For my other hikes in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/; http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/30/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatachee-strand-preserve-state-park-1-the-west-main/; http://hooknfly.com/2024/01/14/hiking-the-mellow-yellow-trail-gate-3-in-the-fakahatchee-preserve-and-stumbling-on-a-haunted-house/

January 2024

A rogue cold front has invaded the sunny climes of Florida’s Everglades, an angler’s nightmare.  It has put the fish down deep with an acute case of lockjaw. What now?  I decide to try a new hike and settle on the Jones Grade Trail, one of the least traveled in the area, located in the northern reaches of Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park near Everglades City.  The trailhead is 30 minutes north from park headquarters and main road into Strand and the preserve’s most popular tram trails. Like most of the trails in the preserve, it was carved out of the swamp to build a rail line to haul out cypress logs.

I have often fished the freshwater lakes in the Jones Grade area but have never explored the trail which is tucked away at the end of a gravel road that provides access to the reserve. 

Serendipitously, it turns out to be one of my favorite hikes, the only one offering the full range of the fascinating habitats found in the preserve—prairie, pine island/hammock, strand swamp, and freshwater slough. And a bonus is you will likely to have the place to yourself.

It is also a good one for families with kids.  In just the first mile or so on an easy wide two-track path it offers a hidden pond with a raft of noisy birds and fish, towering bald cypress trees, and iconic Everglades critters like deer and alligators.  However, to the observant you will also find that it is the small, delicate, and quiet things that come into focus, holding and rewarding your attention.

The entrance to the Jones Grade Park is located just ¾ mile south of Alligator Alley (Interstate 75) off Florida Highway 29.  There are no state park signs to guide you, but the turn is at a white mailbox with the name Quail.  Then it’s an easy drive on a narrow gravel road one mile to the trailhead.  As I putter down the road, I know it is going to be a good day when see a doe browsing nonchalantly on the edge of the track.  She reminds me to slow down and observe.  When I get closer, I see she has yearling with her.  I creep forward slowly and snap some photos, and they finally skedaddle into the marshy forest. 

As I drive past the point where they dove into the swamp, I can’t see any trace of them as if they disappeared into thin air.

Soon I am at the trailhead gate, only about a mile from the highway.  There is only parking for a couple of vehicles, so take care not to block the access gate or private road that peels off to the south.  I can see the wide two-track trail which extends for several miles will make for easy hiking and that the path is not overgrown. 

The bonus of the recent cool spell and gusty north wind is that there are no mosquitos, at least for now.  They will come later on the return trip, so be sure to take some bug spray.

One of the attractions of the Jones Grade trail is that it runs east to west so that a series of culverts has been put in place to allow the strand slough to pass underneath as flows north to south towards the Gulf.  That provides great opportunities for views into the prairie to the north then the swamp later in the hike. 

I tug my hiking boots on and am on my way.  I soon get my first glimpse of the prairie to the north. Usually dry during the winter, this year there’s standing water.

Soon I see something tawny brown in distance?  It’s moving!  Maybe a rare Florida Panther? They are definitely around here—the Florida Panther National Wildlife Refuge is just on the other side of the interstate highway.   I grab my binoculars and spy….another momma deer.  Then I spot her yearling. 

are grazing, seemingly unperturbed by my presence. I walk very slowly forward and pause when they lift their heads. I get closer and closer, snapping photos as I go.  Suddenly Junior has had enough, and he bolts into an opening up the trail, flashing here signature white flag of a tail.  His mom is hard on his heels.  I pause and smile as I look at the pictures on my phone camera, and as I do, the curious doe comes back to take another look at the intruder.  Then she saunters slowly off again. 

As it turns out, just ahead the Jones Grade Trail meets the 11-mile long East Prairie Trail that runs all the way south to intersect with Janes Scenic Drive, the park’s main road.  The doe continues to browse as she ambles south, then finally stops and takes one last look before she bounds into the tall wet prairie grass and soil.  The yearling hesitates, then he is off. 

I hear them sloshing through saturated soil but when I jog up to see where they are going, they have completely disappeared into a stand of bald cypress to the west.  Was I imagining things?

I backtrack and continue on the Jones Grade Trail.  I stop to investigate an odd-looking pile on the side of the trail—what looks to be some very fresh bear scat.  I back off and look around, but don’t see or hear anything.  I check my handy-dandy Pocket Naturalist Guide that confirms it is indeed Ursa americanus poop! Looks like he’s been dining on his fair share of berries. 

I proceed carefully, just in case the bear is still around.  It’s winter here in the Glades which means there not much flowering flora, but still lots of interesting plants everywhere—prickly greenbrier with triangular leaves and pickerel weed that will bloom with beautiful purple flowers later in year. 

I come to a grand stand of bald cypress that tower over the landscape.  They are somewhat of an oddity—a deciduous conifer that sheds its needles come winter and regrows them by spring.  The bonus is that the needles provide a soft trail duff that makes for pleasant walking.  Bald cypress is one of the few trees that can live and thrive in swampy water.  The wood of the trees is highly valued because it is extremely water resistant. That fact led to the extensive logging of the cypress forests in the Everglades in the 1940s for use in WWII PT boats and aircraft carrier decks among other things.  The cypress are bracketed here by the ubiquitous sabal palms with their broad fronds. 

The trail curves a tad to the south ahead, and I see some shafts of sunshine which I have a hunch means there’s some sort of opening in the tree canopy.   I hear lots of wings flapping and the squawking of egrets, herons, anhingas, and burly red-shouldered hawks.  I speed up hoping to catch a few photos, but put on the brakes as a gator scurries across the path and dives into the slough to the north. 

The attraction turns out to be a pond that is wider and much deeper than the slough on the south side of the trail that feeds it.  Fish are jumping everywhere, probably bass and cichlids, and they are smacking something on the surface.  It’s an angler’s dream–and me without my fishing rod.  Next trip! 

I explore the edges of the pond and spot some antediluvian gar, a fish that has been around for millions of years, coexisting with and then outliving the dinosaurs.  They have a leg up because if a pond gets stagnant  they can breathe air as well as take oxygen from the water.  (For more about is fascinating fish, see my article: http://hooknfly.com/2020/04/15/in-defense-of-the-antediluvian-gar/.)

I continue down the trail that is lined with giant sword ferns and wild coffee plants with their bright red  berries.  I also start to see more and more gator skids, flattened areas along the slough where alligators enter and exit the slough. 

It’s a reminder to approach openings in the trail vegetation carefully. 

Then I come to odd-looking mounds of gray soil—they remind me of termite nests I saw on a trip to Africa years ago.  I can’t see any entrances.  But rest assured, truculent little invasive fire ants are in there, literally thousands of them.  Despite their lilliputian size, believe me their bites sting and will result in nasty red lesions with pus at the center.   Interestingly, I see some tiny wasps landing on several of the domes.   

My handy PictureThis app identifies them as potter wasps that build nests out of mud that is a mixture of soil (maybe from the ant hill?) and regurgitated water.  They then sting and paralyze caterpillars, larva, and beetles (and maybe ants and ant larva??) then place them in the nest where a single egg has been laid.  When it hatches it has a nice meal waiting!  The adult wasp feeds more civilly on flower nectar.

A few hundred feet further at the next opening in the trail-side vegetation, I spy a marsh bathing beauty—a 10-foot-long gator that is sunning itself across the way on the banks of a small, shallow pond.  He looks very content and doesn’t even give me a glance.

As I snap some pictures, several birds berate me noisily.  I pull up my Cornell University Merlin bird sound app that identifies birds by their calls. I hold it high above my head, and it immediately confirms these irate avians are red-bellied woodpeckers, common in the Everglades. 

I amble on, enjoying the small flowers peppering the trail here and there.  The zebra butterflies seem to enjoy them all. 

I hear some water gurgling ahead and soon come to a stretch where the slough has jumped its banks is has run across the trail—no doubt thanks to the buckets of rain we have had this past month during the supposed dry season. 

Fortunately, it isn’t very deep, but still manages to swirl over the top of my “waterproof” hiking boots.  Actually, the cool water feels good on my tootsies. 

The surprises keep coming as I continue snooping down the trail.  I stumble on an odd-looking form in the shadows along the slough that turns out to be an abandoned canoe. 

It has a chain on it, but the chain isn’t anchored to anything.  So odd to find it out here in the middle of nowhere.  With all the deadfall and obstructions in the slough, it’s hard to fathom how anyone could have paddled this far into the wilds, and carrying it a mile or so from the trailhead would have been quite a haul.   I wonder what might be the about story behind it.  Maybe they makings of a novel like one of my favorite tales “Where The Crawdads Sing?”  To make the atmosphere even more mysterious, an owl starts hooting not far back in the swamp.  Then another.  I click on my bird sound app again and it quickly tells me they are distinctive barred owls that prefers deep moist forests and wooded swamps.  No wonder they call the Everglades home. 

There are many fascinating stories the flora and fauna of Strand tell.  Like the tree full of plump Seville oranges that I cross under where it has arched over the trail. 

Back in the late 1700s, Spaniards brought the tree with them to St. Augustine in northern Florida.  Since then they have spread, even reaching the Everglades.  They never made it commercially, as hinted at by their common name “bitter orange.” Here and there I see evidence in the scattered orange peel that some hungry animals have had a citrus treat. 

As I linger, a red-shouldered hawk perched in a cypress tree across the slough reminds me with his raucous call that I need to keep moving. As I do, a squadron of zebra butterflies envelops me.  I stand still, hoping one might land.  Several can’t resist some alluring small white beggartick flowers on the edge of the trail, and one alights right next to me.  I move slowly and snap a close-up of the beauty, capturing some wonderful detail of her proboscis probing the flower for nectar. Can you see it??  It’s another reminder to look down as well as up on this hike. 

And as I do, I see another handsome and interesting plant, this one a guava, a fruit-producing evergreen shrub that hales from the Carribean and South America.

It’s past noon now and I am getting hungry.  My timing is impeccable.  I reach a large clearing in the swamp where the Jones Grade Trail curves and then meets the East Main Tram Trail which extends south to Janes Scenic Drive, about 10 miles away.  I have walked about 2.3 miles, not counting peregrinations and backtracking. 

After snapping a few photos, I retreat a few hundred feet to a great place for lunch where I can sit on the moss-covered stones of the culvert opening and soak in the scene.  I am surrounded by giant bald cypress and see big bird’s nest ferns and holly trees back in the forest.

A gaggle of noisy red-bellied woodpeckers squabble in the woods, then I hear a Carolina wren and a white-eyed vireo.  I am definitely a happy hiker.

As I sit and dine, I notice something shiny along the shoreline just a few feet away.  I scramble down the incline and discover it’s a lovely apple snail shell.  I think my granddaughter Aly will like it for her collection.

Now it’s time to head back.  I vow to focus on the little things on the forest floor and am rewarded with treasures and twists like tiny wild violets, Parmeliaceae fungus, and red maple seeds.

As I scan the trail ahead, I see something flutter at the edge of the path. But as I get closer and get set to take a picture, I see that it was just a leaf stirred up by the wind. Then a few seconds later I get a big surprise as the “leaf” folds its wings and flies away! It was a Curve-Tooth Geometer Moth, a new one on me! Talk about perfect camouflage!

Another hundred yards down the trail, I also chuckle when I discover that the highway isn’t the only place one might see a tailgater (er, tail gator?). 

Back at the big, deep pond, I am excited when I see a big turtle sunning on a log, but in my haste to get closer and snap a photo get a good surprise when the shoreline 20 feet in front of me explodes in a big geyser of water—it’s that same alligator I saw scrambling across the trail this morning that has come back to his sunning spot.  Thankfully he was fleeing, and soon comes up for a quick pose before he disappears again in the swamp. 

Once my blood pressure comes back down to normal, I carry on.

Soon I am at the gate.  But the delights aren’t over.  I spy a big shiny apple snail shell for my little Aly.  And as I peel off my boots, my eyes catch sight of a mob of tiny black insects fleeing wildly into the bush that turn out to be young Eastern Lubber Grasshoppers—little black beauties. 

It seems the gifts of the swamp never cease.  It’s been an enjoyable foray into the wilds with few boot or bike tire marks, just a healthy dose of solitude and nature.