Owls in the Swamp

I had been walking in Gum Swamp for nearly six hours. ‘Walking’ is not the appropriate word. It was more of a hellish slog through ankle to knee deep muck. The temperature was in the thirties, but I was drenched in sweat in my neoprene boot sock waders. The hat, gloves and wool sweater my mother made were already in my backpack. The water was low in the swamp due to the lack of rain the past few months, so it was easier - or, rather, less hard - than it could have been. I had trudged to a hummock in the swamp and was making my way back to the road where I left the truck. It’s a two hour haul just to cover a mile. I only know of one other person who has been there, and he named it the Devil’s Bedroom. I have been to that swamp island twice before, but that is a story for another time. 

I made my way through the pathless swamp after departing the island and could see the main creek channel through the cypresses and gums - walking would be easier along the creek edge. In a flash, a small hawk flew and landed a few yards in front of me with a small rodent held tightly in its talons. In the same instant, an enormous barred owl flew towards the hawk and the hawk disappeared as fast as he had shown himself. The owl, sensing me, flew a few yards into the swamp and landed on the trunk of a tree, its wing wrapped around the trunk for balance. He stared intently towards where the hawk disappeared for a moment, then vanished into the swamp - as did I.

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