May 21st, 2006 Sandra Friend
With the recent rash of fatal alligator attacks, I’ve had quite a few folks talk to me this past week about their fears of the outdoors. For years, I’ve heard that alligators have been one of the top reasons that out-of-state visitors and new residents (who wouldn’t think twice of hiking in black bear country in the Smokies or grizzly bear territory in the Rockies) get freaked out about hiking in Florida. Will you see wildlife here? Most certainly. Alligators? Almost a given. Find a body of water, and there’s bound to be one in it. I’ve nearly stumbled across alligators several times while hiking. But every time, the critter (no matter its size) turned tail and ran. A recent exception was down in Shark Valley in Everglades National Park. They’ll lay right along the road. Use common sense. Don’t approach or touch a wild animal. Back off. When I hike, a wooden hiking stick is my trusty companion…just in case.
One of my more interesting hikes in recent years was when I was working on 50 Hikes in South Florida. I checked in with the Friends of the Florida Panther National Wildlife Refuge and noted on their website that a trail was in the works for the refuge, which up to that point had no public access. Biologist Larry Richardson and John Staursky, the Friends president, invited me out for a tour. I brought the measuring wheel, as I fully intended to write this one up for the book. As planned, the two loops of the Leslie Duncan Memorial Trail would provide either an easy walk or a rough swamp tromp through prime Florida panther habitat, looping around a radio tower close to I-75. It was rougher and wetter than I expected. Larry took the wheel, as we were wading knee deep in places.
About halfway through the trek he got an emergency call and we had to pick up the pace. A motorist called to report a panther struck by a car on SR 29. We met up with a fellow who used a telemetry device to determine what panthers with collars were in the immediate area. And we spent a couple of hours riding back and forth along that particular section of highway, checking on the telemetry, Larry getting out of the truck to bushwhack into the woods, hoping to find a sign of a panther that had dragged itself off the road. No such luck. Or perhaps it was good luck: we had no way of knowing if the phone call was bogus.
Six months later, as I turned in my manuscript, I checked with the refuge. The trails still weren’t open to the public due to some permitting issues for building the gravel parking pad.
I dropped my descriptions from the book. Last summer, I checked in again, and found them open: a new place for the public to explore, and appreciate, the wilderness that our wild inhabitants thrive in. Will you see a panther? Probably not. I’ve only seen one in my travels, and that was from a car. But you’ll appreciate how it feels to be amid the grasslands and forests where panthers prowl, and you’ll come away a little wiser and more alert to what’s around you as you hike.
Take a Hike! The Leslie M. Duncan Memorial Trail at the Florida Panther National Wildlife Refuge is off SR 29 just north of I-75, one exit east of Naples. Drive north from the off-ramp and you’ll find the entrance immediately on the left. The 1/3 mile loop is tame enough to take the kids on: hard-packed limestone that’s wheelchair accessible with assistance. The 1-1/3 mile trail drops off the tame loop and kicks you into the vast wet pine-palm flatwoods, where you’ll wade (except in the dry season) through wilderness terrain. TRAIL INFO & LOCATOR MAP
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May 8th, 2006 Sandra Friend
Mahogany Hammock Boardwalk
Visit the Everglades late in April? To me, this was absolutely foolish but, due to personal circumstances, necessary. I prepped like I’d never prepped before. Long sleeved shirts. Long pants. Mosquito headnets. Gallons of water. Many cans of bug spray. A healthy paranoia about getting out of the car. We stopped at Robert is Here for shakes, and jumped out of the car at the Ernest Coe Visitor Center, figuring we’d dash right in and beat the mosquitoes … and there were none. The sawgrass prairie: dry. The sloughs: dangerously low. The periphyton: dried to a crispy crust, a muddy webbing across karst and grass.
This was not the Everglades I expected. But the lack of mosquitoes were only the first of several surprises. I’d not been to Flamingo since September of 2005, and in the interim, Hurricanes Katrina and Wilma did their dirty work, with storm surges of 6 and 9 feet crashing over the seawalls at Flamingo. As evidenced by the photo to the right, the canopy of the tropical hammocks suffered rather badly, and the forest floor at Mahogany Hammock was littered with the fallen. It was unsettling to see these drastic changes to the ecosystems and yet, nature kept to its own pace of life. Lush ferns filled the spots where large trees had crashed, and vines (a lot of poison ivy, I’m afraid) plugged the gaps in the verdant wreckage strewn across the forest floor. A bright blur in yellow and black, perhaps a finch, flitted from tree to tree. Green anoles lazed on the stone-like shapes of strangler fig roots. And for the first time ever on this boardwalk, which I first set foot on when I was about eight years old, I noticed the paurotis palms in abundance. Not just in their spectacular stand at the beginning of the boardwalk loop, but poking out of the tangled understory all along the walk, especially on the southern side of this lush tree island. 
As we drove south on the Main Park Road, I noticed islands of palms all along the south side of the road. I’d never noticed them before.
At West Lake and around Flamingo, the white mangroves and buttonwoods are dead. They aren’t salt-tolerant, and the storm surges pushed enough salt inland to wipe them out. But it’s all a part of succession of habitats in the Everglades. The marly muck of the coastal prairie is typically deposited by hurricanes and becomes a base for salt-loving plants like saltwort and glasswort. As they draw out the salt, the buttonwoods and white mangroves can take root here again. In the meantime, it was interesting to see the thick coating of salt on the red mangroves fringing West Lake. A new and different phenomenon, which reminded me of reading that in parts of India, table salt - a precious commodity - is collected from mangrove forests.
West Lake mangroves
I was sorry to see the jumbled mess at Flamingo. The cabins are being torn down, and Eco Pond was destroyed by salt intrusion and the storm surge - the boardwalk wrecked, trees dead, birds gone to find another roost. The lodge and restaurant won’t open for a couple of years, if at all. They may need to be rebuilt. A chunk of the Guy Bradley Trail washed away, and the Coastal Prairie trail is closed, probably because of the amount of new thick muck deposited there from the storm surges. It isn’t something I’d want to struggle through. Part of the campground is open. Walking the shoreline, I looked off into Florida Bay and the water was murky. I don’t recall it being like that before. But there in a tree, a young osprey tore apart a freshly caught mullet while a crow fussed. Over at the marina, which is partially open, an American crocodile snoozed just offshore. Life goes on for those who actually live here. The Wilderness Waterway will reopen again, and the Gumbo Limbo Trail will get its canopy back someday. But for now, the Everglades are in recovery, at nature’s pace and in nature’s way.
PS. Good news! I’ve finished my part on the second edition of A Hiking Guide to Florida’s National Parks, Forests, and Preserves with Johnny Molloy. Watch for it next year. On to the next project!
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