clocks, so who cares?
When we get off the re routed road walk and hit actual dirt trail we are pleasantly surprised at how dry and fairly well kept it is. I guess the tough stuff isn't until later. It’s another perfectly cool hiking day which is great for walking, but not shooting photos.
We pass the 800 mile mark. Below, Mark shows how far our feet have carried us. We are pretty awed.
First time I know something is seriously wrong, is when I hear and feel thunder. Not the kind from up above though. The kind that comes from the depths of my bowels. I drop back. Soon it is more than thunder and I can only walk about an eighth of a mile before I have to apply some liquid fertilizer to the bushes. This goes on for miles. Mark kindly walks with me and is dubbed my royal paper bearer. It’s kind of a crappy job.
I think I ate too much cabbage and corned beef last night.
Azaleas are brightly blooming though and some other shrub I haven't been introduced to yet is blooming as well. Songbird thinks it’s a fringe tree. The trail is also full of butterflies. We are all glad that we've been so slow hiking this trail that we are now witnessing spring.
The Sopchoppy River is delightfully filled with cypress and gnome like knees. I call this one the singing woman.
I can hear her all along the trail as small streams tumble in.
We camp at Martian camp and we eat and drink (I feel tired, but surprisingly well) and sing around the fire. Only a little singing. Let’s not get too weird here.
(Dollar General's are surprisingly great stores to buy trail food)
Martian Camp to Langston House:
Bradwell Bay Wilderness today, baby! It’s like the Everest of the Florida Trail. At least that’s what we are telling ourselves. It’s supposedly overgrown and full of swamp water and deep mud for five miles. A complete slog sufferfest. Mark is prepared.
Along the way we see our funeral wreath, before we die in the swamp.
The trail in the wilderness is overgrown and has very few blazes. This is the trail. I am not kidding. There is often no trail.
There are these cool pitcher plants.
And they are blooming! Lots of stuff is blooming and swallowtail butterflies lead us ever deeper into the wilderness. "Come, come little children", they seem to say as we follow them into the unknown.
Then we come to monkey creek, (cue the drumbeat), which is the prelude to the dreaded water march across the swamp. I pack away my phone and all communications cease.
We enter a dark and overgrown watery land. Let’s call it the fire swamp, full of reptiles of unusual size. We know they are there lurking, in the underbrush or under a fallen log. Gnats whisper menacingly around our eyes and ears.
There is a few inches of water above the thick layer of leaves and mud. It tricks me into thinking it’s shallow. Then I sink in up to my thigh. It’s bizarre. Slowly, I wrestle my leg from the mud's grip, only to be caught again. The trick is to try and walk on water. If I'm fast enough, it almost works. It is a skating motion. I slide my foot instead of stepping. I can only keep it up a bit though. Then I am stuck again and it takes a Herculean effort to pull my foot out. I try to stop only at roots or cypress islands. Cypress islands are when there is a little bit of solid land around a cypress tree. On these solid places I catch my breath and rest my shaking legs and hang onto the trunk of the tree and gather strength. Songbird and I like these trees. We hug them for dear life at times. (This might reek of hyperbole).
I fall into the water a time or two. We all fall a time or two. Mark falls with dark clouds of cursing, I and Songbird with giggles. It must be a gender thing. It is hard and funny too. There is a license plate stuck to a tree and the deepest water is the area the map says is scenic. It’s not very scenic when you are standing in mud and water up to your bottom. Sometimes it feels like the cypress tree roots are lifting me up in sympathy and then the next set of roots grab me and pull me under. Good cop/ Bad cop. At one point my foot gets stuck between the forks of these roots. Mind you, I can’t see any of this. The water is black, pitch black. I can only feel it with my legs and feet. I wet my pants laughing so hard, but who can tell. It is perfectly absurd and I love it.
I fall into the water a time or two. We all fall a time or two. Mark falls with dark clouds of cursing, I and Songbird with giggles. It must be a gender thing. It is hard and funny too. There is a license plate stuck to a tree and the deepest water is the area the map says is scenic. It’s not very scenic when you are standing in mud and water up to your bottom. Sometimes it feels like the cypress tree roots are lifting me up in sympathy and then the next set of roots grab me and pull me under. Good cop/ Bad cop. At one point my foot gets stuck between the forks of these roots. Mind you, I can’t see any of this. The water is black, pitch black. I can only feel it with my legs and feet. I wet my pants laughing so hard, but who can tell. It is perfectly absurd and I love it.
Part of long distance hiking is the stretching of your capabilities, both mental and physical, and this day, both are very stretched. When travails in life hit, as they will, I will remember this day. I will remember this day and smile. I might even laugh out loud, let's just hope I don't wet my pants.
One spooky old swamp is not enough for us, as we are currently camping at an abandoned house surrounded by howling dogs and whippoorwills. The place is purportedly haunted.
And a spooky old tree.
P.S- Mark says to add that we are carrying everything we need on our backs that can’t get wet as the nights are cold. We also have 4 days of food and it is heavy.
P.S.S- Songbird says I forgot the sound effects of moans, exclamations and cursing.
(We hiked through on a very wet winter, I have read that Bradwell often only has a bit of water to cross instead of the 5 miles we experienced and our experience was considerably drier than friends a few weeks ahead of us. Timing is everything.)
Spooky Langston House to Vilas Camp:
It’s cold, but not freezing. An icy looking full moon is above the roof line of Langston House. Is it really morning? My watch says so, my mind says NOT.
We have an impromptu meeting and two of the three want to stay dry today and walk roads after the water slog of yesterday A compromise is made and we set a course for fifty percent on trail and fifty percent on dirt roads. We all walk separately for a while as the tensions ease. With a compromise no one is completely happy.
It warms up and it is another perfect temperature for hiking. These woods are a bit boring; pine plantation mono-culture, interspersed with scrub thickets and wet trail. There are some cool plants. These look like a carnivorous bladder-wort. Insects will fall into the little fluid filled cups and be dissolved.
I call these UFO flowers. They are about a half an inch to an inch across and grow in boggy places.
These look like little orchids. They are tiny.
Here is another jewel in the forest.
After we finish this hike I am going to have fun doing some research to identify all these flowers.
Vilas Camp to Camel Lake:
Around the morning fire we decide to have a short day. We will only hike to Camel Lake, about 10 miles away. We’ve been told it is lovely and has showers. A shower sounds good after our last few days of swamp marching. In our concern for Apalachicola, we miscalculated on food. We each have enough for one extra day. Might as well stay an extra day, as after Camel Lake there will be over 60 miles of road walks around the damage wrought by Hurricane Michael.
Butterflies and flowers continue to guide us, as well as a magical serpent that carries us along these strange woods called Apalachicola.
It really is another lovely day that starts cold and rises to around seventy degrees. We have been really blessed with good weather. The trail is smooth sailing as well, over bog and dirt and sandy rises covered in oak and pine. We get to even walk a really long boardwalk through a tangle of woods. LOTS of pitcher plants.
And this lovely lady.
Our miles are zipping by until I somehow forget the information that Mayor had told me and we continue on the trail when we should have taken the dirt road to Camel Lake.
We hit a wall of blow-downs. We don’t want to backtrack a mile, so we go under and over and through. It’s kind of fun actually, but very slow.
We are very relieved to make it to Camel Lake and then horribly disappointed to discover there is no room at the inn.
Until we meet Jackie.
She’s an amazing 76 year old from Minnesota. She has been out solo car camping for over a month. It is something she has dreamed about for a quite while. She tell us she was unsatisfied ending her days just going down to the local hang out spot. She still has lots of adventures yet to live. One adventure is letting some stinky hikers camp in her spot. She shares a bit of scotch and some lovely conversation beside the beautiful Camel lake. She’s just discovered the writings of John Muir and shares some readings too. It’s a magical ending to Apalachicola. Apalachicola, Apalachicola, we will never forget you.
Camel Lake to Blountstown:
Road-walk day after another lovely visit with Jackie sipping some of her delicious French press coffee.
We are road walking today around a huge mess of fallen trees on the trail. A few hardy hikers have made it through this year, but we won't. We opt out.
We begin to see some real devastation from Hurricane Michael today. There are big piles of debris from homes on the road and whole sections of pine trees that look like they are kneeling down in prayer. Many houses have blue tarps for roofs. It is very sobering and sad. So much devastation and yet most of America doesn't even know it happened or the extent of the mess. I know we hadn't realized the extent of damage in the wake of Michael's path.
We see a familiar face as we near town. It is Amanda, who we met in White Springs, with her dad and sister.
We all go to Apalachee Restaurant for dinner. It is Friday and that means seafood buffet. Songbird and I opt out on the buffet and it takes a long time to get our food. Eat buffet!
Songbird takes off with Amanda and family to go camp, but Mark hasn’t been feeling well today so we hike into the central time zone and to a hotel. Did you catch that, we are in a new time zone!
Songbird takes off with Amanda and family to go camp, but Mark hasn’t been feeling well today so we hike into the central time zone and to a hotel. Did you catch that, we are in a new time zone!
Miles hiked this section: 107
Lesson Learned: Embrace the suck!
A three minute slideshow of Apalachicola
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