Fish Hawk Creek Nature Preserve North, Lithia
Now that half of the summer has passed us by I finally found time to sort through pictures from a walk through one of our closest hiking trails. Accesssed through the Lithia Springs Park, Fish Hawk Creek Preserve North offers many scenic variations in the ecology from hardwood hammock, to cypress, to pine flats and scrubs. Our first visit in winter gave me a taste to return and I was pleasantly rewarded with some great eye candy.
I’m still learning (slowly) how to use this used DSLR and so my pictures aren’t as vivid or sharp as I’d like them to be. But this is just me documenting what I see, what appeals to me. Also, although this is mainly a blog of words, I’m increasing the volume of pictures per post. Consequently, I hesitate to include pictures of a larger size out of concern for the lag of loading. However, these compressed jpegs don’t relay the detail that the full-sized ones contain. But I’m no Jon Cornforth.
As I started down the hill from the parking lot, I could see dabs of color in the green scrub portion of the trail entrance. Scattered yellow and white blossoms of prickly pear and tread-softly, aka finger rot. Then along came these freaky zebra swallowtails.
As I rounded the first bend into the hardwoods a net of southern fox grape had grown over the shrubbery. I’ll probably forget to get back here when the grapes ripen, or more savvy locals will have beaten me to them.
I was heading for the banks of the Alafia to do some exploring among the rocks. It was on my way over the bank that I found what I believe to be wild petunias.
As I clambered along the rocks I spotted clumps of blue-eyed grass around the rich humus bank below the worm-like roots of a palm tree.
Cypress’ knees take anthropomorphic forms and meld into the rocks like sun-trapped trolls.
The hollows of the river rock shaped by time and the elements make handy nooks and crannies for moss and bracken to take root.
I took the gift of natural steps to climb out of the river and back into the sunny meadow portion of the trail.
When I continued to trace the river from the higher ground I caught a glimpse of purple amongst the cypress at the river’s edge.
This appeared to be the perfect time to be at this particular place.
In a rare moment of stealth, I happened to catch three turtles sunning on a rock with a fourth making conversation from the water. Unfortunately, I brought the wrong lens for a closer look.
The glimpse of purple I spotted among the knees was a mass of false dragonhead being pollinated by a focused team of bees.
The Orthanc cypress I found in winter had now sprung new foliage good for obscuring whatever may be hiding in its alcove.
The trees grew tall and the cypresses were lush while some bare branches left plenty of sun for some lowly palms and the wildflowers of the banks. Even in the shade, I was sweating my shirt heavy.
Further along the river, I encountered the mouth of the Fishhawk Creek guarded by more cypress sentries.
A snaking palm in search of the sun made respectable gains before it buried its head in the sandy bed.
I continued up the creek toward the bridge I knew lay upstream.
The shallow water quickened and coursed over the undulating sheets of rock that carried sections of the creek.
Several varieties of damselflies were vacationing at the creek. A fluttering caught my eye and brought my attention to a pair of blue-ringed dancers.
The velvet wings of an ebony jewelwing leering from a nearby leaf. In a few more yards the bridge appeared.
I decided to climb back out and continue on the trail.
The lovebugs are about and these two seemed to be loving it up on this unidentified aster.
Though I think this is coreopsis, the Florida state wildflower.
Across the bridge, the cypress trees gave way to pine and oaks as the trail left the water behind.
Then saw palmetto began to verge on the trail that grew darker under the arching oaks jacketed in resurrection fern and air plants.
The trail returned to the Alafia River at a nice spot to rest and if I’d brought lunch, it would be a great place to set on a rock and pick over a snack as the water pooled and eddied around the narrows. This ibis thought so.
A larger garden of dragonhead filled the sand beside the river and the bees were just as busy in this neighborhood as the last.
I climbed around the area a little longer. I knew this would be the last bit of water I’d see as I continued along the trail.
The river grew silent as I trekked out of range and toward the scrub.
Passionflower, air plants, bromeliads, and fern abounded on the shady path.
Soon, the oaks thinned as spindly pines rose from rusty carpets of needles. This palm was hugging up on a tall drink of sap for the gift of a fur coat.
As the canopy opened the sun reflected from the sandy path. In the glare, small dots hopped away from me with every step. One grasshopper led the way over a trail of fire ant mounts until I arrived at a ninety-degree turn.
The landscape became pine scattered scrub as the lush plants of the oak hammock became low crawling tiny leaved succulents.
Look, I don’t know what this thing is. I ain’t no botanist. I google “low creeping green brown sand scrub Florida rhizome” in many variations and came up with nothing in images. I’m at a loss for descriptors, but there was a lot of it flourishing in the hot sand.
The prickly pears were all over the place and the bright flowers attracted the ants like molasses. Apparently prickly pears range clear up to Canada, but I don’t recall ever seeing one in the wilds of Pennsylvania.
Sandhill milkweed was also loving this area, which is probably because this was sandy and somewhat hilly for Florida, though the trail was flat as a pancake.
Barbed wire separated the preserve from the neighborhood beyond the treeline with gaps here and there. As I traced the line I noticed slow movement through some brush.
A gopher tortoise lumbered across the path and toward his burrow as I approached. The closer I crept, the faster he moved, but not so fast that I couldn’t snap off a few pictures.
As the trail turned back toward the entrance the shady canopy crept closer and closer to the path. A carpet of passion flower laid along the shoulders. These, too, are said to be native to Pennsy, yet I’ve never seen them there.
Dead hardwoods rose from the hammock on both sides stretching skeletal fingers from the lush younger oaks. I imagine these must be the victims of the frequent lightning strikes that perforate the summer nights.
Where the trail re-enters the forest, the bromeliads and vines returned. The ferns and moss fighting with patches of lichen for a homestead on the bark.
Soon, the canopy receded one last time before I spotted Fatty Lumpkin ahead on the hill. My clothes were soaked, my legs were throbbing, and my SD card was bulging. This is a great park and a very worthwhile trail. I’ll have to return next season to see how it changes.
Thanks for reading!