Florida Trail Hiking Journal: The journey begins with 30 miles through Big Cypress swamp

Florida Trail Hiking Journal: The journey begins with 30 miles through Big Cypress swamp

By Lynn McNutt

February 8, 2014

Publication: Florida Times-Union, The: Web Edition Articles (Jacksonville, FL)

Word Count: 930

Jacksonville native Lynn McNutt will be hiking the Florida National Scenic Trail from Big Cypress National Preserve west of Miami to Pensacola and sharing her adventures through weekly journal entries and photos in the Times-Union’s Outside section.

An avid adventurist who loves exploring the outdoors by land or sea, McNutt is a graduate of Terry Parker High School, Florida State University and George Washington University and has been on the faculties of Auburn, Miami, Flagler College and Jacksonville University.

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A friend on the trail in the Everglades

In hindsight, I should have turned back. By day two when I was screaming, “I want out!” over and over at a searing, vein-popping volume. I knew this had to be some kind of hellish test. My first few hours were exciting and full of that nervous tension that comes with the start of something big and unknown.

Florida Hikes had a send-off breakfast for the 10 of us heading out that day. Then we were off, chatting and laughing and enjoying the beauty of this place. And Big Cypress is beyond beautiful. It is the only place on our planet where dwarf cypress trees grow.

An hour in, my foot slipped and my ankle completely rolled on its side. I heard snap, crackle and worst of all — pop. I became very faint and just sat right down in the mud. Fortunately, Tagsalong, Salty, Sarah and Duke were right behind me. I peeled off my completely muddy shoe and sock and Sarah wrapped my ankle. They asked if I should turn back, rest and leave with the group that was heading out the next day. Duke just kept kissing me over and over again as if to say, “It’s gonna be OK.” Duke is Salty and Sarah’s pit bull.

But I was in shock. I was scared, confused and angry. I mean, to have worked and planned so hard for so long and have it end in the first hour?! I truly believe the shock masked a lot of the pain. So after resting a bit, I got back up and trudged on.

After several hours, the pain crept back, so I downed another two 800 mg Motrins and started hollering out to see if any of my group were nearby. Nope. They had all forged ahead, assuming, I guess, that I would catch up. I never did. About 3 p.m. on the first day, I had gone as far as possible, so I found a dry spot and sweaty, wet and very muddy, I set up camp in the rain, crawled in my tent and tried to sleep.

The second day dawned with rain, and after breaking camp, I tried to make it to 10-mile camp. But in the swamp, 1 mile per hour is a good pace, and with a gimpy ankle I was even slower. I checked my watch to see what time it was, and it was gone! Somehow, somewhere, the strap broke. This was a major pain because now I would need to get my phone out to check the time.

While my phone was out, I tried to call the Oasis Ranger Station to let them know I was alone and injured. There was no cell service. When I came upon another dry patch, I played it safe and stopped. As I put my pack down, my chest strap broke!

Day three dawned with rain. I MacGyvered my chest strap with a small bungee and duct tape and was off again. Days three and four were the absolute worst. Imagine strapping a 4-year-old to your back, twisting your ankle, then trying to walk a balance beam covered in lard. Each step sunk you in shoe and soul-sucking muck with water sometimes thigh high. It was grueling and there is no place to rest, sit or take your pack off as it’s all just water and muck as far as the eye can see.

The evening of day three, my water filter got so clogged I couldn’t use it or get somewhere to clean it. Thank goodness I had also brought coffee filters, iodine tablets and a wide-mouth Gatorade bottle.

Day four I threw up, I assume from exhaustion. Sorry about that “leave no trace” thing. It wasn’t much as I hadn’t really eaten anything. I couldn’t swallow from exhaustion, fear or from the pain in my ankle that would make me feel queasy.

The evening of day four found me at Poison Ivy Camp, which should be renamed Mosquitoville Camp. I was actually feeling a bit better as I knew the next day would take me to I-75 (Alligator Alley). Then my tent poles broke. I kid you not.

I somehow managed to get my tent to a teepee-like position and crawled in. But not before the mosquitoes had treated my body like a Shoney’s breakfast bar at 1 a.m.

On the fifth day, I crawled out of the swamp onto I-75, covered in five days’ worth of layered sweat, Deet, sunscreen and mud, and waved down this ancient Honda with a young couple inside.

After promising them I wouldn’t kill them, they agreed to drive me to Billie Swamp Safari on the Seminole reservation. I looked in their back seat and there were 10 8-week-old pit bull puppies! One of which kept kissing me better. I’m beginning to have a whole new outlook on pit bulls.

So here I’ve been, safe and sound, living in a Seminole chickee for three days while my ankle heals (turns out it was a torn ligament) and my new tent arrives. Much thanks and gratitude to Austin at REI for talking me off a ledge and overnighting my new tent! And to all the kind folks at Billie Swamp Safari who were my solace in a storm.

So take that, Big Cypress! I beat you and the alligator you rode in on! Tomorrow, I head north toward Lake Okeechobee.