I have wanted to hike the Big Oak Trail for years. The route is part of the larger Florida National Scenic Trail, a long-distance hiking trail that stretches more than 1,000 miles across the state. And it’s been described as one of the most scenic hikes in North Florida.
I grew up in this part of North Florida, not far from the Suwannee River, but I do not remember hearing much about the Florida Trail when I was younger. It certainly was not something I gave much thought to. It was only much later in life that I began to appreciate just how much there was to discover in the places I had grown up around.
I cannot remember when I first read about it, but somewhere along the way it became one of those North Florida places I kept meaning to see. I had read about this enormous old oak tucked into the woods near the Suwannee, and over time I probably romanticized it more than a little. I imagined finally coming around a bend in the trail and seeing it there, the kind of tree that makes you stop and stare because of how long it has been standing.
So when we finally set out to find it, I had the destination firmly in mind. When we reached the trailhead after parking, there was already some concern about what we had gotten ourselves into. Katie, especially, was looking at the overgrowth with considerably less optimism than I was. I was certain the trail would get better, and it did, somewhat.
The orange-blazed Florida Trail was passable and easy enough to follow, but there was still plenty of vegetation crowding the path. Even so, hiking along the Suwannee is rarely a bad way to spend a morning, and I was still convinced that once we got farther in, the trail would open up and the Big Oak would be waiting for us somewhere ahead.
Then we turned onto the blue-blazed trail that was supposed to take us to the Big Oak tree. At first, it still felt like a trail. Then it became less and less convincing. The farther we went, the more overgrown it became, until the woods seemed to be taking it back altogether. There were several points when turning around would have been the smarter decision. We did not. We kept going.
Eventually, we connected with the yellow-blazed trail, which felt almost luxurious compared with what we had just come through. We even started talking about how much better the yellow trail was than the blue one. Then we went off trail.
At some point, whatever confidence we had regained disappeared again. We wandered, checked our direction, second-guessed ourselves, and kept trying to make sense of where the trail should be. Luckily, we eventually found our way back to the orange-blazed Florida Trail. From there, it was only a short walk back to the car.
We never found the Big Oak. That should probably have been the disappointing part of the day. I had wanted to see it for years, and I had built the hike around finally reaching that one tree. But somewhere along the way, the tree stopped being the most important part.
Katie was with me, soldiering through sections of the hike she did not enjoy at all. There were definitely moments when I could tell this was not her idea of a perfect morning in the woods, but she kept going anyway.
Dennis and Frances were with us too. They are two of our closest friends, and they have already walked beside us through much harder things than an overgrown trail. They were there during one of the darkest health scares of my life, so getting a little lost in the woods together felt pretty minor by comparison.
At some point, I realized that I had spent years thinking about what it would be like to finally stand beneath the Big Oak, while I was already walking beside some of the people I care about most. That realization changed the way I thought about the hike.
We did not come away with a photograph beneath some enormous old tree. Instead, we came away with a story about a blue trail that got worse and worse, a yellow trail that briefly gave us hope, and the moment we somehow managed to wander off that one too.
Then there were the briars. Once we made it back to the car, we spent a good amount of time picking prickly little hitchhikers from our shorts and shirts, which felt like an appropriate ending to a hike that had not gone exactly according to plan.
And yet I would not call the day a failure. I still want to find the Big Oak. I suspect we will go back and try again someday, hopefully with a better idea of where we are going. But I had imagined this hike for years, and in almost every version of it the Big Oak was the thing that made the day worthwhile. I had that backwards. The tree gave us a reason to start walking. The people beside me were the reason the walk mattered.
Experience It
The Big Oak lies along a network of trails near the Suwannee River, with access from the Florida Trail and connecting blue-blazed and yellow-blazed routes. If you go looking for it, I would recommend carrying a reliable trail map and being prepared for sections that may be much less maintained than the main Florida Trail.
Even if you never find the tree, though, there is still something worthwhile about walking through this part of North Florida. The Suwannee winds through the woods nearby, and the landscape has a way of making even a wrong turn feel like part of the story.
If you are staying at Anasa, this is exactly the kind of outing that can fill part of a day without needing much of a plan beyond good shoes, water, and people you do not mind getting a little lost with.
Sometimes the destination gives us a reason to start. The journey is what we get to keep.
Postscript
Looking back through the photos later, I found one we had taken where we left the orange-blazed Florida Trail for the blue-blazed trail. The wooden sign plainly said “BIG OAK TREE,” with an arrow pointing toward the woods.
I think the tree may have been right there. I may have spent years wanting to find it, finally reached it, photographed the sign pointing to it, and then walked straight past it.
Which is especially funny because that was also the exact point where the hike began to go off the rails. We should have stopped, found the tree, admired it for a while, and headed back toward the trailhead. Instead, we kept walking.
— Dion, Anasa founder