SNAKE BIGHT TRAIL
Snake Bight Trail had become a family legend. The first time we attempted this trail—several years ago—we were literally chased out by the mosquitos. Pippin says he remembers Coralie and I lifting him by each arm as we ran. And we were running as fast as we could. ‘It should be called Mosquito Bite Trail,’ became a favorite joke.
{A bight is actually a bay within a larger bay; in this case, Snake Bight within Florida Bay.}
We drove to Flamingo one Sunday afternoon to conquer our nemesis, as part of our goal to hike all the trails in the Everglades National Parks. After stopping by the Flamingo Visitor Center, we drove to the trail head and consulted the map.
The first stretch of the 1.6 mile trail is through tropical hardwood hammock. The only sounds as we walked beneath the interlacing branches were the shuffling of our feet and the slapping of mosquitoes. {Also, the horrible groaning of the camera when I would adjust the lens—something that has happened ever since Pippin dropped it. Also, giggling whenever I adjusted the lens.}
‘I wonder what animal lives in there,’ Marcus remarked as we passed several tree trunks with darkly gaping holes. ‘Why don’t you put your hand in there...’
At one spot on the trail, the air was alive with the fluttering of zebra butterflies.
This lovely butterfly basked in a spot of sun.
There was a section of the path that was quite shady—and also a bit eerie, with the cackling of a bird, the creaking of mangroves, and mysterious splashing sounds. Marcus spotted this marvelous alligator sunning himself across the creek that ran alongside the path. Later, we saw a blue heron winging silently over the water.
The canopy thinned out again and let in dappled light. There was a sweet smell of green beneath the sun.
The gumbo limbo tree is also known as the tourist tree; its red and peeling bark resembles the complexion of vacationers in the Sunshine State.
We slapped mosquitoes. And we slapped mosquitoes. Also, we slapped mosquitos. We slapped mosquitos off each other and quoted Indiana Jones. ‘Uh, señor....’
Lovely Spanish needles brightened the pathway on either side and attracted numerous zebra butterflies.
Cacti bristled on either side and leaned threateningly into the pathway. But the baby cactus was kind of cute.
So was this tiny air-plant.
‘How low can you go? Sing it with me!’
Morning glories sprawled over sunny spots along the pathway. Dusk was falling, and their pretty faces crumpled in the fading light.
The vibrant red of this tropical flower burned through the shade.
Seeds can be as beautiful as flowers.
The trail emerged into sunlight and wended its way through rustling grasses higher than our heads. We started wondering again about the name of the trail.
We had to step over this on the narrow path and continued to wonder.
We came finally to Snake Bight, taking the last hundred yards over a boardwalk. The tide was coming in, and streams of foam-flecked water drifted lazily inland. Wide stretches of salt shone white beneath the sun and filled the breeze with brine.
Far distant, a lone fisherman cast his line into the bay. A tiny bird hopped across the salty ground.
We traced a row of tiny bird-prints in the soft ground.
We had triumphed over the mosquito-infested Snake Bight Trail. We soaked up the sun and watched the birds awhile, before heading back down the trail. On the way, we saved some photographers by sharing our bug spray.
Checking the phone, we calculated that we had taken forty-five minutes both ways. ‘It is not how far he goes; it is not how fast,’ Edwin Teale wrote of the naturalist in his book Journey into Summer, ‘but how much he sees.’
Refreshed by a picnic treat of Izze sodas and chips with salsa, we piled back into the van and headed home. {Marcus and I continued to read the Iliad in the back seat, loving to hate Paris.}
• Snake Bight Trail in Flamingo, Florida •
February 4, 2014