Lake Istokpoga: You can't get there from here

It started innocently enough — an outdoorsy weekend away with my gal pals to hike, bird watch, be on the water, exercise, eat, drink and talk. More talking than anything really, but it was almost all done outside so it still counted as our annual Mother's Camp, aka Chick Weekend.

No one told us that we'd go for miles and never find the fifth-largest lake in Florida.

Over the years, my two Fort Myers friends had endured many plans, from snook fishing with a guide at 3 a.m. on Sarasota Bay to learning to shoot skeet and endure ticks in Palm Beach County's Everglades.

They agreed to camp on a bridgeless island for enough days that we ran out of firewood. They let me plan nature tours that went nowhere. These friends of mine — Lori Tomaselli and Sheila Mann — are not wimps. They are woodsy women. They're just not as harebrained as I sometimes am.

Which leads me to the recent trip: Highlands County. A 90-minute drive from Fort Myers, this county north of Lake Okeechobee is known for cities such as Lake Placid and Sebring. Our site was at Lake Blue. At least according to the Web site. When we got there, it actually was called Lake Clay. But the water was topaz, so no one questioned it much.

COURTESY PHOTO Lake Istokpoga. On our second morning, we set out to walk around Lake Blue (aka Clay). We'd done it the day before and enjoyed two hours of fitness and sun. But this time around, we forked off onto a road that the gentleman with sharply creased khakis at the local chamber of commerce had told us would lead to caladium fields.

Caladium fields apparently are the lead tourist attraction for the quaint-but-empty town of Lake Placid. The plants, which you see in landscaping beds and pots, have showy red leaves with brilliant green stems.

"When in leaf during summer and fall, the fields have been compared to the tulip fields in Holland for their beauty, and the drive by the fields is worth the trip to Lake Placid," reads a new brochure from Visit Florida, "Been There. Haven't Done That."

You'll note, the text says "the drive" by the caladium, not "the hike."

That should have been my first clue.

But I was blissfully clueless as I suggested we walk toward the allegedly beauteous fields, even though we'd been walking an hour already. And then, that's when I saw the sign that clobbered me like a Billy club.

"Lake Istokpoga 1 ½ miles."

"I've heard of this lake for years and years,"

exclaimed to Ms. Mann, who was walking solo with me because Ms. Tomaselli had to run home for a few hours .

I suggested we walk to the lake. Forget the caladium. Let's see the lake that I've read about over the years. I walked faster.

The sun grew higher.

Every rise in the road, every semblance of a curve, I looked for the edge of the lake.

"I've seen it on maps," I told Ms. Mann. "It's huge. We'll find it."

We walked on. I tell you, I never saw that lake. Never saw caladium. Never saw a place to even buy a bottle of water, even if I would have had a cent to buy it with.

Finally — inevitably — Ms. Mann declared, "We're turning around."

So we did.

Then, later when Ms. Tomaselli returned to Chick Weekend, I suggested we drive toward Istokpoga.

This time we found the tulip field-like caladium. And even though the bulbed landscaping plants are not my favorite, they were nice to discover. Did I mention they were six miles from where Ms. Mann and I had been walking?

And where was that lake — the one that the leaning sign had promised was less than two miles away?

I know not. To this day.

As the sun heaved itself down to the horizon and Ms. Tomaselli pointed her Camry toward yet another unpromising turn, I told the chicks we could turn back and commence happy hour on Lake Blue (aka Clay).

After the weekend, though, I logged onto the computer.

Incredulously, I learned that Lake Istokpoga is the Sunshine State's fifth largest lake. The lake we couldn't find is even big enough to be in Wikipedia. No wonder I'd heard of it, but why couldn't we find it?

Oh, maybe because it is only four to six feet deep, according to the South Florida Water Management District. Maybe because it's only fed by two creeks. Maybe because the 28,000- acre lake has fish camps that are old-style, meaning they don't have to blare their existence from tacky billboards. Folks just know where to turn.

Perhaps Lake Istokpoga is telling me something. The Friends of Istokpoga Web site claims, "The sunsets on Lake Istokpoga are unsurpassed." Judging by the photos from their members, I'd agree.

I will go back.

But for now, I guess I can subscribe to the theory Ms. Mann e-mailed me after I sent her an item from www.istokpoga.org about how the lake got its name.

"What does Istokpoga mean?" the Web site read. " 'People have died there.' It was so named by the Seminole Indians because in the early 1900s, before they became a tribe, their people tried to cross the waters of Lake Istokpoga and were swallowed up by whirlpools," the site read.

So Ms. Mann wrote, "Maybe it's a good thing we didn't find it... bad things could have happened."