442 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Nov. 26,. 1904. 
A Cheap Winter in Florida. 
A winter in Florida is not what it used to be, for 
wealth and fashion have converted it into an expensive 
abiding place for the tourist or transient visitor, and the 
appalling array of handsome hotels from Palm Beach or 
Ormond to St. Augustine on the Atlantic Coast, and from 
Punta Gorda to Tampa on the Gulf side, appear to verify 
this statement. Fifteen years ago the writer spent a win- 
ter in Florida, and a return to it last winter made vivid 
impressions of sharp contrasts on the mind. 
Florida has kept pace with the other Southern States 
in development, changing its topographical features to 
suit the needs of a new generation, and losing thereby, it 
must be confessed, much of its pristine beauty and at- 
tractiveness. There is one thing about it that does not 
seem to change materially, although tropical fruit growers 
will not agree to this. The superb climate in winter lures 
one into outdoor life that recalls our northern springs and 
autumns. The destruction of the pine woods in northern 
and southern Florida may have had something to do with 
climatic changes which ruined the orange industry in 
parts of the State, but to the transient visitor such 
changes in the temperature are scarcely noticeable. 
The orange belt has been pushed gradually further 
south, and in the northern tiers of counties it is hardly 
safe tx> depend upon oranges or pineapples for a living. 
A disastrous "freeze" comes along about once in every 
four or five years, and the work of half a decade is thus 
ruined within twenty-four hours. 
The absence of pine woods is the most striking feature 
of Florida's landscape to-day. The pines were doomed 
fifteen and twenty years ago. When it was found more 
profitable to plant orange groves *than raise pine trees, 
the work of denudation was carried along at a reckless 
pace. The lazy man's method of clearing the land was 
adopted. The trees were simply "ringed" With an ax or 
burnt by fire around the base, and within a year or two 
they would decay and fall of their own volition. 
Young pines have sprung up in places and clothed the 
land with a new virgin green, but their usefulness as 
wind-breaks or climate-regulators is for the future rather 
than for the present. The orange trees are not planted as 
generally as ten years ago, and many groves of them have 
been left in neglect. Their low, stunted heads are fre- 
quently found mingled with thick growths of young pines 
and palmettoes, indicating financial disaster to' some unfor- 
tunate who placed too much confidence in oranges. 
Florida has cultivated the hotel in recent years more 
than anything else. Trusting to the climate to draw 
winter visitors to the State, southern and northern capital 
has been invested heavily in great hostelries which rear 
their heads above the canopies of tropical vegetation 
along either coast. Built of wood, stone, bricks, and the 
queer conglomerate called "coquina," they present a 
rather imposing sight to the visitor, for they are sur- 
rounded by tropical gardens and lawns where one may 
pluck oranges, grape fruit, lemons, alligator pears, kum- 
quats, guavas, and other tropical and semi-tropical fruits 
fresh from the trees. 
But one must pay for such accommodations. Rates for 
living have advanced to keep pace with the changed con- 
ditions. The hotels are for those liberally provided with 
immediate funds. One wonders sometimes where all the 
money comes from to make these huge hotels profitable 
investments during the short winter season of a few 
months. The season does not properly begin until the 
first or middle of January, and by the latter part of 
March the transients return north again. 
Furnished cottages are provided for the favored few 
who prefer housekeeping to hotel life. When one pays 
five hundred dollars for a furnished cottage in Florida 
he does not contract for the same accommodations that he 
receives for a summer home along our northern beaches. 
There is rarely gas, electric lights or germ-proof artesian 
well water. Moreover, the cottages are furnished in the 
southern way, which frequently means hard mattresses 
stuffed with dried Spanish moss and a startling deficiency 
of needful furniture. 
If one wishes to visit Florida and follow the footsteps 
of fashion, listening to concerts and watching the digni- 
fied yacht racing at St. Augustine, or joining the crowds 
at the automobile races on the beautiful beach at Dayton 
and Ormond, or luxuriating in the Oriental splendor of 
hotel life at Palm Beach, he must be prepared to pay for 
it; but if he is seeking a quiet outdoor life under simple 
conditions, he can find it at a cost that is not much dif- 
ferent from that of a dozen years ago. Florida is a big 
State, and it is not all settled ^yet. There are _ great 
regions in the lower part of the State which combine all 
the pleasures of an ideal climate and environments with 
little trouble and expense. Whether one seeks the coast 
or interior, it is practically the same. 
By preference the writer sought out old camping places 
in the interior, where, along the edges of beautiful inland 
lakes, existence was rendered ideal. With the lowering of 
Lake Okeechobee by the numerous drainage enterprises 
in the past few years, the region along the edges of the 
Everglades has been made peculiarly attractive. The 
swamps are less repulsive in appearance. During dry 
winters it is possible to hunt and fish where a dozen 
years ago no one except the plume-hunter and Seminole 
Indians ever thought of going. The soil is sandy and ihe 
rains quickly disappear in the porous earth, while the 
luxuriant vegetation spreads a garment of rich green and 
brown over the whole scene. One can pitch camp on the 
banks of the winding lagoons and spend the winter hunt- 
ing and fishing in the Everglades without experiencing 
swamp fever, malaria, or mosquito bites. The draining of 
the Everglades has thrown open thousands of acres of 
fertile soil to the settler, and the edges of the swamp have 
been cut down in many places to make room for market 
gardens and fruit orchards. 
A few miles west of the Kissimmee River one stumbles 
into a veritable paradise of clear-water lakes nestling 
among the pines where the hand of man has not yet made 
any great changes. A small settlement called Avon Park 
has been built up in the heart of this region, but not be- 
ing on the line of any railroad it possesses few of the 
modern luxuries that have transformed other parts of 
Florida. The series of lakes in this region find an out- 
let into Lake Ishtopoga— a body of water about one-sixth 
the size of famous Lake Okeechobee. This beautiful sheet 
of water is surrounded by pines, saw palmettoes, black- 
jack oaks, and cypress trees. It is located in a natural 
hollow, with its basin margined with thick vegetation. 
To reach - it, one must cross twenty miles or more by 
muleback from Fort Meade, Bowling Green or Zolto 
Springs. Once in this paradise of lakes and woods, it 
matters little whether one sees a railroad or hotel again 
for months. One can cut loose from his base of supplies 
and live upon the country. The land is teeming with 
game, wild fruits, and flowers, and the waters are alive, 
with fish waiting to be caught. There is no such gamy 
creature here as the tarpon of the Gulf, but huge catfish, 
bullheads, pike and pickerel make fishing an idle pastime 
that baffles description. One can find good board among 
Northern people in Avon Park at five and six dollars a 
week, and at the hotel for seven to ten dollars ; but the 
true way to do is to push out from the settlement and 
spend a month on the edge of the Everglades. 
This whole region is the land of birds rather than of 
flowers. How the State ever received its name in the 
Spanish seems strange to a visitor, for the flowers are 
not conspicuously abundant. When the orange and 
lemon trees are in bloom, an orchard composed of these 
trees is rather imposing, especially as the ripe, yellow 
fruit mingles with the fragrant flowers. The guava has 
a rather delicate flower, and also the alligator pear and 
the half-wild kumquats. The wild jasmine is the most 
conspicuous flower, and this trails over everything in the 
swamps, giving a yellowish tinge to the whole landscape. 
A few magnolias tower up above the other vegetation in 
places, and innumerable air-plants display subdued colors 
among the tall branches of certain favorite trees. Other- 
wise the landscape gets its color hue from the delicate 
green of the new cypress leaves, the darker emerald of 
the pines, or the sombre green of palmettoes. 
But once inside of the swamp, flashes of gold and pur- 
ple, crimson and yellow, blue and white, and all other 
combinations of hues, greet the eyes. The plumage of the 
gaudy birds are beyond compare. They are like jewels 
among the trees. 
On all sides paroquets chatter, displaying richness of 
plumage that startles the spectator. The famous ibis and 
flamingoes still range the swamps and watercourses of 
the Everglades, although their presence is growing less 
every year, owing to the greed and butchery of the plume 
hunters. A sight of a troop of these birds is sufficient to 
pay for a trip to the great dismal swamp. Standing 
knee-deep in the sluggish stream, with craned head and 
long, curved neck, the ibis or flamingo makes a pretty 
sight which should excite our admiration instead of mur- 
derous instincts. I never saw one yet that I didn't feel 
like dropping down behind a bunch of palmettoes to 
watch it. Unfortunately the birds are keen on the scent 
of danger, and past experience has made them wary, and 
it grows more difficult each year to study them at close 
range. 
Cardinals and nonpareils fill the boughs of the swamps, 
and several varieties of woodpeckers hammer away at the 
bark of decaying pine or cypress. Mockingbirds fill the 
swamps with their incessant imitative songs. Robins and 
thrushes are everywhere, richer it seems in their southern 
plumage than when in our northern orchards ; bullfinches 
warble and trill from the thickets, and rare birds of 
plumage flitter across open spaces to display their bright 
colors. Above the swamps and lagoons poise strange 
shadows which make the smaller birds of the bush silent 
and frightened. An osprey or eagle sweeps "down upon 
the singing birds, or perhaps a great man-of-war hawk 
drops like a shot to strike some innocent prey. Across 
the larger lakes troops of gulls, curlews, herons and 
cranes fly, and even on the mud-banks one may find quail, 
mud-hens and jacksnipes. 
Camping near the edges of the swamp on the northern 
edge of Lake Ishtopoga, we found every possible ad- 
vantage for a pleasant outdoor existence in midwinter. 
Numerous lagoons made it possible to penetrate far into 
the interior of the surrounding swamp, and occasionally 
wild turkeys were started up from the dense bush. The 
wild turkeys are probably scarcer to-day than the plumage 
birds. Ten years ago it was an easy matter to start up 
an old turkey gobbler by imitating the challenge of the 
fighting bird, and the flock of hens that inevitably ac- 
companied the gobblers always gave the hunters a few 
good shots. 
We got our first turkeys early in the season, and for 
Thanksgiving dinner we had wild turkey cooked brown 
and tender over the camp-fire, There were no cranberries 
to be had in that region, but the native "Crackers" make 
a sauce out of the oranges of the wild seedling variety 
that adds piquant spice to any kind of meat. The wild 
orange is both bitter and sour, and when properly 
shredded and slightly sweetened in the form of a sauce 
it takes the place of apple sauce or cranberry jelly very 
well. 
There is prevalent a general misconception that down 
in the Everglades wildcats, pumas, bears, rattlesnakes and 
alligators are so numerous that night and day are made 
rather hideous and dangerous. Nothing could be farther 
from the truth. The diamond-back rattler is so scarce 
that hunters have to make diligent search for one when 
a reward is offered by some visiting tourist for a skin 
and rattles, and the alligators are so few and small of size 
that they are not worth considering. Pumas, wildcats 
and bear there are in the Everglades, but they confine 
their attentions to the small game of the thickets instead 
01 trying to tackle hunters. One may camp out with per- 
fect safety, and never once be disturbed unless it be by 
some too inquisitive night prowlers anxious to know the ' 
meaning of the strange white tent in their native habitat. 
_ The cost of living in such a home of luxury is an un- 
important item of a winter's sojourn in Florida. The 
cost of reaching the southern part of the State with the 
necessary traps and equipments represents the chief outlay 
of capital. With game in woods and swamo abundant, 
fresh-water fish to be had almost for the asking, and 
plenty of wild fruits to be plucked from trees and vines, 
the campers can live on less than two dollars ' a week/ 
counting the cost of ammunition for guns and bait for' 
hooks. Oranges, pineapples, and tropical fruits can be 
purchased from the few scattered Cracker plantations for 
nominal prices, and if one wishes them, fresh vegetables 
can be planted in the mucky soil and raised ready for eat- 
ing within a month or less. We camped in one spot dur- 
ing most of the winter, and we had crisp radishes and let- 
tuce from seed within three weeks, and when we left the 
beginnings of a garden were left to spread around at will. 
Some future camper may discover traces of these culti- 
vated vegetables running wild among the palmettoes and 
wonder if they have not fallen upon some strange freak 
of nature or made a botanical discovery that will.require 
a revision of our standard text-books on this subject. 
Our winter in Florida was thus an endless series of 
joyful days and restful nights— healthful, life-giving, and 
stimulating— and all for a price that would hardly have 
paid for a third-rate apartment in New York or for a 
summer cottage at the seashore. "W 
Floating Down the Mississippi. 
A Sportsmen's Clab of the Swamps. 
As soon as I could, I took to the woods again, with the 
feeling that I belonged in them. I put my duffle aboard 
a tram and headed for Pickett, beyond Marked Tree, 
from which place one reaches the Hatchie 'Coon Club. 
It was the 7th of December when I bade good-by to my 
friends of the cabin boat and to Carlos, who was hammer- 
ing away on the big Cole boat. Cole was spending about 
$600 on the craft— the savings of years. A lean, gaunt 
young fellow, he was a type of what a boy who had been 
beaten repeatedly out of his rightful earnings becomes. 
He began life the son of parents who died soon after he 
was born. He was put in an asylum, from which he was 
turned out uneducated and with only his native ability to 
start on. He began at the curbstone and worked up to 
being an errand boy, then truck driver, then towboat 
hand, and finally independent cabin boater, with a good 
wife and fine boy to care for. No one had ever given him 
anything, nor showed him mercy in business dealings; 
His one object now was to get the best of everyone. He 
paid what he said he would— but one could see his future : 
that of a lean, grasping old man, owning half a town, 
likely enough, and hated by most of his neighbors. 
My train backed out of the depot and crossed the Mem- 
phis bridge, from which I saw the wide river at evening 
from a considerable height. The sun was setting, and a 
sandbar and the water were in the pathway of the yellow 
reflection ; the clouds were clean-cut and radiant colored, 
like a cold autumn sky in the north — white, yellow and 
gold. Later the sky turned gradually to rufous and red, 
against a background of blue-gray. Seen among the 
knotty limbs of gum and cypress trees across the level of 
swamp land, it was brilliant, but chilling, growing more 
so as the blue of the clouds became dominant. 
It was an interesting ride for me. The train ran high 
above the surrounding levels on a dirt embankment. The 
car windows were on a level with the branches of the 
trees. There were houses at intervals on stilts which 
had the whitewash stained with yellow far up their sides, 
the result of the last flood. We crossed high above the . 
"company" levee — a dirt embankment with a narrow top, 
on which walkers had worn a path, built by private 
subscription. 
A smallish, agile man with a sandy mustache was in 
the chair beside me; the train was provided with chairs 
that were immovable save for tilting. He was a cotton 
buyer, and talked about the crop. After a time he raised 
his feet to the back of the unoccupied chair in front of 
him and slid down into his own chair till he was sitting 
on the small of his back. The flow of talk was not inter- 
rupted. The train was well filled with people who had been 
