Hiker's injured ankle leads to a serendipitous visit and a chance for an eerie encounter

Hiker's injured ankle leads to a serendipitous visit and a chance for an eerie encounter

February 16, 2014

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

Word Count: 926

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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"Hike Naked" I like it.

I’m at the historic Clewiston Inn sitting in the bar of the famous Everglades Lounge with its million-dollar mural with my ankle propped up and surrounded by ghosts.

With my gear fixed, my ankle rested and my new tent having arrived, I bade farewell to my Billie Swamp Safari family and hit the trail again. The trail northeast through the Big Cypress Seminole Reservation toward Lake Okeechobee was pretty tame compared to the swamp, but definitely not as wild or beautiful. It’s all canals, levees and sugarcane fields. I remember as a kid at Fort Caroline Elementary going to the Jacksonville farmer’s market and we each got a piece of sugarcane to gnaw on, and I thought it was the most exotic thing in the world.

One highlight of my walk led me past a reservation store called Dusti’s — a small unpainted aluminum-siding shack on a sandy lot with a hand-cut, hand-lettered ply board sign. Inside were a few shelves, bare except for some Froot Loops and Vienna sausages, four Formica tables, a Pepsi cooler and a hot bar with three tamales, two pieces of fried chicken and a vat of some kind of macaroni and ground beef soup. It looked like the kind of place outlaws would frequent, so I immediately felt super cool and adventurous.

While eating the best tamale I ever had, I chatted with locals Mike Sr., Mike Jr. and Ayme the cashier. My ankle aching and the construction on the road dangerous, Mike and Mike gave me a lift past the construction and with many warnings to be safe and not accept rides from strangers, sent me on my way. So much for my outlaw theory.

After many miles that felt like months, I was nearing Lake Okeechobee when my ankle just stopped. It was done. I was in agony and going so slowly that I was passed by a turtle crawling along the levee. I flagged down an SUV, and it was Ayme the cashier from Dusti’s! She was on her way to Clewiston and offered to drive me to the ER there. Turns out, Ayme is getting her degree in forensic science and it was her mother in the kitchen at Dusti’s making the tamales.

After a thorough lashing from the ER doc for hiking with a torn ligament, my ankle was wrapped and I was told to completely rest it for at least a week. I wrestled with the idea of coming home, but I was scared if I left the trail, I would not get back on again. So here I am in Clewiston with my ankle up and my spirits down.

The funny thing is, I’m in a place I’ve always wanted to be but figured I’d never get here. Being a Florida history buff, I had read about the Clewiston Inn and its famous mural of the Everglades, but knew I most likely would never visit as there’s nothing to do here but fish and duck hunt. It’s also not on the way to another destination spot. You have to go out of your way to get here, which is nowhere.

But this little town is steeped in the pioneering history of Florida. The area around the lake was swamp and the muck in the swamp turned out to be agricultural black gold. By the late 1920s, canals had been dug, water drained and The Southern Sugar Company had established thousands of acres of sugarcane fields and Clewiston, “America’s Sweetest Town,” was born.

We didn’t know then what we know now about the environmental effects on the Everglades that this would take, but I’m happy to report that the sugarcane industry is working very hard to restore clean water flow back into the swamp. Live and learn.

The Clewiston Inn was built in 1926 to serve the surging tourist and agricultural boom. In almost 85 years of guests from Herbert Hoover to WWII fly boys, this Inn has seen hurricanes, fires, prestige, scandal, births and deaths. So, of course, it’s haunted. The Inn is a favorite of paranormal investigators including the Ghost Hunters.

The main ghost activity is in the kitchen and two of the guest rooms. Room 118 is haunted by The Lady in White, supposedly a mistress of a sugar executive who would meet her in that room. She was killed under mysterious circumstances. I’m in Room 118.

When I asked the front desk why in the world they would put me in that room, they sheepishly said that it was the only room left on the first floor and that I couldn’t climb the stairs on a sprained ankle. I would like to say that I’m not easily spooked, but if I see a ghost in my room, ankle or no ankle, I will fly across Lake Okeechobee like I was Jesus.

I plan to slack-pack (day hiking without a pack) my missed miles around the southwest part of the lake to slowly strengthen my ankle after its resting period, then hit the trail out of Clewiston. Hopefully by next week, I will be hiking along the Kissimmee River!