To cap off Karen's extended holiday break this year (after missing Thanksgiving), we took a two night diversion down to Myakka River State Park, about an hour and a half south. After enjoying stays in the more modern cabin accommodations at Saint Joseph Peninsula State Park, we've been wanting to see what the cabins here were like. We stumbled across two open nights on short notice.
Each of the five cabins in Myakka was built in the 1930's by the Civilian Conservation Corps, one of FDR's most successful and enduring recovery programs from the Great Depression. The cabins are small, rustic, palm log construction that have been added on to at least once and modernized to include a fully-electric kitchen, an indoor bathroom and a window unit air conditioner. Kind of like camping with hot water and a microwave. Our cabin had a fussy fireplace, perhaps meant to cook in originally, where the firebox and opening were just a fraction too large for the length of the chimney.
We arrived around 2:30 the first day but were able to get into the cabin early without a problem. Normally, check-in is at 4. We wandered around a bit, finding a trail by the river that we followed for a while before the light started to fade and we headed back. We watched a spectacular sunset over Big Myakka Lake from the frigid birdwalk that evening before heading back to warm up and make dinner, then settled in for the night.
The days were cool by Florida standards, the nights cold. Highs were in the 50's, lows somewhere near freezing. We brought enough wood for the fireplace, though it was a bit less seasoned than we'd been led to believe. As I mentioned, the fireplace was fussy. Even before we lit a fire, the room had a smoky scent to it. We learned why when we inadvertently set off the smoke detector that first night. The trick, we learned, was to keep the fire small, very far back and have the screen in place to provide just that tiny bit of extra draw. Otherwise, smoke tended to just roll out under the mantle. Personally, I think a stonemason could close in the sides and drop the opening about eight inches to fix that problem, but given the budget for parks in this state, that is unlikely to happen any year soon. So, mostly, it was fire for effect.
Both nights, we ducked out onto the back porch to look at the stars, which were bright and clear to the horizon, something I haven't seen inland in this state for almost 30 years. In the clearing behind the cabin, we had a beautiful view of Orion, Taurus and the Pleiades. Betelgeuse was a noticeable orange-red, as was Aldebaran in Taurus. Sirius was an almost arc-welding intense blue as it rose. Mars, also on the horizon, was just as fiery. Karen spotted a green meteor that first night, which had us both thinking this would be an ideal spot to reserve for any of a number of meteor showers throughout the year. There was a nearly clear horizon to horizon viewing spot just up the road by the river, with a pull off just perfect for some chairs.
Even with the fireplace going and the heat on full, we could only get the temperature inside the cabin up to 55. Not a problem as we'd brought sweaters, hats, gloves and other warm clothing. Luckily, we also brought warm bedding, too. The cabin came with sheets, towels and light, light, light blankets. Each morning, the temperature inside the big room was 40 degrees at dawn, 37 in the bathroom. The second morning, we could hear the frost/ice from the trees melting and dripping onto the roof. The second night, we could hear owls calling to one another in the nearby woods. Until the moon rose around midnight, the inside of the cabin was as black as a cave.
We spent the second day hiking around the park. First, we did the canopy walk and nature trail, both of which we'd visited on our previous day trip. The canopy walk and tower were chilly as it was still in the 40's and windy, but a pretty view out over the river, lakes and prairie. The adjoining nature trail has a secluded boardwalk, conveniently in the sun that morning, where we could sit, watch the marsh and warm up. Later, we hiked a loop out of several of the numerous hiking trails which mostly run through the open prairie beyond the oak and palm hammocks closer to the river.
For our geologist friends, there is a great rock near the entrance with a memorial plaque for the park's dedication. The park was donated to the state by a rancher's family in the 1920's, which is pretty amazing since the pasture land by the river is considered to be some of the best in the country east of the Mississippi River. But the woman whose children donated it was known as an innovator and a maverick. The rock itself is about eight feet tall, just as wide and a mixture of limestone and quartzite with some interesting nodules, inclusions and fossils. No idea if it is local, but I suspect it is. I had to pull Karen and her camera away. Another geology note, the sand in the park, Myakka fine grained sand, is the official sand of the state of Florida. The visitor's center has a wide core going down just over six feet, which breaks down the layers that are amazingly similar to the ones in our backyard. Though their sand is definitely much finer.
For wildlife, we spotted deer, black and tan wild boar, osprey, red-shouldered hawks, kingfishers, wild turkeys, wood storks, flocks of swallows, Carolina wrens and blue-gray gnatcatchers, plus the usual herons and egrets. We had two memorable encounters, both on the last day as we made a final circuit through the park. The first was with a red-shouldered hawk sitting on a branch by the road. Karen has an uncanny ability to be able to spot a bird of prey from a moving vehicle whether at 15 or 50 mph. When we first pulled over, the hawk was still in the shade, but sat watching us as Karen snapped pictures until he was in a narrow beam of sun that had moved through the trees. We must have stood fifteen to twenty feet away for fifteen minutes as he posed.
Our second encounter involved playing tag with two pair of crows on a path by the Clay Gulch stream in the north of the park. Some time ago, we had heard a story on NPR about the different calls crows make, from warnings to friendly invitations. While we were out hiking the prairie the day before, we'd run across a murder in an isolated tree who called all manner of raspy warnings as we approached. Several members retreated to the nearby tree line before we passed and the lookouts called back an all clear, while occasionally squawking encouragement for us to keep going at our backs. That day, I heard the more friendly calls up on the trail and went to check it out. I found two pair of crows sitting in a tree overlooking the river. I know they saw us, but they continued with their friendly calls as first one then the rest moved past our position in the direction from which we had come, like they were playing tag. They played this game for fifteen minutes, one moving past us, the others following as we trailed behind until they settled in a tree astride the path where they could look down at us with curiosity. Not once did they issue a warning cry, just their friendly, playful calls. We sat for 5 minutes examining each other before they retreated up the trail laughing. That encounter made our trip.
Definitely a getaway we would repeat. The nice thing is these cabins are so much closer than the eight hour trek to St. Joe's. They are a bit more rustic, though less isolated at the same time. There are a number of other places we want to check out nearby, including the Gamble Plantation, the Mary Selby Botanical Gardens and the Ringling Museum. Who knows, we might even do the airboat or tram tour (where we spotted a group of Amish tourists?!), or rent a kayak one day. As the brochure says, this is the Real Florida, the one I still love, not the Disneyfied version you find along the I4 corridor.
© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III
