Hillsborough River State Park

After 35 posts, I figure it’s about time to write one about the place that most often comes to mind when people are asked to name a wild destination in the Tampa Bay Area.

Set aside in 1938, Hillsborough River State Park is one of the oldest state parks in Florida and remains one of the most popular, due mostly to its large campground and excellent paddling opportunities:

Unbeknownst to most people, its hiking trails are fine enough to have been mentioned in Backpacker magazine, which chose to go succinct by summing them up in three sentences: “Walk beneath a crown of live oaks, palms, and magnolias so thick they can block the sun. Best time for wildlife: March through May. Look riverside for fallen trees and rotting logs -- they make ideal gator-sunning spots.”

I can personally attest that the Hillsborough River is teeming with alligators, for although my visits have always been in autumn rather than the March-to-May period cited by the magazine, I have never left without seeing some of the prehistoric-looking reptiles. And I’m talkin’ bout big ’uns:

The park contains a variety of habitats that are all accessible on foot. There are moist areas with riverine forests and cypress heads, plus dry areas where longleaf pines rise above fields of palmetto. There are spacious oak hammocks that look beautiful when dappled by the morning sun -- for an example, check out the photo just above the “About Me” section at the top of this blog, which I took during a visit here in 2008.

While trails reach most sections of the park’s 4,000 acres, it seems they all lead back to the river, and that is probably as it should be. The Hillsborough is a fine waterway that flows steadily yet seems laconic, perhaps because many of the things you see along it lend a tropical feel -- things like wading ibis, basking turtles, and a handful of overhanging palms:

However, there is one spot where the river courses over limestone outcrops to create something rarely seen in Florida -- rapids! -- and in that spot it definitely does not seem laconic. The following sight awaits you at the end of the 1.2-mile Rapids Trail:

Because this is a state park, there is an entry fee of $4 for single-occupant cars and $6 for multiple-occupant cars. In my opinion, a better option is to book a campsite for a night or two, which will run you $24 per night and ensure that you have more than enough time to to hike every mile of trail without feeling the least bit rushed, and then go canoeing as well. Every one of the campground’s 112 sites has electricity, running water, a picnic table, and a fire ring with a foldover grate that allows it to double as a grill.

As you may have gathered from the park’s appearance in the aforementioned magazine, backpacking is also available here, at a primitive campsite located along a 3½-mile section of the Florida Trail. There is no cost to book this site, but unlike those at the full service campground, it will not get you out of paying the entry fee when you arrive at the park.

Camping, regardless of whether you choose to drive to your site or hike to it, allows you the priceless chance to sit beside a campfire under the stars while sipping your beverage of choice. Coyote sightings by campers have increased in recent years but are far from guaranteed -- contrary to sightings of raccoons and squirrels, which you are almost guaranteed to see around your site no matter if it’s day or night:

Hillsborough River State Park is located on U.S. 301 east of Thonotosassa. It is less than 25 miles from downtown Tampa, which is impressive given how much of a wilderness it is. Happy Trails!

Jefferson

The last thing I expected to see was a tall, steep-sided rise giving a Wyomingish appearance to a spot barely outside of Tampa. But there it was:

Later, when looking at it from the opposite direction on the return leg of our hike, I saw something that made the Western resemblance even stronger: A trio of riderless horses walking along its ridge. Although two of them promptly vanished down the other side when my sister called out to them, I managed to capture a photo of the third before he too walked out of sight. Unfortunately, given the distance from which I shot and the fact I was shooting with a cell phone camera, in the next view it’s not real easy to make him out (just to the left of the high point) and it’s hard to tell he’s an equine:

I am not naïve enough to believe I was looking at a natural feature created by tectonics. The rise is almost certainly the remains of an abandoned landfill that Nature has since beautified with growing grass -- which is fine by me, since it is now part of Nature’s canvas no matter how it came to exist.

At the end of the day, however, that rise is a microscopic cell compared to the total acreage of Lower Hillsborough Wilderness Preserve. We were walking on a 10-mile trail network located south of Cow House Creek in the preserve’s western reaches; for a point of reference, back in December 2011 I wrote about another trail network that is also in the western reaches but north of Cow House Creek.

The fact that these 10 miles of trail pass by the rise does not change the fact that they are, as a whole, just as level as the network I previously wrote about. For much of their distance they pass through lush oak hammocks like this one:

In many places the hammocks are draped by very old vines:

This network is best described as a single trail that happens to fork in a few places and circles back on itself so as to contain its own loops. It travels generally from west to east, or parallel to the preserve’s southern boundary, though its westernmost expanse consists of a loop that is elongated from south to north. The west flank of that loop travels atop a grassy berm overlooking the Tampa Bypass Canal, a 14-mile waterway which connects the Hillsborough River to McKay Bay and serves the defined purposes of diverting floodwaters from the river and providing drinking water to the city of Tampa. Incidentally, the canal has also proven to be a fine canoeing and fishing spot popular with humans and waterfowl alike.

I previously wrote that some sections of Lower Hillsborough Wilderness Preserve have their own names and signage. Well, this trail network counts as one of those sections because the sign at the trailhead identifies it as Jefferson Equestrian Area. The name does not mean that it is for horses only, however. Instead it means that horses are allowed on the trail as well as hikers, which is not the case in most of the preserve.

There is only one point from which to access Jefferson, and it is located off Fowler Avenue just east of I-75. Turn north from Fowler onto Jefferson Road, which passes between Terrace Community Middle School and the Big Top Flea Market and ends at the trailhead after a distance of about one block. You will be pleasantly surprised to find that this location has a gateway to such fine wilderness.

Go here for a printable copy of the trail map. Happy Trails!

Sawgrass Lake

In New England, maples grow on lakesides that are home to moose. In Florida, they grow in swamps that are home to alligators, including this young one I happened upon yesterday:

We are fortunate that one of the largest maple swamps on Florida’s Gulf Coast is found in Sawgrass Lake Park. Given its location, and the 1.1-mile boardwalk that winds through it, this maple swamp also ranks as one of the state’s most accessible for people on foot:

But there is more to Sawgrass Lake Park than swamp, as proven by the hammock forest that covers the higher land of its northern segment. A trail loops through the hammock under a canopy that is lovely as can be:

Meanwhile, the westernmost boardwalk ends at an observation tower overlooking Sawgrass Lake itself (which, admittedly, is more pond than lake):

In addition to abundant populations of reptiles and amphibians, all variety of waterfowl can be seen in this preserve. Birds of prey are also plentiful, from fish-eating ospreys to mammal-eating owls. Described as “one of the premier birding sites in Florida” by makinghealtheasier.org, this is a designated stop on the Great Florida Birding Trail.

Botany buffs are sure to enjoy Sawgrass Lake just as much as birdwatchers, for in addition to multiple species of maple and oak, you are able to get close-up views of aquatic plants like duckweed and spatterdock. In many places the forest is lush with ferns:

You have probably seen this place even if you’ve never paid a visit, because its eastern boundary abuts I-275 as you enter St. Petersburg from the north. You would recognize it as that big spread of woods, fronted by tall cypress trees, that sits on the west side of the interstate immediately south of the Gandy Boulevard exit.

I have long felt that Pinellas County maintains one of the best county-run park systems in the nation, and Sawgrass Lake solidifies that opinion. For starters, the park preserves a wild oasis in the middle of the state’s most densely populated county…On top of that, its wetlands serve both man and beast by functioning as a natural cleaning system for water flowing to Tampa Bay…Plus, they act as flood protection for the surrounding city…And most importantly, the park provides people of all ages and abilities with convenient access to a place of natural beauty.

Establishment of the park came to fruition in the bicentennial year of 1976, when a cooperative management agreement was reached between the Southwest Florida Water Management District, Pinellas County Parks & Conservation Resources Department, and Pinellas County School Board. The reason for the latter to have a seat at the table becomes clear when you see the John Anderson Environmental Education Center, which is located here and includes a laboratory, classroom, and taxidermy displays of local wildlife; it hosts a myriad of educational programs for elementary school students, plus some for grades six through twelve:

To get here, turn north on 25th Street from 62nd Avenue North and continue to the end. Admission is free. Happy Trails!

Croom: The River Trail

If the Bay Area’s weather is like a broken record, with heat and storms dragging it down rather than skips and scratches, then Thanksgiving weekend was that spot where the needle drops right into the groove and generates glorious music.

With overnight lows in the forties and fifties…and even some thirties in the usual cold spots around Brooksville…and daytime highs in the seventies…and the sky a cloudless arc of robin’s egg blue…it would have felt criminal not to be outside:

So on Sunday I rounded out the weekend by putting Parker in the car and driving us to Croom. Parker is 17 months old and with Erika and Sarah enjoying a Mommy-Daughter Day, it seemed right to take him hiking for a Daddy-Son Day. He is usually happiest when he is outdoors, and Sunday was no exception:

When I closed my November 19th piece by saying I expected to post my first review “of specific hikes in Croom…by the end of this month,” what I had in mind was for the first review to be about the massive loop that is accessed by a few trailheads in the northwestern quarter of the preserve. After all, I have walked on that loop about 15 times and could probably write about it in my sleep. It’s just that those visits were all before I started this blog, so I never bothered to take many pictures during them, and therefore I wanted to go back and snap some more before publishing anything.

However, during a Saturday bike ride I saw something in Croom’s far south that captured my attention. While standing near the restrooms at the Withlacoochee State Trail’s Ridge Manor Trailhead, I looked across a meadow strewn with pine straw and noticed a signboard on the opposite side. It is easy to miss because it does not face the trailhead directly. With my curiosity piqued, I walked across the meadow and when I got there found an opening in a fence next to the following sign:

That piqued my curiosity even more, so it is where I went with Parker on Sunday. Based on my general knowledge of the area, I figured that the trail would reach the Withlacoochee River in a not-too-long distance and perhaps follow it north along its western bank. Since toddlers slow down any hike on which they themselves are walking, I placed Parker in our jogging stroller and off we went.

The River Trail’s opening stretch slips through a stand of young longleaf pines. Their presence tells me that a tree farm once stood here, and that these trees were its final planting:

Before long the pines thin out and are joined by other flora, with a more natural appearance taking over. The terrain in this section of Croom is nowhere near as hilly as it is to the north and west, but it is also not pancake-flat. It is obvious you are at a high point when you emerge into this big field that is dotted with scrubby oaks and mature longleafs:

As I entered the field, I thought to myself that it was perfect habitat for gopher tortoises and wondered if one would show himself. No more than two minutes later, this fella obliged:

In the middle, a blue-blazed side trail called the Windmill Loop branches off to the left, but Parker and I stayed on the River Trail, which is marked by orange blazes. After taking you across the field, the River Trail penetrates the tree line and heads downhill, which is where things got dicey for us because wild boar had recently scoured this section of woods and left behind wallows that covered the trail off and on for some distance. Pushing the stroller through those wallows felt like mogul skiing because we were greeted at each step by a jarring bump -- and on top of that, instead of continuing to move after each bump, we were often brought to a stop because the stroller’s tires kept getting mired in the tossed earth.

So I decided to abandon the stroller and soldier on by carrying my little guy. However, after we made it beyond the wallows he started squirming in my arms and insisting on being let down to handle his own ambulation. When I consented, he engaged in a little bit of true forward progress:

And a whole lot of stopping and turning around. Plus, he kept pausing to lift and inspect whatever he found on the forest floor:

It became apparent that Parker and I would not reach the river in good time, nor would we reach it with anything resembling mutual satisfaction, so finally I scooped him up and sprinted back to the stroller. Once he was strapped in, I pushed him back to the beginning of the trail and let him run around in that original meadow.

Therefore, I can not give you a blow-by-blow account of everything that awaits you on the River Trail. However, I can tell you that according to the map posted on the signboard, the trail is more than five miles one-way and ends near the campgrounds in Croom’s Silver Lake Recreation Area. I can also tell you that it does come to the Withlacoochee River like I expected, then follows it north like I hoped.

And regarding that blue-blazed side trail called the Windmill Loop, the map on the signboard shows it being a straight-line short-cut rather than an actual loop. From the spot where it and the River Trail diverge, it tracks east-northeast while the River Trail tracks south before curving east to meet the river. At some point after the River Trail begins its northward route, the Windmill comes to an end by emptying back onto it, and therefore the two paths can be used to create a loop I estimate would be about 3½ miles long.

To get here, take exit 301 from I-75, drive east for one mile, and turn left on Croom Rital Road. The Ridge Manor Trailhead is obvious. Simply walk across the meadow that lies beyond the restrooms and picnic tables, and you will find the start of the River Trail waiting for you. Happy Trails!

Withlacoochee State Trail

For those who love spending time outside, the rails-to-trails movement is one of the most positive developments of the last quarter century. And fortunately for us, our region is home to one of that movement’s crowning achievements.

The Withlacoochee State Trail starts in Pasco County and runs north all the way through Hernando County, continuing into Citrus County before coming to an end after 46 miles. Bicyclists are its most common users, seeing as how it is twelve feet wide and paved with a mixture of asphalt and recycled tire rubber, but hikers should also make a point to get out and enjoy it. One of the trail’s main assets is that it takes you through every aspect of rural Florida -- not just deep woods, but also the open, rolling countryside that is home to cattle ranches and small towns:

The beginning is in Trilby, a Faulkneresque dot on the map (population 419) where the trail passes beside this quaint post office:

After about five miles the Withlacoochee utilizes the bridge pictured below to cross over State Road 50. On the opposite side sits the extremely popular Ridge Manor Trailhead.

Three miles further north, the trail passes the entrance to Silver Lake Recreation Area and proceeds to enter the Croom Tract of Withlacoochee State Forest. Many users consider Croom to be the prettiest and most tranquil section of the entire trail. Here are a couple pictures I took while walking there last Sunday:

Wildlife viewing can be very productive on the Withlacoochee. In the morning, late afternoon, and evening it is common to see deer munching on trailside grass, and in spring and summer it is almost impossible to spend any time here without seeing swallow-tailed kites soaring overhead. Back in 2003, I incorporated Withlacoochee walks into my recovery from surgery, and on almost every visit during that time, I saw the same barred owl perched in one tree or another just north of the Ridge Manor Trailhead.

Trailside amenities, which include covered picnic tables and clean restroom facilities, are another positive feature of the Withlacoochee. Most people will agree that relieving one’s self in the brush is much less ideal than doing so in here:

I have not walked the trail’s farthest miles north of Hernando, i.e., the ones that extend beyond what most people would consider the Tampa Bay area. Those miles are surely worth experiencing, but from what I understand, some of them run fairly close to U.S. 41 and therefore might not seem as wild as the Pasco and Hernando sections. It is also worth noting that the northernmost miles pass through the towns of Istachatta, Floral City, Inverness, and Citrus Springs. An alluring sign in the woods just south of Floral City states: “Shamrock Inn – Good Food – Cold Beer – Next Left.”

To reach the Withlacoochee’s southernmost access points, take exit 293 from I-75 and drive east for 2.6 miles. Then, turn left onto Pasco County Road 575 and continue six miles to Trilby. This route is so winding and hilly you might find yourself wondering if you got transported to Northern Georgia or Western Maryland or some other non-Florida locale.

In Trilby, there is parking for a few vehicles at the spot where the trail crosses the road next to the post office pictured above, about a mile north of the trail’s actual beginning. If you want to start from the actual beginning, keep driving past the post office, turn right at the flashing light, and continue until you see the trailhead on your right.

To reach the Ridge Manor Trailhead, take exit 301 from I-75, drive east for a mile on State Road 50, and turn left onto Croom Rital Road. The trailhead will be on your right and is very obvious because of its ample parking lot. FYI, its facilities are considerably more immaculate than those at the first two trailheads.

For what it’s worth, however, my personal favorite place to hop on the Withlacoochee is at a spot on Croom Rital Road several miles north of the Ridge Manor Trailhead. If you just keep driving, you will enter the borders of the state forest and come to my preferred trailhead at a spot where the road turns left and is crossed by the trail. There is parking for a few cars both before and after the crossing.

Happy Trails!

Update, 11/19/12: Less than two weeks ago the "facilities" at the trailhead by the Trilby post office consisted of a port-a-let. But yesterday, when I walked from there to the Ridge Manor Trailhead, the port-a-let was gone...so while Ridge Manor continues to be kind of a lap of luxury with flush toilets, hot water sinks, and multiple picnic tables, the Trilby post office trailhead has gone from being one of modest facilities to one of no facilities. I will let you know if that ever changes.

Weedon Island

Everyone raised in St. Petersburg has heard of this 3,700-acre expanse of green along the western shore of Tampa Bay, and has seen at least that part of its shoreline which is visible from Gandy Bridge. But most people are not aware you can hike on it, and who can blame them? Since Weedon Island’s recreational reputation is built mostly on sea kayking and shallow-water fishing -- and mangroves make up all of its plant life you can see from afar -- it would be logical to wonder if it even has any dry land.

For any non-Floridian readers out there, mangroves are estuary trees which grow in areas that are, more often than not, submerged in salt water anywhere from several inches to several feet deep. They sit atop above-ground roots, as you can tell from this picture that was taken when the water level was lower than normal:

The shallow aquatic world around mangrove roots is home to crabs and crayfish and provides a steady food supply for droves of raccoons. Herons also come here to feed:

There is much more to Weedon Island than mangroves, however, for its interior is home to upland fields and woods:

That interior is teeming with a variety of wildlife, including endangered species like the gopher tortoise. 4½ miles of hiking trails thread through Weedon Island, leading to two inland ponds, three viewing platforms, and a 45-foot tall observation tower. They are dirt in some areas, paved in others, and where necessary (i.e., mostly around the perimeter) they use boardwalks to ensure you stay dry while slipping through the mangroves:

Although it is called an island, Weedon is actually a peninsula, tethered to Pinellas County’s mainland by a small isthmus of land south of Gandy Boulevard. A two-lane road across that isthmus is what takes you there. When I was a child, the road was dirt and dead-ended near a dock. The bulk of Weedon was known as Weedon Island State Preserve, but unless you had a kayak in tow, there was really nothing to do here.

These days the land is leased to Pinellas County and known simply as Weedon Island Preserve -- and man oh man, has the county ever upgraded things! In addition to blazing the trails and paving the road, it has built a cultural and natural history center to honor Weedon’s rich human history. Archaeological excavations on the island have unearthed a plethora of tools and pottery, plus a canoe that has been carbon-dated to be more than 1,000 years old. Many of these artifacts are now on display in the center.

To reach the preserve, turn south onto San Martin Boulevard from Gandy Boulevard, or east onto 83rd Avenue from 4th Street, and follow the signs. Admission is free. Whether you live in the Tampa Bay area or are simply visiting, you will be doing yourself a disservice if you fail to visit this wild spot in the midst of a metropolis.

Happy Trails!

Moccasin Lake

In the middle of Clearwater, right next to the commercial corridor of U.S. 19, sits a woodland whose oak canopy stretches over magnolias and shares space with a handful of oddly located slash pines.

These woods are city property and are preserved as Moccasin Lake Park. They are home to a classroom where the Audubon Society meets every month, and as you might expect, their bird-watching is very good. When I visited for the first time on a Saturday last month, I saw a pair of red-shouldered hawks fly through the trees within seconds of stepping onto the trail. Not long after that, I was treated to the sight of a pileated woodpecker.

However, the most notable sighting was of the non-native variety, when I stumbled upon a flock of peacocks. In Florida it is not unusual to see an occasional, escaped specimen of these showy birds roaming about, but when I rounded a bend in the park’s trail and found myself looking at about twenty of them, including chicks, I realized I was in the presence of a wild, established, and reproducing population.

The trail through Moccasin Lake Park is a mile long (one-way) and easy to follow. It forks several times, and the resulting prongs always rejoin even though the signs usually point you in only one direction. It has a few boardwalk sections, one of which passes over a swiftly flowing stream.

At one point the trail comes close to a couple of homes, then plunges back into the woods and eventually reaches Moccasin Lake itself: a five-acre body of water where you might see multiple species of wading birds. One of U.S. 19’s overpasses is just beyond the lake’s western bank, but in a way that enhances rather than detracts from the natural appearance by making you appreciate that such a setting exists in an urban area. The two best spots for viewing the lake are from a covered dock on its eastern shore and a bird blind on its northern one. I took this photo from the latter:

There is quite a bit more to this place than what I have already mentioned. Behind the visitor center are enclosures, mostly aviaries, that injured animals call home; among their current residents are a screech owl and fish crow. A path branching off of the primary hiking trail leads to a wooden windmill and butterfly garden where the winged critters flitter about and flower species are identified by signs:

Obviously, Moccasin Lake Park is not for you if you are looking to walk long miles through wilderness, but it is a fine place to easily escape the congestion of the city. When daytime highs are hot, as they often are around here even in fall and spring, a two-mile round-tripper in the shade of oaks might be all you need.

To get to Moccasin Lake Park, turn east onto Drew Street from U.S. 19, then left onto Fairwood Avenue. Six-tenths of a mile later, just past the train tracks, take another left onto Park Trail Lane, which dead-ends at the park. There is a $3 entry fee, and if you intend to bring the family along, be aware that the fee is per person. Happy Trails!