Well I have insomnia tonight, so I wrote this to pass some time. its not a true story neccessarily, but just a collection of things Ive experienced compressed into a single story.I dont know if this is even appropriate for the trip report section, but I figured Id post it and find out.
As soon as I hit the trail I was cursing my choice of footwear. I though back a few hours earlier when I was at the house, my options spread out in front of me. On the left I had my old jungle boots, tried and tested, reliable, hot, heavy, and they smelled terrible. On the right, my cool Adidas sneakers with the mesh that let the air through and made your feet feel wonderful. Now, walking through the Florida scrub, my shoes were quickly filling up with sand.
But it wasn’t a long hike, so I pressed on, and a few miles into the trail I spotted camp, two big longleaf pines standing about 15 feet from each other, jutting straight up into the sky. Those two pines had probably been standing there for a hundred years, battling each other in competition for water and nutrients, not even bothering to grow limbs, but instead just shooting straight up into the sky in a bid to out-grow its opponent. One of them seemed to have an edge. It was a little thicker and a little taller than the other, and it managed to throw out one solid side limb straight out towards the other tree, as if to taunt it.
While I stretched my hammock out between the pines, I wondered if other people ascribed human personalities to trees. Live oaks were old wise men; palms were carefree Rastafarians, and the cypress, cooped up in their cypress domes always resembled to me a crowd of witches standing around a cauldron.
Just as I eased myself into the hammock and started to relax, I caught movement from the corner of my eye. There was a red shirt coming down the trail towards me. In another minute, it was accompanied by khaki shorts, and finally, an older man appeared. As he got closer, I noticed a few bothersome things about him. He did not seem to have any water with him, and his face was red and blotchy. He was no doubt overheated in the hot Florida sun. I waved to him as he walked by and he stopped next to the larger pine tree. “Pretty hot out today ain’t it?” I asked him. He nodded in agreement and stared up towards the top of the victorious pine. “Hey would you like some water, Ive got plenty here.”
“Sure,” he replied in a low voice. He sounded harsh and dry. I could see in his face that he didn’t want to drink my water. His pride told him to say no thanks and keep walking, just tough it out till you get back to the car. But thirst doesn’t answer to pride or most anything else.
I poured some water into my nesting cup and handed it to him. I thought that would be a more palatable way to accept water from a stranger than just swigging it out of their bottle. He became much more talkative after he had gulped down his second cup.
“Yeah my father used to run cattle near here when I was young. I haven’t been here in years. I just had a strange urge to get out and take a look around when I was traveling by.”
“I know that feeling,” I said, “there’s something about a trail that just pulls you along sometimes. You always end up walking farther than you expected to. There’s always something around the next bend that you have to see.”
“The old man laughed and said, “Well when you hit 60 long walks down the trail get to seem a little less desirable, and at seventy they seem **** near impossible. But I guess sometimes your youth can catch up to you. I used to walk trails like this for days at a time when I was young.”
With that he clapped his hands and stood up from the log he had been sitting on. “Well I guess I should be headed back to the car. The sun will be headed down soon enough.” I somewhat forcefully suggested he have another cup of water before he left. We shook hands and he walked away down the trail. As he walked by my camp, he patted the smaller pine and said, "poor thing." The old man and I shared a common understanding. It was a short meeting, but a good one. I could tell he was the kind of person that hadn’t been in the Florida wilderness for a long time, but had maintained a love for it over the years.
After he left, I cooked a quick dinner and settled into the hammock. I laughed when I looked at my watch. It was nine-thirty, and I would never even think of getting to bed that early at home, but the comfort of the hammock and the setting sun nearly demanded it.
Late in the night I woke up. The dew had set and the damp clammy feeling had woken me, as it always does. I could hear coyotes howling far in the distance; they don’t like the dew either. But as soon as I laid back down into the hammock to return to sleep, I bolted upright. Which direction had the man gone when he left my camp earlier? It was about three miles back the way he came to the parking lot, but continuing down the trail, it went much further, at least 15 or 20 miles. I didn’t even know where it ended. Surely he went back the way he came, but I wasn’t sure. He could have easily gotten turned around and went the wrong way down the trail. I laid back in the hammock and closed my eyes. I tried to visual it. He stood up, clapped his hands, we shook and he left. I couldn’t see it. I thought about the old man wandering off into the swamp, keeling over with heat stroke and falling into the brush. He didn’t have any water with him. I imagined him lying on the side of the trail somewhere between here and god knows where. I couldn’t stay in the hammock any longer. Now, it seemed like I remembered him heading off the wrong way. Why hadn’t I paid attention? I unzipped my bug net, and started shaking the sand from my shoes.
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Originally Posted by sargevining
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