I get nervous when I lose sight of the mountains. Something
about the overgrown, flat, expansive terrain of the Deep South (and something
about burning through a tank of gas nervously purchased on the Florida-Georgia
line in an hour, too) causes me to lose my bearings and bring my guard up. As I
traded blazing maples and conifers for Spanish moss and cypress knees en route
to Okefenokee Swamp in south Georgia in early November, the change was evident.
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| Photo by Matt Reilly. |
Just days before, snow fell on a
turkey hunting effort and spiced up the sex drive of brown trout in northern
Pennsylvania. Clouds hid the sun for
days on end. The hardwoods covering the
walls of the Pine Creek Valley were barren; it seemed winter had moved in
before fall was through unpacking.
However, almost 1000 miles and six states south, the crisp nights of the
season so treasured were just beginning.
Southwest Florida, and the promiseof snook and tarpon fishing amongst a mangrove maze, was on the menu for the
end of the week, but with kayak in tow, I couldn’t, in good conscience, pass up
the rich paddling potential of the famed swamp.
That night, after a short walk, I
laid my head upon firm ground, yards from the swamp, resonating with the
cuckoos and whistles of swamp creatures. The distinct drone emitted by
spiraling mosquitos hung in the background, held at bay by the screen of my
tent, while foraging gray squirrels rustled the palmettos above. Small-framed
swamp deer wandered close, but kept their distance.
As the sun set, the temperature
dropped. No rain or dew threatened. So, for the first time since I left home in
early September, I forsook the tent’s protective fly and soaked in the night.
The moon was bright and full; and I drifted off to sleep watching embers from a
dying fire drift across its face.
With no hills or valleys to hush
it, the swamp will wake you well before sunrise to share in the majesty of
dawn. For a while I dwindled on the edge of consciousness, watching light
return to the scrubby understory, the night creatures and goings-on whisked
away with the shadows.
The restlessness of morning grew to
a detectable level. My eyes snapped open, my body filled with a sense of
urgency.
I shouldered my kayak and carried
it a short distance to a narrow canal and broke water. It was 6 a.m.
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| Photo by Matt Reilly. |
Life was all around. Though the sun
had not yet poked the majority of its fiery form above the horizon, birds were
awake and plentiful. Egrets drew attention to the lily pad and daisy crops on
the water’s edge, and waded carefully around cypress knees, heads bobbing in
rhythm. Cormorants idled passively by, stealthy boaters yielding to the wake of
my kayak.
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| Photo by Matt Reilly. |
When the canal met bigger water,
the scene revealed more of the dark divers. The early-to-rise occupied perches
in the canopies of magnificent, moss-covered cypress trees, wings spread and
hunched, drying out—the avian equivalent to a morning shower. Taller, more
awkward blue herons glided overhead, piercing the scene with their raspy
squawking.
Dipping my paddle into the main
body of the waterway, I caught a glimpse of the sun as it emerged from behind a
cypress forest, casting a deep yellow hue through the sky.
It was
then, in the growing morning, that my attention turned to the shorelines. The
swamp is known for its alligator presence, though none had yet shown
themselves.
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Following
a primitive sign, I left the comfort of big water for a tight course towards
Minnie’s Lake.
It was
quickly evident that I was, though only slightly, moving upstream. The
passageway narrowed to a diameter of mere feet. Cypress trees and fallen logs
served as obstacles, as I navigated the cut deeper into the backcountry.
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Nine
miles of paddling landed me at what I can only assume to be Minnie’s Lake. The
forest opened up, and water expanded to fill the void.
Unprotected
from the dense cypress canopy, I could then feel the full strength of the
southern sun.
As I
rounded a corner, into the Lake, a magnificently large alligator—of well over
10 feet in length—nearly induced a heart attack as it charged into the swamp
from its sunny spot.
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| Photo by Matt Reilly. |
The
hidden, cold-blooded inhabitants of the swamp had awoken, and could be spotted
dotting the matted fringes. Alligators slid by like submarines, eyes and snout
just visible above the surface, surveying the scene. Turtles stumbled about in
the grass and popped their heads up in the kayak’s path curiously.
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| Photo by Matt Reilly |
Foreign
is a swamp to a northerner. The creatures I encountered before takeout were
well-suited to their home—toothed and armored. Such ecological diversity we
have in this country. Such beautiful ecological diversity.□
For more photos from Okefenokee, click HERE.
For more photos from Okefenokee, click HERE.
*Originally published in The Rural Virginian
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