Hiking Christian Point
Hiking Christian Point
Last Saturday Next Sister and I took our SATs. Language Arts was a delight; Mathematics, let it suffice to say, was not. I was glad that immediately afterwards, all the girls drove out to meet the boys for a camping trip in the Everglades. There was no time to sit around and brood futilely over possibilities!
The experience was interesting, but mostly quiet and uneventful, which was exactly what I needed. The other girls and Littlest Brother left Sunday morning, but the rest of us decided to hike the Christian Point trail before going home.
Here we go!
The hike began with a brief sojourn through dense mangroves and buttonwoods. The air was cool and still, and the silence was interrupted only by our own noisy advance and, occasionally, the sudden, eerie creak and groan of a mangrove in some unfelt wind. A few white butterflies fluttered by, seeming strangely illuminated as white things do in twilight darkness.
Abruptly we found ourselves having left the furtive, shady woods for the frank and sunny coastal prairie. Densely-growing grass stretched on either side in varying shimmering shades of gold and soft green now and then punctuated by a rough patch of crimson pickleweed. The still, warm air smelled of dill weed, a sweet and delicate but distinct odor. We took it great drafts of it as we walked along the meandering “rustic path” (according to the guide) and gazed about. Above us, in the beautiful turquoise sky with white clouds heaped around the edges, a lone buzzard soared and swooped. I could hear the warbling and whistling of songbirds hidden in the surrounding margin of trees.
Near the path we saw a tangled heap of wood—blown there by a hurricane?—carved by the wind into tortuous, beautifully fantastic curves like a sculpture. It was so unstudied but perfectly balanced. We stopped to admire and photograph it before continuing.
On either side of the human-trail, game trails snaked their way through the grass, inspiring conversation of the creatures who might use them. Under several of the occasional trees we saw that the grass was pressed down, making us wonder if it was the wonted resting-place for a deer or other large mammal. Now, in the midst of a long seasonal drought, most of the animals had migrated to areas with a more constant water supply. Here we observed no creature but the buzzard. Even the hum of insects was conspicuously (but thankfully) absent. As the grasses brushed against my ankles—swish, swish—I wondered what secret lives they were hiding under their thick matting. The prairie seemed languid and abandoned to us, but surely life and activity was teeming where we could not see it.
As we approached another stretch of woods, the number of dead buttonwood snags increased until we were skirting a congregation of these bare, white trees killed by hurricanes. Eventually we were led to pass through them and into a green, living wood.
Here bromeliads were plentiful and prosperous. Some of the larger specimens were in bloom.
Quite a few trees had been toppled over by hurricanes and the exposed mat of roots seemed to form a natural refuge. Some of them formed shelters deep and tall as small caves. We imagined they would be a good place to stay if you were stranded, though I wondered about the creatures with whom I would be obliged to share it! Second Brother said that it reminded him of the Great Prince’s hiding place beneath the fallen beech tree. (I recently read Felix Salten’s Bambi to him.)
The tree canopy allowed a great deal of sunlight to stream through in most places. Luxuriant banks of glasswort basked in the rays whose heat woke the sweet, clean perfume of green and living things. I have since learned that this succulent plant is highly edible, with a salty acidic taste not unlike pickles. I had been wondering as I walked amidst it what the indigenous people had eaten for fresh vegetables!
Again, we noticed few animals. We startled a buzzard from its perch, We heard intermittent twitterings from distant birds. We saw spiders, patrolling dragonflies in their sapphire and emerald gear, more of the same white butterflies, and a female mangrove buckeye butterfly. We saw evidence of larger animals, though, in the from of game-trails thin and winding. These never failed to excite the boys with the prospect of deer. Once we came upon a white downy mass of what we first supposed to be feathers of fur but eventually acknowledged to be seeds. The little boys were disappointed to give up their idea of some fierce predator, but their “botanist sister” only wondered which plant they belonged to.
A few miscellaneous photographs...
This bright leaf caught my attention as it shone amid its darker green brethren.
A strange little creature...
Such formidable thorns on this cactus! I am always mildly surprised to find cactus in the Everglades, since I associate it with deserts not marshes!
A star of seeds...
After a long walk, we emerged from the woods to find ourselves in a sandy, dry, and hot prairie—we called it a “desert.” Here we kicked dust in each other’s eyes, complained a little, and made frequent stops for water.
Many of the trees and shrubs seemed dead, but we saw more green as we continued walking. The leaves glittered with salt crystals. Papa told us that the plants drew salt water from the soils and then removed the unwanted salt through the pores of the leaves. Several of the boys, intrigued, scraped away some of the salt with their fingers and tasted. They dove, exclaiming, for their canteens. They concluded that the salt was quite pure. Biggest Brother and I wondered whether the indigenous people had used the salty leaves in their cooking and curing.
This stretch of land seemed so parched and desolate that I wondered how these stubby trees managed to survive. The thirsty ground was crisscrossed by deep cracks so that it looked like a mosaic.
We passed through a stand of mangroves. One was growing a little apart from the others and we could see how the knees came out in a distinct radial pattern. We had never noticed this before since mangroves are usually more densely planted and the ground is nearly covered with knees. (These “knees,” the sticks you see in the photograph below, are sent up by the mangrove roots to take in air, since during the rainy summer season, most mangroves are under water.)
By this time we had begun to suspect that the trail was longer than the 1.6 miles it had purported to be. We weren’t very far from the end, though. We could see mangroves and water in the distance: our destination, the shore of Snake Bight, was only a few hundred yards away! (Snake Bight is a play on words since a bight is a bay within a larger bay.)
The path, which had been somewhat obscured in the wide expanse of sand, was once again distinct as it went through the grass. The ground on each side was pocketed with little (and some large!) crab holes. They seemed abandoned, but we tread with caution. Stepping briskly now with our goal so near, we quickly entered the mangroves and came to the shore’s edge. There we rested and fortified ourselves with water and crackers and sitting-down. Flocks of birds swooped together across the water in formation. We watched a patrol boat rumble by.
The boys poked sticks into the water and found an empty horseshoe crab shell. A small blue crab briefly surfaced and grasped their stick with a warning claw before diving under again.
And now the long trek to the camper! When we arrived home we checked the clock and found that our hike had taken three whole hours. Fortunately, the camper was stocked with all the fixings for a reviving sandwich lunch. We were soon on our way home.
Photographs: Various. © Handmaidens of the Shepherd, March 2009.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009