Okefenokee

A few years ago, five other women and I took a canoe trip through the Okefenokee Swamp, lasting three days.

I'd like to invite you to join me on this leisurely canoe trip in memory.

There were Susan and Gayle in the first canoe, women with whom I worked. In the second canoe were Sharon, with whom I also worked, and her mom, Laura.

Bringing up the rear were Carole and I, good friends of many years, though a couple of years before, I had moved to Atlanta away from NJ where she remained. She had flown to Atlanta, bringing all her gear on the plane.

Carole is a wild-life photographer. It was she and my other good friend, Judy, who introduced me decades ago to birding, and thereafter I was in love with birds in a way that has become a relentless passion. Carole gave me a close-up photograph once of a small spider nestled in a flower. Its eight eyes are very visible, glistening with reflected light. It is a most appealing sight.

But perhaps her most delightful photograph was featured on the cover of a wildlife preserve brochure in NJ. Carole had been spring-birding at Brigantine, a seaside bird sanctuary, and came upon a female Canada Goose and several goslings. In typical bird-behavior, the female, startled by Carole, had honked and spread her wings. The goslings raced to her and huddled close. She lowered her wings to cover her children. Carole caught the moment. The photograph features a very fat-looking goose with two large legs and seemingly countless small legs holding her body erect. It is a perfect photograph of a perfect instant, and the result brings a smile.

I picked up Carole at the Atlanta airport on March 31, the day before we were to drive to the border of Georgia and Florida with the other four women. We spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for food that could be reasonably packed and would last for three days without refrigeration, though we decided to take a small cooler.

At 6:30 the next morning, all six of us met in a parking lot and transferred all our gear into Sharon's van. It was a five-hour drive to our destination, and as we left Atlanta and approached the Florida border, the weather was mild, a perfect April 1 spring day. In southern Georgia, the wisteria and roses were already blooming, while in Atlanta, only the crocuses had appeared. Spanish moss hung in gray crepes from the trees, a sight that always brings some mysterious thought of time and distance. Carole commented that NJ was about two weeks later in season than Atlanta, and we all talked about the seasonality of our respective homes and other places we'd lived.

We saw many red-tailed hawks soaring in the midmorning as we approached the border and the swamp, the sunlight on their tails. And there were exquisitely-colored speckle-breasted kestrels everywhere. In this area of NC, they are called "sparrow hawks" (or "sparrer hawks"), though they are classified as falcons. They are the smallest of American raptors/birds of prey.

We stopped to eat lunch and just before the scheduled time arrived at the landing from which we would launch our rented canoes. We grinned at each other as we chose the canoes we wanted from a bevy of them, all dented but lightweight aluminum ones. We chose the paddles more carefully and then loaded up.

As we'd discussed in the car, Carole and I decided to go last because she had brought her photography equipment and wanted to be able to stop to take photographs without causing others delay. (Many of the waterways were very narrow.) Each of us was given a map with the 30-mile route indicated, including Xes for the platforms where we could stop to eat or sleep. The trips were carefully planned by park personnel so that people would not be likely to arrive at a sleep platform and find somebody else there.

Though we started out together, by mid-afternoon, the other two canoes were lost to sight around the curves. Carol wondered why they were in such a hurry, since she and I eagerly ate up every new vista that appeared as we paddled leisurely along.

The route was comprised of a couple of large lakes we had to traverse, some wide deep canals obviously cut by human beings, and narrow twisting waterways. The water moved slowly toward the Suwanee and St. Marys Rivers and from there to the sea. The current was negligible. There were clearly legible signs posted along the banks or in the water itself with arrows pointing the canoer in the right direction when there were direction choices to be made.

On April 1 in the Okefenokee, the alligators were everywhere sunning. Several small(er) ones were startled by our approach and dove into the water and disappeared under our canoe. We had one hair-raising moment on one of the narrow waterways when we rounded a curve, and at the edge of the bank no more than two feet from us was an enormous gator, about 16 feet long. It hissed loudly, causing both of us to yelp "Shit!" at the same moment, though I think Carole prefaced hers with "Holy"…

We resolved to be more alert after that. We'd read in the information packet that the park rangers fed the gators regularly so that they'd not be likely to be hungry, but a frightened gator will attack or thrash and can easily overturn a light canoe. So can a frightened human being!

That first day we met many canoers returning from their treks. We could recognize those who'd been out for a week: they were disheveled, unwashed, and rumpled! All stopped to chat briefly, ask which route we were taking, and advise us of something to look for or notice just up the water a way. There were several groups of men who cheerfully flirted and wished us a good journey. I overheard one fellow say to his friend as they paddled away, "Oh, boy! women! Want to go back and follow them?"

"You're nuts!" his friend replied. "I've done all the paddling, and I'm exhausted. We're not going to turn around and follow those two women. Pick up that paddle and paddle, you ass!"

I laughed as we parted ways.

Late that afternoon we stopped at a place where the waterway was a wide canal. It had a landing but no platform. We needed to re-arrange our gear so we could get to our water easily, finding ourselves extremely thirsty after paddling a few hours. We tied up and took a short walk to stretch our legs. To our delight we came across scores of butterflies drinking at small pools of rainwater: Monarchs, Swallowtails, some Fritillaries, and others that I couldn't identify. Maybe they were migrating somewhere, though peat bogs, I learned later, are favorite places of butterflies. Carole and I watched them for about a half-hour. Their softly fanning wings were languid, with colors that were brilliant in the afternoon sunlight. She took many pictures.

We weren't quite sure that the information about the Okefenokee was trustable, though in our brochure, the water on which we were gliding was described as being nearly bacteria-free. The Okefenokee is actually a peat bog or peat swamp. The water is naturally and safely potable. You could dip a cup into the water and drink it straight, though it isn't advised. It is, for one thing, a deep chocolate brown due to the thousands of cypress trees growing in the peat, often 6 to 10 feet deep or deeper. Additionally, any open water can become polluted from many sources. So none of us drank the water straight, though it was there if we ran out of what we'd brought.

In the spring, the new leaves of cypress trees with their spreading root systems are a shade of heavenly green that matures later into a darker more vibrant color. From a distance, the branches appear to be covered with a pale green lace mist.

Many areas of the open water were filled with lily pads. The lilies were blooming, great blossoms of white or pink. Tiny green frogs were everywhere on the blossoms and leaves, skillfully hopping from one to the next across small reaches of water.

A century ago, the swamp was known by local Indians as "the land of the trembling earth". It is eerie to walk at the edges of the "land", which is really peat floating on the water. You bob slightly! We saw deer and many chittering raccoons as we paddled along, all of whom thrived there, along with the alligators. Though we understood how deer could survive, being herbivores, we wondered about the raccoons: I learned the next night about raccoon meals!

Carole and I were an hour later than the other four women arriving at the sleep platform. It was getting dark. The platform was perhaps 40 by 40, surrounded by a railing, and was covered by a large peaked roof with a deep overhang. Fortunately at that time of year there were no mosquitoes out, and we were insect-free the entire time. It was the reason we saw so few birds, I'm convinced. Many are insect-eaters.

Pleasantly weary from an afternoon of paddling, we were very hungry, and they'd started supper over a Coleman stove. Each of us had planned a meal (as it turned out, we ate six meals out over the water) and had brought everything needed to feed our meal to all six. Carole and I set up our tents and sleeping bags as dinner was prepared. Carol was perplexed about how to peg the tents down. It was a wooden floor. I told her she could just stand on her peg ropes all night so hers would stay put. Laughing, we agreed No pegs, and hoped that the wind didn't blow unless we were in the tents. All of us had fortunately brought tents with "exo-skeletons", metal rods that the tents are suspended and shaped from.

We idly talked as we ate and it grew very dark. Small lanterns were brought out and lit for a while, but we decided not to use them so we could see the stars, thickly crusted in the sky that we could see beyond the eaves of the roof. Finally, with flashlights, we cleaned up after the meal, putting napkins and paper plates in a plastic bag. Alligators are attracted to anything that smells of food. We'd heard them hissing and roaring as we'd sat there in the dark, not too close. We felt safe though: the platforms were high above the water and the steps leading up to them from the landing were narrow.

Carole and I stayed up latest, talking and catching up on things as friends do who have been parted for a while. Finally we, too, decided to head for our tents. I slept well that night.

The next morning it was my turn to prepare breakfast. No eggs, no bacon, but oatmeal cooked in apple juice, and too bad if you didn't like oatmeal! A loaf of bread, butter, and more apple juice. Bananas and grapes.

We were on the water again by 7 AM. It was to be a long day and not an easy one for Carole and me.

We entered the deepest part of the swamp around noon. That morning we'd all decided to not try to meet for lunch, though if we did end up together, that was fine, too. We divvied up the food so we could eat if we became separated again. Carole wanted to photograph the carnivorous plants, the Venus flytraps and pitcher plants that we'd kept seeing as we got further from civilization and our companions outran us. So we pulled up to a bank and tied up to a small sapling when she'd spotted a stand of pitcher plants.

It was good to stretch our legs again, and I was very tired. I went with her. She has an eagle eye when plant-hunting. There were also wild-flowers blooming and she knew their names. Again her camera was busy. Click, click, click.

When we returned to the canoe, we decided to eat there. We made sandwiches and consumed some of the fruit, leaving the oranges for later because they were a nuisance to peel.

Pretty soon we were on our way again, and the waterways became very narrow for several miles. It was slow-going. The curves were so sharp that often the front of the canoe would bump the bank ahead, while the back end would be pressed against the opposite bank. We back-paddled and shoved at the banks with our paddles over and over again to navigate the curves. I idly thought about how handy segmented canoes would be (like some of those city buses) as we struggled to get the long canoe through the winding water.

The beautiful lacy fronds of cypress met overhead and the alligators seemed to become more numerous. I saw bear scat on one of the banks and pointed it out to Carole. "Black bears," she said. "That's what's here. They're shy unless they have babies."

"Well, it's spring," I reminded her. "They're likely to have cubs if they're out."

Well, we saw no bears, but lots of deer and raccoons again. More carnivorous plants.

Finally we glided out onto a huge lake, literally choked with lily pads. "Carole, this isn't going to be easy," I said to her. "Look at all that vegetation we've got to get through."

I was getting really tired again. I could see the signs, tilted this way and that, wandering off toward the other side of the lake.

"Anne, we'd better get through this as fast as we can. Look over there to the west. That's a thunderstorm coming our way."

Sure enough, the sky was black with approaching clouds though the sun was still shining brightly on us.

So Carole and I entered the lily pads. The small frogs hopped frantically out of our way as we slowly struggled to get our paddles through or over the thick vegetation. Sometimes the canoe came to a dead stop against a mat of the huge leaves. The sky above us was darkening, and we could hear thunder approaching.

By now I was alarmed at my fatigue. (I did not think about food, didn't realize I'd run out of energy.) "Carole, what am I going to do? I don't think I can go on." The wind had begun blowing in gusts. We had to keep going.

"I'm pretty tired, too, Anne. Keep on paddling." So I did, and it was terrible. Finally my heart began pounding and I began to shake. It had also begun to rain. "Carole, I can't," I gasped.

She turned around to look at me. "Oh, Jeez," she said. "Wait a minute."

I sat in a kind of stupor while she rummaged in a plastic bag. She brought out two oranges.

"Here. Eat," she said, passing me one.

Weakly, I tore off the peel with my teeth, as she did with the orange she had. I ate it and gradually stopped shaking. But the rain had now become a downpour, and the canoe was being driven backwards by the wind. Though the lily pads had prevented any kind of rapid forward motion, we seemed to be easily pushed backwards, maybe because we'd opened a path and there was no resistance in that direction.

Carol thrust three more oranges at me and commanded me to put them in my pockets, just in case. She put three in her pockets, too. We took up our paddles again.

The storm came upon us with its full force then. For every paddle stroke forward, we were blown back three. Thunder was booming all around and lightning was hitting the water. "WE'RE IN A DAMNED METAL CANOE," I yelled at Carole.

"PRAY!" she yelled back. Soon the canoe had about four inches of water sloshing in the bottom, further adding to the weight. I ran out of strength again and reached for an orange. In the pouring rain, with thunder and lightning all around, I bailed the canoe and ate two oranges as we were driven once again backward, losing all the distance that we'd won so hard just before then. I decided to eat the last orange, too. We had to get to someplace safer, the quicker, the better.

Despite our efforts, we moved very little. Finally, desperate, I had an idea: "Carole, I'm going into the water. Maybe I can swim and push us faster than this."

"NO," she yelled. "You don't know what's in that water. And lightning's striking all around."

I didn't go overboard and didn't answer her either. Hell, we were sitting in metal and could surely be electrocuted as easily in it as in the water if lightning came too close.

It was raining so hard that we could not see very far ahead. I had no idea what direction we should go, because not only had we been pushed backwards-we'd also been turned around several times by the wind.

Then fortuitously, we nearly rammed one of those posted signs. We had only about two more miles to go before we reached the platform if we could get there. It was very dark because of the clouds which were scudding across the sky rapidly, but in the west a small patch of light finally appeared. It was the trailing edge of the thunderstorm.

Once more I became exhausted. But we had to go on. "Carole, I may die out here today," I told her, not kidding at all. Her face was exhausted, too. "But we've got to go on," I said.

Her hair was plastered to her head. Mine was hanging in my face, water dripping off my elbows and nose. We'd had to throw off the hoods of our jackets since the wind was blowing them back anyway. We were soaked to the skin.

She and I kept paddling. Tears of exhaustion were running down my cheeks and my mind went blank.

Suddenly something amazing happened: my mind cleared and I felt a surge of energy. That famed "second wind" had suddenly appeared.

"Carole, you okay?" I called to her. The worst of the storm was finally beyond us. It still rained but there was no more lightning. Carole was quiet, slowly paddling. She did not answer. I grabbed the coffee can I'd bailed with earlier and thrust it at her. "You bail. I'll paddle." She nodded.

After about 15 minutes she said, "I'm okay now." We finally began paddling together.

We made it. Our companions saw us and all waited for us on the landing. "Man! we were worried about you two. That was a hell of a storm."

Carole and I just sat in the canoe slumped while they tied us up. We staggered onto the landing, then up the stairs. I lay down on the rough wooden floor, silent for a hour perhaps. Somebody asked if she could bring me anything. "Nope," I said.

When food was ready, I got up and ate. The others had set up Carole's and my tents, and we went to bed before it was dark.

I was so exhausted that I couldn't sleep. I could hear the murmur of our companions' voices as they talked quietly. Long after they went to sleep, I was still awake, exhausted.

And then I learned about raccoons and their meals.

Earlier a chorus of frogs had begun. It was a most raucous and hilarious sound, probably literally millions of frogs. They were celebrating the rain that had ceased. There were pulses of froggy sound, slow burps, faster chuckles, deep harumphs, brassy brays, tiny nasal chirps, and high-pitched squeaks. The air felt thick with sound, the universe filled with it. It is an utterly riotous sound that I've heard only in spring.

Then I noticed something odd. It seemed as if the sound lay in an enormous blanket over everything, and every now and then an area would mysteriously become silent, while all the rest of the frogs continued their symphony elsewhere. It seemed as though silence were a hole in the sound, or a creeping thing.

Exhausted but alert, I kept listening. The silence came closer, and every now and then, I'd hear a frog squawk. I heard a soft chittering sound and understood what was happening.

The raccoons were feasting on frogs who became silent at their approach, probably fleeing underwater. Those froggy squawks were the death-cries of unfortunate frogs consumed by those hunting raccoons, whom I could hear clearly now. Their chittering is very recognizable. How eerie to hear hunting raccoons and the dying calls of frogs, unfiltered by civilization when you are exhausted and wet!

I finally fell asleep.

We had only another four hours of paddling the next day, when we would arrive at the final point of our journey and be picked up by rangers who would haul us and our stuff and the canoes back to the main building.

The morning started out with magic. We quickly ate and packed the canoes to get on our way. We'd paddled less than a quarter of a mile when we rounded a curve, and there before us were grasses growing in the water, strung with millions of spider webs. The sun was rising on our right, and to our left, every spider web held drops of moisture. It was a field of diamonds, brilliant. I heard groans of delighted surprise from every throat, from every canoe in our train. "Oh, God!" I heard from one of the canoes.

I lifted my eyes to the top of a dead cypress tree and saw the hunched form of an anhinga, the only bird I'd seen in the entire area. It is shaped somewhat like a cormorant, reminds me of a heron perched.

We were pretty quiet as we drove back to Atlanta.

None of Carole's pictures were any good. The moisture had ruined the film, though she had tightly wrapped her cameras and lenses and film against moisture.

So all we have is memory. It is enough.