A Milwaukee Iron Hello, Hikers

Well, I write to you again from the signal-rich turf belonging to what must be most of the hard-core Harley-Davidson riders in north Florida.  I have seen some pretty dadgum iron here.  The St. Marks experience should be on the list of every hiker, backpacker and biker in the nation.

No doubt, this is the time of year to do it.  Hunting season is over, the weather is mild and the winter condition of the woods and waters here is as close to paradise as a trekker can get.

It was quite an experience.  This place has history.

A pivotal civil war engagement was fought right across a section of the St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge section of the Florida Trail.  OK now, admit it, that’s cool.  Researching the particulars of the fight and the outcome was fascinating stuff.  Look for it a week from this Sunday in the Tampa Tribune.

The eastern third of the St. Marks section is where most of the salt works were.  Salt was of great value to the Armies of the Confederacy.  Salt was used to cure the meat that kept the soldiers on the move….or so it has been believed for many years. 

The salt works myth has been officially busted by my lovely wife, Claudia, otherwise known as the “Angel of Sulfur Springs.” Claudia’s far out, yet strangely plausible theory is that the Confederacy was highly dependant on Marguaritas, and that the destruction of the salt works doomed any hope for a well-made cocktail.  Don’t laugh until you’ve walked a mile in my boots, hikers.  There’s things you can’t write in a blog, hooah?  Save that stuff for the book, right?

I head in to the Aucilla section today.  From there I have a 128 mile walk to the next settlement, White Springs.  I’ve been there before, maybe you remember…. The bed and breakfast, the sweet potato pancakes…yessss, hikers, Adams House. Sandra Friend, the Comm. Director of the FTA and I stayed there when we attended the FTA’s Staff Christmas party.  You can read more about that experience about a dozen blogs behind this one. The staff treated me like family for two straight days.  I hiked with that orange-blazed bunch along the Suwannee section of the Florida Trail.  Good times.  Deborah, I keep that medicine bag close.  It hasn’t failed me.  Neither has that enduring symbol of high-speed, low-drag eating… the titanium spork. 

Adams House, through its proprietor, Mr. Watkins Saunders, has invited me back.  Thank you, sir.  I’ll be a week or so on the trail when I get there.  (The beds in this place are what Thermarested backs dream about at night.) They’re no less than perfect. 

And speaking of the trail, I am jazzed about this section.  I will hike northeast up the Aucilla River, take a right and walk over to the Suwannee River.  I’ll hike east along its scenic shoreline and right in to Mr. Saunders back yard.  128 miles from here to there.  OO-Hiker-RAH! 

When I leave here, I will pretty much be leaving the Panhandle of Florida.  I’m going to write a different blog about that.  This place and its people have influenced me greatly. 

Right now, as I write this, there’s another party at The Corner. Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson are warning “Mama’s not to let their babies grow up to be Cowboys.” by way of couple of outdoor speakers pointed at a dozen or two cowboys of the iron horse riding species.  This day brings the first sunshine in over a week.  Mirror-like chrome blinds all who enter the parking lot, sunglasses are mandatory for safe navigation.

I met a lot of good people here.  TK, Apryl, the owners of the Corner put up with me pre and post hike and they introduced me to “Governor.” The Gov is about as cool as guy as you will ever meet.

I accepted his offer to take me on a tour of the area, to show me some history and tell me some other history you won’t find in the book.  He’s the Governor, he knows stuff.

We visited forgotten springs belching healing sulfur waters.  Towns crumbled into the dustbin of history, places where only a sign and a cemetery mark the lifelong toil of its citizens. We saw stuff, a couple of forts, battle sites, old mills and disappearing rivers and streams. I’m talking back roads and mud hole stuff.  The Governor’s Jag didn’t miss a lick.  “Three-fifty Chevrolet under the hood,” confided the Governor with a grin and flash of his Zippo. 

The Governor has “done a bit of mechanic’n."Seems Jaguar used to buy their transmissions from GM.  So a 350 Chevy bolts right up into a Jag.  That’s 300 ponies, ladies and gentlemen, not the sort of thing one will find motoring about London, eh what?  You won’t findem’ in England, hikers.. only on the Florida Trail can you meet the Governor, maybe even have a cold one.

This would one cool place to be a kid - trust me on that, too.  I’m putting some pictures up of the places we visited.  There might even be one of “The Governor.”

Now, I wanted to bring you more pictures of my friends at The Corner, but they’re a shy bunch.  There was one or two that agreed to pose, and you’ll meet them in the gallery.  Most were just camera shy, what can you say?

A feeling of melancholy overtakes when you leave friends and move on.  Even after the experience of being a kid raised in the military, where friendships lasted only as long as your old man’s tour, saying goodbye still brings sadness.  On this trek across my home state, good people and beautiful trail have been easy to find and hell to part with. 

Enjoy your weekend hikers.  It might be a few days before you hear from me again, the map is nothing but green with a curly orange stripe running right through the scenic middle of it.

What else is there to say but Cheers from the Florida Trail!  Mike