Beauty, again.
Days 23-25, 53.5 miles
Total mileage: 383.8
I set up my tent on a platform last night, which took extra time - stakes don't work on the wooden platforms - and I don't think it was worth the effort. There were lots of mosquitos, and I wonder if they came up from underneath the boards. I don't think I'll use a platform again unless the viable tent spots are all covered with standing water.
I talk to another hiker, again after sunset and I'm already in the tent. Trail name Soars, he hails from New Hampshire and says he has over 10,000 miles under his belt, including the full PCT and CDT trails. We chat again briefly in the morning, and he heads out a good half hour before I do. We never actually see each other. It's one of the oddities of short-day thru hiking, but I'm getting used to it.
I don't know what to expect after the prior two days of roadwalks, and the brief trail into last night's campsite was not particularly noteworthy, and alternately underwater completely or muddy. After 350ish miles, the tread on the bottom of my shoes has worn smooth, making the mud very slippery. Fortunately I have a new pair in my next resupply box, and I'm really looking forward to them as the forefoot cushioning on the current pair is also worn out. I set off in the morning at a quick pace, looking forward to some hot food in Christmas, a one stop sign, one gas station, one convenience store town 9 miles ahead.
Pretty quickly, I realize I'm in another very special ecological area. The Tosohatchee old growth swamp is stunning: verdant, green, and lush. Palm trees are mixed with fern and moss covered oak trees hundreds of years old, their branches stretching out horizontally over the thick undergrowth. It's sunny again, and the early morning light is streaming in at a low angle. Maybe because the last four days were rainy, the mosses are bursting with bright, new growth. Light greens, dark greens, and small, cauliflower-like tufts of white surround the trail, and practically glow they're so bright. It's all awesome, and I stop often to take picture after picture.
I post up at the convenience store/deli in Christmas for a long lunch as I dry gear, eat a tasty egg and bacon sandwich, and charge my phone. Another hiker comes by in brand new, spotlessly clean shoes, and he realizes first that we had 'met' the night before. This time we actually get to see each other. I ask how he's liking the trail, and he answers not at all. He doesn't like that there are no sweeping views, no mountains to scale and descend. He says he's looking forward to starting the Arizona Trail in March. I've hiked that one too, and there's probably not a more different trail than the Florida Trail. He stays for only long enough to gulp a soda and refill his water bottle, and then he's gone again. I think about him later that afternoon, as the trail first turns turns muddy, and then is underwater again for long stretches. Did he try to keep his new shoes clean at first? I wonder. I eventually order a cold sandwich for dinner, and set off again.
Eight miles later I reach a remote campground with lots of good, flat grassy areas and set up for the night. I see a large pile of bear scat about a half mile before the campground, and a bear print the next morning about a quarter mile past the camp. No sign of the bear itself, though. It starts raining shortly after I get the tent up. I check the forecast from inside the tent; there's only an 11% chance of rain. Despite that, it rains lightly most of the night, then heavily the next morning.
The next day's trail crosses through a short wilderness area, then picks up an unpaved bike path along the Econ River. After the rain stops, the day is an easy cruise and I talk to other hikers and bikers along the bikepath. At dusk I set up camp on a sandy beach along the river. Just as it gets dark I remember: alligators! Just don't camp too close to the water they said. Am I too close? I don't know. Maybe? I'm only three or four feet above the water, and 15 feet or so back. I've seen alligators sunning themselves during the day; maybe they're not active at night. I have service, so I google it: do they hunt at night? Yes, they do. Rats, not the answer I wanted. I grab my headlight and climb the short rise to the bluff, but find no room for a tent up there. I decide to keep my tent location, but unzip the rainfly on the side away from the water in case I need a quick exit. I check Wikipedia and it tells me they tend to hunt by holding still and waiting for prey to come to them. Okay then, no wandering around now that it's dark. I figure I'm not going to get much sleep; instead I wake up late and refreshed in the morning, and joggers are already going by on the bikepath above. Go figure.
It's another 15 miles on bikepaths to where I'm meeting relatives for a couple of days of R&R in Daytona Beach. I come across a girls softball tournament along the way. The speed of the underhand pitching always amazes me, and I stop and watch for a while. But Florida's coldest weather in 11 years is blowing in, so soon I move on.
