Tag: traveling solo

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Out of the Basement and Into the Wild Sue and Ella See America

Texas Hill Country

The rivers in the Texas hill country are aquamarine and lined with the most beautiful, tall, white, cypress trees that stretch both up to the sky and down into the riverbeds. The trees’ roots – almost as long and as big as the trees themselves – twist and sprawl to create the river’s banks. They are home to fish below and birds above, and they create an enchanting, magical atmosphere. Central Texas, unlike the majority of the flat state, is rolling with mountains of various sizes and a number of rivers that give rise to aquifers and springs. The terrain and climate are perfect for farms, vineyards, and ranches of all kinds.

Cypress roots on the Guadalupe River

While I visited in February, the ground and air were dry. The days vacillated between 45-80 degrees, and the nights between 20-65, and there was no dewfall. The ground is covered with dry clay, dirt, and gravel, and most of the vegetation is thick brush and cactus intermixed with cedars, junipers, and live oak. The mountainous areas are covered with boulders – round, square, orange, and gray. The skies were always clear.

I spent almost the whole month of February in Texas because I visited my oldest sister and my oldest son. Also, because Texas is huge. I went to several hill country state parks, and they were all beautiful – so very different from the Alabama terrain and vegetation I’m used to. Coyotes, armadillos, deer, and rabbits visited our campsites, keeping Ella on high alert. Prickly pear, yucca, walking stick, and pincushion cacti taught Ella lessons she had no idea she needed to learn.

I also learned some lessons during my travels through the hill country.

Guadalupe River State Park

Lesson:  Everyone does it differently

The Guadalupe River cuts through a canyon leaving a striated cliff of orange, tan, yellow, and slate colored rock. The cliff is dotted with small holes where birds nest and is topped with giant, sprawling prickly pears. Armadillos were bold, coming within one foot of Ella on her leash, daring her.

Guadalupe River State Park

While the river and gorge were beautiful, what caught my attention most was how differently people camp. The campground was filled, and families enjoyed their stay in many different ways:

  • Long, luxurious, pop-up and pop-out RVs towing vehicles behind.
  • Renovated buses that could rival the finest RVs.
  • Fifth-wheels attached to massive pickup trucks.
  • Teardrop trailers that provided just enough room to be comfortable.
  • Rooftop tent campers, like Yours Truly.
  • Tent campers in Jeeps with canoes, kayaks, and bikes mounted all around.
  • Self-contained vans where the camper never had to exit the vehicle.
  • Car campers who slept in their backseats and cooked out of the trunks.

The campsites were just as varied:

  • Some put down outdoor rugs, put out flags, tablecloths, plants, welcome signs proclaiming they were Happy Campers! or Livin’ La Vida Loca!
  • Some set up separate screen gazebos for cooking, dining, and socializing. String lights and music were the usual fare here.
  • Some brought golfcarts, bicycles, gators, skiffs, all the means for a full family adventure.
  • Others kept a low profile. Nothing extra, no frills. Serious business. The park was a place to stay for the night, nothing more.

One thing that was common across the board, is that everyone was legitimately on the move. Whether they had TV and air conditioning or were sleeping on the ground in the elements, everyone was away from the brick-and-mortar structure of home with the intent of enjoying the outdoors.

It was fun to see, and I felt like part of a community of folks all doing the same thing but each in our own way. We would meet and talk to each other real friendly-like, exchanging stories and information about where we’ve been and where we’re going, then go back to doing our own thing.

Pedernales Falls State Park

Lesson:  Not all waterfalls are the same

The falls at Pedernales River were not like any I had seen. Compared to other parks, the topography was similar, the flora and fauna were similar, the river was similar, but the falls were unique. Rather than water falling from a much higher point to a much lower point, these falls were tiered pools, like natural locks that filled eroded rock basins and overflowed into the next tier, one after another, until it finally spilled into the full, wide river at the bottom.

Pedernales Falls State Park

The tiers were wide rock shelves of different types of rock, and it was easy to see that during rains this waterfall would be formidable. We climbed down to the flats, and Ella drank from one of the pools.

The purpose of the waterfall is to move water that is up there to down here. Gravity does its part, water seeks its own level, and all that. The great part is, it doesn’t really matter how it’s done or what it looks like, just that it moves in the right direction. Somehow this comforts me. I sure don’t always get things done the way others do, but by golly, I gitter done.

Enchanted Rock Natural Area

Lesson:  A big start doesn’t mean diddly squat

The surroundings at Enchanted Rock were magnificent, and Ella and I had a super sweet spot at the base of the mountains. I was only able to hike the Loop Trail with her, but I was OK with that. It was long and afforded a wonderful view of the park from all directions.

We started off with a bang. The cactus were beautiful, the wintering trees were loaded with mosses and lichens, and the boulders were enormous and came in every size and shape.

As the trail continued after a mile or so, the view was far less spectacular. The vegetation was sparse and monotonous, the mountains and rock formations were so far in the distance it was difficult to see them, and it was hot. So hot. The trail was red, dusty dirt, the grasses were short and gray, and the few trees we passed were bare.

I had expected that since the beginning of the walk was so spectacular that it would be that way for the full five miles. Not so. Finally coming to the realization that the next few miles would be exactly the same as the past barren mile, we halted our walk and turned around. We trudged through another mile of hot, dusty desert before coming back to the beautiful variety of enchanting rocks that headed the trail.

While perseverance is usually the best course of action in life, it’s also important to know when to cut your losses. Things that start with promise and potential don’t always stay that way. Read the signs and respond wisely. I was so happy when we turned around! I knew we were putting that dry, dusty, hot, bare path behind us.

Colorado Bend State Park

Lesson:  Sometimes a difficult journey is just not worth it

We headed to Gorman Falls at Colorado Bend on the recommendation of a blogger who offered the advice that it was a much more difficult trail than advertised, so beware. Sounded great to me!

Sure enough, the trail was very rocky and got more difficult the closer it got to the falls. Some parts of it were cut directly into rock, and we had to take very sure-footed steps over and around rock-points poking up out of the ground. It was fun and exciting.

Our blood pumping with the changes in elevation, we could finally hear the falls, and it was musical. There is something about the sound of running water in nature, especially when the air is hot and dry, and you have worked up a good thirst. The next leg of the trail was down a rock face that had grown slippery with the volume of hikers sliding down it over time.

There were handrails installed to help hikers keep their balance and to keep from falling. This was more than moderately difficult, without a doubt. My legs were shaking with fatigue, my breath was short, and my heart was pounding. Ella was lurching and making her own way, so I was trying to balance her momentum with my need to stay upright and hang onto the guard rail. I felt victorious when we made it to the bottom!

The falls were sad. There hadn’t been much rain so there was only a trickle, and the cliff face was really just a wall of dirt and mud. Not even pretty. The river at the bottom was just as unimpressive. Ella and I drank some water we had brought with us, turned around and headed back.

The climb up was not quite as arduous as going down. My muscles ached more, and my heart pounded harder, but I wasn’t nearly as prone to being sucked to the ground by gravity like a magnet.

The hike was good for its own sake. No regrets there. But it was in no way worth the view of that sad, little waterfall. Sometimes a difficult journey is just a journey for its own sake. What’s at the end is so not worth it.

Longhorn Cavern State Park

Lesson:  History is underrated OR You’re work may be unappreciated, but it’s important

The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) was a group of volunteer young men in the 1930’s who took on the task of developing, improving, and enhancing many of the parks we now enjoy. Before the war, these fellas were like scouts who cut trails, graded areas for campsites, and cleared out caves. To the outdoorsperson, they are veritable heroes. The program ended when the war began, and the majority of the men were drafted.

Longhorn Cavern Park is a historic park that showcases the work of the CCC. Ella and I were not able to go into the cavern, but we did tour the architecture which included outdoor patios, an administrative building, and a lookout tower.

This park is nowhere near as beautiful as the others we have visited and so is easy to overlook, but it is probably more important. The work of the CCC was used all over the US to create some of the best-known National Parks and state parks that are widely used today. These men, all aged 18-25, unemployed, and unmarried, literally paved the way for our enjoyment of the nation’s most beautiful natural resources. Little is known of them individually today.

Sometimes your work will be unappreciated, taken for granted, even unnoticed. That doesn’t make it unimportant. In fact, history being what it is, most of us don’t think about the work done by those who have gone before. The right to vote, our way of life, access to resources, and our individual liberties are things we take for granted every day. Historical figures have sweated and bled so we might fully enjoy those things without a thought. History is truly underrated.

Garner State Park

Lesson:  Believe you can achieve the unattainable, but respect your limits

The Rio Frio runs through Garner State Park and is used for all sorts of water sports. It is one of those aquamarine paradises lined with magnificent cypress trees whose roots twist and sprawl into the riverbanks. It’s beautiful.

Ella on the cypress roots at Garner State Park

Crazily enough, while on my way here, the GPS guided me through several ranches on a farm road. It was a dirt road that wove through a patchwork of ranches whose boundaries could be identified by their cattle grates and open gates. The cattle were loose, grazing and crossing the road in front of me. It was unexpected but totally added to the magic of getting to the park.

Ella and I were some of the only campers at the park, which is huge and full during the summer months. It is a real family-friendly park, with many options for outdoor activities. For us, the trail by the river was our choice. For me, the scenery was amazing and peaceful. For Ella, the squirrels were a constant challenge and thrill.

One particular squirrel delighted in taunting Ella. It followed us from tree to tree and screeched at Ella from the lowest branches. Once Ella caught sight of it, she tried to chase it up the tree. She was certain she could catch it, and to be fair, she got pretty far up the trunk, hanging on by her claws. She wouldn’t give up. When the squirrel jumped to another tree, Ella tried to climb that one too. It was delightfully endearing to watch her do her utmost to scale her way up that thick trunk. She was relentless.

Ella climbing a tree after a squirrel. She believes!

Alas, no matter how much she believed she could make it, and no matter how much effort she put into the process, she would never be able to climb that tree. It was her primary goal to catch that squirrel, but she just wasn’t equipped for success. And that’s ok.

What she did instead was target a different squirrel on the ground. The only limits she has there are the ones I put on her. But that’s another lesson for another day.

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Out of the Basement and Into the Wild Sue and Ella See America

The Smokies

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee

The snow was melting from the trees, dropping in small clumps all around us from the bowed branches, making it look like snow was falling from the clear, blue sky. The ground and bare trees were still flocked with white from the previous day’s snowfall, but the temperatures were slowly rising. I don’t know if Ella had ever seen snow before, but she was delighted. She would march ahead on her leash, imploring me to keep up, sticking her nose into little snowy pockets created by visible tree roots. Trampling under the low hanging branches of shrubs and saplings, Ella produced a mini snowstorm wherever she went, then vigorously shook her cold, wet coat.

Most of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is not dog-friendly, despite having numerous trails of varying abilities, because of the bears and other predatory wildlife and because of the changes dogs bring to the local ecosystem. This is such a completely reasonable and common-sense rule, I never resent it. There are many other beautiful wilderness areas outside the park we can enjoy exploring if we want to.

This National Park seemingly does not have the marked boundaries of other parks, and there are several visitor centers at different entry points because the park borders Tennessee and North Carolina. Ella was only allowed on two trails inside the park boundary, and they were each at different entry points. Since we were arriving late the previous evening after driving from Mammoth Cave, and because the night temperatures were still well below freezing with snow on the ground, we stayed in a hotel in Pigeon Forge near Gatlinburg. Not only would this afford us some warmth, but it would give me a chance to shower and do laundry. After a good night’s rest and completing our ablutions, we headed out to the Gatlinburg Trail.

We followed the trail along and across the Little Pigeon River, and Ella dragged me down to the water’s edge to dip her toes and nose in and take a drink. At one point, we passed some rapids that were flowing over and around rocks, causing a mist, and we inched our way to the river’s bank. It was getting rather muddy, and we did our fair share of slipping and sliding to get this view. The spray rising into the air hovered over the water like fog. The sound of the whitewater rushing and roiling up through the mist while the snow was falling out of the trees all around us was spectacular. We stood for a spell and took it in.

After this satisfying walk, since we couldn’t do much more hiking in the Smokies, I decided to take a scenic drive. Most of the scenic drives were closed, however, because of high water and flooding, but some of the lookouts gave us the classic Smoky Mountain views I was hoping for. Ripples of white clouds were high in the blue sky, and the mountains, covered in evergreens and still spotted with snow, looked gray and purple in the distance, as if they went on forever.

Great Smokies view from Gatlinburg

From there we began our trek south to Congaree to stick with the above freezing temperatures. Driving out of Tennessee was not as picturesque as Kentucky! One of the roads on our route was closed because of flooding, so the GPS redirected us through a small town of old, battered farmhouses and rusted trailers. More and more the town appeared to be filled with old cars – 1970s models with no wheels and missing doors, tractors on cinder blocks, wrecked trucks abandoned in fields. Although it made no sense, at one point I really thought we were in the middle of a junkyard, lost. There were tires and heaps of parts from cars that were half a century old on both sides of the street, and the road was winding in such a way that I couldn’t see ahead. We were the only ones on the road, which was further unsettling. What snapped me into reality was a sign that read, “Slow, school bus ahead.” I felt immediate relief that I was indeed on a road through a normal, small, rural, American town but also dispirited by its dystopian air.

My downheartedness quickly turned to awe as I began the passage through TN into NC, with the Smokies rising up majestically on both sides of us. The road winds through the middle of the range, and the mountains are giant, formidable, and breathtaking. I felt strangely and wonderfully humbled in their midst.

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Out of the Basement and Into the Wild Sue and Ella See America

Mammoth Cave

Mammoth Cave National Park, KY

The weather was dropping below freezing with a chance of snow over the next few days, so, to make the most of the warmth before the cold front, I followed a route that would take me first to Kentucky, then to North Carolina, then onto South Carolina. After all my time in the balmy, south Florida heat, I wasn’t quite ready to change my wardrobe to full-on winter yet. I wanted to ease my way in. With this route, I could enjoy the beauty of the national parks in each respective state while still having feeling in my fingers, nose, and toes.

I researched which parks were dog friendly and which activities would allow Ella. That really helped in the planning because I realized I wouldn’t need to allot much time in parks that weren’t dog friendly. Those would require only a day trip, which would leave the possibility of exploring and camping at a nearby state park or visiting friends and relatives.

The Kentucky hills are full of caves, and, in fact, the state boasts the most caves in the union. These caves make for an above ground landscape that is rolling with gentle grades and sharp declines, not to mention sinkholes in abundance. Mammoth Cave National Park in Kentucky is named after the largest underground dry cave in the US. It was our next stop.

Ella was allowed on all the trails in Mammoth Cave NP which was fantastic. They were gorgeous! Because it was winter, they were strewn with fallen leaves from sleeping, deciduous trees that stood tall and prominent. Although there were no green leaves in sight, the rocks were gleaming with a lush carpet of green, dewy moss that sparkled in the sunshine. The trails were cut into the hillside which sloped down to a river. Exposed formations of rocks were stacked in tiers creating a natural amphitheater. Because the trail sliced through the hill, tree roots were clambering between the rocks for space.  It looked like a giant’s staircase covered with shaggy, green carpet and adorned with ornate and intricate woodwork.

Mossy rocks and roots on the trails

The trails were well marked, and the changes in elevation got our blood pumping. Because the trees were bare, Ella could see every squirrel digging for every nut, and there were a bunch. She was pretty sure she could catch them all! The sky was clear blue, and the air was very cool and crisp. Exactly what you would hope for on a winter’s day in Kentucky.

There were about five or six trails that we explored throughout the afternoon. The trails were of varying difficulties, and one was even a handicap accessible trail, built through some beautiful parts of the park that covered flat ground near bends of the river where springs bubbled up with crawfish and other water life. The trails wove through the woods near the Green River and the River Styx. The River Styx is an underground river that flows through caves and rocks and meets up with the overground Green River through a series of tiny waterfalls and springs. The hillside where these two rivers meet is configured naturally with sandstone and limestone and stands like a wall with tiny waterfall windows. The weather was cool enough that there were icicles hanging off the rocks and twinkling in the sun.

Looking over a whole landscape of rocks and winter trees and dead leaves you would think that the terrain would get monotonous, but it was a constant source of fascination and interest. The vines that are normally green and thick with life are bare, and you can see their twiggy outlines twist through the trees, climbing upwards and branching off into other trees before cascading back down. The trees were varying widths and heights and colors, everything from dark sable to white. And I really couldn’t get enough of the moss-covered rocks. I have an inordinate fascination with forest decay – moss, lichens, fungus, mushrooms. The amount of growth and life that is present in death – that replaces death – is awe-inspiring and truly exciting. And the moss in this forest oozed life.

As we were rounding out our last trail, we passed the Mammoth Cave sinkhole, or maybe I should say one of the sinkholes, because I think there are several. From there, it was a climb to the parking lot. Ella gets excited on our walks and has a tendency to pull on her leash, marching out ahead of me. I normally hate it and correct her. When we are climbing hills though, I’m not gonna lie, I really like the extra pull-power she provides. An added bonus – she is on the constant lookout for the most efficacious way to climb the trails, so when I follow her, I often avoid the wretched, jutting rocks and tree roots that I normally wouldn’t see. It’s kinda nice.

Mammoth Cave does not allow dogs inside the caves or on any cave tours, but they do have a kennel, so for less than $10 you can leave your pup for a few hours to do one or several of the cave tours. I opted for the tour that had 500 stairs, most of them descending into the cave, but there were many other small staircases inside, and then of course you had to climb out. It was an amazing experience being in this giant, dry cave, most of which consisted of expansive rooms or chambers that didn’t have the stalactites or stalagmites that you usually see in caves. In fact, what makes this cave remarkable is that most of the cave is above the water table, so these large, cavernous rooms stay dry.

Mammoth Cave

We did however go into a part of the cave called the drapery room that had all sorts of watery and wet stalactites and stalagmites in intricate formations. We walked through several rooms on a pathway made up of footbridges and small staircases, and right in the center of one of the rooms, from probably 100 feet up, there was a waterfall that fell in a giant column through the middle of the room. The water landed about 30 or 40 feet below the footbridge. Spectacular.

We saw leggy cave crickets but no other real wildlife. The bats were hidden in dark crevices and corners, out of sight. There were two Rangers that walked with us, one in front who turned lights on as we went in and one behind who turned lights off as we passed through. The reason for the diligence toward inky darkness is to cut down on any algae that might grow in the artificial light because when the algae grow, the cave crickets will rely on it for food instead of leaving to forage outside. It’s the leaving that gives them diversity in their diet which in turn leads them to providing diversity in the diets of cave bats and fish.

In the Drapery Room

To follow the warmer temperatures, Ella and I did not camp in KY that night but drove on to TN in anticipation of the Smokies. The drive through Kentucky at dusk was beautiful. The hills were rolling with a giant patchwork of green, winter rye and wheat-colored grasses; red farmhouses with silos and old, wooden barns dotted the landscape. The sunset was softly lit with pastel hues of purples and blues with a tinge of pink that contrasted the barren, black outlines of oak trees that would rise and fall on the horizon. Straight ahead, as my Subaru was rolling over the hills, was a pure, white, crescent moon as if it was die-cut into the sky. I drove slowly so I could soak in the evening’s scenery before it got dark.

After the visual feasts of the day, that moonrise was my dessert wine – sweet, brief, and satisfying.

Categories
Out of the Basement and Into the Wild Sue and Ella See America

Gulf Coast and the Panhandle

FL West Coast

I went to the Keys between Christmas and New Year’s but didn’t actually spend New Year’s Eve in Key West. I was there on the 30th and then started making my way north on the 31st thinking I would miss the majority of the craziness of New Year’s Eve. I chose a working farm in mid-Florida as my place of respite, leaving all of the commerce and tourism of Key West behind and looking forward to the peacefulness and tranquility of a nice pastoral Florida farmstead. And it did have pigs and chickens, geese, donkeys, and cats, and it was definitely full of farm sounds which have their own sweet, pastoral appeal.

Let me back up because getting to this farm sets the stage.

The farm was just north of Tampa, so I planned my drive accordingly and chose a few beaches to visit on my way north, like Sanibel Island and St. Pete’s. After looking for shells and driving through New Year’s Eve traffic all day, I clicked on the GPS coordinates for the night’s campsite. It said it would be another three hours which meant I would be there after dark. I really hate arriving to camp after dark, but no big deal, right, because this is a working farm that takes in campers, and the camp director said she has a communal campfire everybody sits around in the evenings. I found this camp through the Hipcamp app, and this is the second one I’ve booked using this app. The first was a campsite in New Orleans which was super funky, so you never really know you what you’re going to get. At a State Park campsite, you pretty much know what’s up every single time: a picnic table, a fire ring, a little driveway area, a flat area to camp on. If you’re lucky, a well-equipped bath house close by. But Hipcamps are hosted by people who open their property to campers – sometimes it’s bona fide campgrounds, but sometimes it’s not. You don’t always know what you’re in for. For instance, a farmer or a landowner may set aside some acreage as a particular camping area for hunters or campers and will provide the basics. Or it could be a homeowner’s backyard, no frills.

So I was already running late, and I’m driving in the dark. The GPS takes me to the coordinates I had clicked, and I’m getting close. The roads are getting darker and longer because I’m out in the country. There are no streetlights and not many signs, so I arrived on this property in the dark on a dirt road, not sure actually where I was but feeling like I had a pretty good handle on it. It was a nice big property with a house and several out-buildings, and there were several cars parked in the yard, so I was pretty sure it was the right place. A gentleman came out to greet me, and I said, “Hi! I’m Sue!”

“OK,” he said.

“I’m here to camp?”

“No, we’re not doing any camping.”

Awkwardly embarrassed, “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry! Do you have any neighbors that host campers?”

The bottom line is that the GPS coordinates were not the exact location. The app hides the exact location to protect the camp host. It’s up to the camper and the camp director to communicate the address after the booking. I didn’t know all this, so this poor fella was roused from his family revery by an unexpected visitor well after dark. He said his brother and son are cops, corroborated by the Sheriff’s car in the driveway. He emphasized I could have rolled up on a meth house. I texted the camp director but didn’t hear back from her right away, and so continued to hang out with him for a bit. Nice fella.

She finally texted back and gave me her address, which was several more miles away, in the dark, on back country roads. I didn’t know where I was, couldn’t see anything besides what my headlights were illuminating, and her directions, while clear, are fairly general. “Take the second driveway. Go to the end of the fence. Stop when you see the lights,” that kind of thing. “I’ll come out to meet you when I see you pull in.”

I turned where she said to turn and saw a driveway off to the side with some broken furniture next to the mailbox and thought this place is REALLY country. I went to the end of the fence and stopped when I saw the lights. She didn’t come out to meet me. I started looking around in the dark and saw a sign for Eden RV Camp, so was at least fairly confident I was in the right place. I looked more closely, and there was a sign with a description: Eden Nudist Resort and Community.

Oh Lord.

Did I book at a nudist colony!? You’d think she’d have to disclose that, wouldn’t you? Well, I thought about it, and really, I was ok with naturists as long as they weren’t offended if I kept my clothes on. I called the camp director and said “I’m right outside waiting for you,” and she said, “Nope, I don’t see you, you must be in the wrong place.”

Instant relief. But then she directed me right around the corner to the driveway with the broken furniture.

I would have preferred the nudist resort.

Ella wanted to know the ducks up close and personal

There is run down equipment on the sides of the long dirt driveway, and it just looks junky. Even in the dark I can tell it’s just not the place I want to relax and chill for a couple of nights. I thought I would use it as a base camp to go to Tampa and Clearwater during the day, but on the spot, I decided I would go visit my brother in Pensacola the following day. But tonight I need sleep.

The host greets me and is super nice and cute as a bug. As promised, she has a roaring fire going in her picket-fenced backyard, with about five or so people sitting around talking. It definitely looks cozy. There were a number of cats and ducks in the yard, and Ella could barely contain herself. For this reason, and the fact that I’m dog-tired, we decline the company. She shows me around the “campsite.” There are several flat grassy or dirt areas to choose from, all centered among other campers in RVs. There’s an outhouse with a cold shower. I choose a private-ish area to park my car and set up camp. I tell the host I will be off first thing in the morning, bid my goodnights, and head to bed, ready for the good night’s sleep that I’ve earned today.

Did I mention it was New Year’s Eve?

Apparently, I was fairly close to the area’s community square that had hired a live rock-and-roll band to help the good citizens of this fair town celebrate NYE. They started up right as my head hit my pillow, 8:00. I told myself they probably were just playing for a few hours – this is a farm community after all, and everyone gets up super early, right?

They sang very amplified, very off-key, rock and roll songs until 1:00 in the morning. The band played classics, songs I knew and could sing along with. There was a certain charm to the horrible off-key caterwauling after a while. I was so exhausted I dozed through most of it but would wake up singing along in my head to Cat Stephens, Lynard Skynard, or Fleetwood Mac. At midnight, I woke up to the countdown, and at “THREE, TWO, ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” fireworks of all types and sizes and sounds exploded for 15 minutes or so. After the final grand barrage, the band announced, “Alright, we have time for one more song!” and the crowd cheered and clapped and called for more. They played for another hour. Individual firecrackers went off in the background for several more hours. I continued to dreamily doze in and out with the music. Yes, I like pina coladas. Yes, it’s late in the evening and I look wonderful tonight.

Things finally settled down around 2 a.m. I could hear the last remnants of fireworks, the cleanup crew packing up equipment, remaining townspeople still hollering and saying their goodbyes to friends and neighbors. I didn’t resent it at all. It was New Year’s Eve, after all, and it was a very celebratory and fun way to bring in the new year, even in my stupor. Finally at peace, I drifted into a deep sleep.

At 3:15 the roosters started crowing. There were seven of them from all different farms that would call to each other. One would crow very robustly, another would answer, then another. Some had the quintessential loud, sharp “cock-a-doodle-doo,” while others had a weak, extended croak. Some sounded very strong, and some sounded sickly or super old. Some high pitched, some low. Some distant, some close. When the roosters crowed, the chickens started clucking. So many chickens.

Ella and I got up around, 7:30 or 8, well after feeding time. We visited each one of the animals, and that just about put Ella over the edge.  There were funky-looking pigs, a couple donkeys, several types of chickens, the geese, a couple rabbits. I don’t know what all they did on this farm, but I guess collecting eggs and breeding. We greeted all the animals and went for our walk. In the daylight, the farm looked just as inglorious as at night. We were ready to go.

I forfeited the $35 fee for the second night, and this was now the third time I had booked an activity or accommodations and canceled because I changed my plans. I have learned not to make plans in advance on this trip. There are too many opportunities to change my mind, and I refuse to be beholden to sunk costs.

Nothing beats the Panhandle

Off Ella and I go to visit my brother, Chris, in Pensacola, what I am now convinced is the most beautiful beach anywhere in the US. I have been from the northeast corner of the coast of Florida, down to the southernmost point of the Keys, and back up the west coast islands. No beaches in Florida are as pristine or beautiful as the panhandle beaches. The dunes go for days. The beach itself is broad with fluffy white sand. The water is clear enough to see the sand below the waves and is every different shade of aquamarine. The waves are subtle and calm. The cool breeze tempers the hot sun, and the weather feels perfect most of the time. On the beach where my brother lives, in winter, you can see the sunrise and the sunset over the water. Each one is different and exquisite. I am convinced without a shadow of a doubt that this is the best beach ever.

As with most of Florida, the birds are ever-present. On this visit, we saw herons, pelicans, ospreys, and of course plovers, terns, and sandpipers. But this day there was a beautiful majestic, single bird flying overhead that was unidentifiable. It had the outline of a pterodactyl with giant, downward curving wings that ended in sharp points, and a long scissortail. It was soaring, catching updrafts off the condos, Chris said. It soared for an hour and never flapped its wings. A neighbor looked it up and said it was a frigatebird from Galapagos Island and is rarely spotted here. A wonderful treat.

Ella is happiest when we touch base at Chris’s condo in Pensacola. Because we don’t have a home to come home to now, this has become it. She spends her days on the porch lying in the sun, and she loves walking in the sand and the surf.

Ella’s and my footprints

But we’re not here for long! The rest of America is calling, wild and free!

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Out of the Basement and Into the Wild Sue and Ella See America

Biscayne and the Keys

Biscayne NP

Biscayne National Park is almost entirely undersea, and since Ella is a bona fide landlubber, we spent our time exclusively on the hiking trails. This park is made for water sports – boating, swimming, and such – so to enjoy the park properly you should kayak, snorkel, or even better, scuba. Or take a chartered boat trip out to the Biscayne Bay and to nearby coral reefs. Since that wasn’t our fare, we enjoyed our hikes on a couple of trails, a few of which were really cool because they were lined with craggy and porous coral pieces, even though the vegetation was rather unremarkable. One of the trails, however, was on a boardwalk through a mangrove forest, and we had an opportunity to see what the mangroves are like at eye level. The long and leggy roots underwater are just as fascinating as the twisting, leafy branches in the open air.

It was really pretty neat, but there’s not much to see if you’re not underwater, so we headed on to the Keys after our hike. We completely bypassed the Dry Tortugas, another island designated as a National Park off the lowest end of the lower keys, which you can only get to by plane or boat, neither of which interested Ella. Next time!

The Keys

The Keys, while charming, were underwhelming, I’ll have to say. I was really expecting way more, which is the bane of expectations, isn’t it? I thought I would be overcome by the breathless beauty of idyllic tropical islands. The reality is the beaches were almost nonexistent, and the whole of Hwy 1 that runs 150 miles through to Key West felt like an extended strip mall. The vegetation is mostly just scrub all around, not nearly as beautiful as most of the trails in the state parks, the national seashore, or in the Everglades, or even on mainland Florida. The islands were beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but not comparable to other parts of Florida, a state which, in general, has amazing state parks and a plethora of them. I don’t mean a lot of state parks, I mean hundreds. I can’t even imagine how many. I was really hoping to find a list of state parks with the goal of getting to all of them. Lol. You could never do that in few weeks in Florida. There are just so many – and not just state parks but wildlife management areas, and refuges, and rehabilitation areas. It’s amazing. It makes me so proud of our nation’s commitment to wildlife preservation and conservation! But I digress.

Key Largo is not a particularly beautiful island, and apparently there was a demand for a beach that looks like what most of us expect the beaches in the Keys to look like. To appease tourists, there is a man-made beach at the very Southern end of the island, complete with sand and palm trees. It was cute and well populated with sunbathers, kayakers, and sailors of all types. It was 85-90 degrees, and the women were in bikinis. As Ella and I walked around the beach from pier to pier, we passed a man on his phone sitting at a park bench next to a tow service vehicle. As we walked on further, we passed a couple looking pensively towards the water. It took a few more moments to register what they were looking at. Their sailboat had run aground – the tow was obviously for them. There are numerous, numerous boat rental companies in the Keys. I have no idea if the couple were locals who owned this boat or if they were tourists who tried their luck at a Key Largo adventure by sailing a rental into unfamiliar waters. Either way, at least they could lament their misfortune from the vantage point of a beautiful, bona fide, sandy, palm beach! Ella’s commitment to staying on land was affirmed at this point.

Key Largo Beach

There are so many smaller and larger keys along the way, and each one seems to have its own, unique environment. Long Pine Key has a deer refuge, but the key deer are everywhere. I drove around the island specifically looking for them, and ohmygosh, I found some! Driving through a neighborhood, I found four or five, maybe six, lounging on a front lawn. I guess the residents there are just super used to seeing them. There are signs everywhere that say drive slowly; the deer’s biggest enemy are cars, so I did drive very slowly. When I saw these deer, I pulled over onto somebody’s yard (sorry, person!), and I got out to take pictures. They were so small and cute! One started walking towards me and came right up to me. I put my hand out in a greeting, and it sniffed my hand, its little wet nose brushing my palm. My heart! It turned and went back to its little group, but they stayed right there in the yard, scared of nothing. They were really precious.

Key Deer hanging out in a neighborhood on Long Pine Key

The Keys may not be immersed in beauty above land, but it’s the action below water that is what they’re known for. When you’re in the Keys you must do the water sports. All of them. The water sports and the underwater wildlife are where it’s at. The Keys are created for scuba, for snorkeling, for boating, jet skiing, wind sailing, kayaking, etc. The coral reefs, the brightly colored fish, anemones, starfish, sea horses, and jellyfish all light up the underwater landscape. Of course, I didn’t do any of those with trusty Ella, so we traversed the few trails we could find. The John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park has glass bottom boat rides that I hoped Ella might be welcomed on, but they weren’t running the day we went. If you’re going to the Keys, you need to know it’s not really all that worth it to stay above ground. But if you want to see what’s below the water, I understand it’s teeming with wildlife.

Each of the keys has a little bit different feel, and there are so many of them! There’s even one called Saddle Bunches, which is an adorable name. It’s just a whole bunch of tiny mangrove islands, uninhabitable really, but connectors for the Hwy 1 bridge spans.

The Keys definitely have a beachy, island, laid back feel. It’s even more laid back than mainland beaches because there really isn’t much else going on. No high-rises and no multi-million-dollar-businesses. No high-stress lifestyles, so the vibe is cruise and care-free. There were a few more affluent keys, but the vibe was the same. If you’re not into water sports, the only thing left to do is eat and drink. I did my part. Fortunately, all the restaurants have outdoor seating, so Ella was welcome everywhere.

To space out my food and alcohol intake in a reasonable manner, I made a list of all the places I wanted to hit based on blogs and recommendations I had read online. Many people had gone before me and made lists of places one HAD to go and things one COULDN’T MISS, so I compiled a list of restaurants, bars, exhibits, and attractions that piqued my interest. Down there, businesses have regular street addresses but also are described by mile markers. Key West starts Hwy 1 at mile marker 0, and Key Largo goes into the 100s. The mile marker of the business tells you where it is along the route – very convenient.  So, I Googled the mile marker of all the places on my list and put them in order. Then I decided which ones I would stop at for breakfast, for lunch, for drinks, for supper, or for key lime pie. Since I spent three days driving back and forth to my home-base hotel in Homestead, I had three days to hit all my spots. It worked perfectly.

The first day I did Key Largo; the second day I did some more Key Largo down to Islamorada; and the third day I did just about everything below the Seven Mile Bridge and into Key West.

Marker 88 is a restaurant with an outside tiki bar. Ella and I stopped there to take in the sunset and have a spicy watermelon margarita, and we sat next to an almost-local who gave me tips on the best places to visit. He was from Miami but owns a place on Islamorada, so they come every weekend and boat and snorkel. He said this was the BEST place to get Key Lime Pie. (I obliged. It was good, but my favorite was at Mrs. Mac’s Kitchen.) Over the course of the night, I had the pleasure of sitting next to some very interesting folks, but the most notable was when a guy from Long Island, NY, sat next to me on my right, and we chatted each other up. About ten minutes later, a dude sits on my left and says he’s from NY; to be precise, he’s from Long Island. What are the chances?! They tawked in thei’ N’Yawk accents fa quite some time befaw I left them to thei’ reminiscences.

Sunset at Islamorada restaurant, Mile Marker 88

On the third day, we stopped at the Bahia Honda Beach and then Big Pine to see the key deer before heading down to Key West. Our first stop at the mouth of Key West was the botanical gardens, which had lovely trails through a vast variety of palm trees and shipwreck artifacts. Once in town, however, I was again a little underwhelmed. I was expecting this beautiful beachy experience, but it was really just a commercial, touristy beach town, not very different from so many others.

Key West has far more homes than the other islands, and most of them are really cute and quaint, painted in beach pastels with wraparound porches and porch swings. The island is loaded with restaurants and attractions that cater to tourists, and we headed to the aquarium, which was awesomely dog friendly. It also gave us a taste of all the underwater flora and fauna we had been missing! We walked around Mallory Square, the main gathering point at the Southernmost tip, with lots of shops and museums. It was not the strip mall feel I had become accustomed to and had much more of a beach town feel, and it had a pretty historical significance. Key West was explored by settlers in the 1500s, and in the 1800s was an entry to the US while still being treated as a foreign nation, called the Conch (Konk) Republic.

Mallory Square was adorable with brick inlaid streets and shops with wrap-around porches and several little parks. It was fun to walk around, and the place was full of energy. We parked in a parking garage right at the beach at the Southernmost point, so that’s where we were regaled with the peaceful sunset with boats and palm trees as a natural backdrop.

Sunset at the Southernmost Point of Key West

We stopped at the Salty Frog at Mallory Square for supper, and a lady who could only eat half of the sirloin steak she ordered gave the rest to Ella. She said it would have gone to waste otherwise, so Ella got a half a steak and some leftover French fries from this dear sweet soul. Our server brought a bowl of water, and Ella was in heaven. A live musician was playing James Taylor tunes, and that was a really fun ending to a great Florida Keys week.

Ella asking for a piece of her steak at the Salty Frog

Most of the time it’s really fun to look around for areas to stay, to camp, and of course I have a preference for some place beautiful. I’m especially fond of state parks and stay in them as much as I can because there is almost always something to see and do. In the Keys, because it was their high season and the midst of Christmas and New Year’s, there were no camping spots available anywhere. I spent a lot more money in the Keys than I had anticipated because of the food and drink, but also because I stayed in a hotel. Hotels in the Keys were anywhere from $500-$2,000 per night because of the holidays, so I chose a little historic hotel in Homestead, on the mainland, where the room was $100 a night – budget for sure. It looked like it may have had a full clientele at one time, but those days were long past. As you walked in you were greeted by a large wooden staircase that wound upward, hinting that maybe it was a grand home for the town settlers a hundred-some-odd years ago. The carpet was thick, garnet-red, and accents of emerald-green accessorized the rooms. My room had a heavy, rose oil air freshener that hearkened back to a great aunt’s home during the holidays.  It was a dive hotel in a dive town, and the price was just right.

The fellow who checked me in handed me a key and made a point to say, “You’re the only one with a key to this room. Each room is keyed differently and has its own key, so you don’t have to worry about anyone else having a key.” Okay. I mean I wasn’t really worried about that, but now I just might be. And it was a real, true-to-life key, like back in the day. Actually, two keys – one for the outside of the building and one to my actual room.

That night while I’m asleep, at 1:30 in the morning, somebody opens my door with a key. I had pulled the bolt latch over, and I’m so glad I did. The door caught on the bolt latch with some force and woke Ella and me up. The perpetrator was all flustered and I heard him say, “Somebody’s in here, somebody is in 102,” and in my deepest, meanest voice, I said “HELLOOOO, Yes! Somebody is in 102!” trying to sound threatening. I heard him talking some more in the hallway. Then he went away – no apology, no explanation. My adrenaline was pumping pretty hard, and I was thinking how very thankful I was I secured the latch. I remember him saying, sort of muffled, “You told me there was nobody in this room,” so I had a couple of scenarios in my head. Either somebody who normally has this as a long-term rental was just coming back unexpectedly in the middle of the night, or maybe it was the Miami-based owner of the hotel who just needs a room for the night. I stayed awake for several hours, heart pumping, listening intently, but it didn’t seem like we were in any danger at all. It sounded like an honest mistake. There wasn’t anybody else in the hallway that I could hear. It sounded like he was alone, talking on the phone, trying to figure out why he was told that the room was empty. I also wanted to know why he was told the room was empty.

The guy went away as soon as he heard there was somebody in the room. It was obviously a mistake. I let it go. The next morning, while I was taking Ella for a walk, a workman stopped me and said, “Oh I’m so sorry! I want to apologize to you for what happened last night! We had an air conditioner leak, and the guy was supposed to get access through your room, but there was a mix up,” or something like that. So, apparently the perp was an on-call workman, bless his soul, probably awakened in the middle of the night and told to come do this job that nobody wanted to do and ended up busting in on a customer. It sure was quite the surprise for both me and Ella!

Best road sign ever

All-in-all, I was super happy to have this hotel room, so close and accessible to the Keys. Plus I got a nice warm shower and slept between sheets instead of in my roof top tent, which is pretty great. During the Keys’ high season, I felt like a thief, enjoying the modest, inexpensive digs, despite the shenanigans.