Outdoors
Published: Dec 18, 2006
The first hint that you're someplace where virtually everything outnumbers humans is the anemic "No Service" beep uttered by your cell phone. As you survey increasingly remote surroundings, it becomes clear that the wisest course of action is to turn it off. There are many lonesome miles to go before you'll use it again.
As one walks south on County Road 12 in Liberty County toward the palmetto laced abyss of the trailhead, the wooded roadside opens occasionally to embrace a small, tin-roofed farmstead or mobile home. These are the province of free-range hound dogs, all of which rise to a semi-alert status at the passing of a vehicle or hiker.
Their behavior isn't so much a threat as an expression of boredom. They appear to be looking for something - anything - to do.
Before long, the telltale orange blazes along the roadside end at a triangular reflective sign announcing the threshold of yet another section of the Florida National Scenic Trail. After almost 10 miles of road walk, this is the equivalent of a welcome mat. The end of a road walk is a cause for celebration. And in the Apalachicola National Forest, one celebrates alone.
The Apalachicola National Forest occupies 550,000 acres of Florida's Panhandle. It is widely regarded as the most remote section of the Florida Trail. It has but two Forest Service designated camp sites. On the west end is Camel Lake Campground, on the east, Porter Lake. To traverse the distance between them one must hike 33.7 orange-blazed miles.
The tread of the path is often no more than a game trail. It winds almost unseen among the fire-blackened trunks of the long-leaf pines dominating the landscape. Where the land rises, turkey oaks come into view. Once burnished with fall regalia, they have submitted to the onslaught of winter.
About three miles of eastward travel bring the hiker to a decision point. There is a shorter and more scenic blue-blazed leg known as the Trail of Lakes. Both its name and the map promise water, a relatively rare commodity in the Apalachicola uplands.A relatively dry autumn has redrawn the boundaries of the lakes. Their bare-naked banks are imprinted with the sign of raccoons, hogs, deer and a hundred birds.
Miles away from civilization, the trappings that accompany life among one's fellows fall away virtually unnoticed. The wristwatch is sublimated to the track of the sun across the sky. There is no spoken conversation, only thoughts scored by the crunching rhythm of footsteps. The appearance of any animal, no matter its species, is welcomed as if it were a friend. There is an exquisite loneliness to this forest.
If the Apalach is known for anything, it is for the legions of long-leaf pines which hold its ground in uncountable numbers. They are great columns of bark, rising powerfully from a dense carpet of wiregrass as if to hold up the sky. Where there are no turkey oaks, there is often no understory at all, save for the occasional expanse of saw palmetto. The absence of sight-obstructing vegetation allows sweeping views of the trail to come. Often, the orange blazes are the only clues to the trail's intent. So infrequently is the Apalachicola section of the trail visited by hikers that the tread is all but consumed by the relentless propagation of wiregrass and the bright-green shoots of new pines.
The bark of mature long-leaf pines grows in scaly, paper-thin layers that are easily peeled away. It is this attribute that makes trail blazing somewhat problematic for the Florida Trail Association's trail crews. The orange paint peels away as the pine sheds its outermost layers, until finally all that remains of the blaze are chips of faded paint.
With no clear trail tread and orange blazes long shed, a hiker often must resort to map and compass to divine a direction through these woods. Those hikers without orientation tools and skills would probably do well to choose another hiking venue.
The other threat to keeping the blazes intact is fire. And in a touch of irony that only nature can conjure, fire is what the habitat depend upon for survival. It keeps in check the invasive species that would prevent sunlight from reaching the grass lands and soil necessary for the pines to propagate.
The pines do their part to attract the life-giving fire by acting as lightning rods. From these strikes burning embers fall, igniting the forest. The orange blazes of the Florida Trail are decidedly alien, and therefore too are often consumed by the pyre.
In the days before European settlement when longleaf pine forests stretched over 90 million acres from Texas to Virginia, wildfires would range for hundreds of miles over several states. Now that much of the forested lands are settled, this vital task once left to nature is duplicated by the U.S. Forest Service.
For all of its debilitating effects on ease of navigation, hikers will be thankful for the wide open vistas the fire leaves in its wake. At no time are these sweeping views more important to hikers than hunting season. Unless you're a deer, this is the time to be seen.
As important as a water flask and a compass is the minimum of 400 square inches of orange that every hiker would do well to don religiously while trekking the wild during the hunting season.
The Apalachicola National Forest is a public hunting mecca for sportsmen in search of white-tail deer and wild hogs. It is not uncommon to hear the report of a rifle or shotgun during a December Apalach amble, and a day-glow-orange pack cover and vest ensemble will virtually eliminate the chance of a rope-bound ride on the hood of a pickup truck. Hunters are required to wear the prescribed orange while hunting so that they can be easily spotted in the woods. Hikers should endeavor to provide their hunting brethren with the same courtesy.
Be advised that this is no peanut butter-and-jelly day hike. Come to the Apalachicola National Forest prepared to endure or enjoy, the choice is yours. But by all means, come prepared.
Keyword: Florida Trail to read Mike DeWitt's blog, see photos and video, and pinpoint his current location while he spends the next two months hiking the Florida Trail from the Alabama-Florida border to the Everglades.
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