A Scooby Snack howareya, hikers!

It sure is good to write to you again.  I’m writing you from Gold Head Branch State Park in lovely Keystone Heights, Florida.  The name of the park derives from the name of the crystal-clear creek that springs from beneath a limestone cliff before meandering through the park for about a mile before adding its flow to a scenic, sky-blue swimming lake. 

The cabin from which I write this sits on the high bank of the lake, and the view from this porch is the stuff of which the dreamiest memories are made.  It’s simply and naturally enchanting.

It’s been a week of hustling for me.  I’ve been slack-packing.  Slack packing is a gift bestowed upon a hiker by a dear friend who will take the time to drop you on the trail in the morning and pick you up 20-ish or so miles later.  A really good friend will pick you up just before happy hour. Such a friend I have in Tom Griggs, Sgt.Maj. USMC (Ret).  Yes hikers, he’s the very same salty got-your-back Marine who was kind enough to drop me at the northern terminus of this great trail on the Florida-Alabama line when first I began this hike.

Slack-packing with only water, camera, a smattering of emergency supplies and dog kibble to carry, I felt as if I was flying down the trail.  What’s that look on your face I see?  Ohhhhh, you’re wondering why I’ve added dog food to my kit, aren’t you?  Well, it’s light, delightfully crunchy and packed with protein. 

And Tom’s dog, Ranger, is nuts about the stuff.  Yeah, I took Ranger along on my high-speed hump, and folks, hiking with that dog was SO much fun.  I now know why some hikers choose to share their trail experience with sturdy, loyal dog. It is a unique joy.

If per chance we are reincarnated after this life, I want to come back as a dog, a mutt, a four-legged 57 hound dog of the Heintz variety.  Just when I thought I was having the time of my life, I’d look down at ole’ Ranger and witness a level of wide-open enjoyment that exceeded my own by an order of magnitude.  No easy feat, I assure you.

When we’d come upon a swamped section of the trail, I’d naturally seek the highest of the low ground. Not so ole’ Ranger hound.  He’d plunge right in with more gusto than a beer commercial. Ranger’s paws are of impressive dimension, hikers, and as a result, each of his steps sounds like a big rock dropped into a deep well.  The sight of his tongue hanging like a pink wash cloth from his toothy, perpetually smiling muzzle is one I’ll never forget.  That was one deliriously happy canine. 

We traversed the Lake Butler forest together over many miles of planted pine and hunt clubs.  Far be it from me to be judging what others do for fun, but I gotta tell ya, the style of hunting in this forest should be called “fish in a barrel” or “taking candy from a baby” or “that’s just plain sneaky.”

It works like this.  A half acre plot of grass as lush and green as the 17th hole at Augusta National is planted by the hunter in the middle of a dark, barren pine forest.  Next to this oasis of delectable greenery, a feeder full of corn hangs suspended from a tree at about deer mouth height.  Then, in one corner, is a platform built that resembles a machine gun tower in Stalag 17.  Now, from this lofty battlement the “hunter” enjoys a 180 degree field of fire overlooking the golf course and the snack bar.  His longest shot isn’t over 50 yards.  He can’t miss.

Now, I make mention of this scheme as a public service to the deer out there who might be tempted to taste that greener grass on the other side of the fence.  Don’t do it ya’ll.  Just say “no.”

Lake Butler is a small, pretty town and the trail leads right through it.  There’s a road walk on the back side, and that’s the price one pays to get to Keystone Heights and the scrublands of the Camp Blanding section that ultimately deposits one at the picturesque limestone gate of Gold Head Branch State Park.

My evenings with Tom after he fetched me from the trail each evening were a cornucopia of experiences.  I met Dave and Carol, Dave was one of Tom’s midshipmen back when Tom used to train officers in the ROTC program at the University of Minnesota – back in the Vietnam War days, too, hikers.  It took stones to be in ROTC in those days, and Dave is loaded heavy with them.  What a guy.  Griggs actually interviewed Carol to see if she would be suitable bride material for Dave.  Talk about whole ‘nother story.. Jeez there are so many…

There’s Brother Tim Futch, the Pentecostal minister who, when among close friends is quiet, even reticent.  But like Clark Kent after a quick stop in a phone booth, Brother Tim is Superman in the pulpit.  I was his guest at the Lake City Church of God one evening and I can testify that a more thunderous and spirit-filled sermon I have never witnessed.  Rocked this Catholic boy’s world, it did.  “Can someone say “Amen.”

My last night was spent at the monthly meeting of the Marine Corps League in Wellborn, FL.  The MCL is a charitable organization of former Marines.  They invited me to give a brief talk about the trail.  What a great bunch of people, they raise money to build special tricycles for disabled children, collect Toys For Tots each Christmas and engage in a host of other good works as well.  Sharply uniformed and over all these years still representing the finest traditions of the Corps, including that of plenty of strong, black coffee on hand.  Semper Fi, you Wellborn Devil Dogs, and thank you for your service.

An across the miles Cheers! From the Florida Trail! Mike