Alderman’s Ford Nature Preserve, Plant City
As noon drifted by I was feeling up for a solo hike. Since Christa had some stuff to do at home, she wished me farewell and I slung my light pack and water bottle over my shoulder and took the Sporty Little Runabout to Alderman Ford Preserve near the little community of Durant.
Distinguished from the similar sounding Alderman’s Ford Conservation Park by a distance of two miles as the crow flies—5 miles as the car drives–the Preserve offered the rough trails I didn’t find at the Conservation Park. So, I brought my trekking poles along for prodding away snakes and maintaining my balance as I poked and explored the riverside wilderness.
There is little official info to be found online about Alderman’s Ford Nature Preserve. Everything I had came from the very handy website, Florida Hikes!, so a tip of the hat to those folks for all the work they do. This is the third time they’ve come in handy and I’m sure I will be using them often as a hiking resource.
I also found an article in the Tampa Bay Times from 2014. The author claimed to have seen “deer, bobcats, rabbits, snakes, alligators and wild hogs”. This sealed the deal for me as I was anxious to see some wildlife. Having completed the trek, I don’t know what time of day he ventured out on the trail or if he simply hikes like a ninja, but I wound up encountering only one turtle, the ubiquitous anole, some silhouettes circling overhead, and various treetop warblers.
Using Google Maps and the description supplied by Florida Hikes!, I made my way down Turkey Creek Rd. to a dead end. Something was not right. I turned back up Turkey Creek Road. Across from some vine-covered chain link fence is where I discovered the little parking corral for the Preserve.
Alderman’s Ford Preserve
8911 Turkey Creek Road
Plant City, FL 33567
Phone: (None Listed, this one is for Alderman’s Ford Conservation Park) (813) 757-3801
Hours: Opening – unlisted, Closes – 5:00 p.m.
A fence was festooned with signs warning this and prohibiting that. One of vital interest to me warned that the gate is locked at 5:00 p.m. and they tow any cars not out by then. I’d have to get a move on, it was 3:00 p.m. already.
The lot was empty, which suited me—less noise and greater chance to encounter wildlife. I pulled in and walked over to the information station. There was a better map behind the glass, so I shot a pic with my phone.
I decided to follow the spur trail down to the Alafia River where FloridaHikes! Describes an old swimming hole and an unmarked trail along the bank. That sounded like my kind of path. I struck out to the left at the trail intersection, along the fence line and penetrated the treeline under a canopy of oaks. Yet another sign warned No Swimming. They were serious.
It was January and the mosquitos I was cautioned about were absent. Crunchy leaves carpeted the sandy path that led through saw palmetto and nightshade then wound around still ponds with cypress knees rising above the mirror surface. The bobcats and wild pigs would hear me coming a mile away.
I soon encountered the river as I crested a low rise and came to the edge of the bank. A mentioned picnic table no longer exists, but it looked the perfect scene for a packed lunch or short rest, though the expedition had barely begun.
I forded a trickling brook by a slide down the bank into the lilliputian gorge and poked around a bit. The water flowed with all the turbulence of a drinking fountain over the smooth rocks of the bed, before spilling into the Alafia River. I climbed out on the other side where the diamond trail markers suggested the trail continued. The way was overgrown and in these shorts, I was unprepared for dense poison ivy. I absorbed the river for a bit before crossing back over and continuing along the river bank path.
I continued on the unmarked trail that traced the river. A giant oak appeared, stretching its gnarled limbs up over the bend in the Alafia; greyed wood treads were nailed into its sloping trunk–the quintessential country swimming hole tree. I’ve seen many of its kind and this one appeared as if Rockwell himself had rendered it.
Rusty nails held fast more scraps of lumber that led to a stout but frayed and dubious vine of rope hung like a plumb line over the tea-colored water. I was in one of those Country Time Lemonade commercials, burned into my mind’s eye from Saturday morning cartoons–sans cut-off jean shorts and feathered hair.
I quelled the urge to swing out and drop in. Remember, swimming is not allowed here and it wasn’t hot enough to truly tempt me anyway. I have to say that I’d be a little wary using that rope swing in a river as heavily stocked with rocks as this one. Younger me would leap in after seeing someone else do it. Present me isn’t taking the risk. Also–crocogators. Maybe. Where were they?
As I continued along the narrow path of the bank edge, worn smooth here and riddled with twisted roots there, I wondered why swimming isn’t allowed. Maybe the ban on bathing had to do with liability. Or with pollution. I had heard something about a waste spill back in 1997, but that was long since passed and the effects at this area hadn’t been as bad as at the outlet into the bay.
I’d guess it was mostly the liability and the impact of all those trampling feet seeking respite from the summer heat with a dip in the Alafia. A few bad actors can destroy an oasis by leaving behind chip bags, bottle, and cans (a just clap your hands). Where it’s at, it’s likely a combination of all the above.
Maybe I shouldn’t even mention this lest word spread and this possibly forgotten hole returns to use. I’ve seen secret swimming spots the likes of Fern Gully become littered mud pits once word spread. Regardless–No swimming!
What I will do is get the Kayak in and explore the banks from the water. What locally is referred to as rapids looked from the bank to be little more than ripples in the run. They certainly wouldn’t fall on a class scale, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be a break in pace from the otherwise smooth river. Maybe when the water level drops it gets a bit more…rapid, I’ll find out in a few months with a paddle from Alderman’s Ford Conservation Park to Lithia Springs.
Maybe I should be paying attention to all this beautiful riparian scenery. Hedging the next bend in the brandy-wine waters were the skeletal fingers of cypress knees and a pocked pedestal of rock rising above the waterline. I climbed up and down the banks, on and off the trail inspecting every shadowy space and flash of color.
I like hiking with others and sharing the interesting things I see along the trail, but there’s something to be said for a solo venture into the wilderness to seek personal treasures. Now I get to meander in my pokey little way without slowing others down. But not too, pokey–the park closes in ninety minutes and I don’t want the sporty little runabout towed away. I hadn’t gained much ground but was already thirty minutes into the hike.
I had hoped to glimpse a crocogator or a snake or a turtle, or something. Anything. But there was nothing to be seen this day. Not even an ibis or a heron. The anoles ran like water, and a few common birds were in the trees, but no exotic Floridian fauna showed hide or hair.
I reversed course and headed back to the sun-bleached trail outside of the dark woods. A wood post indicated the junction in a prairie dotted with hardwood hammocks and lone pines and palms. The path here is a wide swath mowed through the vegetation that hugs the right edge of the riverside woodline. Dusk would arrive soon, but the low sun was still hot and the cool canopy of the riverside was missed.
One thing I’m not going to get used to in Florida is all the wide-open trails. I’m partial to wooded surroundings with lots of shade, trails mottled with sunlight, creature scurrying about and lots of elevation changes. The flat terrain is one thing–it’s not as exhausting–but I’ll have a hard time adapting to the open scrub and prairies of the Sunshine State. It’s just too expansive with seemingly less to look at.
You’ve seen one grassy field with a cluster of trees in the distance, you’ve seen them all. But I’ll give it my best. I didn’t take many pictures from here on because the scenery changed little. The trail zigged and zagged a few times toward and away from the woods that bordered the river on my left. Of course, with less picture taking, there’s more time for thoughts, and I do enjoy that part of solo hiking as well.
I wondered if these grasslands greened up in the coming spring and summer or if they browned and faded even more in the relentless sun. Florida Hike’s said something about an oxbow lake, but I caught no signs of any water along this portion, definitely because I didn’t follow the path they described—my price for winging it without consulting the map.
The path came to a tee. I remembered that the left would lead back to the river, but as I said, I was racing the clock and not trusting the scale of the map. I decided to turn right and complete the loop. I will return to explore the entire trail in a few months.
Eventually, I met a fence and hung another right to begin the last stretch to the lot. Suddenly, I heard something moving toward me through the tall dry grasses. It was on the other side of the wire fence and heading my way with deliberate and heavy steps. Gin a body meet a body…
I prepared myself to say howdy to either a small kid or Leatherface shortcutting the way to the river when out lumbered a gopher tortoise. It was the size of a dutch oven, but things sound much bigger comin’ thro’ the rye. He was making his way over a low bluff of dirt and scrub that surrounded his burrow and I couldn’t get my phone in camera mode before he was in his hole (pro tip: don’t make a habit of getting into photog mode for slashers or children). So instead I’ll include a pic of another tortoise I saw at Fish Hawk North. Those cryptodires seem slow until you want them to be; then they move faster than…Hey, maybe it was just a rabbit in a bathing cap.
Pleased with my first (but last) wildlife sighting of the day, I took a few swigs from my water bottle and continued. At a fork, I veered to the right between some hammocks and returned to the trailhead. The sun soon to set, I tossed my pack in the back seat and changed shirts. It hadn’t been all that hot, but my back of my shirt gets soaked from the ten-pound pack pulled against it. Still, any January hike in short sleeves and shorts is one I can appreciate.
Alderman’s Ford Nature Preserve was a satisfying hike, and I had only done about half. I plan to return and explore the rest of the east and west forks in a few months if not sooner. They would likely suffice for me and I could forgo the pasture plodding. I expected to see plenty of that in parks across the state and was in no hurry to experience more than I had to. Perhaps I will develop a love for it over time, but for now, I need more woods. And deer, bobcats, rabbits, snakes, alligators and wild hogs.