The Flatwoods Trail in Collier-Seminole State Park near Naples in southwest Florida is an excellent hike for families with kids as well as a good easy trip for bicyclists. It utilizes a wide, mowed park service road for 3/4ths of its 2.5-mile length and a short well-marked and maintained segment of the Florida Trail for the rest that is easy to navigate by foot.
Despite its proximity to urban conglomeration of Naples, the trail is lightly used because visitors must register at the park headquarters and obtain a combination to the gated trailhead. It is a great trip after a rain or early in the winter dry season when many other trails in the area are soaked, requiring wading and slip sliding through the muck. And even if the service road has some puddles after a rain, they are easy to skirt without getting wet. As a bonus, just a few miles from the city it offers quiet, true wilderness on the edge of the Everglades that is a great way to get to know a range of Glades environments from prairie to slash pine forests that transition into bald cypress strands and mangroves. There’s a chance to see deer, bear, and even Florida Panthers but also a host of other interesting smaller critters like shrews and tree snails as well as beautiful birds such as large pileated woodpeckers.
Pileated Woodpeckers-The Largest in North America- Call The Flatwoods Home
There are also splendid wildflowers starting to pop out in early spring that attract colorful, exotic looking butterflies. On top of all that, there’s a small pond that offers anglers a chance to fish for bass and colorful cichlids.
Getting There And Getting Started
The trail can be accessed from either east or west along the well-maintained US Highway 41, the Tamiami Trail. The gated entry to the trail is located just east of the main gate to Collier-Seminole State Park and about 30 minutes from downtown Naples. From Everglades City to the east, the drive is about 23 miles and 30 minutes.
Because the trailhead is gated—which is one reason the trail is only lightly used—visitors must first check-in at the ranger shed just inside the well-marked entrance to the state park off US 41. There visitors pay a park entrance fee or show a state parks pass and will receive the combination to the trailhead gate lock. Then it’s on to the Flatwoods trailhead (also known as the Adventure Trail) which is located at a turnout to the north off of US 41 about ¾ mile east of the main park entrance.
Entry Gate To the Flatwoot and Adventure Trails
The Hike
Once inside the gate off US 41, which should be closed and relocked after passing through, it is a short drive to the trailhead where there is ample parking at the service road gate along the small scenic pond. I recommend hiking along the park service road from here although there is an option to use a narrower trail as depicted on the trailhead sign. That path will intersect with the service road to the north in about ¼ mile.
Ample Parking At TrailheadAlternative Route For More Ambitious Hikers
This first segment is through a slash pine forest that provides good habit for deer, bear, and panthers.
Off We Go On The Park Service Road
Slash pine are a native evergreen conifer with bark that looks like it has been slashed with an ax. But my local friends tell me the word “slash” also means “swamp” in the south, hence pine trees that can grow and thrive in wet conditions. They grow rapidly and live for about 200 years. Slash pine forests tend to have an open canopy that allows light to penetrate to the forest floor which encourages growth of vegetation for denizens of the forest to dine upon and seek shelter. Pine flatwoods typically grow in low, flat land with sandy soils.
Slash Pine Forest Slash Pine TrunkSlash Pine Needles
You can see scorched trees here and there, this being a fire-dependent ecosystem where regular burning, both natural and prescribed, is required to maintain an open plant community.
Fires–Natural and Prescribed–Are Essential To A Healthy Habitat
I find the key to really enjoying this environment is to not only look up and into the trees to spot birds and large wildlife but also to keep an eye focused on the ground close by looking for little things—flowers, tree snail shells, interesting small critters like shrews and lizards. Kids are often better at that than adults. Right on cue, I soon I see some lovely wildflowers like the bright yellow tickseeds and dainty blue-eyed grass that the colorful and intricately marked Buckeye and White Peacock butterflies can’t resist.
Boldly marked Buckeye ButterflyShowy Yellow TickseedsDainty White Peacock Butterfly
In about 15 minutes and a half mile in, you will come to a fork in the road—stay right and continue hiking through the slash pine woods.
Stay Right At Road Fork
Soon you will start to see some bald cypress to the east, marking the transition to a wetter environment. They are one of the few conifers that drop their needles every fall and put out new ones in the spring. During the rainy summer season, the cypress trees to the east will be standing in ankle-deep water and maybe more, one of the few trees that can grow and actually thrive in the wet environment. Hiking is a real adventure then!
Bald Cypress Love WaterNew Springtime NeedlesSoft Feathery Bald Cypress Needles
Continue on for another 15 minutes and quarter mile–about a mile from the trailhead—where the suggested route veers left off the service road and continues on to the northwest on a well-marked and maintained stretch of the Florida Trail.
Off The Park Road Onto The Florida Trail Stretch
While it is a tad more challenging for kids, it’s still an easy hike and provides a great opportunity to ramble through a prairie environment that is a surprise to many who associate the Everglades with swamps, tall saw grass, and alligators.
On To The Florida Trail
Here you will see winsome wildflowers and birds like the small white-eyed vireo and the raucous gray catbird. Later in the spring the flashy Eastern Lubber Grasshopper makes its appearance.
Eastern Lubber Grasshopper
Before starting up the Florida Trail, you can take a little side trip as I did and continue up the service road where it dead ends at the park boundary in another quarter of a mile. It’s always surprising to see what you find on these peregrinations. This time I came across a little shrew that had apparently breathed its last not long ago and a blue crab claw. I puzzled over the fate of that little critter that is still soft to the touch or how that claw got way back here away from any water.
(As an aside, I caution against taking the turnoff to the Florida Trail that heads southeast to the right and circles back to the trailhead. This section will be much wetter most of the year, and the time I hiked it in February of 2025 a portion had been bisected and obliterated in part by a vehicle access road for fire fighters. I ended up losing the trail and wandering into a marshy area further south. If you choose to take this route, be sure to check with the state park rangers about its condition.)
The Florida Trail section of the hike that I recommend weaves in and out of the prairie and the slash pine woods for about a third of a mile. I enjoy the wildflowers and changing vegetation like the saw palmetto stand fringed by delicate looking yellow flowers poking through the prairie grass then into a mixed slash pine/bald cypress stand.
Happy Hiker!Saw Palmetto Fringed By WildflowersFrom Prairie Into Forest
Soon the trail emerges into an opening and where it intersects with the west fork of the park service road that will take me back to the trailhead.
Out Of The Prairie and Back On The Service Road
I stop to take a drink and get my bearings, then turn left to the southeast off the Florida Trail. Now the fun begins. Around the bend is a small puddle of water on the road ahead of me, and I see a large bird swoop down for a drink. First I think vulture, but then see a patch of red its head—what a surprise, a pileated woodpecker on the ground, very unusual. I creep up slowly for a photo, but of course the big shy bird—the biggest of the woodpecker clan in North America that measures up to twenty inches with a wingspan of 30 inches– flees to a tree back in the woods.
Pileated Woodpecker Getting DrinkElusive Bird Keeps His DistancePhoto Credit: Wikipedia
There he hides while chastising me with his loud staccato call. I sneak behind a nearby stand of saw palmetto, and soon the curious bird peers around the tree for a look. I manage to get a good telephoto profile shot before he spots me and flies off.
I am still chuckling at his antics as I continue down the road where I see another big bird ahead. This one really is a vulture, and he is feasting on something. I snap a few long-distance photos then move up to inspect. It looks like some animal has made a meal of a small wading bird, maybe a green heron or a cattle egret—or could even be a woodpecker—and the vulture is getting leftovers.
Feasting VultureDinnerRacoon Tracks
I see some racoon tracks, but the pesky coons aren’t likely big enough to take down a bird that size. Maybe a bear or a panther? The circle of life.
Next some big, odd-looking fungi catch my eye. One that resembles a mushroom a bit and has a striking geometric design. It is attached firmly to a stump. It’s called Polyporaceae and is reportedly poisonous. Another nearby with the moniker mouthful of Sparassidaceae is also known as cauliflower fungus! Aptly named!
Poisonous Poly FungusCauliflower Fungus
Continuing on the short jaunt back to the fork in the road, I spy spring flowers starting to emerge. Dainty Ontario lobelia, salt marsh aster, puffy narrowleaf silkgrass, and milkweed, a butterfly favorite.
Ontario LobeliaSaltmarsh AsterSilk GrassMilkweed
From the fork on the short distance back south to the trailhead, I enjoy a gentle breeze beneath a warm sunny sky. I haven’t seen a sole on the trail except for the friendly squadron of park fire fighters in their pickups. It’s been delightful to be immersed in nature with all its surprises and savor the quiet of the wilderness so close to a sprawling urban area. Next time I will remember to bring my fishing rod!!
My holy quest for a trout grand slam continues. So far so good–browns, rainbows, and brookies checked off on Days 1 and 2. Now for the toughest one—a native Rio Grande Cutthroat. My destination today is Medano Creek, hidden in a beautiful valley between the soaring peaks of the Wet Mountain and Sangre de Cristo ranges. Medano Creek flows south into the Great Sands Dune National Park where it disappears into the sand.
Medano Creek Flows Into Then Disappears In The Thirsty Sands of the National Park To the Delight of My Granddaughter Aly.
But don’t be fooled! Before it does, it flows free and cold, high in the mountains above and is one of the best cutthroat waters in Colorado.
Miles Above the Great Sand Dunes, Rio Grande Cutthroats Thrive in the Clear, Pure Waters of Medano Creek
Kudos go to the folks at Colorado Parks and Wildlife for this treasure. Over a decade ago, they prepared the creek for cutthroats to survive and flourish by poisoning out invasive species like brown trout and then stocking it with Rio Grande Cutthroats, which were on the verge of being listed as endangered. The cutts proliferated, a great success story. Fishing for the cutthroats is allowed, but catch and release is the rule.
Having fished the creek a couple of times, I know the cutts are thriving and hungry. The question is–can I get there over the very rough Medano Pass road? In the best of conditions, it’s a teeth-jarring, bone-rattling drive, but with all the rain we have had in July and August it is likely to be in worse shape. It doesn’t see a road grader very often that’s for sure, especially on the east side of the pass.
For safety’s sake, it’s good to have someone with you on this trip, so I invite my fishing buddy from Salida, Mr. Tom P. to join me. I call him Tenkara Tom. Tenkara is a simple, traditional Japanese style that uses a very long rod, a short light line, and typically only one wet fly. It has only become popular in the USA in the last 15 years. It works best on small streams because of the short line that is simply flipped out with the fly without any false casting as with traditional fly casting. Tom is a master at it, as he demonstrated by outfishing me last year on a small creek in the San Juan Mountains. I am hoping to deliver his well-deserved comeuppance on Medano Creek.
I meet him in Westcliffe at 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday for the two-hour drive over Medano Pass, our goal being a series of beaver ponds and open creek stretches several miles below. Don’t be fooled by the Google Maps that portrays this as a one hour and five-minute drive. It will take about two hours if you avoid any mishaps. The first part of the drive is down CO 69 highway, which is a good paved road, about 25 miles to the turnoff on gravel road 559 which leads to Medano Pass. Be sure to keep your eyes peeled for the Medano Pass turnoff sign. Don’t follow the circuitous route suggested by Google Maps
Follow the Signs On CO 69 For the Turnoff To Medano Pass
The trip is a very scenic one that often features herds of elk or buffalo with the striking Wet Mountains framing the view.
The first five miles or so on road 559 are decent, skirting a big lake on private property before beginning the ascent to the pass. But from there things can get gnarlier by the mile as Tom and I soon discover. The road clearly hasn’t seen a grader for some months as witnessed by the eroded channels coursing down the two-track carved out by recent rains.
Every mile or so where the road splits to avoid a big boulder or stand of trees, Tom jumps out and evaluates the better route, which works well until we decide to go right to avoid a stretch to the left with some sharp rocks protruding from the roadway. The right fork is steeper, but the roadbed looks to be in better shape. I line up to gun up the grade as Tom steps to the side. I am in 4-wheel drive with some new AT tires, so don’t expect what happens next. I lurch a few feet forward, then my tires start to spin wildly getting no traction, and my SUV begins to slide backwards with the tires kicking up baseball-sized rocks. I turn the wheel slightly hoping to avoid sliding into some big trees behind, but that maneuver results in the SUV starting to tilt on its side. Luckily I get the vehicle stopped before I roll it. I sit there shaking for a minute, having survived what felt like a near-death experience. It probably wasn’t that bad, but the look on Tom’s face says it all. We soon regroup, back up and take the rocky looking stretch which proves to not be as bad as it looked. But you get the picture–this is a route for 4WD vehicles with high clearance only and drivers with substantial experience on rough backcountry roads. Indeed, a better route may be through the Great Sand Dunes National Park. While there are some challenges with that way as well, such as several deep creek crossings and the notorious Sand Pit that can swallow unsuspecting vehicles and requires you to deflate your tires before proceeding then reinflate when you hit solid roadbed, at least you are closer to civilization if you need to walk out or get help.
Beware The SUV-Eating Sand Pit
Most Creek Crossings Are Navigable Except After Heavy Rains
Once over Medano Pass, however, we breathe much easier and can enjoy the spectacular fall scenery. The road in the National Park and Preserve proves to be much better maintained than in the national forest on the east side of Medano Pass.
The only challenges are a couple of stream crossings, but unless there has been a big rain they are easy in a high-clearance SUV. Within a few miles down off the pass, we come to a series of beaver ponds and a hidden stretch of open creek water below where I have done well on earlier trips.
That’s where we pull over and suit up. I am wearing chest waders and Tom his wet-wading knee-high outfit. Tom rigs up his 9-foot tenkara rod with a #14 soft hackled pheasant tail he will fish wet. It’s a pattern I have seen him catch numerous fish on. I have my short 7.5 foot 3# wand ready to go with a #18 Chubby Chernobyl dry and a #18 Dirk’s Delight green caddis larva dropper. By 9:45 we are bushwhacking towards a nice open stretch of the creek hidden downstream of the big beaver ponds. But as we reach our destination we find the busy beavers have been hard at work—they have built a series of small beaver dams that make casting very difficult. The dams have backed up water into the overhanging trees and bushes, and the new ponds are too deep or mucky to wade.
Fortunately, we can see the fish, some rising insouciantly beneath the overhanging bushes. Tom boldly fords the creek and crashes further downstream. Soon he is hooting and hollering that he has a good one. “First fish of the day—a cutt over 12 inches!” he shouts. Likely story I think! And he never snaps a photo or produces any other evidence of the event.
We head upstream and finally come to an open stretch that was a hot spot last year. The water is very low and clear, but with a careful approach we get within casting distance of the pool and have some fun sight fishing. We can see a half dozen fish looking upstream waiting for their next meal to float by. I give Tom first chance, and he immediately snaps off his pheasant tail in some bushes behind us. I wait patiently while he searches for a replacement in his fly box, but all he comes up with is a bushy #18 caddis dry fly. I have to stifle my chuckle, but then on his first cast he connects immediately. A beautiful small cutthroat.
Then it’s my turn, and on my first cast a colorful cutty nails the dry! Grand Slam!!
Beautiful Rio Grande Cutthroat Completes The Grand Slam!
From then on, it’s non-stop action for the beautiful natives. In a few minutes Tom manages to fool a gorgeous one, sporting a namesake bright reddish-orange slash on its throat, that goes almost a foot, one of the biggest of the day.
We continue on upstream and come to a challenging bend pool guarded by snags mid-stream. On previous trips it has produced some good-sized, feisty fish for me.
Tricky, Snag-Filled Bend Pool Holds Muscular Cutts
Being the gentleman fly fisherman, I motion for Tom to go first. He shows off his stealthy moves by creeping up to a spot on the opposite shore where he can flip his fly out without spooking the fish and still reach the honey hole between the snags. He sits quietly to let things settle down, then flicks a backhand cast that results in his fly alighting perfectly between the snags. In a flash, he’s onto a good fish. He lands that one and then fools two more from the same pool. Good show Mr. T!!
We continue upstream and come to my favorite long, open stretch of the creek just below an old big beaver dam. But of course, things have changed since last year. The beaver have constructed another big dam—almost 4 feet high–that has flooded the creek all the way up to the foot of the old beaver dam, creating a long linear pond 20 or so feet across. My heart sinks as I utter a few choice words. But hope springs eternal, so I begin to scale the new dam, a bold move by a septuagenarian. I manage to get near the top so I have enough clearance to cast but still keep low enough not to spook the fish….if there are any in the new pond.
I throw a long cast into the slow current, let the flies settle, then give my line a twitch. The water explodes as a good cutt gulps down the dry. He cavorts back and forth around the pond, then something almost jerks the rod out of my hand. Low and behold, another trout surfaces with the caddis larva in its jaw. He goes one way, the dry fly guy the other. It’s a fun battle, and I beam as I lift my line out of the water with two fish wriggling wildly. Soon they are swimming back to their pals.
Not to be denied, Tom hikes around the dam to get into the action from the shoreline. Together we get another couple dozen in short succession before we decide to take a lunch break around 12:30. We will hit the old beaver ponds above after feasting on the comestibles.
But the weather has other ideas. As we lounge over lunch, some ominous looking clouds start to roll in from the west along with gusty winds. Instead of flying the white flag, however, we decide to hustle back to the ponds and give them a try…and soon are catching more eager cutthroats in the new narrow pond where I scored the double. Next we do a highwire act along the old dam upstream till we come to an open spot were we can cast. Bingo, the fun continues! Tom, sans waders, has a little trouble reaching the best spots in deeper water offshore with his short line Tenkara rig, but I boldly wade in and am able to cast to some risers out of his reach and net a couple more. Retribution completed!
By now, however, the clouds start to spit rain and the wind is howling, sending us scurrying back to the SUV. It’s about 2:30 when we hit the road back to Westcliffe.
Rain Clouds and Gusty Winds Signal The End To A Fantastic Day
Again we enjoy the scenery with the aspen showing off their fall colors from bright yellow to flaming orange. And now that we know the rough spots on the road from the travails of the morning, the drive back going downhill from Medano Pass is definitely easier and more pleasant, especially with the Grand Slam accomplished. It’s been an enjoyable three days pursuing these beautiful fish in magical, remote surroundings, topped off with a good dose of camaraderie with Tenkara Tom today. After all, that’s what fly fishing is really all about.
Prelude: The comeback story of the endangered Rio Grande Cutthroat is an encouraging one. Once found in waters throughout the Rio Grande River drainage in southern Colorado and northern New Mexico and even in the Pecos River in Texas, its range had shrunk to less than ten percent of the historic area due to a variety of causes like habitat destruction and introduction of invasive species like rainbow and brook trout. But a cooperative effort by government agencies like the federal Fish and Wildlife Service and Colorado Parks and Wildlife as well as conservation groups such as Trout Unlimited has brought this stunningly beautiful fish back from the brink.
One of the pure delights of the angling adventures of this aging septuagenarian fly fisher has been to sample several of the streams in the San Luis Valley like Medano Creek in the Great Sand Dunes National Preserve and the Adams and Lake Fork of the Conejos River that provide safe harbor for this striking, rare fish. I am infatuated with its gorgeous colors and as much by the wild country where the Rio Grande Cutts survive and thrive, streams that you have to work to get to and offer quiet solitude upon arrival.
Rio Grande Cutthroat From A Remote Creek In The San Luis Valley
Given its status, I am extra cautious in following any applicable state regulations (e.g., flies only, catch and release) and handle each catch with extreme care before returning the fish to the water.
Recently, in doing some on-line research about the current status of recovery efforts, I stumbled on a couple of interesting reports from 2008 and 2016 entitled “The Range-Wide Status of Rio Grande Cutthroat Trout.” The 100-page plus studies, put together by a team of state and federal wildlife and land management agencies and the Jicarilla Apache Tribe, identified a host of smaller, little known creeks and streams that were documented as having viable Rio Grande Cutthroat populations along with summaries of efforts to protect and improve habitat for the trout. Illustrative maps depicted the stretches of these waters that held viable Rio Grande Cutthroat populations.
Three caught my eye in Saguache County, Colorado, that marked the northern most range of the Rio Grande Cutthroat—Jacks, Cross, and East Middle Creeks, lying just south of the Continental Divide and the range of the Greenback Cutthroats over the mountains in the Arkansas River drainage. All three are in the drainage of Saguache Creek, on of my favorite trout streams. The reports stated that there were decent populations of the fish—from 150 to 400/mile–in each water with fair but suitable habitat. In one—East Middle Creek, a tributary of Middle Creek—the reports noted the existence of a stream barrier high in the upper sections of the creek such as waterfall or a small dam/drop structure to protect cutthroat populations from intrusion by invasive species like brook trout from below. (cp004 in the map below) These creeks are located close together about a dozen miles or so west of the small town of Saguache and just over an hour’s drive from my cabin near Salida, Colorado. Who could resist exploring? Do those streams still hold the rare Rio Grande Cutthroats?
On Day One of my quest in July, I reconnoitered Cross, Jacks, and Middle Creeks. It was an enjoyable outing, and the brook trout were very cooperative on Middle Creek. (For Day 1Follies, see http://hooknfly.com/2024/08/25/colorados-san-luis-valley-stronghold-of-the-rare-rio-grande-cutthroat/ ) But the cutthroat proved elusive. I started to question whether any of the cutts existed this far north in the San Luis Valley. Supposedly they survived high up in East Middle Creek, several miles above the confluence with Middle Creek, but I was beginning to have my doubts. The only way to find out was to break out the hiking boots and fly rods and hit the trail.
Day 2: Searching for the Elusive East Middle Creek Cutthroats
A month later in early August, I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. In a disturbing dream I had fished for days on end nonstop on East Middle Creek, searching for the elusive Rio Grande Cutthroats reputed to be there, but had been skunked time and again. A true angler’s nightmare. From past experience, I knew the only antidote was to plan a trip post haste to East Middle Creek to prove the cutts are really there. And I would need a witness, so in the morning I rang my ace photographer friend Jody Bol to accompany me and document their existence.
A couple of weeks later we are bouncing up CR 38FF towards the Middle Creek trailhead. The road is rougher in spots than last month and pocked by occasional mudholes from all the rain the area has been getting during the so-called monsoon season—maybe a grand total of a couple of inches, which is substantial for this high mountain valley desert. I have checked the State Of Colorado on-line flow gauge for Saguache Creek downstream as none exist for Middle or East Middle Creeks. It shows that Saguache Creek is running high which may be a good indicator that there will be enough water in the smaller tributaries that are shallow this time of year under normal circumstances.
Soon we come to the trailhead and prepare our gear for what will be a day-long outing of about eight miles roundtrip to the supposed cutthroat lair and back.
Middle Fork Trailhead
I am going to wet wade today so pull on my new Simms Flyweight fishing boots designed for hiking as well as wading. I will be carrying only one rod, a short 7.5 foot wand that should be easier to cast with in the tight quarters of East Middle Creek. I have rigged it with a #16 bushy Royal Stimulator that produced well back in July. It’s a reasonable facimile of the grasshoppers clacking loudly as the flitter about, and more importantly it floats like a battleship and can be seen easily by aging eyes.
We hit the trail around 9:30 a.m. for the first mile of hiking along Middle Creek to the confluence with East Middle where the cutthroat allegedly swim.
Photographer Jody Bol On The Trail
The weather is 60 degrees under a beautiful cloudless Colorado bluebird sky. The trail is a bit damp in spots and lined with an abundance of gorgeous wildflowers—blue asters, dwarf mountain goldenrods, and lupines.
Blue AstersDwarf Mountain GoldenrodLupines
Jody disappears from time-to-time to snap photos. In a herculean exhibition of will, I refrain from sneaking down the slope to Middle Creek where I can see fish rising in the alluring beaver ponds that yielded many will brook trout on my last trip up here in July.
Iron Will Resists MIddle Creek Beaver Pond Temptation
We cover the route to the confluence in about 45 minutes and come to the spot above the confluence where the trail crosses East Middle Creek and then splits. The water is running a bit lower than a month ago but is clear and cold. We decide to take a quick break and a sip from our water bottles. Of course, now I can’t resist at least one cast…ok, maybe a few…into the inviting bend pool! Back in July I caught a scrappy brookie here, but maybe there’s a cutthroat in there fraternizing with the invaders from the eastern USA. My first cast is a bit short, and the fly skirts the edge of the pool in water only a few inches deep. No dice. I lengthen my line a few feet and recast. This time the Stimi alights close against the bank above the pool and swirls enticingly into the deeper water. There’s a flash, and I am onto an lively fish, but alas I can see from its orange trimming that it’s a brook trout.
Colorful Brookie Kicks Off The Trip
After some quick pix of the spunky fish, we cross over the water and follow the trail a short distance where it splits. To the left would take us to the west back to where the trail intersects and then follows Middle Creek to the north. We turn to the right and hike the trail as it parallels East Creek upstream to the reputed cutthroat water. The hike is a pleasant one with a generally modest grade and a cool breeze blowing. The wildflower show seems to get even more incredible as we climb, carpeting the edges of the trail and slopes with gentle beauty.
Wildflowers Carpet The Landscape
Our plan is to descend to the creek whenever we spy a relatively open stretch with sufficient depth and that isn’t overgrown so I can safely cast a fly and that might hold some prized cutthroats. For the first half hour or so, they are few and far between. Most of the creek is hidden in thickets of willows, tree branches, and fallen logs. But where I can find a stretch that has some pools that will provide a hideout for trout and I can manage to thread my casts over logs and dodge overhanging branches or have enough elbow room to try an unorthodox downstream float, the trout are there and hungry. Every short stretch produces two or three. Unfortunately, they are not cutthroats, but chunky brookies that can’t resist the Stimi that they mistake for one of the grasshoppers buzzing about everywhere.
Tight Quarters!Another Brookie!!
We continue on for another mile, sampling the stream whenever we find a decent-sized opening in the thicket. But it’s more brookies which have taken over the creek en masse. Then just when I am getting despondent about the chances of finding any cutthroats we come to a picture-perfect active big beaver pond complete with a photogenic beaver lodge.
Trout are rising steadily in the center of the pond. The dam is definitely large and high enough that it could be the barrier that stops the brookie invasion. Fearlessly, I start to work my way across the beaver dam to get within casting distance of the risers, all the while doing do my best imitation of a tight-rope walker. To make things more dicey, the beaver have chinked the top of the dam with mud to stop any leaks. Somehow I survive the gooey mess and carefully unfurl a cast that astonishingly avoids snagging in the trees that are lined up below the dam. I let the fly settle then strip it in slowly across the surface. A couple of twitches and the water explodes as a decent-sized fish tries to devour the fly. He misses. I reload and throw another cast that is intercepted in the clutches of a dastardly willow tree behind me. I issue some choice expletives then miraculously pull the offending branch close enough that I can wriggle the fly loose. A good omen, as my next offering alights near where a good fishing has been rising, and he immediately gulps down my offering. My rod bends nicely as the fish jumps then dives for safety of a pile of submerged logs. In preparation for a celebratory cutthroat trout, I do my patented sashaying 360 degree pirouette retrieve, and after a good battle, he relents.
Fish On!!Patented 360 Pirouette Celebratory Retrieve
My blood pressure spikes as I await the verdict…. brookie or cutthroat?. Aarghh!! Another chunky brookie has eaten the Stimi!
Weight Watchers Candidate
Five casts and five fish later—all brook trout—I dejectedly begin navigating back across the beaver dam, an impressive high-wire act reminiscent of the famous Flying Wallendas, to renew the search for cutthroats further upstream.
Septuagenarian Death Wish
Soon the high peak of Mount Antora, an almost 14-teener, peeks above the horizon signaling the headwaters of East Middle Creek can’t be far ahead.
Mount Antora Above On The Continental Divide
In another half mile the creek hangs a turn to the south and heads up a steep ravine flanked by the trail high above. My resolve is wavering on whether to continue further up a series of switchbacks when I come to a sign from Colorado Parks and Wildlife featuring a handsome Rio Grande Cutthroat and catch and release regulations. Has to be an good omen so I continue up the switchbacks that climb up the steep slope. Hope springs eternal!
A Sign From The Fishing Gods??
The climb in my heavy wading/hiking boots is no picnic in my now soaking wet, so-call flyweight wading boots. But I can hear the creek roaring over a hundred feet below and can see a series of enchanting clear pools.
Huffing And Puffing Up The Switchbacks (Disclaimer: That’s My Waterproof Phone Gear Around My Waist, Not A Belly Fat Roll!)Cutthroat Sanctuary?
Then in the canyon below I spot what we have been looking for—the brook trout barrier in the form of a four-foot waterfall that probably is high enough to stop the invaders.
Brook Trout Barricade!
After the series of steep switchbacks, the trail soon reaches a plateau at almost 10,000 feet elevation then descends a short distance down an easy slope to the creek which is nestled in a small valley above the waterfall. The gradient here is much gentler, and the creek is less overgrown. The casting will still be in tight quarters and there are big logs toppled into the water here and there, but mercifully more open water without the heavy bushwhacking I had to do downstream of the waterfall.
The first pool looks promising and immediately a fish pushing at least two inches bumps the fly with her nose repeatedly, nibbling away. I have to laugh—talk about eyes being bigger than her stomach. I carefully recast a little further up in the pool. This time the fly disappears as a good trout smacks it and dives.
Cutthroat Hideout??
It’s a stout fighter and as it thrashes on the surface looks to be a veritable leviathan of 10-11 inches! The battle continues and I catch a silvery glint as the fish rolls—something you wouldn’t expect from a brook trout. BINGO! As the fish slides closer, I see the hallmark orange slash along its throat, a wild, grand Rio Grande Cutthroat!! I’m beaming—all that trudging and bushwhacking has paid off. A quick photo, and the cutthroat scoots back to his lair.
The Beautiful, Elusive Rio Grande Cutthroat
Now I pause and reflect. It feels like a near-religious experience to gently cradle such a beautiful, rare creature in my hand in the northern most reaches of his kind.
Appreciating The Beauty And The History, Contemplating The Future
I think of his lineage, a long line of ancestors that have plied these waters through the centuries. Of the Utes and other Native Americans who were stewards of this land and water and how they and the cutthroat trout lived together for decades in a balanced nature before the white man intruded. I take consolation that there is a strong coalition of conservation groups and federal and state agencies like Colorado Parks and Wildlife that are successfully protecting the Rio Grande Cutthroats today and rebuilding its numbers in dozens of waters throughout its range in Colorado and New Mexico. I tip my hat to them and look forward to reporting more in the future about how their handiwork is paying off here on remote East Middle Creek and elsewhere in the San Luis Valley, a gift to future generations.
I am up early the next morning to greet Mr. Sol. I am anxious to try the lower section of Archuleta that has been good to me in the past. But with the temperature in the low 40s and the wind still kicking up, I judiciously decide to await the warming rays of the sun to do their job.
Sunrise Over Campsite And Upper Dome Lake
By 9:00 a.m. things are looking better, and I strike out. I wave to my Florida white pelican fan club as I cruise around Upper Dome Lake and then head downstream on CR NN14. I pass the turnout where I reconnoitered yesterday and continue another quarter mile or so where I park on the side of a wide spot in the road. Soon I am suited up in my waders, and today I carry two rods, the 4# rod rigged with the just the Royal Stimulator that has been a hit with the trout and the shorter 3# rod with a #16 Royal Trude and a sparkle caddis larva dropper just in case they aren’t hitting the dry today.
Day Three; The Chosen Three Flies–Royal Stimulator, Chubby Chernobyl, And Sparkle Caddis Larva Nymph
I slide down the steep bank and begin to gracefully tiptoe through the barbed wire fence that is tilted at a precarious angle just barely off the ground. My long legs should have no problem I think as I step adroitly over a couple of strands. Soon I am congratulating myself on my gymnastic ability, but then I notice a rip in my waders about knee high where a sharp barb has done its silent dirty work. Grrrr! The rip is about a half inch long, indicating the potential for wet socks in the not-too-distant future.
Barbed Wire Artwork
Shaking off this inauspicious start, I head downstream through the boggy terrain to the confluence of Archuleta with the larger Cochetopa Creek. While I know Cochetopa is high, I am not prepared for the turbulent, raging torrent that greets me.
Confluence Of Archuleta (on left) And Cochetopa Creeks
I have often waded easily across Cochetopa just below the confluence, which would now be a risk of life adventure. The good news is that the wind has died down a bit and while annoying from time-to-time today, casting won’t be a major hassle.
I unfurl the 4# rod and flick the Stimi upstream into a quiet pocket in Archuleta Creek just above the confluence. Pandemonium ensues as a dozen or more fish hiding in the pocket spy me and start darting in and out of their hideaway. I had gotten careless and didn’t kneel or stand back from the bank. After a period of self-flagellation, I calm down, kneel down, and flick my fly 20 feet upstream into a nice run below a riffle.
Looking Upstream On Archuleta Creek Above Confluence
A substantial brown trout gulps down the Stimi like he is starving, no hesitation whatsoever. Two more follow in quick succession. The action is fast as I continue upstream, but I must move cautiously as the water is crystal clear.
Good Brownie Starts The DayCautiom: Cleart Water
I come to a long shallow stretch and am about ready to cross over the stream to get a better casting angle at the upcoming bend pool when I see something big rise and gobble something down against the opposite shoreline in a dark little depression no more than a couple of feet long. My first cast is a flub, too far out in the thin current, but my second alights just a few inches from the shoreline, and my dry swirls into the dark spot. The denizen pounces on the Stimi as I watch transfixed. He disappears back into the shadow as I wake up and set the hook. The trout erupts into the air and blasts off upstream. My reel is screaming as I bail into the water in hot pursuit. Trout are scattering every which way in front of me as I apply the brakes and force the muscular brownie to reverse course. Before long I ease him into my net. He goes a tad over 16-inches, a nice trophy in this small water.
Big Brownie From Against Far Shoreline In Shallow Stretch
I release the handsome fish, then decide it’s time to enjoy the scene and have a little snack. Beautiful yellow wild sweet peas are blooming in profusion along the bank, and wild iris dot the wet meadow.
Wild Sweet Pea Carpet The Wet Meadow
I spot some pronghorn grazing up above on the slopes of the Cochetopa Dome. All is framed by a brilliant blue bird Colorado sky. But before long the next bend pool beckons.
I decide to try the dry/dropper rig, and catch a few on the sparkle caddis larva, but the Stimi continues to rule. Another bend pool looms ahead, but this one will be tricky as a couple of overhanging bushes will demand a pinpoint cast to drop the fly into the current along the far shoreline without getting snagged. I carefully gauge the distance, execute a couple of false casts, and send the dry to alight daintily right in the upper bush. I utter a few expletives, but instead of jerking the line hard, a give it the lightest of tugs, and the fly falls delicately right into the honey hole.
Brownie Bush!!
It immediately disappears in a small geyser of water as another big brownie dines noisily. The trout bores deep into the hole, but I manage to ease him away from the snags and soon he relents, a 15-incher.
Bush Brownie
It’s approaching noon by now and my stomach is growling, but I decided to fish another pool before breaking out the beef stick, granola bar, and peanuts. There’s a riffle midstream above that cascades into a good-looking pool with some depth. I throw my cast upstream of the riffle and watch the fly bounce jauntily through the turbulent water. Then it disappears in a swirl. I raise the rod quickly and the fish is hooked. It’s a chunky brook trout, the first I see today.
Chunky Brook Trout Add To The Fun
I continue fishing post snack until about 2 p.m., when I come to the stile below the turnout. It’s taken me a good four hours to work only about a half mile of intriguing winding water up from the confluence. As I scramble up the slope to the road, I turn and tip my hat to the wonderful waters of Archuleta Creek. Later this afternoon I will be heading to Gunnison to gas up the SUV for the trip tomorrow and partake of my annual chicken fried steak dinner there.
Day Four: Exploring Four Fine Finny Tributaries of Cochetopa Creek
With Cochetopa Creek blown out, running at over 130 cfs, I decide to devote my last day of fishing exploring one of its major four tributaries between my campsite on Dome Lake and the Eddiesville South Trailhead 20 plus miles upstream to the west—Pauline, Perfecto, Chavez, and Nutras Creeks. Several have good meadow sections, but I am particularly interested in checking out the big beaver ponds they harbor, all of which have been productive on past trips. Can you figure out which one I choose??
I am up early and on the road by 8 a.m. I drive up CR 14DD, the Eddiesville Road that once was a major route over the mountains to Lake City and other booming gold and silver mining areas in the 1870s. I am in my 4WD SUV, but the road is usually in good enough condition to be negotiable by a sedan—except after heavy rains.
I start out being treated to an incredible sight of thousands of sheep moving across a meadow of the Quarter Circle Ranch, replete with a sheep wagon that houses the flock’s sheepherder.
Soon I cross the bridge over raging Cochetopa Creek and then a hundred feet further on the brim-full Pauline Creek just above the confluence of the two waters. Then it’s up a steep uphill where I am greeted by a couple of pronghorn bucks grazing nonchalantly in a meadow. Before long I come to the turnoff to Pauline Creek canyon where I have had good days on some big beaver ponds.
Turnoff To Pauline Creek Canyon
I decide to continue, thinking maybe I will come back later after my recon is complete. Soon I dip down into the valley above the canyon and cross the upper stretch of Pauline which is running hard but clear.
Pauline Creek Running High And Fast
A few miles further up the road I am treated to magnificent views of the snow-covered peaks of the eastern San Juan mountains—San Luis at 14,022 feet and Steward at 13,983 feet.
San Luis Peak–A Fourteener
Then I drop down into another valley where I see the enticing beaver ponds of Perfecto Creek but keep going. Before long I cross Chavez and Nutras Creek, both looking good with strong, clear flows and featuring some alluring beaver ponds. What’s an angler to do??
I ponder a bit then head to the chosen creek. I turn off the Eddiesville Road onto a rough two track that leads to a ridge overlooking the curvaceous creek below in a broad valley. I suit up and start the descent, heading downstream where I know there are a series of five big beaver ponds that harbor 20-inch brown trout.
Into The Wilds
I follow a game trail on the west side of the valley that soon narrows, now flanked by some impressive rock walls with steep pine covered slopes across on the east side. I get a nice early surprise when I look down and see a new beaver pond with signs of recent activity courtesy of the wizards of gnaws. I decide to catch it on my way back upstream after hitting the big beaver ponds below.
Enticing New Beaver Pond
I feel the joy of wilderness and solitude as I continue on. There isn’t a boot mark on the narrow game trail, only hoof prints of deer, antelope, and maybe moose. The aspen are just popping, spring coming late in the high country. Showy wild iris are blooming wherever there is a wet spot along the trail.
Suddenly I hear the clatter of hoofs up above the trail and turn just in time to see two big buck pronghorn skedaddling the opposite direction. I do my best imitation of a crow, and that stops one of the curious boys in his tracks. He turns slowly to size up the intruder. I smile and snap a couple of photos as he slowly walks closer. I ask him how things are going. He wheels and jets away.
Close Encounter Of The Pronghorn Kind
The trail edges higher up the slope and gives me a glimpse of the five beaver ponds stair-stepping down into the canyon. My fishing fever is boiling over as I step up the pace. In a half mile I am above one of the ponds and bushwhack my way down to the water, but a big surprise awaits. There’s a major gap in the dam where a flood has blown it out. The water in the pond is barely knee deep, and I don’t see a fish anywhere. I make a few casts here and there where the water looks deeper, but it’s no dice. So I work my way upstream to the next dam where the scene is repeated. This one is a real heartbreaker–when I last trekked here five years ago it was one of the most scenic beaver ponds I had ever seen, complete with a picturesque lodge. And I had caught a 20” brown standing on the dam that is now breached in a couple of spots. Nary a fish is in sight as I wade up the current throwing a cast here and there with little hope.
The Heartbreak Of Blown Out Beaver Ponds
It takes me almost hour to work my way back up to the first pond I had spotted at the start of my hike that looked to be of recent construction. Three other ponds had met the same fate as the lower two, gaps ripped in the dams leaving very little holding water. I had failed to spot a fish the whole time, either in the leftover puddles or creek stretches in between the breached dams.
But then I see a rise in the new pond–hope springs eternal. I decide to forego lunch for the time being and navigate down the slope to the water. I wade in carefully between the trees and brush that appear to have been inundated only recently.
The Allure Of A New Beaver PondBeaver Pond Inlet Stream
The bottom is unusually firm for a beaver pond, another indication that the dam is fairly new. I choose my shorter rod that will make it easier to avoid all the limbs and branches around me when casting and flip out the Stimi/sparkle caddis dry/dropper rig a few feet while adjust my drag and lengthen my line. WHAM, something immediately gulps down the caddis dropper and tugs away. Of course I miss the eager fish, but I can’t help chuckle. I wade out a tad further and flip the flies upstream into the inlet flow. Immediately the dry is yanked under as another fish eats the caddis dropper. It’s a frisky brook trout pushing 12 inches. He jumps and dives, but eventually relents. The first fish of the day, the skunk vanquished. I quickly release and reload and this time another brookie, a bit smaller, nails the dry. Then another.
Eager Beaver Pond Brookie
I throw a couple of long casts across the current down towards the dam where the water appears darker and deeper. I slowly coax the flies back into the current and watch a bigger brookie poking after the dry, but he won’t take. I also see a couple of rises by the dam but can’t reach the spot from this angle because of all the intervening trees and bushes. Beaver ponds are never easy! If I want to reach that sweet looking water I will have to wade across the inlet stream above, navigate around some bushes at the upper end of the pond, clamber up a steep slope around a thicket, then slide back down to the water near the dam. Exhibiting some impressive septuagenarian gymnastic moves, I succeed in navigating to the opposite side of the pond with only minor scratches and bruises.
The water is indeed deeper on this side as discover when it laps at my waist only 10 feet from the shoreline. I decide to rerig my 4# rod with a beadhead olive wooly bugger with a Psycho Prince dropper. The weighted olive bugger will make sure the flies get down deep where I suspect the bigger fish are hiding. And they are. On the first cast towards the dam, I let the flies sink to the count of six and something immediately intercepts with a light tug before I start the retrieve. I miss connecting. It takes me awhile to get the hang of it with these fish, but soon a nice almost foot-long brookie is coming to the net, having succumbed to the allure of the Psycho Prince.
Deep Water On Far Side Of Pond BeckonsAnd ProducesBeaver Pond Madness Grips Old Angler
I have to be ready to set the hook whenever there is the slightest tug or even just a momentary tightening of the line. Oddly for brookies, only a few strikes are hard and bold. The brookies seem to like both the wooly bugger and prince equally, and before long I have caught and released more than a dozen of the spunky fish, including a couple of bigger ones. They were hiding in the deeper water that was flowing across the face of the dam to the outlet at the east corner of the pond. Interestingly, I don’t catch any brown trout that used to dominate the ponds in the canyon. Washed away in the floods that breached the dams??
It’s early afternoon now and my thoughts are turning to the cold RC Cola back across the pond in my little cooler bag. I start working back across the pond and pick up a couple more brookies at the inlet stream on the Stimi and sparkle caddis larva. I also spot what looks to be a beaver lodge in the early stages of construction amongst a tangle of flooded trees. Freshly cut branches litter the ground around it. I have never seen a lodge built in such a concealed location and will be interested to see what it looks like the next time I am here and the beaver have completed their new home.
Beaver Lodge Under Construction
The sun is hot now, and I climb towards a cliff on the west side of the canyon that will provide a some welcome shade. On the way up I run into two grasshoppers making whoopie. It seems early in the season to see hoppers, but I decide after lunch I will try a Chubby Chernobyl dry fly in the meadow above the canyon. The little nook in the cliff turns out to be a good spot to relax, with a peaceful view up and down the valley and a bonus of rock art work thanks to a colony of fungus.
After lunch I continue upstream along the trail for five minutes then cut down to where I can hear the creek gurgling and gushing. I get lucky and emerge just below a narrow section where the remains of a beaver dam have backed up water in a nice pool below a bend in the creek. I start to cast and out of nowhere a mama moose and two calves come crashing out of the thicket of willows and bushes just above the pool. Fortunately, the big mama decides to run away upstream rather than confronting the intruder. I wait a few minutes to let my nerves settle, then aim a cast at the head of the pool where the current spins in. A nice brook trout nails the Chubby and puts up a scrappy battle. I get a few more looks and flashes in the pool, but no solid hits.
I ease around the pool and start casting upstream in the rushing creek. Fortunately the Chubby is so buoyant that it floats like a battleship and is easy to see with its big white wing. Apparently the fish can see it as well because a burly brown laying in a foam line below a riffle smashes the fly. It’s a respectable 13-inch fish and will be the only brownie I catch all day. The brook trout have taken over since my last visit!
Lone Brownie Surprise
I continue to pick up brookies here and there as I emerge from the canyon, out of the thicket, and into a broad meadow. I have been singing loudly the whole time to make sure I don’t surprise the mama moose, which can be exceedingly truculent when protecting their calves. My ditty went something like this (to the tune of Be Kind To Your Fine Feathered Friends Cause a Duck Maybe Somebody’s Mother): “Be kind to your silver-haired friends, because an old codger may be somebody’s grandpa.” Well definitely not a top 40 hit, but it scared the mama moose and her babies out of the thicket, into the open, then tearing back down the valley.
I continue into the meadow which is sop and wet from the creek which is overflowing its banks in spots from the runoff, but still fairly clear and fishable. The meadow is carpeted with wild iris and striking white marsh marigolds.
Wild IrisMarsh Marigolds
I approach the first bend pool stealthily and using my #3 weight short rod with only the Chubby dry fly cast from my knees. The faux hopper swirls into the deepest part of the pool and is promptly wolfed down by a hungry brook trout that goes about 10 inches. Over the next half hour another dozen or so scrappy brookies cannot resist what looks to be a good meal.
Meadow Stretch ProducesWell-Fed Meadow Brookie
However, nary a brown joins the feast in that pool and several that followed upstream—a stretch that produced many just early last summer. I am still puzzling over that. I am contemplating spending another hour on the stream when I hear some thunder coming from the dark clouds that have scudded over the mountains. A few drops of rain start to fall, so I decide I better hightail it back to the SUV just at the top of the hill. The wind kicks up but the rain doesn’t amount too much.
Rain Clouds And Thunder Threaten But Pass On By
Soon I am back on the Eddiesville Road heading to camp. On the way I admire the lupines that are showing their colors all along the road, and right on que another antelope scoots into view to bid me adieu.
It’s been a relaxing and fun four days, notwithstanding the rookie-type mistakes with the mobile fish camp. The angling Gods have been beneficient.
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.
Yellow Trailhead At Gate 3
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.
Looking Back Towards TrailheadMinnow Pool
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.
Bull-Tongue Arrowhead
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.
EpiphyteCardinal AirplantCardinal Airplant In Spring Bloom
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.
Virginia CreeperSaw Greenbrier
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.
Wild Coffee Plants Line The Trail
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.
Great Egret Searching For A MealGreen Heron
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.
Colorful 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.
Where Did The Cabin Go??
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.
The Jungle ForkInto The WildsBeautiful Cypress Stand
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.
Apple Snail
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.
Hidden Cabin
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.
Trail’s End
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!!
