Setting a Goal
I first visited Myakka River State Park in early 2019, a few months after moving to Florida. Near the entrance along SR-72, just after passing over the bridge (where you’ll almost always see gators basking in the water and Sun), you’ll come across the canopy tower. Climb to the top and you’ll find yourself nearly 100 feet in the air, looking over the rainforest, its treetops and prairies spread before you to the horizon.
Toward the end of that year, (distinctly, I remember it being December 29th), I visited for the second time. This visit was the first of many encounters with wild pigs, and close (but not the closest) encounter with a gator laying alongside a trail in the wet canals.
In 2020, I visited again, this time in August during COVID with my Bulgarian friend. At one point, we were along the road transfixed by a baby gator floating on the surface of the water – and suddenly from the depths rose a momma gator, propping the baby upon her snout and letting us know that we needed to leave the premises.
Point made, momma gator.
In that same visit, I got to appreciate the fullness of the gator population of Myakka. Standing along the water’s edge, I divided the lake into thirds and counted all the gators contained to that third, and by inferring from there, estimated a total of more than 120 gators in our field of view.
In 2021, I was dating someone with whom I shared a mutual adventurous side, and we visited MRSP many, many times for hiking and camping. I got to know that park better than ever, from the sound of coyotes shrieking in the night, to the sunbeams filtering through the Spanish moss swaying in the limbs of trees.
While our relationship ended December of that year (via a classic, albeit mild case of star-crossed partners), I gave myself a goal to one day hike at least 20 miles of the park in a single go, no stopping (some of the longest trails span 30-50 miles, and would require multi-day hikes).
Falling from Identity
But throughout 2022, 2023, and some of 2024, for a number of reasons, I became docile. Hiking slowed down. Tent camping ceased. I visited Myakka River State Park maybe 2-3 times in total, and other areas even less. Nature once again became an idea, rather than a reality. In many ways, I have expressed this to friends and others as losing myself, losing my connection to nature when I so desperately wanted to be wrapped within it. I felt, to a degree, as if part of my identity had slipped away and no matter how hard I grasped at the loose ends, they fell from my reach.
Reclaiming the Identity
June 2024 ignited my wanderlust, when I embarked on my 6,000 mile trip from Florida to Arizona, around Arizona, and back. As I describe this journey to friends and others, I often call it the reclamation of my identity. Experiencing the world at large on a road trip is an adventure like no other, with the freedom to hike at will, camp at will, and visit historic and scientific sites at will. I chanced across an ornithopod fossil track; I held the manuscript of my latest sci-fi book above the rim of Meteor Crater; I laid along the cliffs of Horseshoe Bend; I stood at the base of dormant volcanoes and admired the red rocks of Sedona as hundreds of people gazed at the Moon through my telescope.
But the most physically demanding day of that trip was June 14th, when I hiked 18 miles of the Grand Canyon, a feat that took 10 hours, meeting two trail mates, Charles and Lilly, on the way back up, their companionship making the vertical ascent up the canyon wall at least bearable.
What I realized after completing that hike was this: look what I can do. Look at the challenge, the danger, the achievement that is hiking the Grand Canyon. I didn’t make it to the Colorado River (I used my better judgement and turned around when I knew I going farther would put me in physical danger), and it wasn’t another week until I checked the map to see how close I was: just over a mile.
Should I have pushed myself? No! There will come another time.
That day stuck with me, though. I knew what my body was capable of when I wasn’t fully prepared, and I knew that with conditioning and training and more supplies, water, and resources, I could pull off another goal: hike Myakka River State Park.
Jumping forward, over the 10 days in Utah and the back-to-back hurricanes, one of which made landfall 5 miles from my house, I found myself at the conclusion of 2024. On December 31st, I set out to Myakka and spent the next 7 hours hiking 19.83 miles.
Achieving the Goal
Being winter, the land was dry; the only muddy spot I encountered was right near the end where water clearly gathered and would have been awful to traverse in the wet season. I complete the Bobcat Crossing Loop of Myakka, starting up in the northern edge of the park, dropping south and somewhat east, then crossing west, and winding back north. On a map, I like to think the trail looks like Godzilla running with a flag.
The trail itself contains an area that, at a glance, seems to be around 1/7th to 1/6th of the full acreage of the park. Minus the sheer distance, it was an easy hike. Just be prepared for the mental stagnation of hiking alone for 7-8 hours. Trail buddies may be recommended.
I began exactly at 9am, and was off the trail around 4:30pm, with some short breaks and a full 30 minutes for lunch from 12:30-1:00pm.
Surprisingly, for a park where I’m used to encountering wildlife at every turn, I saw minimal wildlife this time around. A majority of the hike took place in the middle of the day, sure, but I encountered no deer, no coyotes (only scat), no small mammals. Birds were plentiful, as usual, and once I was back to the main road and the bridge, the gators were plentiful. Of course, evidence of wild pigs was everywhere in portions of heavily rooted trail, but no direct encounters.
In the end, I did it. I achieved a goal I promised myself, another step up in reclaiming the outdoor identity I want to continue fostering within my being. Protecting and appreciating the lands and parks we can access is vital to the continued wellbeing of natural parks and resources. I share this story as I see Florida itself being partitioned off into smaller and smaller chunks for housing development that brings heavy populations into areas lacking any infrastructure to support population growth. With hurricanes Debby, Helene, and Milton, we saw residential flooding lasting upwards of a week in many areas that have improper drainage.
Wild spaces naturally develop the infrastructure suited to the local environment; disrupting that natural infrastructure comes at a cost to human wellbeing. Please advocate for our parks, our lands, and our environment. This planet takes care of itself, and we must respect that, not subvert or override it.
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