March 9-10, 2002

The mind had good intentions of trekking ten and a half miles. My destination was Oak Grove primitive campsite in the Myakka River State Park. But like most events in life, you end up where you are meant to be. No matter how many good intentions there were, the body had other plans. With energy levels drained The Pond in the Middle of No-Where presented its self, seven miles into the hike.

The first five miles backpacking to Bee Island campsite were made in about average hiking speed, two and a half-hours. The next several miles were in the hottest part of the day and across open Florida prairie. No shade to speak of for miles. The only shade available was from short palmettos giving protection to buzzing flies. The March sun beat down upon all living creatures sucking energy from their being.

The next several miles required frequent rest stops. Especially when the trial meandered into the hardwood hammocks where there was shade. After briefly resting it was time to saddle up the backpack, get it strapped on, and trek forward. Only a little while longer to reach Oak Grove, a pump with water, a nice supper and a good nights rest.

At an intersection in the trail there was a sign that read "Oak Grove 3.3 Miles." The sun continued to beat down as I hiked forward with determination. The trial weaved across the vast prairie with not a shade tree in sight. I was exhausted. My body was over heated, my clothes were soaked in sweat, my feet hurt, and I could not imagine three more miles of prairie hiking. Three more miles of hiking in the hottest afternoon sun.

I stopped for a rest by a dead tree with no leaves, supple branches, or life. Just a trunk and thick branches extending into the sky. The only shade that was available was on the other side of the barbed wire fence. Private property and range land for cattle. I crawled through the fence to rest in the shade of a pine tree for a moment. The barbs poked into my hands and I was reminded of crawling through fences as a child. I stared to realize that ten and a half miles was more that the inner child had asked for, so I scouted for a suitable campsite.

I retraced my steps to the pond. I had only noticed it out of the corner of my eye when I passed it on the trail. I was so intent on my hiking that I did not even realize that it was filled with water. As full of water as a Florida pond can get, about a foot deep. A campsite underneath one of the pines would have worked. But beside the pond was the perfect secluded spot. Hidden from any traffic that might be on the trail and providing shade for my tired over heated body.

I rolled out my sleeping pad in the shade of a swamp bush. I stripped off my sweat drenched clothes and just lay there resting and allowing what little breeze there was to caress my body. I sweated less and I started to cool down. When I quit sweating the afternoon temperature was very comfortable.

I realized as I lay there that I had become a "Squatter." A naked squatter in a cow pasture. I was squatting on someone else's rangeland to make my home for the evening. The barbed wire fence sent the message of "keep out," not the kind of message I am used to in the wilderness. But being the serious backpacker that I am, I pack out what I pack in. After the grass that I slept upon rights its self, there will be no trace of my squatting.

I waited too late to bathe in the pond. The sun was not beating down with unbearable heat. I wetted myself with the tea stained pond water and now the evening wind felt chilly. But my rinse water felt warmer. I finished bathing and quickly toweled dry while starting to shiver. Quite a contrast from just a few hours ago when I was sweating to death, or so it seemed.

I was so exhausted that the frog chorus lulled me to sleep before the sun was completely set. As darkness settled in the frogs gave rise to their croaking. The music from the pond corresponded with dreams of frogs and a handsome Prince. He rode in on his horse dressed only in his royal cowboy hat. His eyes invited me to ride on his stud. We rode off into the darkness of the range. He kept me there, captive.

I awakened at midnight to a silent pond and no longer being held captive. The frogs had quited their music. Yet there was other beauty singing to me, the stars over head. Through my screen tent roof I could see the Big Dipper. Stars twinkled a melody to me from across the galaxy. If I should wish upon a falling star �

After the stargazing I was able to go back to sleep without trying. I slept till the dawn, doubling my usual hours of slumber. Morning found the pond and surrounding prairie shrouded in mist. The frog chorus was replaced by the singing of songbird. Their songs echoed from all directions. A pair of Sandhill Cranes flew over head with their unmistakable honking. A turkey ran from the palmettos scrambling for better cover. A white Ibis floated into the shallows for breakfast. Somewhere behind me a Killdeer called in alarm. In the distance the cows that grazed on this land bawled. The pond in the middle of no-where was home to more that just a squatter.

� Copyright 2002 Dustin P. Roeb�re All Rights Reserved