Trip report - Gator Hook to Oasis
This is a trip I'd been planning for some time, to connect the Gator Hook trail on the Loop Rd with the Florida Scenic Trail north of Roberts Lakes. The intervening distance between the two is about 3 miles, with not much on the ground to mark the line of the old logging tram that I would try to follow. I had planned the trip for early May in order to ensure a dry walk, but I didn't anticipate above-average temperatures in the 90s. To offset the heat I carried in 9 liters of water, and left my camera home to save weight. My goal was to get at least as far as the area of the Roberts Lakes on Saturday and have a short, easy walk on Sunday. A determined hiker could make the entire trip in a day, but moving fast through the wilderness is contrary to my nature, especially in the summer heat. Another goal was to get a clear GPS track through the pathless sections, but this proved to be futile due to frequent reception outages, and the track becomes hopelessly confused in many places.
On Saturday May 9, we dropped my truck off at the Oasis parking lot at 7:30 AM. My son then drove me down to the Gator Hook Trail head on the Loop Rd. At 8 AM I set out for the hike. The first half-mile of the Gator Hook Trail runs southeast through open sawgrass prairie and sparse cypress before hitting the raised section of the old tram line. This raised section is bordered by dense coco plum and other scrub, and runs for another mile straight SE before making a bend to the NE. This section was cleared out a few years ago to extend the Trail, but doesn't show any signs of being maintained since then. As I make my way farther along the trail it becomes more difficult to walk through the overgrowth, and at the first opportunity I leave the trail and walk through the open cypress forest on the east side of the tram. There are occasional spots of dense undergrowth that bar the way and I make my way back to the tram to get around them, and return to the open forest on the other side.
At 1.25 miles the trail makes its bend to the NE and the scrub line of the raised tram disappears into the cypress and sawgrass. This is where the official Gator Hook Trail reaches its end. For the next 3 miles it will be mostly bushwhacking through pathless forest. For now, though, the old tram is clearly marked by a remnant of double track that runs straight NE for several hundred yards with a line of cypress growing tall down the middle. Eventually the double track peters out and grows indistinct before disappearing altogether. At the 2 mile point the scrub line of the tram reappears and I parallel this on the north for a couple of hundred yards. Trail tape appears on the trees at odd intervals, letting me know that I'm on the right track, at least according to whoever passed this way before me (Bill and Tom?).
At about 2.4 miles I spot a plastic water bottle impaled on a tree branch, and two trees marked with trail tape, the last I would see. Just beyond, the scrub closes in thick. If you look at the aerials of the tram line it will appear as an elongated W, and I am now approaching the center peak of the W. This is where the serious bushwhacking begins. This is also where GPS reception becomes very spotty because of the heavy canopy and I lose the GPS for significant periods of time. The sun and my compass become my guides here, and the GPS is only used for spot-checking my immediate location in areas where I have some sky overhead. The path of least resistance leads me south of the tram line into an area of dry marshes and ponds. Heavy scrub and stands of tall sawgrass bar the way and it becomes a matter of finding game trails that lead through the thickets, and there is some backtracking as I hit dead ends. This is the wildest and most beautiful section of the hike, and I spy several massive cypress trees in the deeper pond areas, old growth giants that were somehow spared the axe.
It's about 1 PM and I'm ready for a lunch break. I stop in the center of a dry dome, where the ground is thickly carpeted with blue water hyssop, also called lemon bacopa because of the pungent fragrance released when the leaves are crushed underfoot. I fish out the fly of my hammock and hang it between a pair of pond apple trees for shade, spread out my space blanket on the ground under the fly, and settle down to eat a light lunch. I couldn't have picked a more beautiful spot for a break. Giant boles of old growth cypress tower 70, 80, 90 feet over my head. About 20 yards away is a dry pond bordered by willow and pond apples. A light breeze dries my sweat-soaked clothes. It is hot, even in the shade, and I spoon a mixture of salts into my water bottle and sip slowly, to replace what was lost through copious perspiration. I kick off my boots and stretch out on the blanket, intending to rest for about an hour.
The next thing I know, I'm awakened by a persistent horsefly, and my watch says I've been asleep for more than two hours. It's going on 3:30 PM, and I still have nearly 2 miles of bushwhacking ahead of me before I reach my goal. Feeling more groggy than refreshed, I pack up my fly and blanket and shoulder my pack and head out. It turns out that my rest stop was at the far eastern edge of the heavy undergrowth, and the forest floor soon opens up into well-spaced cypress and sparse sawgrass with isolated patches of coco plum. GPS reception becomes somewhat reliable again, but still fades in spots. As I walk through the open forest I am given a sign that I am back on the line of the tram: on the ground before me lies an old cypress railroad crosstie with a rusty iron spike still embedded in one end. I look down at the forest floor and can see half-buried crossties marking the tram line heading SE as clear as any trail.
At about 4:30 PM I begin to hear rumbles of thunder in the distance to the east, and a line of dark clouds creeps westward. My GPS says I've traveled 3.33 miles from the Loop Rd, but the struggle to find a path through the heavy undergrowth makes it seem twice that. I still have about 300 yards to go before I reach the last leg of the W, where the tram line makes the bend back toward the NE, but I decide to call it a day and find a place to hang my hammock before the rain comes. A flat section of crosstie becomes a platform for my alcohol stove and I eat dinner while the thunder rumbles grow louder, and then fade away without bringing any of the promised rain. I stretch out on the ground and read until the light grows too dim, and then slip into the hammock where I fall asleep in short order. I awaken once in the middle of the night to see all around me a ghostly forest scene lit by a brilliant full moon bright enough to read by, before I slip back into deep sleep.
I wake at about 6:30 AM. A light mist lies over the silent forest and I make coffee and a bowl of noodles for breakfast. By 7:45 I'm packed up and on the trail again, still following the SE line of the tram. As I approach the bend that will take me up into the last leg of the W, the trail is broken by thick stands of coco plum scrub and I make a number of detours around these before rediscovering the tram line marked by crossties. Better yet, I begin to see traces of the double track leading NE. This line fades in and out, often blocked by thick stands of pond apple and other scrub. The aerials show that this section of tram closely borders the heavy growth of Roberts Lakes Strand along its north edge, and GPS reception becomes unreliable again as the canopy grows in thick overhead. Despite the obstacles and detours I am able to maintain a course either on or paralleling the tram line. At about 4.5 miles I hit a clear section of double track that I recognize from an earlier hike down the FST, and at 9:30 AM I quite suddenly find myself standing on the beaten path of the Florida Scenic Trail. I have done what I set out to do, and from here it's an easy 2.3 miles straight north to the Tamiami Trail. At 11 AM my boots touch asphalt, and one more wilderness journey is complete.
Some observations:
I made this trip during the height of the dry season, and there was not a drop of water to be found anywhere. This makes it much easier to walk through the undergrowth, but it also necessitates packing in all of your drinking water. The 9 liters I carried comes to just over a gallon per day, the bare minimum when hiking in 90 degree heat and high humidity. I drank nearly every drop and wished for more.
The bushwhacking was strenuous even in the clearer sections, and exhausting in the heavy brush. This was compounded by the heat. The result is that you sweat a lot and lose large amounts of body water. You also lose essential salts that must be replaced.
The loss of GPS reception was not unexpected, given the heavy spring canopy, and this only underscores the basic unreliability of electronics in a wilderness environment. NEVER go off-trail in the backcountry without a compass!
My biggest disappointment regarding GPS was my inability to get a coherent track with waypoints. I imagine a much better track could be recorded if this trip was made during the winter when the cypress are mostly bare of leaves.
I didn't mention bugs in my narrative because there were very few other than the occasional horsefly. Mosquitos were pretty much non-existent, even at night.
Trail indicators such as the railroad crossties are only good during the dry season. They become invisible when the forest floor is submerged.
Overall, this was a much less difficult hike than I was expecting, even taking account of the hot weather. During the cooler months of March or April this could be a very pleasant cross-country hike. I will almost certainly do this again when I can bring my camera.
On Saturday May 9, we dropped my truck off at the Oasis parking lot at 7:30 AM. My son then drove me down to the Gator Hook Trail head on the Loop Rd. At 8 AM I set out for the hike. The first half-mile of the Gator Hook Trail runs southeast through open sawgrass prairie and sparse cypress before hitting the raised section of the old tram line. This raised section is bordered by dense coco plum and other scrub, and runs for another mile straight SE before making a bend to the NE. This section was cleared out a few years ago to extend the Trail, but doesn't show any signs of being maintained since then. As I make my way farther along the trail it becomes more difficult to walk through the overgrowth, and at the first opportunity I leave the trail and walk through the open cypress forest on the east side of the tram. There are occasional spots of dense undergrowth that bar the way and I make my way back to the tram to get around them, and return to the open forest on the other side.
At 1.25 miles the trail makes its bend to the NE and the scrub line of the raised tram disappears into the cypress and sawgrass. This is where the official Gator Hook Trail reaches its end. For the next 3 miles it will be mostly bushwhacking through pathless forest. For now, though, the old tram is clearly marked by a remnant of double track that runs straight NE for several hundred yards with a line of cypress growing tall down the middle. Eventually the double track peters out and grows indistinct before disappearing altogether. At the 2 mile point the scrub line of the tram reappears and I parallel this on the north for a couple of hundred yards. Trail tape appears on the trees at odd intervals, letting me know that I'm on the right track, at least according to whoever passed this way before me (Bill and Tom?).
At about 2.4 miles I spot a plastic water bottle impaled on a tree branch, and two trees marked with trail tape, the last I would see. Just beyond, the scrub closes in thick. If you look at the aerials of the tram line it will appear as an elongated W, and I am now approaching the center peak of the W. This is where the serious bushwhacking begins. This is also where GPS reception becomes very spotty because of the heavy canopy and I lose the GPS for significant periods of time. The sun and my compass become my guides here, and the GPS is only used for spot-checking my immediate location in areas where I have some sky overhead. The path of least resistance leads me south of the tram line into an area of dry marshes and ponds. Heavy scrub and stands of tall sawgrass bar the way and it becomes a matter of finding game trails that lead through the thickets, and there is some backtracking as I hit dead ends. This is the wildest and most beautiful section of the hike, and I spy several massive cypress trees in the deeper pond areas, old growth giants that were somehow spared the axe.
It's about 1 PM and I'm ready for a lunch break. I stop in the center of a dry dome, where the ground is thickly carpeted with blue water hyssop, also called lemon bacopa because of the pungent fragrance released when the leaves are crushed underfoot. I fish out the fly of my hammock and hang it between a pair of pond apple trees for shade, spread out my space blanket on the ground under the fly, and settle down to eat a light lunch. I couldn't have picked a more beautiful spot for a break. Giant boles of old growth cypress tower 70, 80, 90 feet over my head. About 20 yards away is a dry pond bordered by willow and pond apples. A light breeze dries my sweat-soaked clothes. It is hot, even in the shade, and I spoon a mixture of salts into my water bottle and sip slowly, to replace what was lost through copious perspiration. I kick off my boots and stretch out on the blanket, intending to rest for about an hour.
The next thing I know, I'm awakened by a persistent horsefly, and my watch says I've been asleep for more than two hours. It's going on 3:30 PM, and I still have nearly 2 miles of bushwhacking ahead of me before I reach my goal. Feeling more groggy than refreshed, I pack up my fly and blanket and shoulder my pack and head out. It turns out that my rest stop was at the far eastern edge of the heavy undergrowth, and the forest floor soon opens up into well-spaced cypress and sparse sawgrass with isolated patches of coco plum. GPS reception becomes somewhat reliable again, but still fades in spots. As I walk through the open forest I am given a sign that I am back on the line of the tram: on the ground before me lies an old cypress railroad crosstie with a rusty iron spike still embedded in one end. I look down at the forest floor and can see half-buried crossties marking the tram line heading SE as clear as any trail.
At about 4:30 PM I begin to hear rumbles of thunder in the distance to the east, and a line of dark clouds creeps westward. My GPS says I've traveled 3.33 miles from the Loop Rd, but the struggle to find a path through the heavy undergrowth makes it seem twice that. I still have about 300 yards to go before I reach the last leg of the W, where the tram line makes the bend back toward the NE, but I decide to call it a day and find a place to hang my hammock before the rain comes. A flat section of crosstie becomes a platform for my alcohol stove and I eat dinner while the thunder rumbles grow louder, and then fade away without bringing any of the promised rain. I stretch out on the ground and read until the light grows too dim, and then slip into the hammock where I fall asleep in short order. I awaken once in the middle of the night to see all around me a ghostly forest scene lit by a brilliant full moon bright enough to read by, before I slip back into deep sleep.
I wake at about 6:30 AM. A light mist lies over the silent forest and I make coffee and a bowl of noodles for breakfast. By 7:45 I'm packed up and on the trail again, still following the SE line of the tram. As I approach the bend that will take me up into the last leg of the W, the trail is broken by thick stands of coco plum scrub and I make a number of detours around these before rediscovering the tram line marked by crossties. Better yet, I begin to see traces of the double track leading NE. This line fades in and out, often blocked by thick stands of pond apple and other scrub. The aerials show that this section of tram closely borders the heavy growth of Roberts Lakes Strand along its north edge, and GPS reception becomes unreliable again as the canopy grows in thick overhead. Despite the obstacles and detours I am able to maintain a course either on or paralleling the tram line. At about 4.5 miles I hit a clear section of double track that I recognize from an earlier hike down the FST, and at 9:30 AM I quite suddenly find myself standing on the beaten path of the Florida Scenic Trail. I have done what I set out to do, and from here it's an easy 2.3 miles straight north to the Tamiami Trail. At 11 AM my boots touch asphalt, and one more wilderness journey is complete.
Some observations:
I made this trip during the height of the dry season, and there was not a drop of water to be found anywhere. This makes it much easier to walk through the undergrowth, but it also necessitates packing in all of your drinking water. The 9 liters I carried comes to just over a gallon per day, the bare minimum when hiking in 90 degree heat and high humidity. I drank nearly every drop and wished for more.
The bushwhacking was strenuous even in the clearer sections, and exhausting in the heavy brush. This was compounded by the heat. The result is that you sweat a lot and lose large amounts of body water. You also lose essential salts that must be replaced.
The loss of GPS reception was not unexpected, given the heavy spring canopy, and this only underscores the basic unreliability of electronics in a wilderness environment. NEVER go off-trail in the backcountry without a compass!
My biggest disappointment regarding GPS was my inability to get a coherent track with waypoints. I imagine a much better track could be recorded if this trip was made during the winter when the cypress are mostly bare of leaves.
I didn't mention bugs in my narrative because there were very few other than the occasional horsefly. Mosquitos were pretty much non-existent, even at night.
Trail indicators such as the railroad crossties are only good during the dry season. They become invisible when the forest floor is submerged.
Overall, this was a much less difficult hike than I was expecting, even taking account of the hot weather. During the cooler months of March or April this could be a very pleasant cross-country hike. I will almost certainly do this again when I can bring my camera.
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