What an extraordinary day of good luck. The day began with a sunrise, which was almost immediately blocked by clouds.
At this point, I have entered the Kissimmee Prairie Preserve State Park, with an emphasis on prairie. Once I leave the lovely oak hammock of Cowboy Crossing, I will walk 100% in the open.
It’s not like I haven’t done it before. The canals and Lake Okeechobee were full-on sun blast. But this will be a very long day beginning with my facing east, then, as the sun changes position, walking west.
Instead, a wind picks up and clouds keep me protected all morning.
I see lightning for several hours after dark, though never hear thunder. Once it clears, and the moon shines on my tent, coyotes yip in chorus. A couple of very weird barred owls call to each other, their hoots more like barks.
I sleep extremely well, happy to have such a fabulous mattress. It even cools off through the night.
My second bit of luck is that being a dry year, I can take a shortcut to shave around four miles off my hike. It’s not as though I don’t find the prairie interesting, it’s just endless and much of it blackened from prescribed burns.
There’s only a short area, about the size of a football field, that crosses a cypress strand. White poles – almost like goal posts – mark the height of the water.
I read recent reports that the water is only just above the shoes, too shallow for gators. Though in a previous and wetter year, a hiker waded through and was petrified when surrounded. He did live to tell the tale, but not worth shaving off those four miles!
Mostly, I walk on sand road filled with the tracks of the resident creatures: coyote, snake, deer, rabbit, wading bird and possibly a panther.
The prairie is wide open. It doesn’t look like it will rain now, but I feel so completely alone.
Not lonely, I enjoy my company and how the trail helps me work out problems and make plans. It’s more a sense of my tiny self in such vastness, the insignificant brevity that is me amidst the constant of nature.
Perhaps that’s because it’s so flat. Of course it’s flat here. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s easy. My body aches from the repetitiveness and the distances play tricks on me.
I can’t say I love this bit, but I am so glad I came to see it. I was curious and it was worth it.
I talk to any gators or snakes who might be hanging about, but the water is so very low. I’m glad later when I reach a much deeper bit (with me safely high above it) and know all those gators who spooked the long ago hiker had somewhere to go.
I reach the Northern Boundary and another campsite with another beautiful water pump. From here, I follow a fenceline with a vulture on nearly every post. Does this environment need so many vultures? I know I asked that already – apparently, yes.
It’s a few miles more on sand road and then a brushy trail to yet another road which leads to the lock. The lock tender says hello but doesn’t offer any water. I still have plenty (because it’s not nearly so hot under clouds) and intend to either collect from the river or from a cattle tank ahead.
I find a lovely oak to sit under for lunch, then follow the blue painted footprints on a catwalk to a gate and out to another road.
A man passes me on a bike and I know I’m getting close to Town of KICCO campground.
It’s a popular spot with several RV’s and Taj Mahal sized tents set up. A man named Jerry is using his leaf blower to clean off a large carpet in front of his camper. He offers me s soda, then ends up giving me three!
We chat for a moment and he tells me that got hit with heavy rain last night. Just where I was looking from last night, it seems. He mentions there’s a 75% chance it will happen again at 4:00.
Oh geez, it’s 1:00 now, I better get a move on!
I thank him for his generosity, then take off for the next site. It occurs to me at one point I could have simply set at that campsite. But with the shortcut, my intention now is to find the cow tanks.
I know it sounds a little gross, but this was how much of the water is obtained on the Arizona Trail. It’s rain water collected in a large cistern. I still need to filter it – and usually push aside any scum floating on top – but it’s almost always clear and delicious.
The sky looks heavy as I reach Rattlesnake Hammock. No water here and it still feels early. But four miles to the cow tanks and much of it is exposed.
I decide to keep moving as I meet the road. Yes, this will be quite exposed for the next 2 1/2 miles and I can see a rain shower moving from west to east ahead.
So I play a little game. I pick up the pace like a speed walker and see if I can get through this bit within an hour.
Let me tell you, after 200+ miles walking, I am fit! But also exhausted. The sky holds dark gray clouds, but also some blue and less sinister clouds. It may miss me entirely, but I’m up to the challenge.
Two cranes, almost comically tall, watch me pass then go back to feeding in the meadow. Small-headed, long-eared cows also pause to watch me move past. Haven’t you seen the Energizer Bunny, pal?!
The rain shower I saw ahead disappears and I even need my sunglasses for a moment.
In a half hour, I walk two miles. I’m cruising! The road winds around and comes to a few river access points, though I’m fairly certain there will be water in the tanks.
It’s lovely here as the river bends, giant lily pads and two great blue herons. Now the rain appears to have totally stalled and I am feeling far more confident as I get closer to another oak hammock.
It’s not so much that I fear rain, it’s lightning that worries me – and also setting my tent absolutely soaked.
Just as I hit the first trees, a truck pulls up carrying a few kayaks. The two lovely people are from New York and ask if I’m walking the AT.
Actually, the FT.
They tell me they just finished kayaking and are heading to their campground, happy to offer me a ride there.
I don’t accept a ride, but do accept a bubbly water which I drink fast so they can take my garbage, then let out a masterful belch much to their delight.
The woman tells me she’d like to walk the AT but only in New England. Fair enough. I’ve been pretty choosy myself which parts to walk.
They suggest a site just three miles away and I wonder if the rain will hold up a little bit longer.
Just as I thought, the tank water is plentiful and clear. I filter it, then consider just a few more miles to Long Hammock. Not where they recommended, but requires hiking rather than driving in and likely deserted.
I continue through beautiful oaks with a few pines, then pass through a short but stunning section filled with palmettos shimmying in the breeze.
This whole area is part of the Town of KICCO pronounced kiss-oh which stand for the Kissimmee Cattle Company, a thriving operation in the 1800s.
I cross its grade road and enter more glorious oaks, cool, shady and magical. The site is tucked into this loveliness, and is totally empty, even on a weekend.
Still, I set well out of sight should someone arrive and get the tent up fast before any rain comes. I eat dinner hearing boats on the river and cars off in the distance. A Carolina wren sings loudly just above my head.
And rain never comes.
