Wander Woman

I’ve hiked through bear country, wandered around abandoned places, and spent more nights alone in the woods than I can count, but somehow, my first Florida state park had me questioning exactly how brave I really am. Maybe it’s because Florida has a reputation for wildlife that bites, slithers, stings, or quietly watches you from the water while deciding whether you look edible. Still, adventure won out over common sense.

The park preserves a glimpse of the state as it existed 150 years ago, where sprawling live oaks stretch their moss-draped branches across the trails, creating cathedral-like ceilings overhead. But the most compelling reason to visit Lake Kissimmee State Park is the hiking. Sixteen miles of well-marked trails wind through oak hammocks, open prairies, and stretches of untamed Florida wilderness before reaching the shores of Lake Kissimmee itself.

Don’t let the name fool you—Lake Kissimmee State Park is nowhere near the town of Kissimmee. In fact, it’s almost a two-hour drive away, and even after you arrive, you’ll have to put in a little work if you want a glimpse of the lake. But that’s part of what makes this place so special. Spanning nearly 6,000 acres, the park feels remote, a sprawling piece of wild Florida far removed from the crowds and attractions the state is famous for. Within its boundaries are three lakes: the smaller Lake Rosalie and Tiger Lake, along with the massive Lake Kissimmee, Florida’s third-largest lake. Out here, the distance and isolation aren’t inconveniences, they’re part of the adventure.

I arrived at Lake Kissimmee State Park bright and early, around 8:30 a.m., paid the $4 single-occupant entrance fee, and headed in. The drive into the park is surprisingly long and peaceful, with thick forest lining both sides of the road giving you the feeling that you’re leaving civilization farther behind. Almost immediately, the wildlife started showing up. Deer appeared along the road one after another—and, naturally, I had forgotten to turn on my camera. Nothing like watching the perfect footage casually stroll past while your camera sits there doing absolutely nothing.

I parked near the camp store and explored the boardwalks and the area around the water. Some of the grass was a little higher than I was comfortable with, so I gave those sections plenty of personal space. With that much water nearby, my brain immediately went to cottonmouths. I was excited to see Florida wildlife, but preferably from a respectful distance and not because I had accidentally stepped on it.

I checked out the dock and boat ramp, half expecting an alligator sighting, but there wasn’t a gator anywhere in sight. The deer, however, were much more cooperative. As I headed toward the observation tower, one walked right out in front of me. It stopped just a short distance away and stood there for several moments, calmly looking around as if I were the one wandering through its state park—which, to be fair, I was. After allowing me a few moments to admire it, it casually went on its way.

Then I reached the tower. As I started toward the stairs, I realized I wasn’t alone. A rather large flock of vultures had claimed the staircase and observation platform for themselves. A few flew off as I approached, but several others stayed exactly where they were. I slowed down. They stared. I stared back. For a moment, I wondered if climbing a tower surrounded by vultures was the beginning of a great story or the ending of one.

I kept going. They never became aggressive or seemed particularly bothered by me. They watched as I carefully made my way closer, and I found myself fascinated by them. I had never been that close to vultures before, and seeing them only a few feet away was incredible, and maybe just a little intimidating. It ended up being one of those unexpected wildlife encounters that makes exploring places like this so worthwhile.

By the time I finished wandering around, it was only about 10:00 a.m., but Florida had already cranked the temperature up to unbearable. Any thoughts I had about tackling one of the park’s longer hiking trails quickly disappeared. Sixteen miles of trails may be calling my name, but they’re going to have to wait until winter. I came looking for adventure, not heatstroke.

There’s plenty more to Lake Kissimmee State Park than the trails and wildlife. The park has a large, shaded picnic area with pavilions, full-facility campsites for those who want to stay awhile, primitive camping for anyone looking for a little more adventure, and a youth camping area that can accommodate up to 50 people. Only 15 miles east of Lake Wales, the park is big enough that one morning barely scratches the surface, which means I have an excuse to go back.

On select weekends, Lake Kissimmee State Park brings a fascinating piece of old Florida back to life at its 1876-era cow camp. Long before Florida became known for theme parks, beaches, and endless subdivisions, cattle roamed its prairies and early Florida “cow hunters” worked the land. During living-history demonstrations, visitors can step into that world and learn about the rugged men and women who helped shape Florida’s cattle-ranching heritage. Considering my inability to pass up anything involving history, I’m pretty sure the cow camp alone guarantees a return trip.

My first Florida state park may not have given me the hike I originally planned, but it delivered plenty anyway: quiet forests, more deer than my camera was prepared for, a close encounter with a flock of vultures, beautiful scenery, and just enough wondering about what might be hiding in the grass to keep things interesting.

Lake Kissimmee State Park feels like a piece of Florida that has managed to hold on to its wild side, and that’s exactly what I was hoping to find. Next time, though, I’m going in winter. Hopefully, the temperature will no longer be trying to kill me.