Don’t be fooled by these beautiful pictures. This was NOT a pleasant hike for me and my boyfriend, Matt. Our July journey through Hal Scott Regional Preserve and Park in Central Florida was hot, miserable, buggy, and involved more than a fair bit of ankle-deep standing water. At the end of the hike, we didn’t just walk back to our car. We RAN. We chugged water, stripped off our socks and shoes, and doused our feet in hand sanitizer in case of parasites or ticks.
If we don’t sound like expert hikers, that’s not entirely true. I’ve hiked through many different biomes. But hiking in the Florida scrublands–in the summer–is its own beast.
Our first lesson: don’t hike in the high sun. Our second lesson: don’t opt for a loop! Behold the famous last words of many a hiker: “I don’t want to go back the same way we came, do you?” Based on the condition of the trail further into the hike, it seemed like most people on the white blaze trail had answered that question with “yes, yes I do want to go back the way I came.” But not us. We thundered ahead.
As we went further and further into the brush, we noticed the conspicuous white sand path fade into grasses…
…and TALLER grasses.
Grasses we could handle. But with the grasses came puddles. We crossed a few–bravely, I might add–either skirting to the edges of the puddle or laying down a few palm fronds. But both of us knew–just knew–that sooner or later, there would be a body of water we couldn’t cross. And there it was: a stream running smack dab in the middle of the trail.
There was no walking through the surroundings to avoid wet feet. Yet, at that point, about two hours into the hike, we were not about to turn back around the way we came, so we waded through it. I, for one, hopped across as if through hot coals!
Then, with soaked sneakers, we entered the last leg of our hike, and it was this part that really did me in. Bombarded by the noonday sun and buzzing horseflies, my “nature fantasy” burst before my eyes. You know the one I mean: the hippie dreamscape where the human world and the natural world intersect to live in perfect harmony. But here, in the sun-beaten pine-lands, I felt lost without a water bottle and besieged by bugs, all with their own agendas for survival.
Still, we learned a valuable lesson among this ecosystem untamed for human needs. The struggle reminded me that the ecosystem doesn’t revolve around the comfort of a house-dwelling, air-conditioned being such as we are. I have much, much more to learn about my place within this rugged biome.
Luckily, I was able to take some pretty cool photos of the flora and fauna.
