The delay in receiving the part we needed for our old furnace provided us with the unexpected opportunity of spending another weekend in this part of Florida. We had already packed up and said our good-byes to my parents earlier that morning, so we decided to find a different resting place for the weekend while we waited for the arrival of the new jet and spreader. Looking at the map, we considered parks on the seashore, both north and south of St. Augustine. In town, Anastasia Park offered refuge, but we knew that dogs weren’t allowed on the beach. To the south, Faver-Dykes and Tomoka State Parks, and to the north, Little and Big Talbot Islands, had the same attraction and drawbacks. Therefore, we decided to head away from the ocean, and find someplace that was interesting for both us and the dawg. About 60 miles south and west of St. Augustine, the Ocala National Forest offered numerous camping sites, and seemed the place to go.
We headed out of town on route 207, and crossed the St. John’s River at Palatka, an interesting old town that, like many places in Florida, had seen more prosperous times. We passed Angel’s diner, the oldest in Florida, and then aimed south towards the campgrounds in Ocala. The highways were straight and flat, and passed through large fields of cabbages and cauliflower, stands of planted pine trees, and a large military base. Finally, as the afternoon was ending, we entered the national forest area. There were still the scattered private residences and businesses, that were in place before this land was designated as a preserved area, but for the most part the woods and swamps spread in all directions to the horizon. We first came to a private Ranch and Boy’s Camp, that was hosting a Bluegrass Festival this weekend, so we passed by the adjacent campgrounds, anticipating it would be full of pickers and fiddlers and aficionados. Both entering and leaving the road that led from the highway to the next camp shown on the map were big, four wheel drive pick up trucks pulling trailers with ATV’s. We kind of figured what the general population there might be, so once again decided to carry on further south. I had passed through this forest on several other visits to my folks, when I flew into Orlando, and then traveled north via this highway. I remembered how pretty it seemed at the time, and also that Salt Springs was the place where there was a Ranger’s Station, and information about the park and various campgrounds. We pulled into Salt Springs just before five, and found that the information area had closed at 4:30. However, the office was in a bit of a strip mall in the woods, housing a beauty salon, a real estate agent, a video store, a restaurant, and the offices for a huge private RV park, located just behind the buildings. It was truly awful from our point of view, a many acre RV parking lot, under trees, where you could look out your window and see rigs worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in every direction. But it was full, and thriving, and expanding, with a bustling community of people who had traded in their crowded neighborhoods of houses up north somewhere, for a crowded neighborhood of RV’s down south, They all had their cars parked alongside for trips to town, and their golf carts parked there too, for the ride to the pool, bingo night, or drinks with the Joneses, two lanes over. However, in the parking lot, there were folks that pointed just down the road, and said the campgrounds for Salt Springs was the next left, only 100 yards away. Hoping for the best, and needing a place for the night, we motored down to it.
At the entrance gates, we were met with a not very friendly camp employee, who said yes, sites were available, but no, we didn’t qualify for senior’s rates, cuz we didn’t have the right Golden Age Pass. The map of the grounds showed five roads of side by side campsites. After several questions from us, they also admitted there was primitive camping (no power or hook-ups), which we said was what we wanted, but they weren’t sure our trailer was small enough to go down the roads. Fortunately, old Dave stopped in just then, and said of course we would fit, we were just in a little bitty trailer. So we brightened up at the thought of being back in the woods with the other small rigs, and folks in tents. They didn’t let us go back and choose our site, so we looked at a second map, and picked the site that seemed farthest away from most of the others, well away from the boat ramp, and wash house. As it turned out, anything could have gone down those roads, as the folks at the gate were actually the “hosts” at this area, and they were in full blown big rigs, with full hook-ups, and all the bells and whistles. Actually, later on, the became much friendlier and more helpful, but at first it seemed that they were doing everything they could to make us decide to try some other place. We rolled down to our “site unseen,” and found a lovely little A-liner (a clever pop-up trailer that travels flat, then has the roof open up into an A-frame configuration) on one side, and a tent with a little motorcycle trailer near by on the other. We were well away from the louder groups of campers, and it seemed like quite a nice place after all. We parked the trailer, said hi to the folks in the A-liner, who grunted something back at us (what were we doing wrong?) and explored a bit before settling in for dinner and an early night. By 8:30, the grounds were extremely quiet and peaceful, and we happily said good night.
The next morning was beautiful. I took the dog for a long walk around the Bear Swamp Trail, which was much nicer than it sounds. Dixie however must have been having flashbacks of her times, lost in the woods of O’leno State Park, before we rescued her, as she almost had to be dragged the first half mile or so. But eventually, when I took her off lead, and gave her the choice of staying behind or following along, she kept pace and only cowered a bit. By our next walk there, she was happily taking the lead again. As we returned to the grounds, I discovered a very secluded end camp site that the occupant seemed to just be leaving. Back at our trailer, we spoke, and Donna agreed that in spite of the rough beginning, this was actually a nice place, and spending another night seemed like a fine idea. Up at the headquarters, they weren’t sure if the site in question was really vacant yet, as old Tom who was in it, left every morning for his breakfast somewhere, and they never knew till about 11 whether he would be back or not. So I put a hold on his site, and said if it wasn’t available, we would stay where we were for another night. We spent the morning relaxing and enjoying the warmth of the day. Tom never came back, so we moved on over to the “honeymoon suite” (as the campground folks called it), settled in, hung out some laundry, and put our feet up. There was no cell phone service, no one knew where we were, the sun was shining, we had woods all around us, a fridge full of food…what could be better. That afternoon, I went for the first swim at the Springs, and had another pleasant surprise. The water was a constant 72 degrees, which was quite pleasant after you got in. There were numbers of people in the water, and around the shores, but it was not at all crowded. The springs had been a favorite spot for locals for thousands of years, as attested to by the artefacts that have been found of the various peoples who lived or visited here; and it still has its charms. The springs are in a fairly large pool of water that opens into a larger lake and waterway, inhabited by mullet and manatees, alligators and water moccasins, fishermen and pleasure boaters. But in the springs themselves are only bathers and few fish. The water for the most part is only two to four feet deep, but in five different locations, the bottom opens up into 15 to twenty foot deep areas, where the slightly salty springs have emerged for centuries. On the surface, you can see the upward surge of the water, and you can feel the current as you swim towards the different springs. After about thirty minutes, I returned to our camp, feeling refreshed and even more relaxed. Donna then took her turn, as again, dogs weren’t allowed at the “beach,” and she had a similarly refreshing experience, except that by the time she got there, she was the only one in the water. That night, we walked around a bit in the different areas, had a great dinner, and slept soundly, far away from all the other campers, and under the star filled skies.
On Sunday morning, the campgrounds became almost empty. Friday night 40 of the sixty or so sites were filled. Saturday night saw the crowds reduced to 25 sites, but for Sunday night, the place cleared out except for the two host families, their brother in a tent nearby, the grumpy A-liners, and us. So we gladly decided to stay one more night. The fully serviced side was still almost totally filled, with mostly retired folks, there long term in their houses on wheels. They had a Craft barn there, a large building with many big tables inside, and a large stone fire place. The guys had set up small shops in their end, with tiny lathes and wood working equipment, where they made fancy pens and other crafty things, and the ladies had the other end, with their sewing machines and quilting materials ready for action. It actually was quite a community, with everyone knowing everyone else, and many returning winter after winter, escaping from the cold up north, and settling in for months at a time at salt Springs. Of course, there also were more transient visitors, people there like us, in for days or a week at a time, but over there in the fully serviced side, in their rigs of various sizes. One of the things we enjoy doing wherever we are, is exploring the campgrounds, and seeing all the different rigs people travel in. For the most part, we marvel at the cost and extravagance of the huge machines. They are truly homes on wheels, many with slide-outs and comforts and conveniences equal or better than many houses. And some are smaller, and older, and occasionally home made; and we are always amazed at how many old farts are on the road, living their winters in wheeled abodes, away from the cold and snow of the states and provinces up north. And then there are the gems of folks who are more similar to us. We found and talked to the owners of two different “Casitas.” These are also small fibreglass trailers, usually 16 or 17 feet long, built in Texas, and outfitted and priced more expensively than our old Trillium. But the basic premise is the same…make it small and efficient and light and comfortable. Put in what is essential for a civilized life on the road, but make it easily transportable, and easy to maintain. In all of our searches and conversations, we still have found few other rigs we like us much as outs. The Trillium is usually lighter than most, and yet still has all the features and storage we want. And the clincher, every time, is our windows. We have louvered jalousie windows on all four sides, so whatever the weather, we can stay cool and ventilated and dry. Most new trailers have fewer windows, and have sliders for safety and economy. But if it’s rainy, water comes in. And at best, only half the area is open. And very few have windows that open on all sides. We’ve been in heat of Death Valley, and the rains of the Maritimes, and have always had a way to stay dry and catch whatever breezes may be available. As many times as we’ve seen another rig that catches our eyes, it almost always comes back to what about the windows, and isn’t “the Buug” really just what we want. We spent several hours one night and the next afternoon talking with Don, a man from Tennessee traveling in his 16 foot Casita. And on Monday, right before we left, we visited with Fred and Betty in their 17 foot Casita, and traded stories of life on the road, and picked their brains a bit about their trailering down in Mexico. On our first morning there, we also chatted with the motorcycling owners of the tent next to us. They also were a retired couple, who traveled on their R100 Airhead, a gorgeous 1995 1000 cc BMW. They were full of life, and were happy as larks, touring the country on their motorcycle, pitching a tent, or finding an inexpensive motel. As she said, “I worked hard to get here, and by golly, I’m sure gonna enjoy my life from here on out”. And that’s one of the joys of traveling…meeting folks for the first and maybe last time, but finding kindred spirits, people with a spark and a joy for life, people who will take the time just to stop and chat for an hour, and trade tips and hints, places to see, things to do. And it’s good to find these folks, and share some time, and realize that we’re not the only crazy ones out there. There’s lots of us, and maybe what we’re doing is the sanest thing to do, trying to live each moment to the fullest we can.
On Monday morning, I got to experience a very special event. The folks at SeaWorld in Orlando, and the Florida State wildlife department, were re-introducing a manatee back into the springs. Jingles was a small female manatee, that had ingested monofilament, and a nylon net, and was rescued in these waters in late November. She had been nursed back to health, and was being returned to her native waters later that morning. It was quite the event for the local campground community, and hours ahead of time, people were getting ready. The brother of the campground host had been at the boat launch all morning, clearing the area and waterway that she would be released at, making sure all was safe above and below the waterline. By 10:30, folks from the big rig side were walking and driving down to the area (mostly driving, although it was a 10 minute walk at most). I knew that the transport vehicles would have to drive right by our site, so I waited until they were arriving to head down to the event. When I got there, it was like the circus was coming to town. 50 or 60 people were lining the boat launch, chairs were set up, cameras were at the ready. In general, people were quiet and interested, but the median age was probably 75, and the average weight about 235. Looking around, I fear for the fate of America, and realize why the health care system is collapsing under the pressures of obesity and senility, diabetes and heart conditions, after seeing this portion of the citizenry represented by the folks at the campgrounds. I realize it was a skewed sampling, but in general, it wasn’t a pretty sight. However, soon my attention went only to the manatee. She was in the back of a large closed 5 ton truck, with a hydraulic lift on the back. She was on one thick, wet foam pad, and had another foam pad covering her. Being a mammal, she was fine out of water, and was being protected and comforted by three wet suit clad workers from SeaWorld. There were four or five other people there, including the woman who was ultimately in charge of the safety and care of the animal. They first carefully monitored her vital signs, and did a final measurement of her length and breadth. They then carefully rolled her on one side, then the other, as they placed a padded sling underneath her. The raised the tail gate to level, then lifted and backed her out the truck. The folks on the sides of the sling couldn’t fully see, so they almost backed the chap at the end right off the three foot high tailgate. Seeing an accident about to happen, I quickly stepped up and braced his backend, shifting him to a side and keeping him from stepping back onto thin air. Realizing what I had done, he thanked me, and handed me an end while we manoeuvred the manatee around, an lowered the tailgate. When she was safely on the ground, they again checked her out, and then attached a padded belt just in front of her wide strong tail. To this, a beacon was attached, so they could monitor her whereabouts and condition for the next month. When it was determined that she was safe and healthy, living in her home waters, they would carefully remove this apparatus, and let her be fully unencumbered and ready to hopefully grow into full adulthood. She weighed 530 pounds, and was less than a year old. She was quite calm, and peaceful, with a very gentle, soft face, and a beautiful, but already scarred grey hide. When all was ready, they prepared to bring her out into the water. The needed another hand, and the chap I had protected from falling, looked over at me and gave me a nod and a smile. If I was willing to get a little wet, I could help bring her the final yards back home. We waded into the water, lowered the sling, and let her glide into deeper water. She turned, and looked back for fifteen or twenty seconds. Then with a slow turn, and a powerful flip of her tail, she was off and gone into deeper water, the marker buoy showing her steady progress into the wider channel. Whatever her fate will be, it is hard to say. During both of the previous nights, we had heard the roar of the airboats on the waterways, as the poachers hunted gators and frogs with powerful lights from their high powered boats. Careless boaters and thoughtless fishermen endanger and kill countless other members of her species, but fortunately, there are those I helped today, whose life work is to save this gentle creature, As the slogan said on the back of one of their sweatshirts, “Manatees…extinction is not an option.” I hope they are right. With this as an amazing farewell, I returned to our camp, helped with the final packing, and we headed back to St. Augustine to see if we could get our furnace up and running again.
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