Gutsy Woman Traveler

On President’s Weekend it is impossible to find a camping site in the panhandle of Florida on the Gulf of Mexico. As luck would have it, I found a state forest with primitive camping, the best kind, and only 20 minutes from sugar sand beaches. The name of the forest intrigued me. Legend has it that in the late 1800’s, a local homesteader went into the forest to hunt a black panther who was killing off his livestock. After seven days and nights of being lost in the forest, he came into the town of Carrabelle and his only words to a passerby were “My name is Cebe Tate and I’ve just come from hell!” The forest today is more like a piece of heaven than hell. Tall pines mixed with dwarfed cypress and Palmetto palms cover over 200,000 acres of land. The campground I was at is on the banks of the Crooked River, a peaceful waterway with forest on both banks. If only I had my kayak! But I did have my brand new 10 person Instant Tent and this was the perfect spot for its inauguration!

The closest town is Carrabelle, population 1300. I had read that there was a cultural festival in town on Saturday. Music, artists, food all set in the small fishing village was too good to pass up. Fifteen minutes down the road, I arrived at the town’s hub, which totaled 2 blocks. There were a couple musicians on opposite street corners who won’t be getting a recording contract anytime soon. On one block there were four card tables set up for the “artists” – macrame plant hangers, paintings that looked like they were paint-by-number and some jewelry made with beads. On the other block there were four vintage cars. The only food was at the two restaurants in town. Not exactly the cultural festival I was expecting.

After wandering the village for a half hour, I stopped in one of the gas stations to ask where I could buy firewood. The man behind the counter said, “Mr. Gary over on H Avenue has wood. Try him”. On my way back to camp, I found H Avenue and a delapidated house with a pile of trees in the front yard. There was a man outside who I assumed was Mr. Gary. I stopped and asked if he had any firewood he could sell me. He pointed to the large pile of trees and said, “Help yourself!”. Given my only tool for chopping wood is a small hatchet, I passed on his very generous offer!! Thankfully it was a warm night since there wouldn’t be a campfire!

My next stop was to visit friends in The Villages. On my drive from Daytona Beach, I came across Ocala National Forest. I had read about this vast wilderness and decided to stop at the Clearwater Lake Recreation Area on the southeast edge of the forest. It is a beautiful area on a lake surrounded by pines and palms. There were postings warning of black bears and alligators in the area, but I decided a short hike was in order. A beautiful trail through the pine forest went around the lake and ended at a small white sand beach. A perfect spot for my picnic lunch.

My journey continued to The Villages, an enormous retirement community in North Central Florida. I had been texting with an old friend, Renee, a few days before. We hadn’t seen each other in probably 12 years. My first stop was to see her. It was wonderful to catch up on the past several years and to see each other again! Then I headed south to the newer part of The Villages. My friends, Erica and Stan, moved here a couple years ago after having enough of MN winters! They have a lovely new home and it was fun to spend the night with them. Stan made the best burnt beef butts I have ever eaten. The next day, Erica and I went on a short tour of the area. The Villages is enormous and it just keeps growing! Everywhere we looked there were new houses and communities being built. There was no end to the new construction taking place.

After saying good bye to Erica and Stan, I headed to my brother David’s place in North Fort Myers. He and Karen bought a home in a 55+ community last winter. They suffered some damage this fall from Hurricane Ian. Broken windows, roof damage, a carport that was nowhere to be found. There was debris all over the interior from the broken windows. But, the house is still standing and the damage has been repaired.

My brother David has worked since he was 15. Over the past 6 decades, he has built a successful general contractors business and he and Karen have raised four wonderful sons. David finally retired this year. In all my life, I have never seen him so happy and relaxed. He is like a kid in a candy store. Our days spent together were filled with laughter, memories and so much love. My heart was filled with joy when I left them.

An added bonus to being in Fort Myers was that I got to see my friend, Lourdes. She happened to be in Sanibel while I was at David’s. It was nice to have lunch together on the waterfront instead of looking out at snow!

The new tent I ordered had arrived at David’s. It was time to move on and try out the new equipment.

Given the continuing rain in Beaufort and Savannah, I headed south to find sunshine. I hadn’t been to Daytona Beach for many years and sunshine and warm temperatures were in the forecast. I arrived after dark and the strip was lit up like Las Vegas. After being on a deserted beach for 10 days, the lights and activity were a harsh re-entry to civilization!

It was Super Bowl Sunday and the hotel bar/grill was filled with people cheering on their teams. Sitting in a booth with a very young waitress who called me “hun” and surrounded by groups of cheering fans, I felt very out of place. Besides, I ordered a salad when every other table was filled with the discarded bones from chicken wings and remnants of nachos. I retreated to my room to watch the rest of the game.

The next morning, I awoke to beautiful sunshine on the beach. A morning walk was in order, but the steps to the beach had been destroyed in the last hurricane. No worries, a few blocks away there was beach access. After having a beach to myself for the past week, Daytona Beach left something to be desired. Filled with tourists, beachside hotels and bars, I can see why it is a hot spot for spring break. For me, those days are long gone and the tranquility of quiet beaches surrounded by nature are now my preference. But, I have found sunshine!!

Philip and I spent four wonderful sunny days touring Charleston and Beaufort SC, the Parris Island Marine Museum and taking long walks on the deserted beach.

Charleston was beautiful with its picturesque streets filled with perfectly maintained Colonial houses. Amid this beauty, the order was given to fire the first shot of the Civil War. Beaufort was founded in 1711 and was the site of the second landing in North America by European settlers. The Antebellum architecture has been beautifully preserved. The Parris Island Marine Museum is one of the most extensive accounts of all the wars America has been involved in starting with the Revolution. It’s a very impressive account of our military history.

We had wonderful weather for all these explorations. But on Thursday, the forecast was for rain to start in the middle of the night and continue until Sunday. With a large tarp, poles and guidelines, we covered our tent to add extra protection. This 10 year old tent had gotten us through rain and wind before and with the tarp, we were sure it would make it through this round of rain.

Friday we woke up to a gentle rain, so we decided to go to Savannah and do the covered trolley tour. It was a perfect way to see the historic sights of Savannah since we could get on and off at various spots. The numerous squares filled with live oak and Spanish moss were just as we expected as was the architecture. On our way back to the campsite, we stopped at a restaurant down the road from our park that had fresh locally caught shrimp and grouper. Luckily we had made a reservation, because the line and wait was over a half hour or longer.

It was raining harder when we got back to the campsite. Philip made sure the tarp was securely in place and we crawled into bed. During the night, the rain turned from heavy and steady to torrential and the winds picked up. In the morning, a couple of the poles holding the tarp were down and there was some water on the tent floor. Philip put the poles back up while I put towels on the floor around the edge of the tent. Then we headed back to Savannah so Philip could catch his flight home.

Near the airport, I stopped at a Walmart to buy more towels and some sealant to try and patch the floor where water was leaking in. When I arrived back at the campsite, the tarp and poles were completely blown off. There was driving rain and very strong wind gusts. As soon as I would get the poles up, another one would blow down. Finally I gave up and threw the tarp under the picnic table. When I went in the tent, more water was gathering on the floor. Thank goodness I had bought more towels. I put towels all along the edge of the tent where the floor seam met the wall. Anything that was on the floor went up on tables, chairs and cots. The sides of the tent were soaked and water was running down the tent door. As I busied myself trying to cover things to keep them dry, a mist started coming through the rain fly on top of the tent. The torrential rain and gale force winds was too much for this old tent. I gave up and retreat to the safety of a hotel.

When I returned to the tent early the next morning, I wasn’t sure what I would find. To my amazement, the tent was still standing! Some of the stakes and guidelines had been pulled out of the ground, but it was standing. Inside, everything was wet. The floor had standing water and the towels and rugs were saturated. I was scheduled to spend one more night at that site, but I needed to pack up and get out of the rain. As I was packing up, a park ranger came by to see how I had fared during storm. In a campsite not far from ours, a palm tree had fallen onto the air conditioner of a trailer and pushed it right through the ceiling!! The poor couple had just picked the trailer up the week before. Considering that damage, my wet tent wasn’t that bad.

Considering the age and condition of the tent, we decided it was time to get a new one. After all, will be my home for the next couple of months. I bid the old tent a fond farewell as it hit the dumpster, ordered a new one to be delivered to my brother’s house in Fort Myers and headed towards the sunshine state of Florida.

When I started planning my winter journey, I knew that I had to stop in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. In 1974, a month into my senior year, I quit high school after a fight with the school administrator and went to live in Eureka Springs. My sister, uncle and aunt all lived in this enchanted town set in the heart of the Ozarks. The day before I arrived, the town was covered with several inches of snow. It looked like a little Switzerland, a name from its past.

I always say I grew up here, but I should say this is where my adulthood began. Eureka Springs was like nothing else I’d very experienced. The town was filled with retirees, artists, business owners, gays, ‘hippies’, ‘rednecks’, all living in peace side by side. Maybe it was something in the water. After all, it was believed that the springs in this historic Victorian town had magical powers. Today, the same diversity and acceptance still exists.

There have been two other visits to this place in the past 20 years, but this time was different. In my previous visits I was with others people and was showing them the sights as a tourist. This time I was alone and able to revisit the places that were special to me. I found the tiny cabin where I had lived. It is still standing in the same spot, but that parcel of land has been sold and there is a wooden fence that butts up to the front door. The front porch light was still on as though it was waiting for my turn. That tiny cabin consisted of a very small kitchen and bathroom and one room with a bed and dresser. When I hear JoniMitchell, Carole King and Linda Ronstadt, it transports me back to that tiny place.

As I wandered the streets of historic downtown, some things were the same. The courthouse still stands and the Basin Park Hotel is still operating, but the shops and bars of my past have changed. The building where my sister had a boutique now houses a toy store and the art gallery next door is gone. The High Hat bar where men hitched their horses to the light post is now a shop. But the spirit of this place lives on.

I had a wonderful visit with an old friend, Butch Berry. We hadn’t seen each other since 1977. To reconnect with someone who played a big part of my life in Eureka was very special.

This was the perfect place to start my journey. All the memories and the realization of how important my time there was allowed me to fully reclaim that part of my life. I left with great affection and appreciation of this magical place.

Over the past several years, I have hiked countless miles of trails in the White River National Forest and Holy Cross Wilderness area. In the summer the trails are filled with alpine wild flowers and beautiful aspen glens surrounded by tall pines. These same trails provide the amazing yellow gold of the aspen in the fall. You hear the sound of the leaves moving in the wind and the sound of your hiking boots and poles hitting the dirt. Some trails can be hot and dusty and others are cooled by the foliage and a flowing stream. There are rocks to climb and tree roots to avoid. The earth lays bare at your feet.

But come winter, you put on your snowshoes and go to these same trails. They are transformed with a layer of fresh fallen snow. The trail is hard to find at times and there are drifts in the middle of the forest. No longer do you need to watch each footstep for fear of tripping on a rock or tree root. No longer do you hear the leaves rustling in the breeze. You rarely see another person on the trail. With the snow comes the silence. The only sound you hear is your own breathing and the birds singing in the woods. It becomes a magical place where all the cares of the day evaporate in the freshly fallen powder. Peace surrounds you with each step.

Hunting Island State Park in historic Beaufort SC is a beautiful park with tent sites next to the beach. The park is filled with palm trees, palmettos and pine. Our site was 100 steps from a wide open beach. At the end of the beach is the Hunting Island Lighthouse. The original lighthouse was built in 1859 and rebuilt in 1875 after is was destroyed during the Civil War.

I arrived on Saturday and had camp set up and ready for Philip’s arrival on Monday. Ours was the only tent in the tent section. We loved the seclusion and having the beach steps away. There’s nothing like falling asleep to the sound of waves and waking up to the songs of the birds mixed with the waves.

Long walks on the deserted beach and campfire dinners ended days of touring the historic sites. With some local food and freshly caught shrimp, it was a perfect week celebrating my 66th birthday!