January 26, 2024January 26, 2024 hooknfly

Hiking In The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve? Don’t Overlook The Jones Grade Trail

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.

Red Dot At Top Is Location Of Jones Grade

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!

Hidden Pond

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.

Gator Skid!!

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.

Bird Call ID App Works Auditory Miracles!

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.

El Gran Arco Del Las Naranjas De Sevilla

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.

Dining In The Wilds

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.

January 14, 2024January 22, 2024 hooknfly

Hiking The Mellow Yellow Trail (Gate #3) In The Fakahatchee Preserve And Stumbling On A Haunted House!!

For some of my other hikes in the preserve see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/12/15/hiking-the-fabulous-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-the-south-main-tram/; 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/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/

December 2023

The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park has an array of hikes to explore the wonders of the Everglades. Its most popular trails like the East and West Tram are several miles long—intriguing treks, but maybe a little too much for some. Fortunately, there are several inviting shorter walks, especially for little tykes and seniors, that offer plenty of natural wonders. One of my favorites, called the Yellow Trail, starts at Gate 3 on Janes Scenic Drive about 2.8 miles from the mile zero marker at the park entrance gate.

Like many of the park’s trails, it follows a railroad tram line from old logging days, this one a short spur into the wild heart of the strand where it peters out near a reputedly haunted cabin! The trail is flat and mostly open with calf-high vegetation and thorny vines in spots, calling for long pants.

A sign with the #3 on the dual entry posts marks the turnout on the right side of the road that makes for easy parking.

Keep an eye out for the Great Egret gatekeeper who maintains a close watch over the slough at the entrance to the Yellow Trail.

With all the rain we have had recently in the so-called “dry season,” I have to do a hop and skip to ford the shallow flowage running across the trail. A school of minnows darts wildly about, a perfect stopping point if my granddaughter Aly was along. Be sure to bring a little net for the kiddies for some play time.

I take a few steps up the trail and am immediately buzzed by a couple of striking Zebra butterflies having lunch on some white Beggartick blooms. The Beggarticks are an important source of food for butterflies, bees, and insects. I snap away with my phone camera and then continue on.

Zebra Butterfly Feasts On Beggartick Flower

The trail is bracketed by two troughs where mucky soil was dug out and piled up for the tram line road bed when the spur was built over 75 years ago. It is filled with slow moving water. I stop at each opening in the vegetation to peer into the swamp jungle, a veritable botanical park. Just keep an eye out for alligators! At one point I spy a stand of big Bull-tongue Arrowhead plants immersed in the water. They are an important cog in the swamp ecosystem, providing food for many critters and shelter for smaller ones.

Above are dozens of graceful epiphytes clinging to their host trees. They use their hosts as secure foundations, but are not parasites, living instead by taking water and nourishment from the air! In spring my favorite known as a Cardinal Airplant will burst into bloom with distinctive, showy red and purple flowers.

Other plants like Virginia Creeper, a member of the grape family, also cling to tree branches and trunks. Earlier in the year they have fragrant flowers that give way to blue-colored berries, then to beautiful reddish orange leaves in the fall. Their tendrils have adhesive pads allowing them to cling to mostly anything! Then there’s the prickly ivy called Saw Greenbrier. Watch out for those thorns! Interestingly, those needle-sharp spikes don’t keep wild turkeys, squirrels, and songbirds from munching on the leathery, triangular leaves.

As I continue north, it becomes clear that this trail gets far less foot traffic than the major trails—a welcome harbinger. I won’t see another soul all morning. The other thing that catches my eye is that the trail isn’t framed by giant sword ferns that dominate elsewhere in the preserve, but by shiny green wild coffee plants that carry the appropriate scientific name of Psychotria nervosa. I spot a few that haven’t been stripped of their bright red berries by birds.

Suddenly the quiet is interrupted by a hubbub ahead just off the trail in the slough—maybe a gator?? No, it’s a beautiful Great Egret that soars into the air, somehow dodging all the overhanging branches. He’s followed by a loudly squawking Green Heron, also known as a chucklehead for its distinctive cry.

I keep my eyes peeled for birds and reptiles as I get further into the jungle. I spot something creating a disturbance in the brush along the trail. Maybe a lizard? Turns out it’s one of my favorite insects, a big Eastern Lubber Grasshopper.

Sporting striking orange, yellow, and other colors, they grow up to three inches long. Eastern Lubbers colorful garb might attract attention from hungry birds, but they secrete a noxious dark thick foam from their thorax when disturbed—not very tasty!! It will definitely stain your fingers. He poses for a quick photo and is kind enough not to douse me with what as kids we called tobacco juice, then hops merrily into the thicket.

As I walk into a small clearing, I am greeted by, of all things, a plastic chair. I think I must be getting close to the haunted cabin!! I hike on a few minutes, keeping my eyes peeled for ghosts, and come to a big circular clearing with a rusting propane gas tank peeking out of the brush at one end. But there is no sign of any cabin or other human habitation of this world or otherworldy.

Two trails split off the clearing, and I take the one to the right (east) because it looks most intriguing. It soon narrows, and then I am sloshing in some shallow water. No worries, I have on my waterproof hiking boots. Here and there are animal and bird tracks, and I can hear a ruckus ahead, but can’t see any wild things. A few minutes further on, the trail opens up into a stand of striking bald cypress. But that’s as far as I can go—the trail drops off into a foot of water.

I snap a few photos of the lovely jungle and head back to the opening. On the way, I see something glinting in the sunlight just off the trail—a big snail shell. It looks to be a Florida apple snail, although there are three very similar apple snails that are invaders from other countries.

I trace my way back to the clearing with the gas tank and take the other fork. As I amble up the trail I am stopped short in my boots—dead ahead I see something of the trail obscured by a tangle of trees, vines, and bushes that looks out of place. I creep forward cautiously. A shiver runs up my spine when I realize it’s a big dark opening in what looks to be that spooky cabin I have heard stories about.

I snap a few photos and a video for my little granddaughter Aly back in Colorado, keeping my eyes open for any ghosts or goblins.

I make my way warily to the hole where a window used to be and peer in. It looks like a tornado has swirled through the cabin. There’s a mattress and springs that appear have been used by somebody or something.

Then I hear a crash as something smacks down on the roof. I don’t wait to find out what it is as I turn tail and hustle out of there back to the trail.

After my nerves calm down, I continue up the trail, peering behind me from time-to-time just to make sure I am not being followed. It’s obvious the path north of the cabin, thick with vegetation, doesn’t see many hikers. Very soon the path gets very wet—I have to broad jump over and tippy-toe around water trickling across the trail. Finally, I have to call it quits when I reach a stretch where the water is higher than the tops of my boots.

Hopefully as the dry season takes hold I will be able to return in a few weeks and explore further up. Google Maps shows a distinct line that extends another mile or so to the north. Who knows what I might find….or what might find me!!

December 15, 2023January 9, 2024 hooknfly

Hiking The Fabulous Trails Of The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve: The South Main Tram

December 2023

For my earlier articles on hiking the East and West Tram Trails, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/and http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/30/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatachee-strand-preserve-state-park-1-the-west-main/

The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve, the largest state park in Florida that covers thousands of acres, features several popular trails like the East and West Main Trams that each require several hours to hike. But there are a few shorter trails, often overlooked but every bit as intriguing hikes, such as the South Main Tram. With the park closed for several weeks in late November 2023 due to torrential rains in the area and a deluge of water that flooded Janes Scenic Drive, I was itching to get out and explore some new territory in the park. The South Main Tram Trail had been on my radar screen for a year, so I figured it was time to explore.

When I arrive at the park at just after 8 a.m. on the last day of November, I am relieved that entry gate is open. Earlier in the month when I visited the park it was closed and locked because of flooding. In my excitement, I momentarily exceed the 10-mph posted speed limit on the normally smooth gravel road. I immediately received a jolting reminder as my SUV plunges into a giant pothole, a leftover from the swamping that closed Janes Scenic Drive and left long sections covered with assorted detritus.

Early November Floods Leave Potholes And Debris On Janes Scenic Drive

But the pockmarked road makes me slow down and enjoy the vistas and wildflowers that line the route.

And the good news is a little further on around the bend is that the water still cascading down the strand from north to south towards the Ten Thousand Islands and Gulf and under the drive at every culvert is attracting graceful egrets and other wading birds and assorted critters for a feast. My camera is at the ready!

Freshwater Flow Through The Strand

At one culvert as I snap photos, I hear a distinctive bird call coming from some tall trees back from the road—”wreep, wreep, wreep”—but can’t spot anything in the swamp maze. I immediately open an app called Merlin on my cell phone, a free product of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, that has come to be a favorite of mine. It identifies birds by their calls. I open the app and hold my phone up high to catch any sounds. On cue the hidden bird calls out again. Immediately the app identifies it as a Great Crested Flycatcher.

GreatCrested Flycatcher (Picture from iBirdPro)

The app notes that the flycatcher is found throughout eastern North America and migrates to Florida and points south in the winter. It resides mainly in treetops and is rarely seen on the ground. It feasts on fruits and berries plus insects caught mid-flight. I have witnessed them doing that—quite agile for a bird almost as big as a robin.

With all my lollygagging around the culverts, it takes me over an hour to cover the four miles from the park entry gate to the gate at the trailhead that the South Main shares with West Main Tram Trail. I park my SUV so as not to block the gate, pull on my hiking boots, grab my hiking staff, hoist my day pack with water bottles and sunscreen, then walk over to check out the big map display. There I am greeted by my friendly reptilian guide—a lilliputian anole.

Having learned my lesson on previous perambulations in the preserve, I am wearing my usual hiking duds—hat and light weight long-sleeved shirt with long pants. The trail is easy to follow but has knee-high vegetation in spots including thorny vines. Then there are the squadrons of mosquitoes and no-see-ums. While usually not a problem during the winter dry months, they are particularly nasty this year because of all the rain and breeding spots. No matter the season, don’t leave home without some effective insect repellant.

It’s almost 10 a.m. as I slip by the locked gate at the trailhead. For about a mile until it spins off to the south, the South Main Tram Trail shares the route with West Main Trail.

The trail is an old railroad bed dug out of the swamp to allow trains to carry out big cypress logs during the 1940s and 50s. It is flat and easy to navigate, but best traversed by ambling and sauntering, not speedwalking. The numerous culverts that guide water flow under trail provide perfect spots to investigate the often hidden, but vibrant life of the fascinating and mysterious swamp on either side of the path.

As I snap a photo of another egret, suddenly a large, beautiful orange butterfly swoops past and alights on a nearby tree. I approach in stealth mode, and the butterfly accommodates by staying put and exhibiting his wings full spread, so I get a couple of good photos. I then pull up my favorite nature app on my phone called PictureThis. The version I have costs $30 annually but is well worth the small charge as it accurately identifies insects, plants, birds, and trees. I run the photo through the app and soon learn the butterfly is a Ruddy Daggerwing that lives on the edge of forests with the adults feeding on the nectar of giant milkweed.

The name comes from the imposing dagger-like tail. I notice prominent notches on his wings, but on further investigation of images of other Daggerwings online, see that most have similar cuts. Another distinctive feature is that the intimidating tail end of the butterfly could pass for a head, reputedly an illusion to fool or scare would-be predators.

At the next culvert a few hundred yards down the trail, I spy one of my favorite swamp flowers, a Florida swamp lily, hiding among the branches, vines, and air plants. It is a beauty that has long purple stamens and a sweet fragrance.

As I move closer to get more photos, I hear the distinctive meowing of a cat! But I am not fooled—it’s a gray catbird, a large shy dark gray songbird with a jaunty black cap that is of the mockingbird family.

It loves to winter in Florida like us northern human snowbirds and is often seen in the preserve. I have a little fun with him, doing my best cat meowing imitation. Soon we are carrying on quite a conversation as he replies to my entreaties. Who knows what I was saying in catbird language?!?

The jungle opens up at the next culvert, and I can see further into the swamp. I spot a stand of aptly named Bull-Tongue Arrowhead. It is a flowering perennial native to the southeastern United that acts, the guidebook says, as a vital link in swampland ecosystems. Its dainty white flowers add a touch of color to the winter landscape.

Next my eyes fix on some striking orange underwater vegetation called Marsh Seedbox or Water Primrose. It is an aquatic perennial herb commonly used as an aquarium plant.

As my eyes wander further into the jungle, something moves! Maybe an alligator? I can’t tell until I focus my 10X camera lens on it, and YES it is a gator! He is coyly hiding his head and tail under some giant sword ferns. Even though it is cool, and alligators are typically less active in these conditions, it is a reminder to be careful—one might be lurking much closer to the trail.

I move on and in a few minutes get another surprise. Protruding from the watery muck close to the trail is what appears to be the remains of an old rail car, perhaps one that was used to haul logs almost a century ago. Oddly, I never noticed it before on a half-dozen treks up this trail.

Fortunately the park has recovered nicely from being heavily logged from 1944 into the 1950s for cypress and pine. Cypress wood is highly water resistant and was in demand during World War II for making aircraft carrier decks and PT boats among other vessels. Today it is used for more peaceful products like decking and coffins. The tiny communities of Jerome and Copeland (near the park entrance) are reminders of those days, having served as home to loggers of the era.

A minute later I pass by a clearing in the bushes and ferns where an inviting picnic table has been placed. It’s a good point to stop and rest, especially if you have little kids in tow.

As I relax for a minute and tighten up my shoe laces while ambidextrously shooing away a gathering cloud of pesky, blood-thirsty mosquitoes, I hear something squeaking just ahead. I creep forward cautiously and find what I thought might be the source—several tiny baby alligators swimming in the waters around a culvert looking for their next meal. My granddaughter Aly thinks they are the cutest! I advise the little ones to be careful—they would make a tasty meal for the egrets and other wading birds that abound.

Baby Alligator On The Prowl

I continue on and soon come to an impressive stand of wild Seville or bitter oranges that tell an interesting story of early Spanish settlers in Florida.

They were reportedly brought to Florida in the 1700s by the first Spaniards to land in St. Augustine. By 1800 they had become widely planted by early settlers and local Native Americans and have now spread throughout southern Florida. Today, they are primarily grown commercially for rootstock for grafting budwood for sweet oranges. Believe me, they are bitter, but can be used for making marmalade or certain liqueurs or for making marmalade or certain liqueurs or as a substitute for lemons in cooking. Just don’t sample any in the park!

It’s 10:45 by now, and I have covered about a mile when I come to where the South Main Train turns left off to the south. I can see it is not as heavily trod as the West Main Trail which carries on for a couple of more miles west.A park ranger whom I spoke with earlier tells me while the South Main is in the process of having vegetation pruned back or cleared, it is open for hikers. He advised me not to worry about the sign on the gate a couple of hundred feet further down the trail that says park staff only—it applies only to ATVs, not hikers.

Like the West and East Main Tram Trails, the South is edged by striking rows of giant sword ferns. Because it runs north to south, there are far fewer culverts to allow water already flowing in the same direction to pass under. There are boggy slow-moving sloughs on both sides of the trail where the swamp was dug out to provide fill to elevate the tram railroad bed above the marsh. Without the culverts to provide views into the swamp, now I stop anytime there is an opening in the thick trailside vegetation.

While I am walking, I scan both sides of the trail for signs of birds or other wildlife as well as interesting plants and flowers. In doing so I almost walk smack dab into a bristly tent caterpillar that is crawling on a chest-high vine across the trail. I take a quick photo and duck under the aerialist then almost bump my head into some dangling Seville Oranges. This trek is getting dangerous!!

Further along I see something glistening in the sun in the middle of the trail. I can’t figure out what it is until I am only about 20 feet away and a seven-foot gator that had been sunning on the pathway erupts from her nap and goes crashing through the sword ferns into the swamp. I move forward cautiously, hoping for a good photo, and find where she bulldozed through the ferns.

But try as I may, I can’t see any the slippery critter anywhere even though the water is clear! She has somehow disappeared into the shallow pond along the trail. I think to myself maybe I’ll see her on my return route.

I continue on, admiring the marshy scene on either side of the trail. It’s very shady so I don’t see many flowering plants except a couple of Lilliputians hugging the ground called Redflower Ragweed and Caesar’s Weed, the first an invasive from Africa and the other from Asia.

Then a bright flash temporarily blinds me. I jump back and see it’s a covey of cameras that apparently have been installed by the park rangers to monitor activity on the trail. Orchid poachers beware!

When You Least Expect It…Smile–You’re On Candid Camera

Just a few minutes later I hear the whine of some ATVs and the sound of vegetation being cut, probably the trail clearing crew that the ranger mentioned to me. I decide to turn back.

When I make my way back to the junction with the West Main Tram trail, I have a decision to make. It’s only noon, and the day is still young. I have time to hike up to one of my favorite spots in the park just a few minutes up the trail and have a leisurely lunch. So, I turn left and head west on the West Tram Trail.

On the short 15-minute side trip I come across a wild coffee plant with its bright red berries. I also have to chuckle at the descriptive scientific name of the plant—Psychotria nervosa. Then I see a vine with some intriguing geometry—it’s a Vietnamese vanilla plant, that wonderful tasting extract we all love. It’s an invader from the far east, but who’s complaining?

Soon I am at the lunch spot. I have a choice between a rustic park bench and some plastic chairs someone has apparently rustled out of the picturesque “haunted” house that has fallen further into disrepair since my hike last spring.

I chose the chairs which are situated on a narrow bridge leading to the house which provide a peaceful view into the cypress forest and allows the breeze to keep the pesky bugs at bay for a while.

This is a great spot to bring your children and grandkids to explore and regale them with tales of the ghosts in the haunted house! A half hour later I have finished my lunch and downed the last of my magic energy drink, an RC Cola. Rejuvenated, I load up my day pack, grab my walking staff and start the hike back to the trailhead.

I keep my eyes wide open for any critters that might be emerging now that the sun is up high and warming the swamp. The first thing I notice is the fungus among us—an interesting one called Arthoniaceae that coats many tree trunks in the preserve. Some the fungi form lichen colonies with algae and bacteria while others live on top of lichens.

Next, I see a tiny bird fleeing into the jungle. It’s a secretive little white-eyed vireo that makes it home throughout Florida.

Shy White-Eyed Vireo (Picture from iBirdPro)

As I walk further, I recross a culvert from this morning and get a surprise when I see a big gator hiding under some floating vegetation just a few feet from the trail. He can see me but doesn’t move a muscle. Tricky devil. Another object lesson about approaching the culverts with caution.

As I continue, a flighty, striking Zebra Longwing butterfly flits by me, circling and sliding this way and that, he comes back and alights on a nearby flower. This beautiful butterfly feasts on pollen and nectar which it uses to produce toxins that poison predators if eaten, which keeps the predators at bay! Sadly, the zebra is reportedly being decimated outside the park by sprays meant to control mosquitoes. I snap a quick shot before he lifts off and continues his peregrinations.

As I watch him disappear, I see one of my favorite swamp flowers, a lovely purple pickerelweed. This striking plant is an important food source for deer, ducks, muskrats, and fish. The plant grows up to 3.5 feet high and can tolerate water up to six feet. Its large leaves and stem clusters also provide great cover for smaller fish, birds, reptiles, and insects. Seems like everything in the swamp has an important role to play in the ecosystem!

Soon I am in sight of the trailhead gate and my SUV. The Fakahatchee Strand has delivered another wonderful day in the wilds, a chance to commune with and better understand Mother Nature.

September 14, 2023October 2, 2024 hooknfly

Into The Wilds: Exploring La Garita and Carnero Creeks In S. Colorado

September 2023

Was gratified to see my article on exploring two remote wilderness creeks in Colorado as the lead feature piece in the Sept/Oct issue of American Fly Fishing magazine. Hope you enjoy it…and don’t miss the now infamous Parting Shot photo of me in a very indelicate position!

CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW TO DOWNLOAD THE ARTICLE

Colorado SO23 AFF Download

February 7, 2023February 12, 2023 hooknfly

Looking Back On 2022: The Best, The Befuddling, And The Bungled

January 2023

January 2022 dawned sunny and bright, with me salting margaritas down in the Everglades instead of sidewalks in Colorado and, better yet, wrestling snook instead of shoveling snow! Covid was finally in the rearview mirror for the most part and promises for a bountiful piscatorial year are looking good. So how did it turn out? Here’s a look back at the best of 2022 and some bungled episodes as well.

It’s hard to believe that I hadn’t fished in the Everglades–or anywhere in Florida for that matter like the Keys—in the winter for almost two years! Despite that hiatus and fewer articles about fishing in the Sunshine State being posted in 2022, I was grateful my readers stuck with me and that the number of visitors and views stayed steady at the peak levels established in 2020. Many thanks!

Fishing Buddies And Family

As I age (slowly and gracefully), the connections angling brings with fishing buddies and family become ever more important and treasured. I had some fun and productive outings in Florida with Jim Cannon (former owner of the renowned Blue Quill Anglers in Colorado), my Colorado neighbor Charlie Cain, Esq., Steve Keeble, Robert Wayne, Esq. (who lives in Naples, FL), and my old college roomie Morris Douglas Martin.

We had a lot of laughs together while we boated a lot of fish, and better yet, I learned some new tricks and tips from them. You ought to see Cannon and Keeble fly cast from a kayak—impressive! In Colorado during the summer the fish parade continued with good friends Bob Wayne and Steve Spanger as we chased trout in the Colorado wilds. I also enjoyed fishing with new friends Tom Palka, who writes the newsletter for our local Trout Unlimited Chapter, and Kim LeTourneau, an accomplished guide for my local fly shop Ark Anglers who also covers fishing for the Mountain Mail newspaper.

Whether in Florida or in the Rockies, they all had the chutzpah to outfish me!!

In March my son Matthew came down for a week to soak some rays and relax. The day we spent in the Everglades backcountry together warmed this father’s heart. It was a smorgasbord of feisty fish—snook, sea trout, ladies, jacks, and even a gafftopsail catfish that put up a great fight before sliming us when we wrestled with him to remove the hook. The video says it all.

This proud papa was thrilled when Florida Sportsman published a short article in the fall that I wrote about fishing the Tamiami Trail country around Everglades City. It featured a couple of great photos of Matthew and yours truly with some nice snook.

Come summer back in Colorado my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly showed off her casting skills while catching some nice rainbows in a high mountain lake along with her Daddy Matthew. The mile walk in and out to the lake was a great nature hike featuring beautiful wildflowers and a close encounter with a big buck mule deer.

Most Popular Posts And Published Articles

The continuing popularity of a series of five blog posts I penned in 2020 entitled “The Best Fishing Books Of All Time” is remarkable. It garnered over 3,000 views this year and on Google searches for ‘best fishing books’ has become the most popular link on that subject, even outpacing Amazon’s sponsored ads. Take that Zuckerberg!

What is really gratifying is seeing that level of interest in angling books, from serious literature to technical how-to works, remains high in this age of videos and on-line reading. Here is a link of you want to take a look: http://hooknfly.com/2020/08/01/the-best-fishing-books-of-all-time/

Another surprise was that the most popular post overall was one entitled “Taking A Hike In The Everglades…And Stumbling On A Hidden Bass Lake.” Focused mainly on hiking in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park near Everglades City, it garnered about 4,500 views. Here is a link to the post: http://hooknfly.com/2022/04/16/taking-a-hike-in-the-everglades-and-stumbling-on-a-hidden-bass-lake/

As a result, I decided to branch out a bit and write about hiking around my winter home base as well as fishing. My next effort, the first in a series about hiking the main trails in the park, appeared in December. Click on the link to read the post: http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/30/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatachee-strand-preserve-state-park-1-the-west-main/

The most read angling posts, with almost 4,000 views, were again a quartet about finding and fishing for rare Rio Grande Cutthroat trout in southern Colorado. For my latest foray on the fab forks of the Conejos with my photographer Jody Bol, see: http://hooknfly.com/2022/08/15/conejos-river-capers/

The post on kayak and wade fishing around Bahia Honda State Park in the Florida Keys again took the top spot for saltwater. See for the latest post on Bahia Honda: http://hooknfly.com/2019/06/08/bahia-honda-state-park-post-irma/

Now that I am back in Florida for the winter and spring, you can bet I will be getting out on the water and sharing new trips and tales. I have already made plans for a two-week fishing trip to the Florida Keys in late April.

When the weather was uncooperative or the winds howling, I hunkered down and continued to write articles for American Fly Fishing and Florida Sportsman. The article about fishing in South Park, Colorado, was titled “Mission Impossible: Searching For Fish And Solitude.”

Fishing The Hidden Waters Of South Park: Under The Radar

It was the lead featured piece in the July issue of American Fly Fishing and focused on finding hidden and remote creeks in the famous valley near Denver, home of the South Platte River, Dream Stream, and other popular waters and lakes that sometimes feature combat fishing. http://hooknfly.com/2022/07/21/south-park-under-the-radar/

Florida Sportsman ran two of my articles in 2022. The first was a fun one in which I discussed the very controversial gar conversion therapy. Under the heading “In Defense Of The Antediluvian Gar,” I stood up for this hard-fighting, oft-underestimated fish while documenting the successful conversion of a tarpon aficionado to gar fishing in the Everglades. http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/19/gar-conversion-therapy/

Bob Wayne Undergoing Gar Conversion Therapy

The second piece, noted above, recounted the variety of angling opportunities along the Tamiami Trail between Naples and Miami.

Most Rewarding Trips

One of my favorite streams close to home is a remote twenty mile stretch of Grape Creek between Westcliffe and Canon City, Colorado. Over the past decade I have had many memorable trips into the canyon where the creek runs, chasing plentiful and hungry browns and rainbows. But disaster struck a couple of years ago when two giant flash floods only a few weeks apart scoured the canyon and practically wiped out all insect life in the upper reaches. Without food, the fish abandoned the stretches I frequented. After a couple of fruitless trips, I decided to wait a couple of years to see if Grape Creek would recover. Thankfully, it did, and I was rewarded with my biggest trout of the year—a 19-inch brown—during a July trip.

A bonus was that some healthy foot-long rainbow trout had apparently migrated down from the tailwaters of DeWeese Reservoir and helped provide non-stop action. http://hooknfly.com/2022/08/05/grape-creek-comeback/

Another trip up the headwaters of the Conejos River high in the mountains of southern Colorado provided some unexpected and mostly pleasant surprises. Exploring the five forks of the Conejos River is on my bucket list. I have had terrific days on the Lake and Adams Fork chasing beautiful, rare Rio Grande Cutthroats. This year I had my eye on fishing the Middle and North Forks, both of which can be reached as they branch off the Upper Conejos River about two miles above Platoro Reservoir. Being remote streams, I expected a plethora of feisty fish including cutthroats that I had found on the nearby Adams Fork. But after pounding the lower reaches of each for an hour, I was beginning to have my doubts. I decided to try one last pool on the Middle Fork that looked particularly inviting and struck a bonanza. On my first cast I watched transfixed as a huge brown trout rose slowly from the depths and inhaled my fly. Then it was off to the races, trying to run down the rascal who had managed to fly by me and head downstream into a brush pile. Somehow I managed to extricate that big brownie and followed that miracle by catching his large mate on the very next cast.

Given that result, I decided I’d better retrace my steps and go up higher on the North Fork. However, I only managed a few small browns on that stretch before it disappeared into a ravine above the valley. Needless to say, I was perplexed. Why so few fish on the Middle and North Forks, albeit big ones on the Middle Fork? The revelation would come as I fished back down on the Upper Conejos below the fork to the trailhead where my SUV was parked. Here on a mile stretch I caught a passel of brown trout, most over 15-inches. The answer?? As confirmed by a local angler at the general store in Platoro, the big fish migrate out of Platoro Reservoir into the Upper Conejos and grow fat and sassy eating all the little guys. Of course, now I must return in 2023 to confirm this theory!

Prospecting For Trout On The Fab Forks Of The Conejos River: #3 and #4—The Middle And North Forks

The Scary And Amusing, The Sad And The Confusing

In 2022 I thankfully avoided any scary incidents with moose, mountain lions, sharks and the like that I have had in the past. But the year’s most blood-curdling incident was self-inflicted, with an alligator playing the villain. Normally the many gators I encounter during my trips into the Everglades backcountry bolt at the first sign of my kayak or Gheenoe. Once in a great while a young gator will venture too close when I am catching lots of fish, attracted out of curiosity to all the jumping and splashing. Usually smacking a paddle on the water sends him scurrying for cover. Alligators that are aggressive down here tend to be ones fed by humans, mainly tourists.

My most memorable gator encounter for 2022 took place on a sunny day in March when I took my college buddy Morris on a trip along the historic Loop Road near Everglades City. I figured we would take a break from the serious day-long fishing trips into the backcountry and find some easier targets in the bass and cichlids in the canal along the gravel road as it winds its way through the swamp. The alligators were everywhere. Being teenage boys at heart, we couldn’t resist tossing one of the small fish we caught to a big gator lounging in the slough near a big culvert.

The fish bounced a few feet down the slope but didn’t make it to the water. All of a sudden, the docile reptile came rocketing out of the water at warp speed to gobble down the fish. His momentum carried him up the incline almost onto the road. It must have been comical to watch two old coots scrambling back towards their SUV in utter terror, but thankfully no one was there to record the incident. Lesson relearned: DO NOT FEED THE GATORS!!

The biggest bummer of the year followed in the wake of Hurricane Ian that struck southwest Florida in late September. I had dutifully rigged my Gheenoe, a motorized canoe, under my house on Chokoloskee Island near Everglades City as advised by old salts down here. Following that advice, my boat had survived in good condition a five-foot flood tide that swept over Chokoloskee during Hurricane Irma in 2017. Unfortunately, either because I didn’t insert the bilge plug or the ropes anchoring the boat and trailer to the building pillars were too tight to allow them to float, saltwater surged a couple of feet deep into the boat and destroyed the electrical system.

When I returned to Florida in early November, I took the boat to my local marina in Naples and got the bad news. A month and $5,000 later everything was put back in order, and fortunately the damage was mostly covered by my boat insurance. The big relief was that the motor was undamaged. Whew!

In the category of confusing was an exploratory trip to find brook trout and maybe some cutthroats reputedly swimming in a remote creek in the Colorado high country south of Del Norte. One of the best angling guidebooks for exploring secluded waters around my neck of the woods in Colorado is 49 Trout Streams of Southern Colorado by Williams and McPhail. They sang the praises of Torsido Creek, a tributary of La Jara Creek south of Del Norte, Colorado. I had fished La Jara Creek below La Jara Reservoir a number of times with great success, so was anxious to explore the upper La Jara and Torsido Creek. After a long and bone-jarring ride over a narrow, bumpy gravel road that hadn’t seen a grader for some time, I made it to the lake and drove to its upper reaches where La Jara Creek flows in. Trouble was, the creek was next to invisible in the expansive meadow above the reservoir, and it wasn’t clear where it was joined by Torsido Creek. To exacerbate matters, I had run off and left my detailed maps of the area in my travel trailer back in Del Norte and the GPS on my cell phone wasn’t working. No worries I thought. Torsido had to be out there somewhere. But after wandering about for almost two hours, marching through muck, dodging a big bull, and clambering over a couple of barbwire fences in my waders, I flew the white flag and turned tail back to my SUV. Fortunately, on the way back I had to cross upper La Jara Creek, and serendipitously where I did some trout were rising. That was the start of an epic afternoon of catching not only some fat, beautiful brook trout, but also some muscular, truculent tiger trout that apparently are stocked in the reservoir and run up the creek to eat. http://hooknfly.com/2022/10/24/taming-the-tigers-of-torsido-and-upper-la-jara-creek-near-del-norte-co/

Not until I got back to camp did I discover the confluence with Torsido Creek is hidden in the gap in a ridge about a quarter mile from where I stopped fishing that day. Darn, guess I will have to schedule a return engagement in 2023!

Persistence Pays Off

Like many things in life, persistence pays off in angling. Two years ago I experienced a particularly humbling experience at the hands of brook trout on the upper reaches of the Huerfano (Wear-fano) River in the wilds of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado. Fishing in one of the most scenic valleys I’ve ever set foot in, I was sure this was going to be a banner day when in the first pool I came to I spied nice brook trout finning in the depths. However, three hours and 20 expletives later, I flew the white flag. I had scored nary a bite the whole time as the spawning brookies made clear amore was more important than eating. With the air redolent of skunk, I slunk back to my SUV. Now fast forward to the summer of 2022. I decided to return to the scene of the skunking for a measure of revenge. But this time things looked even worse when I hit the water after navigating the rough road to the Lily Lake trailhead. It was mid-summer, and the brook trout weren’t spawning. Indeed, none of the alluring pools seemed to hold any fish. So after two hours of flailing the water, I started back to the SUV, tail between my legs. Luckily, I had to cross a very narrow, but fast-flowing tributary of the Huerfano in the meadow to the west of the river. As I did, I happened to see what appeared to be a rise at a bend below me in the creek. What the heck, I thought, and threw my fly downstream. It floated a few feet, then was sucked in by what turned out to be a chunky brook trout. So that’s where the little devils were hiding. That was the first of more than a dozen nice brookies from what I have dubbed the West Fork of the Huerfano. You won’t see it named on a map, but believe me, it and the fish are there. Indeed, persistence pays off.

And speaking of stick-to-it-of-ness, a case of avian persistence opened my eyes. I am a confirmed amateur birdwatcher, especially at my mountain cabin in Colorado where a steady cavalcade of western tanagers, evening grosbeaks, hummingbirds, and many others at my birdfeeders provides a steady stream of pleasure. But those bird feeders have also attracted pinon jays and Clark’s Nutcrackers, drawing me into a never-ending battle with these noisy, wily, and voracious, albeit handsome, birds. Imagine their fright when I come storming out on the front porch hurling expletives till the Colorado sky turns even bluer. I did some research on-line to see if there were any better strategies to deal with these smart, raucous marauders, and in the process learned that because of habitat loss, notably destruction of pinyon trees they rely on for food, and climate change, these iconic western birds are declining precipitously.

Clark’s Nutcracker Feasting
On Pinyon Nuts

Indeed, one report estimated the pinyon jays have declined 85% of the past 50 years and that there are only 700,000 left worldwide (versus 8 billion humans)! All of this made me realize I need to focus closer to home on saving the world. That will mean nurturing the pinyon trees already growing on my land and planting new ones. It will also mean biting my tongue when the raiders come to my bird feeders and dutifully hanging another suet cake when they take their leave. My thanks to them for their persistence and opening my eyes.

On The Horizon: Looking Forward to 2023

So what’s on the agenda for 2022? First and foremost is to get back down to Florida to get my saltwater chops back. I arrived in Everglades City a couple of months ago, got the kayak and Gheenoe ready to go, and started executing that plan. A 24-inch snook on my first yak outing led the fish parade not to mention a 33-inch leviathan out in my Gheenoe with buddy Steve Keeble in the New Year!

More stories and tall tales to come from the Everglades backcountry! I also want to explore some of the remote brackish canals east of Naples, Florida, that are impossible to access except with a kayak. Big snook are rumored to hide out there along with the gators! Fishing some remote islands in the Florida Keys is also on the agenda.

On the writing front, my article on fishing the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park in the Everglades is scheduled for publication soon in an issue of Florida Sportsman to be followed by a piece on the top ten tackle, gear, and techniques tips for kayak anglers in the Everglades. On the trout side, American Fly Fishing will carry an article this spring about my adventures this past summer on La Garita and Carnero Ceeks, two remote high-country streams in Colorado, to be followed later in the year by shorter pieces on upper La Jara and Tarryall Creeks, also in Colorado.

In the keep it under your hat category, I am also in initial negotiations with Kevin Kostner for a new TV series now that it looks as if he’s dropping out of “Yellowstone.” It will tentatively be called “Tales of a Zombie Fisherman” and will be based on my 2022 shenanigants on Halloween night when I went trick-or-treating with my favorite little witch Aly. Stay tuned!!

Of course, I will chase some trout with my sweetheart Aly and find Torsido Creek at long last.