Backpackin'

This place is huge, 58 square miles and only a tiny sliver gets the RVs, pop-ups, bicycles, condos-on-wheels. The rest is primitive camping along more than 39 miles of trails and dirt roads in one of the oldest and largest state parks in Florida. There are six primitive camping sites, each permitting up to three groups of four people, as far as 14 miles or so from the trail head. All but one of these sites has a hand pump for water, but the water must be filtered or chemically treated or boiled.

We've made several trips to the Myakka River State Park, which is just east of Sarasota in sort of southwest central Florida, and it has become one of favorite places to backpack in this state. That's because the vast majority of it is away from all that condo-camping I mentioned above. That stuff concentrates along a seven-mile hard road that runs along the Myakka River. There's a concession, boat rentals, boat rides, a tram ride, lots of electricity-provided camping; that sort of thing. Lots of alligators there, too, they say. They also have a sky walk, a walkway suspended in the tree canopy.

But the rest of the place is open, and in a backpacking-poor state like this, Myakka is a jewel to us.

So we're hiking back to the Bee Island primitive campsite, about a five mile walk. A lot of the trails here lead in and out of woods, in and out of "Wow, what a vista" prairie.  

We're in one of those woods when I think I hear a small truck engine in the distance. It's growing louder. Now I figure some moron is riding an ATV illegally on a hiking trail and as the sound grows I expect to see a camo wearing hunter riding a camo painted four-wheeler and maybe carrying a camo covered beer can when around the bend comes TWO ATVs carrying, well, to the shame of my too-cynical mind, good guys.

The trails here are maintained by volunteers. The volunteers are members of the Florida Trail Association. That's who these guys are, Bill Martin and Bruce White, giving up a Saturday to keep the trail clear so Mudpie and I can have a nice day. We were so impressed by this that we joined the association as soon as we got home. (It was $35 for a family membership).

Florida Trail Association volunteer trail maintainers Bill Martin (White hat. Good guys always wear white hats), and Bruce White (Don't let the red hat fool you).

We met another interesting pair hiking out one day. We were about four miles from the trailhead in one of those little woods. Coming towards us was this tall, stately looking young blonde woman wearing a white, frilly dress shirt, black shoes and black pants. In her left hand she was carrying a guitar case and in her right hand a thin, cloth bag that could have contained a fishing rod or a folded music stand. She walked, stiff backed, eyes straight ahead, and passed us without glancing at us or acknowledging our hello. Behind her came this young guy, shorter than her, walking sideways, bent forward dragging a huge black duffle bag along the ground.

"Don't laugh," he said, "This works. If you lose the trail, just follow our drag marks."

Sure enough, the drag marks led four miles back to the trailhead.

Throughout our hikes we witness signs, signs of various animals such as their scat and tracks ...

This is Mudpie investigating scat - animal poop - along the trail. We often found scat right in the trail, typical, Mudpie says, of certain animals such as Bobcat. It sort of says, "This is my trail." Among the poop we'd see a lot of fur and, sometimes, bones.

Signs of morons who ought to stay home ...

Initials carved in a live (so far) tree and a beer can, some of the enormous amount of trash people have tossed into the woods around the campsites.

And, for us, most impressively, signs of life and death...

Burn aftermath. From this will come new growth.

  On our last trip we camped at the Bee Island site for two nights. We had the place alone, except for occasional passers by, mostly bikers on a nearby dirt road, birds, squirrels and this guy.

 Along the trail we saw deer, one on the way in and two on the way out. At night we heard coyotes howling. And although we saw lots of signs for them - a lot of freshly rooted up earth - we saw no wild hogs.

 Helpful Links

 Myakka River State Park, Florida

Primitive Camping at MRSP