Florida Trail thru-hikers, class of 2022, share adventures and tales from the trail

ORLANDO, Fla. — Jaded tourists and transplants might insist there’s no good hiking in Florida, that the only trails worth traversing are further north in the Appalachians or west in the majestic Sierras.

Try telling that to someone who has hiked the entire length of the state.

Though thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail or Pacific Crest Trail remains far more popular than trekking through the swampy wilderness of the Sunshine State, the 1,500-mile Florida Trail is gaining popularity as one of America’s 11 National Scenic Trails.

With an eastern and western corridor as options, a Florida Trail thru-hike takes two to three months and spans about 1,100 miles from Big Cypress National Preserve in South Florida to Gulf Islands National Seashore near Pensacola.

Compared with the hundreds or thousands of hikers who attempt thru-hikes on the AT or PCT each year, fewer than 100 hikers are thought to set off for an FT thru-hike annually.

This year, some chose to journey through the country’s flattest state after previous long-distance adventures in the mountains, while others made the trek through Florida as their introduction to thru-hiking. But they all found camaraderie, acts of kindness and a connection with nature along the way.

Here are a few of their stories.

Claire Jarvis

— Trail name: Model

— Age: 27

— Hometown: Lakeland, Fla.

As someone who grew up backpacking and has an undying passion for plants, Claire Jarvis took to the Florida Trail like a duck takes to water. In fact, Jarvis, who uses they/them pronouns, was so prepared for this trek that fellow hikers declared they were sort of a “model” thru-hiker. That, combined with another memory, helped Jarvis earn their trail name.

“We were at this like swamp trailer park bar off Lake Okeechobee called J & S Fish Camp. This drunk local dude comes over. I’m with a group of six or seven other hikers,” they said. “He looks at me, and he’s like, ‘You could really be a model.’ It was super uncalled for and kind of creepy, but my hiker friends started giggling and offered me the name, Model Hiker.”

Since the age of nine or 10, Jarvis has dreamed of hiking the Appalachian Trail and intends to this summer. But for their first thru-hike, the relative unpopularity of the FT appealed to the native Floridian.

“Since the Florida Trail is in my home state and relatively short — and it’s kind of the redheaded stepchild of national scenic trails — I wanted to do something a little unconventional for my first thru-hike,” Jarvis said. “It’s easy to want to hike the AT or the PCT because it’s all mountainous and majestic. But Florida has this understated beauty that I wanted to go investigate a little further.”

Though the hiker once found themselves close to gunfire in Apalachicola National Forest, Jarvis also discovered a renewed sense of patience and calm after spending two months in nature.

“The biggest shift or change I felt coming out of it is a much deeper well of patience to draw from. The only way to walk 1,000 miles is to go two or three miles an hour. There’s no way to do it quickly,” they said. “The Florida Trail kind of puts you in a place where you can’t ignore the extent and the damage of human development in the state. It makes you walk all the way through it … but you can also see how beautiful the state used to be.”

Wesley Tils

— Trail name: Megaman

— Age: 29

— Hometown: Kansas City, Mo.

In less than a decade, Wesley Tils has hiked more than 10,000 miles, traversing environments in each of the eight main physiographical regions of the United States. With around 9,000 miles under his belt and the Atlantic coastal plains still on his list, the Florida Trail seemed a natural way to finish that goal.

“I’ve been trying to find the beauty in everything that’s wild, and I figured I could find the beauty down in Florida, too,” he said. “I had to see what this trail had in it, and I was definitely pleasantly surprised.”

As an Eagle Scout, Tils grew up backpacking and first discovered the Appalachian Trail as a teenager. In 2014, after nine months of serving as a Mormon missionary in Northern California, he took off in the middle of the night to embark on a new adventure.

“I ended up convincing a guy to drive me to South Lake Tahoe to hike 200 miles on the PCT,” Tils said. “That was really the catalyst for me. It was a contrast from being a controlled Mormon missionary with all these rules and regulations to all of the sudden being a free-spirited hiker.”

In the years to follow, Tils completed the AT, the PCT, the Continental Divide Trail and a number of other long trails. While many thru-hikers feel the gravitational pull of nature calling them to these long walks, Tils is also particularly taken with the feeling of danger while attempting big excursions.

“For me, I also really like the danger of adventuring, the triumph over death. I like putting myself out there and seeing, ‘Can I do this really difficult thing?’ ” he said. “I’ve gained some more confidence and I feel more alive, more able.”

Following his trek on the Florida Trail, Tils is living with his parents and planning his next journey: a custom-made route from Mexico to Canada through Arizona, Nevada, Utah and Idaho to celebrate his 30th birthday.

“This has changed me forever. Whenever I have free time, I’m sitting there looking at maps, reading about trails and mountains and routes that I can make,” he said. “Whenever I go out on trail, I feel like I’m king of the world.”

Leah Rubin

— Trail name: Rascal

— Age: 23

— Hometown: Baltimore

In taking on the Florida Trail as their third thru-hike, Leah Rubin, who uses they/them pronouns, found several claims to fame. As a vegan, fellow hikers would often watch as “Rascal” scoured gas stations for the best french fries. And, of course, there’s the skateboard.

“I was not interested in road walking. I didn’t think I could do the Florida Trail if I walked it all. I’d probably quit,” said Rubin, referring to the nearly 200 miles thru-hikers must connect along roadways. “I hit the Florida Trail having skated three times. It was a trial by fire. Because I was so bad at skating in the beginning, I had to use my trekking poles to kind of like cross-country ski on my board.”

After hiking the Appalachian Trail in 2016 and Vermont’s Long Trail in 2019, Rubin hoped to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail this year. When they didn’t receive a permit and wanted to embark on a wintertime hike, the Florida Trail seemed like a perfect fit.

“The Florida Trail really appealed to me because it’s one of the most biodiverse states for flora in the country and things are blooming in the winter,” Rubin said. “I definitely found good camaraderie. But the nice thing about the Florida Trail was that there weren’t enough hikers that if I really wanted to find solitude, it wasn’t that hard.”

For better or for worse, Rubin also discovered that Florida Trail hikers deal with the element of surprise when heading into town. But it seems the orange-blazed footpath is becoming more well-known.

“On the Appalachian Trail, there are hostels and everyone knows what you’re doing. Someone might help pick you up. In Florida, people would ask me all the time, ‘Why do you have a backpack? What are you doing?’ ” they said. “I think thru-hiking is gaining popularity really fast and people are going to get seasonal depression, wondering where they can get their thru-hiking in the winter.”

Austin Shelton

— Trail name: Festival

— Age: 28

— Hometown: Carlinville, Ill.

In the last year, Austin Shelton found himself working seven days a week, fed up with his construction job, worried about the impact of his gas-guzzling work truck and craving time in nature. After some research and a trip to REI, the Florida Trail called.

Except the start was less serendipitous than he may have hoped. In starting out as a vegan, Shelton attempted to carry 20 days’ worth of food and too many clothes in his massive backpack.

“I showed up at the southern terminus in Big Cypress with a 66-pound pack,” he said. “When I first started out, I had like three changes of clothes … I had cotton shirts and two pairs of pants that were cotton or regular denim.”

About two miles in, Shelton decided it was time to turn around and recalibrate. After shedding 20 pounds from his backpack, he set off again. Though the isolation of hiking wore on him in the first few days, Shelton soon found the fellowship of other hikers when he met them at a convenience store.

“That day went from like, having a rough first night and then getting soaked in the rain, to meeting a great group of people who were immediately accepting of me,” he said, adding that the more experienced hikers helped guide his decisions.

During Shelton’s first thru-hike, he grew as an outdoorsman and learned along the way, but also found a deeper connection with the natural world while reducing his carbon footprint.

“It’s a lot of finding out what you can live with and live without. After a week or two of living out of a backpack, it made me start to think about all the other possessions that I have in my life,” he said. “I don’t need everything that I have because a lot of stuff I don’t use most of the time.”