Campers share park with curious creatures
By Stephen E. Raymond/For The Tampa Tribune

Tampa area campgrounds

RUSKIN - After a 92-mile day, our destination was one of Hillsborough County's premier parks.

E.G. Simmons County Park peeks from behind a mangrove and buttonwood shoreline on the southeast mainland at Tampa Bay, bracketed by the St. Petersburg and Tampa skylines.

A baby osprey peeked at us from atop a concrete power pole at the entrance. Was he counting sea gulls as my sister and I had counted and cataloged cars on Anna Maria Island in the late '20s, or was he waiting for Mom and a mullet sandwich?

We viewed the baby osprey as a welcoming omen.

``How can we go wrong here?'' my wife, Marie, inquired.

How indeed, but as always, prepare, prepare for the unexpected.

It was midafternoon. The pop-up was hardly unhooked from the wagon's ball hitch when our heads caught fire.

Sandflies - also known as no-see'ums - began drilling at the mother lode. Heads, arms, faces. Marie hurried to light a mosquito coil, then another and we had things under control.

Whether on a bayou, a pass or a Gulf beach, you have to expect these pests near the salt water in the early evening and early morning. A breeze is a flimsy deterrent.

Simmons is woefully underused, except on weekends. It has 88 campsites, most with electricity and water. To reach it, take 19th Avenue N.W. from U.S. Highway 41 north of Ruskin. For information, call (813) 671-7655.

The campground has a dump station, tables, fire rings, hot showers, two docks and security. The gate to the camping area is locked at night and shut at all other times.

The park also has well-equipped playgrounds, a superb beach, the potential for great fishing, a sizable boat ramp, picnic tables and shelters. The works.

I tried to catch a trout for supper, but fed the sandflies and caught a grunting catfish instead.

Before we finished reading that first night, a gentle tap at the door proved to be a 'coon trying to work the door handle. I shooed it away.

The entire family was jarred awake the next night by a bump, a scratching and the hissing run of a varmint on the roof. A 'coon, of course. Its nails tried to dig for traction at the hard plastic top of the pop-up as it reacted to our motion and noise beneath it. Then it jumped to the pliable canvas.

In the darkness I punched at the canvas, felt the 'coon's solid body and heard an animal grunt as the surprised hunter landed running on the ground.

The 'coons left us pretty much alone after that.

It seemed like perhaps the undignified drop to the ground by the bold and inquisitive leader became a warning to the rest of its tribe.

It took Conch, our cat, 10 minutes to come out from under the sheet, her eyes still huge, black, glassy.

More of nature soon made its appearance.

Several cockroaches showed up, even though I thought I had bug-proofed all the possible entrances where canvas met metal. But we were camped under a cabbage palmetto tree and dead fronds hung down, touching the top.

Not too bright, huh?

During the six days we spent at Simmons, we worked diligently to catch fish, blue crabs, anything edible.

Didn't work.

But then, we fished at our convenience. Tribune outdoors editor Frank Sargeant doesn't ignore the tides, the phases of the moon, the barometer's subtle burps and squiggles, nor is he careless about the use of live or artificial baits.

And he catches fish. Such is life!

I was certain the canals, bayous, even the grassy Tampa Bay flats were full of fish and blue crabs. Perhaps they were but I just caught another catfish and half a dozen small conchs in two folding blue crab traps.

Simmons is loaded with bird life, but often the first you see are the thousands of laughing sea gulls practicing balancing skills on one leg in one of the shelter parking lots.

On the shore, as the tide slipped out, herons, egrets and cranes crept along with exaggerated slowness looking for aquatic tidbits.

As evening approached and the tide receded farther, white ibis and limpkins drilled into the exposed tidal flat for crabs, worms and tiny fish while slipping past the exposed spitting 'coon oysters clinging to the red mangrove prop roots.

We looked at a dozen private and public parks with camping facilities in the Tampa area during our stay at Simmons.

TAMPA AREA CAMPGROUNDS