Subject line: “Looking for partners in crazy kayak adventure.” When I saw this email from Liz, I said yes, no questions asked. Liz had heard of a small spring in a salt marsh in the Big Bend Saltwater Paddling Trail between Dallus Creek and Steinhatchee. The area managers said the area was dangerous and inaccessible which was all the encouragement we needed. We chose January 24, the only day free of bike rides, paddling trips, or hikes, and a winter date would minimize encounters with bugs, snakes, and gators. Several weeks out, who knew it would be the second coldest day of the year – and what good luck for us.
Three of us—Liz, Steve, and I—met at the Good Times Marina and Bar in Steinhatchee at 10 to caravan to our trailhead. The Who Dat bar had been closed the day before due to the cold weather. Liz led us through Steinhatchee, around the beach road, and through the rutted forest road until we reached the locked gate where we would begin our journey.
Our plan was a combo hike/drag/paddle which Liz admitted could be ‘ridiculously easy or a serious challenge’. I had my inflatable SUP which is easy to carry, and Liz and Steve both had kayaks. Although we had all looked at the terrain on google earth, we had no what conditions we would face. So each of us had various combinations of hiking and water clothes. From our virtual scouting, we assumed we had about a ½ mile hike, dragging boats and SUP, then another ½ mile drag/paddle/slog until we reached the spring. We thought the terrain might be like this:
We parked our cars at the locked gate and discussed our options—do we hike in and scout first, or start dragging boats? We considered our options over the still-warm brownies Liz had baked that morning and decided to scout the area first. The area was remote, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, although one man came by and told us he was undercover for the FWSA—a non-existent agency. I think we seemed as sketchy to him as we probably looked to him.
The morning was still very cold, and we knew that we would be hiking through streams and swamp, possibly falling in. The three of us had fairly different ideas of what constituted appropriate gear for swamp hiking – Steve had hip waders; Liz had drypants; and I had neoprene. We debated bringing our PFDs in case someone fell into a hole. After all, this is a karst landscape.
As soon as we walked around the locked gate, we realized that dragging boats would be impossible. The road was chewed up and muddy. We slogged along for about ½ mile until we came to a small canal. At this canal, we knew that we had to cross a small stream and head cross-country (or cross-swamp) for another 1/2 mile southwest. From the google terrain, it looked like we would go along a tree line, across several hammocks, and across a marsh to reach the spring. We also all knew that there was a good possibility we would not be able to find the spring.
We crossed the stream and went into the grass on the other side. Once we left the line of trees, the landscape opened up to a vista of sawgrass punctuated by hammocks with palm tress and pine trees. We also saw areas of needlegrass where the terrain was likelier to be lower and wetter. The day was beautiful, not a cloud in the sky—it was a great day for a walk in the swamp. At first, we headed into the needlegrass, but it was mucky and difficult for footing. We corrected our course, aiming for a series of hammocks. Skirting the hammocks would put us on higher ground, better footing and easier to see the terrain. The sawgrass and needlegrass was almost as tall as we were, so finding this spring would not be easy or obvious.
We bushwacked through saw grass and needle grass, and across several hammocks, taking care not to follow any gator trail deeper into the swamp. The sawgrass was sharp, and my hands stung from the cuts when I took a shower back at home. We mostly walked through water except for when we climbed onto the hammocks—a little bit of hog heaven— which got our feet out of the water. We had seen a road sign Hog Root Rd and hoped we didn’t surprise any feral pigs. We continued through the grass, consulting the GPS, necessary because we had so little visibility. The GPS said we were only ¼ mile away, so after a brief water brief, we continued.
With .17 to go, we plunged into the needlegrass where we thought we might find the spring. The area was lower, wetter, and likely to be muckier. We debated the risks and should we continue and finally decided to turn back. All of us admitted that twenty years ago, we probably would have continued on, but I suppose we are all wiser now. We followed our tracks back through the grass back to the muddy car and back to the road. Even though we did not find the spring, perhaps an airboat is the only way to get there, we had a fun hike through stunningly beautiful terrain. And, at least for now, the spring remains a hidden gem.
We continued paddling around Picnic Key until we came to a tunnel leading to a hidden lake.
All of us are experienced wilderness paddlers, but we went with Don McCumber and Mike Akerman of 
From Lulu Key, we paddled north, inward, first to West Pass, matching the shapes on our charts to the land masses we passed. We wove our way through passes and channels, all lined with mangroves. The subtly different shades of green alerted us to the narrow channels between islands.
Inland, we found a small cemetery with headstones mostly from the Daniels and Anderson families. The islands hold other ruins but the ubiquitous mosquitos discouraged us from further exploration. Although there has been no official settlement on Fakahatchee Island for decades, the island shows evidence of recent habitation.
Florida Waterscapes 