A Walk in the Swamp

It’s a strange thing- to wander. To not really know where you’re going, or even care for that matter. To just…well…go. One foot in front of the other. It seems strange. Though when I think about it, it shouldn’t.

It seems too often that our lives are completely scheduled out. Work starts at this time. This is what I need to cook for dinner then. The meeting takes place there and then. So on, and so forth. Even on a vacation, things are planned out. It’s a rare, and sometimes never offered opportunity to simply go out and wander. No real plan, schedule, or anything. To just go. To literally live in the moment.

I thought about this as I was doing just that: wandering. Now granted, I didn’t just walk out my front door and zombie-step into oncoming traffic. Nor did I aimlessly drive my car around the bad side of town until I ran out of gas. I at least knew the general area I wanted to wander, and had an idea of what I was doing.

But I did take a moment to look around. I’d been walking for about an hour through this swamp. I was semi-actively looking for pigs with my 30-06 slung over one shoulder and my .45 on my hip. I didn’t, however, really know where I was going. I’d been slowly walking in the direction I thought was north, but I wasn’t too worried about where I was. All I knew I was that I still had some daylight to burn, work was done for the day, and I was wearing so much Deet that I would probably pee Deep Woods Off later that evening.

It was a nice walk though. Even through the heat, I truly enjoyed myself. I slowly weaved my way around large areas of flooded timber, occasionally ducked out of the way of a Golden Orb Weaver web, and kept my head on a swivel for pigs. I hardly noticed that my snake boots were trying to rub a blister to my bone, or that I would suck a mosquito up my nose from time to time. It was just a walk through the swamp with one slow step in front of another. It was pretty freeing to just be out there. As long as I got out of there before dark and didn’t die a shriveled husk of a wildlife technician after the bug spray wore off, I didn’t care how long I was out there or where I ended up.

As uncomfortable as my feet were, it was refreshing to have dry toes on a walk. My usual boots are a Vietnam style military jungle boot that has drains on the sides to let water out…and in. So I confidently walked through water several inches deep without worry, and my inner twelve-year-old even chuckled at the suspicious squishing sounds that the boots made in the mud. I also didn’t have to stare at the ground quite so intensely for snakes. Thus, freeing my eyes to search for pigs and consequently almost trip and die on cypress knees since I was no longer staring at the ground.

Before I really knew it, hours had passed and I had slowly wandered my way out of the swamp and back into the quail woods of the plantation. Lots of pig sign, piggy looking areas, and stump pigs (they’ll fool you every time), but no actual pigs. I suddenly realized where I was and just how far I’d walked. I guess something about not caring what time it was made time actually fly. I was miles from the truck. A few hundred yard walk through a healthy mixture of beauty-berry and blackberry bushes, and I stepped out onto an old road.

I still had no real place to be, and was in no hurry to get there. So with one slow step in front of another, I walked my way down the road and back to the truck. I picked and ate an inordinate amount of blackberries along the way, and thought about how lucky I am to have opportunities to just wander. To cut loose, not care, and go wherever my feet take me. At the end of the day, what’s more strange? To have everything from sun-up to sun-down planned out? Or to wander? Just remember,

Not all who wander are lost.

Contrary to popular belief, not –all- of my hunts are unsuccessful. I’ll leave ya’ll with a sneak peek of an upcoming report:

Finally, some pigs

The secret to seeing pigs is to blare rock music with the windows down as loud as the truck's speakers can go. You should also be telling yelling a funny story to your friends over the music. Ideally, the truck is speeding down a dirt road as well. And finally, the biggest secret to seeing pigs is to not have a gun ready...anywhere. Have all of these things and you're set to run into a massive group of the oinkers.

In the middle of the road. At 15 yards. 

A quick scramble to get the truck into park, grab the guns, and bail out of the truck was all it took. My new .44 Magnum rang out, and I've finally got some pork in the freezer. That pistol gets the job done.

Nightlights

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust after I climbed out of the work truck. As I squat there in the middle of the grassy road I watched the truck’s headlights disappear over the hill, and listened as the sound of the engine faded into the woods. 

A quick mental checklist and I’d be off:

Night vision- check. Dart gun- Check. Dart- Check. FLIR- Check. Cell phone- Check. Water- Check. Good to go. 

Quietly I scanned the surrounding woods with the FLIR and looked for the all too familiar hot spots of deer. 

Nothing. A long walk it is. 

I was almost impressed with how little noise I made as I trekked along the old road. Damp ground is nearly silent when stepped on. I was, however, sure I looked ridiculous. I was decked out in all camo with the exception of my feet. Those were placed comfortably in a pair of Crocs. 

Aside from being one of the most effective forms of birth control, I’ve discovered Crocs are fantastic for stalking deer. Not only are they comfortable, but they’re much quieter than my hunting boots. 

So a long walk is just what I took. And as I walked along in silence I took in all the sights and sounds of the night. It’s often easy to overlook the night as just being…well…dark. But there’s much more to it than that. 

With a setting crescent moon behind me, the dim light was just enough for me to make out the curves, bumps, and potholes along the road. To my left, a big lake reflected what was left of the moon on the mirror flat water. Hundreds of fireflies dance around in the tall grass, and off in the distance, several still-burning slash piles lit up the woods like torches. 

Like a fire in the fireplace, the crackling of burned wood echoed through the trees and the light from the flames shone softly on the billowing smoke above.  I quietly watched in passing as several embers rose up from the pile, and disappeared into the night sky above. 

Amongst the chirping of crickets and croaking of bullfrogs, a sudden swoosh followed by a soft patter could be heard in the tree above me. I was immediately met with the faint squeaking of a flying squirrel as he rudely shouted obscenities at me for disturbing him. Though I couldn’t see him, he could obviously see me. 

Through the branches of the trees above I could easily make out the stars. In fact, even with the moon barely in the sky, the milky way could be seen arcing its way across the night sky. Suddenly, a Barred Owl in the distance yelled something about “who cooks for you?” and was soon answered by another asking something along the same lines. 

Even though it was dark, the woods were alive with sights and sounds. I quickly realized that I’d stopped walking. Unbeknownst to me, I’d taken a moment to apparently soak up the setting around myself. How many times have I overlooked all of this while just riding around in the truck at night?

I looked around for another brief moment, the set about walking again. A FLIR scan ahead showed two deer in the distance, and they weren’t going to dart themselves. It was back to work, but from there on, I never overlooked the sounds and nightlights around me again.