Day One, 1 mile (Fort Pickens Campground)
It is a very early morning. Up at 3:15 to catch an Uber at 4:00 and my plane at 5:30. But a nearly full waxing moon lights the sky and my trip is a quick one to a place I’ve never been: Pensacola in Florida’s Panhandle.
Like most of my hiking, I was simply curious about this place. The 1,500-mile National Scenic Trail begins and ends with water. But for nearly all of it, a hiker won’t see the ocean until the end.
That is is they head north. As a section hiker, I could move in any direction I chose and it seemed to me less desirable to pick up where I left off near Orlando and see more of the same.
So I came here to head in the opposite direction and see how far I could get in two weeks and change. I normally try to avoid having hard deadlines, but this year I wanted to walk a portion of the Continental Divide Trail in New Mexico, the boot-heel I left unfinished. So in order to make it to my shuttle on the other side of the country, I needed to squeeze out what I could over here.
The air is delicious, warm with a hint of sea-spray. A friend of mine from my music days has contacted her friends to see if someone might give me a hand getting to the terminus. It wouldn’t be impossible to catch a bus or Uber to the beach, but I’d need to hitch or walk the eight miles into the National Seashore.
Besides, I need to pick up fuel before I start and I’m starved. So when Ken comes around to take me, I am very grateful. We first stop at Half Moon Outfitters right downtown then hit Four Seasons Restaurant for tasty southern cooking — collards, green beans, meatloaf and sweet tea. That’s when I realize the Panhandle feels less Florida and more Flori-bama especially with Ken’s lovely accent.
Pensacola was the first settlement in 1559, though abandoned after a hurricane. It’s still lovely and I’m sad to leave as we drive across the long causeway first to Gulf Breeze and finally Pensacola Beach and its wild protected seashore. Ken drives me all the way to the end at Fort Pickens. What a guy!
One of four pentagonal forts built in this region to protect the bay, Pickens is the largest. It was completed just 25 years before the Civil War, but remained under the control of the Union for the entire war.
After the war, the Apache Chief Geronimo was sent here as a prisoner but became quite the local attraction selling autographs and artifacts. The fort was later reinforced to combat German U-boats during WWII but today all that remains are ramparts and cannons facing a gleaming Gulf of Mexico.
As we wander the crumbling ramparts, I notice a hiker with a backpack just like mine, a Granite Gear Crown3. I ask her if this is the finish for her. Indeed it is. Sabine — or Hogged Up — has just reached the end. Her “tramily” was able to get a ride back to Pensacola, but there was not enough room for her. Great timing that Ken’s heading back.
And, that she reminds me I need to get permits now for Eglin Air Force Base which I’ll cross in a few days. It is a minor pain-in-the-rear because it requires creating an account, then watching three videos and being quizzed on what was learned. This is followed by needing to ensure where you hike is not closed for the day due to military training.
I completely and utterly forgot to do this! But there is just enough cell service out here to get the job done. It’s all free but with a war in Iran, things are heating up at the bases. Not to give too much away, but I walked through on a weekend, so it was completely silent in there — and one of the highlights of this section. Don’t miss it!
The three of us walk through crumbling brick arches where seeping water has created small stalactites. Finally, they move on and walk the one mile to Fort Pickens Campground where it costs $26 for my single tent, but there’s running water, showers, electricity in the nearby bathroom and an easy walk to the ocean where I watch willets and one giant blue heron hunt in the waves as the setting sun turns the sky deep orange.
When I turn to go, a full moon rises in the east and will become the starring attraction for a lunar eclpise by morning. I crawl in and sleep deeply under twisting live oaks, my bed on layer of acorns.
Day Two, 17 miles (Pensacola Beach)
The following day, I notice the full moon that has created spooky shadows on my tent has gone dark. Ah! It’s the Lunar Eclipse! I jump out of my tent and head to one of the abandoned artillery emplacements and climb up to ogle its eerie deep red shade.
Here I meet a man named Will and we share the experience of stars, moon and loud ocean. I pack up as it gets light and begin walking down the beach. There’s a shaded rest area two miles along at Langdon Beach with water and toilets — and garbage! Here I make coffee and watch the sunrise over sugar-white sand.
It’s a long beach walk to Pensacola, seven miles and change. And although it’s flat, walking in sand is a challenge and works my calves and feet. Near the surf sinks in, but above the tideline is soft too. So I weave along, saying hello to the early risers, most fisherman or joggers.
I must look a sight covered head-to-toe in long pants, hoodie with long sleeves, cap, glasses, even sun gloves. But my walking sticks and backpack give it away. I’m walking the Florida Trail and share this bit of information with a laugh to my beach mates.
Birds work the shore where starfish, broken up urchins and huge Man-o-War jellyfish cover the beach. There’s a Subway ahead that I decide will be ideal for an early lunch. I’m sure it’s air conditioned.
I love this day though. Not too hot or too windy and I feel as if I’m running, controlling my breathing as I heave along. There will only be a few days of beach before I head into forest and swamp. Might as well savor it.
In a few hours, I meet a paved trail and civilization. It’s a bit of a rude awakening. People often ask me about hiking these types of trails, ones that traverse a state. It’s not as though you’re in wilderness all the time. You still need to walk through towns and skirt cities.
Sadly, this part of the trail includes many long miles on busy highways. I decide to skip those portions as much as I can. I’m 61 and time’s of the essence. Might as well limit my walk to the best parts.
At the Subway a trans woman named Nova makes my sandwich. She charges my phone and gives me a few bags of chips for the road. The walk now is past bungalows and McMansions with public water spigots along the way. I even pass a spaceship house.
At the final water, I’m a bit stiff and tired so take a rest on a bench with a small bit of shade. A man rides up on his bike and is very forward, peppering me with questions. At first, I’m a bit put off, but he offers me a drink and some watermelon — and to take me to dinner later.
A girl’s gotta eat so I say, ok and take a seat on Jim’s terrace and we talk, or maybe more accurately he talks, a lot. Soon I’m revived and plan to hike to a tiny campsite on the bay side ahead. The dunes are gorgeous, dotted with oat grass, wild and wonderful. I come upon a few guys fishing next to a rope swing before meeting the road.
Day Three, 12 miles (Dean Campsite)
Jim drives out to pick me up and we share blackened red fish at Flounder’s Chowder with a still full moon brightening the bay. He takes me back to where I left off and I promise to take him out for lunch in Navarre. My biggest concern is water, but it appears I will have some halfway through my walk at Opal Beach.
I only have about five miles or so back on deep sand with seashells, shore birds, and soft sand. The sun is hot though and this will be the last of my walk at Gulf Island National Seashore. I know I’ll miss it, hearing the crashing waves in a duet with my breathing and moving myself through this protected barrier island, the only section of ocean on the 1500-mile Florida Trail. Tonight, I’ll sleep in the forest.
