Little Manatee River State Park – North Trail, Ruskin
What fun activity does Ruskin offer when the orange picking and manatee sighting is out of season? My modest research online led me to the Little Manatee River Trail. I glossed over the helpful (as usual) info on Florida Hikes!, threw some equipment in the sporty little runabout and Christa and I cruised down U.S. 301 headed for Little Manatee River State Park for what would become the longest short hike I’ve ever accidentally not accidentally tricked my wife into completing.
The familiar brown parks department signage was drawn into view and a grassy parking area appeared to our right. This must be the place. I pulled into the empty lot and while Christa prepared herself for the trail I walked over to check out the entrance and make sure this was where we wanted to be. It was—The Little Manatee River State Park North Trailhead.
The Little Manatee River State Park North Trailhead
215 Lightfoot Rd.
Wimauma, FL 33598
Phone: (813) 671-5005
Hours:
The park – 8:00 a.m. until sundown, 365 days a year.
The Ranger Station – 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., 365 days a year.
Fees:
$5 per vehicle – Limit of 2-8 people per vehicle.
$4 single occupant vehicle.
$2 Pedestrians, bicyclists, extra passengers, passengers in vehicle with holder of Annual Individual Entrance Pass.
https://www.floridastateparks.org/park/Little-Manatee-River
At the yellow pay station, there was a box with the blue pay envelopes in one compartment and a larger compartment contained trail maps. Someone, perhaps volunteers of the Florida Trail Association, generously left a nice supply of color two-sided copies of both the north trail (the one we were taking) and the south trails (shared-use equestrian and hiking paths on the other side of the Little Manatee River). I helped myself to one, making a solemn promise to bring replacements the next time I visit (I sweat right through my pockets. No one’s going to want to use that mess after me).
Christa filled out the pass holder information on the blue envelope, dropped it into the slot and hung the tear-off tag on our rearview mirror. We gathered our things–my camera, my pack, my hiking poles—and we set off for the post-and-rail fence that corralled the trailhead.
The tar-shingled park sign held postings and warnings and a map of the trail. I blew past these hoping Christa wouldn’t catch a glimpse in hope of keeping her in the dark as to the length of the whole trail. I wanted to trick her into doing the whole first loop which I knew she was certainly capable of doing but might balk at. My evil scheme would be my undoing.
Somewhere (I tend to gloss over reading material when in a hurry and misread information) I took ownership of the erroneous idea that taking the cross trail would create a half loop of only 1.9 miles. This was far from true. The entire loop is 6.5 miles, and by taking the cross trail, the half loop is actually approximately 3 miles.
At the entrance, my wife started to look at the posted map. Still thinking we were only going to hike two miles, I managed to get her to pass by it, however, before I could distract her, she did stop to pull a map out of the box on the yellow pay station. Curses! Foiled again.
I said, “Of course we were not doing the whole 6.5 miles,” that we would only take the first loop of 1.9 miles (where on earth did I get that?) She somehow missed the paragraph on the map that identified both loops as actually being 3 miles each. So did I. So we struck out both blindingly unaware that we were about to hike much farther than we thought.
I still hadn’t realized this error until setting down just now to type this and consulting the map in full focus. Christa still doesn’t know and I’m not telling her. I’m proud to say, she did every foot without grumble or groan, though she was certainly beat and did not appreciate the grassy, almost overgrown portion between #2 and #1 which was populated by buzzing bees.
The Little Manatee River Trail isn’t part of the Florida Trail, but as I mentioned above, it is maintained by members of the FT Suncoast Chapter. They’ve done yeoman’s work, and if I had the time to devote to volunteer activities, I’d consider joining their ranks. Someday. Where do volunteers find the time?
Their many wood constructions are appreciated and well maintained. There are some nice fords and bridges along the way and the path is remarkably clear considering the varied and copious amount of vegetation verging on the path. The only area that was particularly rough was the grassy path between posts #1 and #2, as I mentioned above, but it’s not easy to keep grasses at bay and it makes for the natural leave no trace appearance that I like when in the wilderness.
So we hit the yellow blazed trail and, after a pit stop behind a tree, began our hike through the verdant wilderness. At Marker #1, we veered to the right toward marker #12 rather than to the left and marker #2. Bright green ferns garnished mushroom bearing logs and a wooden walk over a small wetland.
Oaks and bracken soon gave way to pine flats scattered with palmetto. Shaded here and there with the ubiquitous live oaks and their shawls of silver moss, the sandy humus was harrowed by heavy hog activity. A wild network of roots was laid bare among the pits and ruts.
The canopy of mixed hardwood and softwood leaves and needles was cool cover from the bright sun that occasionally broke free from the rolling stream of clouds. The resulting ever-changing light show of shifting shadow revealed new aspects by the minute.
The trimmed path wound in short serpentines, creating a string of secluded environments every dozen yards with the occasional straight shot through flats and scrubs. No, I didn’t say Flatt and Scruggs, but here you go anyway.
After a bit, we encountered a small tributary creek and some stagnant tea-brown ponds fringed with bracken. A boardwalk carried us into a flatwood region hedged in by saw palmetto, palm, and oaks. No, I didn’t say Hall and Oates, but here you—Just kidding.
An arch of ancient scraggly oak netted in moss shaded the pass as we journeyed on toward Cypress Creek. We stumbled upon Brandon’s Bench (a memorial resting spot) and then the cross trail, blazed in blue. It was here that I discovered there were primitive campsites available in the park—I don’t do enough research on these last-minute treks. I need to make plans for an overnight solo hike of all the trails here, soon.
We took the blue cross trail which led us through a patch of sweet-smelling dog fennel and more oaks and palms to Cypress Creek. The walk along the creek was serene as the water drifted silently by; I lingered snapping pictures while Christa shot ahead.
A wooden bridge led me over the creek to where the cross trail met the main loop on its return toward the entrance. This was nearly the halfway point of the almost 3-mile first loop. I caught up to Christa sitting on a bench at marker #4, I think she had been perusing the map. She knew. Did she know? She betrayed no knowledge, but smiled and rose to continue. Did she just stick her tongue out at me?
The trail cut through a brown leaf-carpeted grove of hardwoods and bromeliads. The anoles could be heard scattering from the path through the crunchy cover as we passed a green algae frosted pond. Other than a few circling birds, the crawling things were the only wildlife we had seen, though the bird songs were ever present to spirit us along.
We soon encountered the Little Manatee River. When the clouds opened, some decently sized blots that resembled fish could be seen moving about against the tan sandy bottom. Christa pointed them out, though I couldn’t see them. I need to start bringing my eyeglasses on these hikes. Wait, I’m farsighted…
I stopped to photograph a zebra longwing that was flitting about among Shepherd’s Needles then continued on another wood bridge crossing over a small dry creek and on to a bluff that overlooks a slight bend in the Little Manatee.
The bend and shadow caused the ribbon of water to shift from tea brown to olive drab as each arm disappeared into the canopy. A few rickety structures guard the edge (maybe I should volunteer to replace them) where a nice view of the river showed the blue sky reflected in the glassy surface.
I filled some more space on my SD card before realizing I had previously switched my lens to manual focus but wasn’t manually focussing. I do need to bring glasses.
Christa had left me behind again and when I caught up to her she was silently but furiously waving me toward her. Had to be a crocogator. I teased her a bit by snapping some more pics of a downed tree, then I mosied over as she gave me the wide eyes.
He was a big ol’ gator and, to Christa’s delight, on the opposite bank. Like a fat-headed retread washed up on the sand, he basked in the noon sun indifferent to our presence. I snapped a few megabytes of blurry pictures.
We continued on, crossing weathered two-by-fours over another creek bed or two as we traced this short leg of the Little Manatee to marker #2 before jutting inland for what was to be the last quarter mile. Soon the path narrowed as the weeds and palmetto verged on either side and the canopy opened to the shining sun. My shirt was soaked under my pack.
Gee, this was a long 1.9 miles (sigh). I was beginning to feel it and I could tell Christa had long since felt it, figured it out it, and flipped it off, though she held her chin up. I pointed out a pink thistle. Yay. Then, as they appeared as stipples of bright paint in an open meadow, I asked her about some pretty yellow and pink clusters of flowers and she delightfully explained that they were lantana (Lantana camara, to be precise). There’s my master gardener.
We then came to the narrow trail through a tight patch of waist-high grasses abuzz with bees. They didn’t bother us—I didn’t even notice they were bees. Allergic Christa wasn’t thrilled with their presence, but we cautiously slipped through the laboring anthophilia. I prodded the verge with my poles to scare off any ankle biting snakes.
Soon we found ourselves back amongst the oaks, palmetto, and bromeliads, then into the pine flat and bracken. We crossed the little boardwalk at marker #1 and breathed a deep sigh of relief and satisfaction. The 3.0-mile loop that I mistook for 1.9 miles was complete and the car was right around the corner.
What a fantastic hike. Of all the parks I’ve visited, this was the most universally stimulating. The mix of landscapes, the water, the terrain, it all made for a very interesting experience that never bored and could be quite exhilarating if the camera was left at home and/or I set a quicker pace. I will return to do the whole 6.5-mile loop as such.
I would have appreciated more bird sightings. Though others have posted seeing hogs and bobcats, this was not the right time of day for such sightings. Again, an overnight at one of the primitive spots could facilitate an early morning or dusk hike that could reveal more wildlife. I’ll have to look into doing some hammock camping.
I really would like to volunteer and help maintain the trails I love to walk along, but I’ve got to become a better manager of my time to find the time. Perhaps this first year in Florida can be useful as a means to prioritize and better plan my extracurricular schedule.
We would not arrive at home this afternoon bearing bags of freshly picked oranges, but for an activity in the Ruskin area, this was a rewarding trip. I’d say it’s a worthy alternative to harvesting our own citrus or spotting the floating sea cows at TECO.
The Little Manatee State Park North Trail offered all that was necessary for a very enjoyable and spirited hike. The sights really made for a rewarding day of exercise even if it was twice as much as I planned. I look forward to a return trip, maybe with a hammock tent in tow.
Now, off to Sun City Center for some schnitzel and kraut.
Thanks for reading!