Kissimmee: Chandler Slough East to Oak Creek Hammock, 20 miles

I set my tent on the edge of the oaks looking east. Tonight is the full moon and I’m awaiting its arrival over a cow pasture. 

It was a wondrous day, though very long with some tiring steps in deep, soft sandy dirt that must have been wet only days ago. I keep telling myself things could be worse just to get it over with.

But let’s not start there!

No one visits the site overnight. I pack my usual wet tent and head out through thousands of glistening spider webs. 

Last night’s moon sets into mist and a white tail deer leaps away as I arrive.

It’s not long before I reach a road where three barking dogs race onto the road to let me know who’s in charge. I blow my whistle and they back off. 

This calmer road leads to a hugely busy one with just enough shoulder to feel safe. And when I leave in a little less than a bone-jangling mile, I meet a water cache and enter a fairyland. 

First, it’s a tiny cypress strand with huge pronounced knees pushing into my path. Comical limpkins honk from the trees and eye me as I lurch into the above-the-ankle muck. It brings back happy memories of the Big Cypress which feels ages ago.

There are warning signs through here to take the high road should any water be moving in here. I’m not sure if the concern is about the current or the creatures who would visit with water that active.

Now things are drying up and I get my feet wet only a little through the subsequent prairie. 

But now I meet oak hammocks that go on for miles. It’s sublime the size of these trees, particularly their branches, reaching straight out further than their vertical height. 

They’re covered in spider plant-like bromeliads and ferns, and spanish moss dances in the light breeze. It feels like walking through a terrarium.

The ground is sandy, covered with tiny leaves. And it’s cooler in here in the darkness. As I move deeper into the forest, I lose the sound of cars. 

I take hundreds of pictures 

in an attempt to capture this unexpected beauty forever. I also sit inside and soak it up, glad I walked this far. 

At a road, there’s another water cache so I fill up. Across the road a man named Jerry is hanging out under the beautiful trees with his dog Ziggy. 

He lives in Montana, but escapes the bitter cold down here and has also fallen in love with the hammocks. I take the ice cold water he offers  – as well as a chair –and snuggle with his dog. 

But it’s still a long way to my planned camp, so I continue on, this time meeting a palm hammock. 

There’s something of a cathedral walking through these stately towers. Some trunks are smooth and others have myriad appendages where palm fronds have broken away. 

The ground is rooty and uneven, finally giving my feet something else to do. I pass a few wild citrus trees with a few oranges, but decide to skip picking one to eat. 

I’ll see more palms, but nothing as intensely concentrated as this. At one wide open patch, I lay out my wet tent and eat lunch, then reenter the shaded majesty of the oak hammocks. 

I hear some rustling and see a few large black animals rooting around. Cows? No. Pigs! The feral hogs have no interest in me, and run off squealing. 

The day is long, but I’ve been mostly under tree cover and loving my day. Ahead will be a short 2+ mile walk on the floodplain, all out in the open. 

I drink up and prepare myself mentally for being out in the open, but nothing can prepare me for the lumpy sand road I walk on. 

As I mentioned above, it is utterly exhausting and right up against a barbed wire fence which warns in regular intervals to keep out.

But just on the other side of that fence is flat, luxurious grass. This is torture!

I whine my way through, squishing and twisting, filling my shoes with sand. It indeed could be worse and could be filled with water. 

I count my blessings as I reenter a hammock. There’s only a tiny bit of water left at a cache and the sloughs are brackish. One liter should get me through – I hope. 

I meet a lookout with a bench above the Kissimmee. It’s far too early and the sun burns, so I move on, avoiding a giant black snake that slithers across my path and finally choosing this little hidden spot with a view to the east. 

And there she is! Shyly arriving just as the mosquito feeding frenzy begins, so my pictures are limited as I need my hands to slap. 

I dive in, only taking a few followers who I lure to their demise. Lying back, she is right in my view climbing across the crystal clear sky. 

The crickets have revved up, a few cow moo and a million mosquito wings beat the air, thankfully outside my tent.