Sitting in a Swamp

Sitting here in this swamp. Leaning up against a tree in my ghillie suit, I feel like I am invisible. Many warm months have passed since I last explored this tangled, mysterious world. It’s dark. Shadowy. The water is as black as the coffee in the thermos cup I clutch with both hands for warmth. It is at last getting cooler at night now that Fall has arrived. The cold chases the snakes out of this deep, wild swamp and allows me to wade and wander with less trepidation. Now I can concentrate on not falling and filling my waders instead of scanning every log and bush for the legless one, although, I must admit, I still look.

The towering cypresses and gums block out all but the most random rays of light, leaving a world of black and gray and shadows. And secrets. It is here, where the ground and the water have traded places, that the North Landing River originates. Like most blackwater rivers, her source is the groundwater that is stained by the primal mud and layers of peat of this southern swamp. The dark, tannic water percolates through the soft muck, gathers and flows between the cypress knees and swamp tupelos rising out of the lightless water, forming streams and ultimately the river. 

Silent and motionless, I watch the mink clamber about the beaver lodge. Searching. The beaver seems oblivious. Wood ducks and mergansers glide silently by. It’s morning in a swamp.Quiet. Dark.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.