The following is a week late. Sorry about that.
Five Camping Things
This past weekend we impulsively went down to the Flamingo Campground at the Florida Bay end of Everglades National Park. We both love The Everglades and Big Cypress and the weather was supposed to be delightful. (It was!) With that in mind, this week’s Five Things is themed around our camping trip.
1) Semi-Glamping
After our last camping trip out to Big Cypress (Bear Island) where it’s considered “primitive” with vault toilets, not electricity, and no running water, the Flamingo Campground felt all Disney-fied and fancy. They sites are drive-up on Loop A and there are several bathhouses staggered throughout the loop. Each bathhouse has an outside sink for cleaning dishes and gear, showers (with occasional hot water), toilets, and sinks. There’s soap instead of just a hand sanitizer dispenser and it has electricity. The sites don’t have electric, but they have picnic tables and a fire ring with a grill top.
It was also unsettlingly quiet at night. Like, usually you hear night creatures at night when you’re camping. In Big Cypress, we heard two different owls, a Chuck-will’s-widow, crickets, frogs, and a whole cacophony of other creatures. We saw a barred owl at Eco Pond near Loop A, but we barely heard any animals after night fell. A few humans at nearby campsites, but overall it was quieter than our own backyard.
Maybe the quiet at midnight was to make up for the osprey family over near the Bay, who yelled for hours at dusk and dawn.
For people who want to experience the southern end of Everglades National Park at night (or late in the day), but don’t own or want to sleep in a tent, they now have big Eco Tents that are basically raised, closed shelters with a lamp and USB connections. You still need to have your own sleeping gear, but it promises to keep you “off the ground” and “out of the mud.” You’ll still need to secure your food in a car unless you want to wake up to a vulture eating Doritos on your chest. The black vultures are not intimidated and do not play.
The lodge is still “coming soon” even though it’s been in some state of planning since Hurricane Andrew. At least now they have some containers up on platforms and it’s starting to look lodge-like instead of the very-cool derelict motel that used to be covered in graffiti off Guy Bradley Trail.
I came to the conclusion I’m equal parts feral and “high maintenance.” I’d much rather be primitive camping where I can just pee in the woods rather than hoof it up to the bathhouse and be around other people. On the other hand, yes, I do pack makeup. I have an eyeshadow single, compact, and waterproof mascara waiting for their next adventure.
2) Are we really here?
Speaking of other people, not one of them seemed to notice the red-shouldered hawk that hung around the campsite half the morning. I watched one dude walk right past it and its recently-caught breakfast, and not even glance over. How do you not see a bird that come up almost to your knees, my man? The same hawk flew past the guy over to a cabbage palm where it ate the mouse jerky it brought with it. The hawk flew back to the spot near a picnic table behind the bathhouse, and got some more from the bird buffet. The family across from us didn’t ever look up. The older couple fifteen feet from the hawk never seemed to notice.
Finally, the hawk decided to take the rest of its food to a nearby bush where it let me get close enough to take phone pictures. With the zoom lens on the Canon, I could see the blood on the hawk’s beak. Meanwhile, people walked and drove by and never even glanced that way.
Husband I started looking at each other, wondering if we were sharing a hallucination.
We started to wonder if the campers that had disappeared in the night hadn’t been alone. Maybe we’d disappeared, too, and no one else knew.
Surely, if you’re out camping, you’d be interested enough in nature to notice a bird with a 3.5-foot wingspan hanging out next to you. Right?
3) Everything Old Is New Again
Since conflict with Russia apparently comes back into fashion like low-waisted jeans or scrunchies, it was a bit surreal seeing the Nike Missile Site in person. We’ve heard rumors about it being open to the public for ranger-led tours during certain hours, but hadn’t made it down during those specific hours before.
When Husband saw that we still had time to make it before they’d closed the gates for the day, he went into full-on Serge Storms mode and squealed tires heading down the turn for the site.
On the one hand, it’s dismaying to think how often humanity thinks violence and war are the only answer to any problem. On the other hand, it’s also dismaying how many humans just can’t be reasoned with on any level.
I found the site to be unsettling in a strange way. Like, you can almost feel the hope and purpose and misguided patriotism that went into the site, that fueled it. You can also sense the way the land doesn’t really want it there, but not really enough to fully overtake it. And to be clear, the land in Florida can absorb almost anything given a little time. The mucky soil, season of rain, storms, salt spray, insects, wildfires, sinkholes, and brutally-bright sunlight ensure that all but the most-maintained structures eventually disappear. Even with the Parks service intervention, plants grow in cracks, the concrete looks a little more frail than it does in pictures. Metal that hasn’t been freshly painted shows rust. It feels a tad half-assed, though, for a land that can gobble an abandoned structure in a year if it wants.
Maybe the Parks workers put in more effort than it appears. Maybe the land really would like to hide its shame beneath the periphyton and sawgrass if not for the diligence of people in olive green shirts and structured hats.
(The link about periphyton is, to me, far more interesting as the unimpressive-looking loops of what looks like loose stool plays a huge role in the health of the Everglades. The older I get, the more nature fascinates me more than human history.)
4) We’re All Gonna Die
I know better. He knows better. Most of the time when we plan to go hiking, even though one of my local friends will tell you there’s no such thing as “hiking” in South Florida—just outdoor walking—we have supplies. We have at least one snack if not a whole meal. We have plenty of water for several hours on the trail or we have a plan to turn around when we get halfway through the water we brought. The is a sound plan since most of the time we’re on established trails, carved either by the Florida Trail Association or ATVs out in Big Cypress. We have watercolors and hats and sunscreen and insect spray and a small first aid kid.
And yet, we headed down Rowdy Bend Trail about an hour before lunchtime with two 48-oz Hydroflasks of water and a stale cracker I’ve been meaning to throw away. The plan was “we’ll just walk a little ways to check it out and head back.” Except, the trail was very cool and we kept coming across all sorts of interesting things and before we knew it, we were almost at the junction to Snake Bight Trail. (The park service says it’s about 2.5 miles from Rowdy Bend to Snake Bight.) Snake Bight (“bight” means “bay”) trail is straight and about 1.6 miles, but Rowdy Bend comes out near the end. We initially planned to walk down to the end where the boardwalk overlooks the Bay, but quickly decided against that.
The walk back to the road on Snake Bight Trail is about a mile and then the walk back to the car is another 2.5, but looks more like 3 on the map. I left him at the trailhead with the gear and went back to fetch the car, which only took me about 45 minutes, total, but that’s because I was walking as fast as I could in the ridiculous boots I had on.
In conclusion, I absolutely recommend the trails. I also recommend leaving bikes at the Snake Bight trailhead and bringing supplies. (The walk on the road is neither pleasant nor scenic.)
5) Other Tips
Bring a hard-sided cooler and store it in a hard-top car if possible (or the trunk of a convertible). While bears are unlikely down at the Flamingo campgrounds, racoons and black vultures will be happy to eat anything you aren’t holding actively chewing. Bears in the Everglades and Big Cypress aren’t as aggressive as those found out in western states, but it’s best not to tempt wildlife.
Mobile phone service can be spotty at the southern end of the park, so depending on your carrier, roaming capabilities, weather, and luck, you might be without service during your stay. Plan your tweets and Tik Toks accordingly.
Drive carefully to avoid hitting wildlife. Plus, you will see more if you slow down. I know a lot of people drive through Everglades National Park and think they’ve seen nothing, but very subtle changes in elevation (even millimeters) can change the entire ecosystem. Spooky little dwarf cypress dotting the landscape can quickly change to mangroves. Wildflowers can suddenly change with just a few steps. Wood storks prefer one pond. Rosette spoonbills prefer another. There’s a lot more down there than alligators. Bird watchers, especially, can mark a lot of species off their bucket list in the winter months when populations concentrate around solution holes, ponds, and rookeries. There’s also a fascinating array of insects like butterflies and dragonflies. (If you can avoid insect repellent, you can sometimes be treated to swarms of dragonflies at dusk.)
Don’t be grossed out by the periphyton. That stuff is awesome.
Lovely. I've never been but have always wanted to go.
I loved your photos and this was a great read about the trip. I may have to visit someday.