HOG ISLAND

Hog Island. It is part of the Withlacoochee State Forest on the west coast of Florida, about 40 miles north of Tampa. The island is on the Withlacoochee River in Sumter County in an area of the state that still has a rural setting. I live about thirty miles to the southwest in Spring Hill, an unincorporated town in Hernando County. Within a half hour I can be at the trailhead at the Hog Island Recreation Area.

The park offers the most basic of amenities. Three picnics tables and restrooms at an adjoining camping area, which typically requires a reservation but so few people visit the site to warrant the need. The Hog Island Nature Trail offers a bit of a jaunt along a typical hammock trail found nearly everywhere in Florida. Sand and leaves cover the path under towering trees, giving the affect of entering a tunnel on a passage to an unknown destination. There’s very little else to offer, although there’s plenty of solitude, a clear view of the night sky and an abundance of nature.

Hog Island had a profound affect on me on the first visit. Things were not as I had expected. You’d think the first thing I would have noticed would have been the boat ramp but there weren’t any boats or trailers to be seen. There’s no river traffic whatsoever; no outboard motor boats; no rowboats. Although a vehicle drove into the park with a kayak securely positioned on the car top while I was there, it was seen heading out of the park a few minutes later. It’s sad to think this location is still considered part of the Florida State Canoe Trail as stated on the state's website.

At some point in time, cement bags had been placed along the bank of the river, piled up to eight high to stem the erosion caused by tons of water flowing and splashing along the shore. I imagine the sight of a little girl dangling her feet in the cool water with mom right next to her, concerned about the river’s current. Father and son might have been preparing to launch a boat for a day in the sun, taking the time for the family to escape the usual distractions of daily living. Mom would have planned a picnic with a cooler filled with ice to keep soda pop cold and sandwiches fresh. Chips and other carefree foods would be in a waterproof carry bag along with napkins, paper plates and eating utensils for the day’s lunch. A smaller bag could have been filled with suntan lotion, hats, a camera, and maybe some hair clips for the girls. Of course, the guys would have had their fishing poles and a tackle box with more than enough lures and flies to attract the main course for the night’s dinner. An inner tube could have given the older kids their own little share of adventure, treading water within sight of the boat, yet at a respectable distance to validate their claim of independence to younger children.

Of course, none of these events were happening on my visit. There are no hogs; there is no island. I feel certain at one time both existed but there’s no information plaque to tell me the history of the site or what lead to the demise of a vibrant body of water. A fellow nature enthusiast that I met on a day at Hog Island told me the water level had been falling for some ten years, when they had moved to the area to escape the density of Tampa.

This was about the time when Spring Hill experienced its first wave of growth with people moving to escape the increasingly congested affects of development in other parts of the state. Spring Hill now has 92,00 residents, which is more than half the census of the county. It’s quite easy to conclude that these new homes and subsequent subdivisions have made water levels of lakes and rivers progressively lessen. County officials say the lack of rain has caused the water levels to decrease throughout the area. I have to rationalize that as the water level fell, the hogs had found their freedom.

The boat ramp has long since lost its intended use. At the end of the ramp, the riverbed is exposed with but a small stream of water, easily crossed with a single step. My imagination has to create events as they might have been because, from the view I have, there’s little visual evidence to tell the story of what lead to the sad state of the river.

The Nature Trail is well marked and travels a path whose design takes a structured route to avoid areas that had been part of a swamp. It’s no longer necessary to follow the trail because there’s no water above the banks; there’s no swamp. Therefore, walking along the bank of the river is an easy route to follow, giving way to an enjoyable view of the nature at hand. Going a little north, it’s easier to see the breadth of the river as it once was. A simple understanding of geology gives rational understanding when viewing the distant bank, easily displaying two drastic changes in water levels, with a third marker in progress to illustrate the continuing decline of a fresh water source.

It must have been quite an adventure at one time to spend the day at the river, but now an exposed bolder sits just beyond the center of the riverbed, about four and a half feet above the sand and another half foot buried beneath the very same sand. With a full volume of river water, the bolder would have been hidden from the human eye. In days gone by, it would have posed no danger to water traffic because of some 10 feet of water above it.

Today, a huge live oak tree stretches from one bank to the opposite side, the trunk split at the base, perhaps from shallow roots exposed to an environment foreign to its nature. There would have been a slow, progressive loss of its ability to survive. I look at the tree and imagine the lanky frames of teenagers sitting on the middle of the trunk, hanging legs over the side, splashing water at one another. The girls might be giggling and screaming in mockery of danger. Others would display the fearless attitude of youth by jumping in the river to leisurely float downstream a ways. The water would be quite cold, sending a minor shock through the body on the initial contact, but that’s the joy of anyone feeling the intensity of those 100-degree days of summer in Florida. It brings you back to life with exuberance for more of the same. At the end of the day, the body gives way to a sound and peaceful sleep, the result of exertion and a healthy exercise of muscles that leave the body temporarily drained of energy.

A little further upstream there are a few pockets of water, covering a little more of the riverbed, perhaps a foot deep, but sinking in the silt might bring the water level up to the knees. There’s another oak tree spanning halfway across the river, the roots totally exposed at the top of the bank. It looks as though someone had neatly carved the earth around the base of the tree, making it a casualty of the river’s demise. In times past, the tree would have created a barrier for the flow of water traffic but that concern has long been lost.

The couple I met while hiking along the river had fishing poles in hand. He questioned me for any information I might have about waterholes upstream for fishing, which I didn’t. She stopped for a minute to answer my inquiry about what types of fish they were trying to catch. Her soothing, southern drawl made it a little difficult to understand but bream and blue gill were the answers I recognized. I hadn’t seen any pools of water deep enough to hold fish of any kind. It would take at least ten feet of water to bring the river back to the same depth it had been many years ago, beaming with a vast variety of water life.

It’s disturbing to accept the current conditions caused by the depleted water supply but, as a lover of nature, I have to make the best of the reality and use take in what remains before me. It’s still an adventure for me as I have yet to walk along the riverbed heading south. It’s just as well for me not to bother with the thought because a seven mile car ride to another segment of the Withlacoochee River south of Hog Island gives a sadder view than what I have already experienced. The River Trail on Croom Road is another misnomer; homes on the distance shore have docks exposed some fifteen feet above the current water level.

The drought conditions we’re experiencing offers little hope for the revival of any body of water but I can still be interested in the surroundings as they are, but with less pleasure. There are other hiking trails to enjoy that aren’t so blatantly unnatural to my senses but the fact of the matter will always be an item of concern to me. The only event that could regenerate the flow of water would be the torrential rains of a hurricane. I don’t hope for such a scenario but reality tells me I may very well experience such a sight. In the meantime, I’ll continue to appreciate the wonder of nature as it is. That’s my nature.