Summer Sweatfest at Cumberland Island National Seashore

Posted On August 17, 2021

Trip dates: August 7-8, 2021

I went backpacking in Southeast Georgia in the middle of the summer and lived to tell the tale! Which is shocking, considering I’m a delicate western flower who hates the heat + humidity combination. I’ve been in Florida visiting my mom since early July, and it’s been so hot that I’ve been mostly inside and close to inactive. I needed my outside fix, so we decided to grab a couple of permits to go on an overnight backpacking trip at Cumberland Island National Seashore. Red tape: reserve your ferry ticket ($30 round trip) here and wilderness permit ($9/night) here before you head out to the ferry dock. You’ll also need to pay a $10/person fee to the NPS before boarding the ferry (unless you have a National Parks Pass of some sort). Camping is allowed only in designated campgrounds.

This was to be my first East Coast backpacking trip, so I went into it being paranoid about ticks. Thanks to a cocktail of insect repellents (permethrin and picaridin, to be exact) I stayed tick free and mostly mosquito bite free. A couple that was camped near us said they both found ticks on them, so the combination of pants + chemicals seem to have stood up to the test.

Arriving on the island

After grabbing a quick breakfast at the Cedar Oak Cafe in St. Mary’s, we took the 9:00 am ferry to the island. The sky was overcast, so we were able to sit on the upper deck for the 45 minute ride without getting immediate sunburns. We saw a group of the island’s feral horse residents hanging out near the dock before we even stepped off the boat. Off to a good start!

We made a quick stop to douse ourselves in bug spray, and then headed north on the Parallel Trail, past majestic oak trees, innumerable palmettos, and unavoidable spiderwebs to the face.

After stopping for a cheese and cracker lunch once we reached Stafford Campground, we continued north Pratts Trail/Stafford Beach Road to hop back onto the Parallel Trail. A wrong turn took us out to the main road along the Willow Pond trail. This actually turned out to be an excellent mistake. We saw our first horse hanging out right in the middle of the trail! Also, the western end of the trail has a long boardwalk through the swamp, and it felt like the most wild section of the entire hike.

Once we were on the main road, we headed north and decided to make a stop at Plum Orchard. We weren’t able to go inside the mansion because the building is closed to tours due to COVID, but it was still a beautiful area to visit. Plus, there was potable water at the mansion, so we were able to fill up there and didn’t have to use our filters at all the entire weekend. We also saw our first armadillo, rooting around for snacks in the woods near the mansion.

After our water/cool off break at the mansion, we finally made it to our campsite at Yankee Paradise.

Hidden dinosaurs

After setting up camp, we decided to hike the 1.5 miles on the Duck House Trail to watch the sunset on the beach, and to try to catch some sea turtles hatching. Once again, we came to a section of slightly soggy trail with water and thick brush on both sides. Walking near water on the island that I couldn’t see into made me a little nervous (hello big snakes and alligators), so I always slowed down. This time was no different, except this time I heard a big splash nearby. What the hell was that? We’d seen horses, hogs, armadillos, and all kinds of birds earlier in the day, but this didn’t sound like any of those.

We heard something calling out from the water, then another something, then another something. One of those somethings was CLOSE. And BIG. We stood and listened for a couple of minutes, debating whether or not we should try to move past. We were so close to the beach! The big something kept making noises, and we eventually determined that we were surrounded by alligators (mom and babies, possibly) that we couldn’t see. We decided that the alligator gauntlet would be less fun to hike through on the way back after dark, so we aborted our beach mission. Which turned out to be a good thing, because it started raining just as we got back to camp.

The rain was GLORIOUS. Sitting outside in warm rain is such a novel experience for me, and it washed away some of the sweat and dirt that was caked on my skin from earlier in the day. I sat outside until I started feeling cool, then hopped into my muggy tent and read a book about octopuses until I fell asleep.

The (slow) race back to air conditioning

We had all day to hike the 8 miles back out to the ferry dock since our boat didn’t leave until 4:45 pm. So we took lots of breaks and a side trip to Stafford Beach.

I don’t normally sweat very much, but whatever was going on with my body during this hike was a whole new level of gross. I couldn’t tell if the sheen covering my skin was sweat or moisture from the air. Whatever it was, it didn’t take long for me to start feeling like a used trash bag for the second time in my life (the first time was after 10 days without a shower on the PCT). Deodorant most definitely isn’t worth the weight. It won’t help you. Be one with your stench.

It was a treat to be on an empty, completely undeveloped beach with no buildings in sight. That opportunity is rare along the East Coast. The heat meant we were only able to stay out for a few minutes before heading back towards the dunes for some shade.

We arrived back to the ranger station way before our ferry, so we took advantage of the a/c and spent a few hours cooling off inside. Being a sweaty mess for days makes me truly appreciate creature comforts.

Would I go backpacking at Cumberland Island in August again? Probably not. But I’d definitely go back in cooler weather. Pushing myself in summertime weather was type 2 fun, which I’m generally a fan of, but once was enough for me this time.

In a few more days, I’ll be on my way back to California! A PCT/JMT section hike is on the agenda for September. Fingers crossed that the wildfire smoke cooperates, because I’m very ready to get back into the mountains.