First time hiking in Florida. My interest in the Ocean to Lake Trail was piqued a few years ago by full-time hiker and film maker James Hoher (Jupiter). Judging by my experience, the FTA’s Loxahatchee Chapter volunteers ensure this trail remains an absolute gem!
Upfront for transparency – the trail was extremely dry during my hike. Plenty of drinking water, but on the path itself my feet were submerged only one time at a short water crossing. I’d assume these conditions were unseasonably dry even for this drier time of year. So, take this effort only for what it’s worth! I can only guess how much a “normal” O2L hike wading through wet swamps would have slowed me down.
Unsupported hike, used Aquamira for water treatment and fueled with an apple, two bananas, assortment of protein bars, maltodextrin, walnuts & pecans, bone broth, a Farm to Summit meal, and green tea. Saw 2 rabbits, 2 turkeys, 6 or 7 gators, 5 deer, 1 dead snake, 1 pair of mystery eyes in the dark, and 1 armadillo at night that scared me half to death. Also came across 5 hikers and 1 barefoot trail runner named Keith.
My wife drove me to the lake and I started recording at 6:46 AM from the Florida Trail / O2L junction just up the hill from the parking lot. Quickly signed the trail register, and made my way toward Dupuis. Beautiful morning, perfect weather the entire day and night for a long trek.
Saw my first two gators in Dupuis. Both let me look, then each time just before snapping a photo, dove for cover. Well, crap. Only time I used a manual water pump was my first fill up at Loop 4 Camp.
Made my way into Corbett. Still cruising. When will the trail get wet? Reached the sign for Bowman Island, and I still have not hiked through water. I do know I’m on the right trail. Keep pushing, not far from O2L halfway point. With the double edged sword of flat, level terrain (faster pace, less muscle variation), lower body is getting a bit too achy. I stop around now, lie supine, and stretch in whatever way feels best. Then about two minutes of lying motionless, eyes closed, checked out, and soaking in the dry breeze and warm sun. I’m a new man. But I’m thirsty. About a mile later, I wade into a wet prairie just off trail for drinking water. You mean I have to get my feet wet? I approach the east end of Corbett, a lot of gunshots in the distance from hunters. Certainly target practice with this much shooting.
Exit Corbett, enter Hungryland. Then it happens. I see a big gator stretched out in front of me on the dirt road. Its head is hidden off the road in brush. Is this thing dead? “Hey! Hello?” No movement. I toss a small stick at the beast. No movement. “Hey! Hey!” Nothing. I toss a medium sized stick. Gator slowly raises its head 4 inches, then just as slowly lowers it back. Oh nooooo, no, no, no. Screw this. I cannot get around to the left, I’d be trapped. I walk a big arch around this punk, keeping my eyes glued. Two steps, stop and look, two steps, stop and look. I’m ready to shriek like a little girl, turn and sprint if this guy charges me. I make my way back, safely past the gator. Unbeknownst to me, my fifth hiker saw the whole thing from a bench about 100 meters further down. Older man, long white hair, one trekking pole. He smiles, speaks, and is very friendly. “I saw what you did back there. That was ballsy.” Funny, that’s not the way I saw it. He explains that he is crippled and will be returning the way he came, as the gator is blocking his path. Onward through Hungryland, I pass several hunters in pickup trucks, all are courteous and we exchange waves. I pass by a large caged trap set for use with deer corn inside. That’s a first.
Reached the Bee Line Highway crossing during after work rush hour. Took a minute to find an opening in traffic, then scooted across and into Loxahatchee. I push on for quite a way, then after sitting for a minute and grabbing a snack, here comes a tall man running toward me. We exchange pleasant greetings. Was he wearing shoes? Maybe 15 minutes later here comes the same man running back. He stops and we chat for a minute. I glance down at Keith’s feet. Sure enough, no shoes. He notices and asks why my pack is so small. I press on into the evening. Maybe Loxahatchee will give me wet feet? I reach just a bit past 40 miles before turning on my headlamp. It’s dark now, and I stump my right big toe on a cypress knee that causes me to grit my teeth. Crap! Keep a closer look, Will. This later happens two or three times again, not as bad but always the same toe. I’m thirsty, and my guide says there is a water pump just ahead. Keep my eyes peeled, but I pass the “just ahead” mark. Ugh. Switch to highbeam, backtrack for a minute, no pump. Ok, forget it. About a mile later I access water just off trail near a Cypress strand. Exit Loxahatchee with dry feet.
Merged with the Pantano Trail and able to pick up the pace. It’s dark, and I am running between two parallel bodies of water. What if a gator shows up on the road again? I’m nervous. I peer ahead as far as my light beam allows, fearful of that same event occurring at night. I stop for a couple minutes and mix my last maltodextrin. What if one comes at me while I’m stopped? Why am I afraid of gators right now? Shaking off my irrational paranoia, I press on only to have the sound of music coming up behind me. I turn around and see nothing. Then comes a young man on what seems like an electric motorcycle, going maybe 20 mph with zero headlights. I step off the road, he is startled by my presence at the last minute and apologizes. You mean my headlamp is that weak?
Entered Riverbend. Very calm and peaceful. I come up on two deer lying in the grass just off trail. They watch as I pass by roughly 20 feet away and do not get up from their rest, just like the trail they are calm.
Reached the Indiantown Road underpass, it’s scary. Flip on highbeam. “Hey! Anybody?” No sign of people or animals. About half an hour later I reach the I-95 underpass. Gosh, this is worse than the first one. Same precautions, but the loud reverberation caused by passing traffic overhead is nerve-racking. I pass through, then it happens. Where is the trail? I know the route turns left after the interstate, but I see no path. No orange blaze. I’m standing next to magnificent cypress trees, some about 6 feet in diameter at base. I marvel for a second, then search for the trail. Walk here, there, scramble in the direction I know to go, check my app gps. This continues, and for nearly 10 minutes I am Christian in the Slough of Despond. Finally realizing my error, I find the path literally hugs the concrete wall of I-95. Yea, that hard left should have been harder, dummy.
With the hum of I-95 receding into the background, I approach East Cypress Creek campsite near mile 50. This was my planned sleeping spot if I decided to bail on the single push attempt, but my point of no return if not. Feeling strong, I didn’t even consider stopping. Amazing what not hiking through miles of wet swamp will do for you. I reach the Hobes Grove Canal crossing and finally submerge my feet on the trail.
Entered Jonathan Dickinson State Park. Cruising along, and I see the pair of mystery eyes. Maybe a deer but I could not tell by the movement. When will I get to the sand dunes? I approach a lone and spindly tree just ahead and abruptly stop when something catches my eye about 15 feet up on a branch. What in the world? “Hey! What are you doing?” Something wavy and shiny seemingly responds to my voice. This has to be one of two things – a glowing weasel, or a skunk with a reflective white stripe. Flip on high beam. Oh, neither. It’s a reflective ribbon caught in a tree dancing in the wind. When the dunes came, they came. Keep going, Will. Driving my poles hard, I am grateful that I attached mud baskets albeit never needing them for mud.
I exit the Park, a little over two miles to go. On the road now, and I’m jogging most of it. It’s quiet, well after midnight, and not a single car drives by. Passing a long narrow business strip along Dixie Hwy, I see a bright red Open sign for a florist shop. That’s odd. I see railroad warning lights and bells come on a ways ahead, but hear no train approaching. Suddenly the high speed passenger train zips by on the other side of the road. Damn that’s loud! My hearing is rather sensitive after 18 hours of mostly solitude. I call my wife with 1 mile to go and ask her to meet me at the beach parking lot. She is sleeping, but loves me enough to make the 5 minute drive from our Airbnb. Teenage sons stay asleep. Priorities. I hustle through The Banyan Tree Tunnel, noticing security guards in parked vehicles and hoping they aren’t too nosey with the weird sight of me. I spot our van parked in the lot, run past and onto the beach where my wife is waiting. She snaps my end photo. Garmin reads 1:29 when I reach ocean water. Activity recording states 18h 43m 35s.