For multiple reasons, I have neglected taking care of business regarding my “spot” that I frequent so often during fall and winter. Most years, by at least mid-October, my climbing stand is in place, I have checked for growth of new limbs blocking my path of entry, and I have dotted the “I’s” and crossed the “T’s” for long winter sits. Excuses are valid with multiple trips out west this year taking up the time that would normally have been spent getting everything ready here for what I cherish so much.
Of course, I can always make my case for working too much and letting time slip away, which is in part, also true. The bottom line is I just didn’t get it done. I thought I would share with you, in the literal sense, a special place that has been and still is a huge part of my life when it comes to the outdoors.
Practically impenetrable during summer from thick briars, numerous deadfalls, and hundreds of cottonmouths, there is a place I call home during winter. As vegetation growth wanes in early fall and cool temperatures drive the fanged serpents into hibernation, the door slowly opens for me to quietly slip into what holds treasures from the swamp. Nestled between two ridges at the confluence of two ancient creeks, lies an island overlooking a beaver pond that has probably been in existence before mankind. In dry years, it still takes rubber boots to invade this mecca and chest waders are needed to get to the high ground during wet seasons. It is here annually, that I have memorable encounters with the racoon, the beaver, the otter, and legendary whitetail bucks.
I felt the hackles on my neck rise as I made my way in for the first visit of the year last week. Each time I produced a foreign noise from the climber I carried on my back or from the misstep I made cracking a limb underneath my boot I muttered unmentionables under my breath. I know better than to think that my intrusion of this almost sacred place goes unnoticed, but I am diligent in my efforts to remain unheard and unseen by the inhabitants of this “village.” My breathing and my heart rate slowed when I reached the base of the tree that bears the “toothmarks” from the bite of my climber for over a quarter of a century. Yes, I was back home.
Change is inevitable even when we have no part in it occurring. Each season I take note of what has changed in this arena, and I evaluate the consequences it may or may not have on the swamp and its inhabitants. The first thing I noticed was a mammoth oak, that had stood for perhaps a century, was uprooted, and leaned out over the pond. Mere yards from where I sit, the tree could have easily fallen upon my perch. Even worse, it could have fallen while I was in my tree. Does a tree make a noise when it falls if no one is there to hear it? In this case I bet it did, for you can’t reach around this one. I wonder what effect, if any, this change will have on the critters and their travels?
My survey continued and I noticed fresh mud on the slide used by beavers and otters to enter the creek. They’re still here. I wonder if they are awaiting my return as well. I never molest their habitat or disturb them. They are in part, the reason this place exists. Sure, when water becomes too deep at times, I become frustrated, but without their influence, the entire landscape could have changed. This is their home. I’m just a temporary visitor. Raccoon tracks were abundant as well. I wonder if the momma coon and her four babies I watched last winter will come see me again. They walked the same log almost every afternoon I was there and paid me no attention. On more than one occasion, bobcats also frequent this log passing close to my perch. Again, I have never bothered them either. When I found the remains of the big gobbler this spring, I contemplated intervening this winter when the bobcats show themselves. I have had time to ponder this all summer, and I think it better to allow nature to take its place. You know Darwin had a theory about survival of the fittest. Who am I to think I can intervene for the good by disrupting this delicate balance? I still know where several other gobblers frequent so maybe there will be one for me this spring as well.
The pond itself is dry, at least for now. Summer grasses produced a multitude of seed heads that should provide nutritional needs for any resting waterfowl that may frequent this secluded impoundment this winter. Years ago, this pond served as an exceptional roosting refuge for wood ducks. In fact, a few mallards and gadwall also used this oasis. Something has changed, for seldom do I notice duck numbers here like I once did. Again, they were undisturbed even though I did consider throwing out decoys a few times. I decided not to in fear of disturbing those old wily bucks that also make this place their home.
Squirrels are quite numerous around this beaver pond as well. I have never failed to see an acorn crop produced by the red oaks and water oaks on the adjacent ridges to the creeks. Maybe the water table is still available even during droughts allowing the hardwoods to pollinate and mature a healthy mast crop each year. The fruit from these trees play a vital role in the health of the swamp by sustaining numerous species of wildlife throughout the winter. I get a kick out of watching the squirrels gather nuts and store them for the winter. I bet they’ll be back this season as well.
I never will forget the day I discovered this place of refuge. For many of us, our place of security is within our home or our church. I consider this place to serve as both for me during several months of the year. It reminds me of the lost world in the movie, “The Last of The Dogmen.” To paraphrase, there was a tribe of Native Americans that withstood the intrusion of settlers and pioneers and remained undiscovered even until modern times. If I remember correctly, they lived in the “Oxbow.” You should watch it sometime. Anyway, few people ever found their “home,” and so it is with my home in the swamp.
Several years ago, I was somewhat pressured by a couple of my friends to allow them to go sit in my haunt. After a lengthy discussion, I finally caved in and extended the offer to sit for one hunt only if they guessed the number I was thinking of between one and 10. The first one said seven. I replied that he was incorrect, the number I was thinking of was five. My other friend then said, “let me try.” I told him to go ahead. He replied with the number three. I laughed. I already told you it was five. Needless to say, they didn’t get to visit my tree.
Do you have a place like this that you can go and be alone for hours at a time? A place where you can think about life or not think about life. It’s almost like a theater and you are the only one in the audience awaiting the actors to perform. Maybe it’s as if you are a non-person only to witness what unfolds without any intervention. None of us know what heaven is truly like, but I would like to think this place, as wonderful as it is, is pale in comparison to what lies ahead for those of us that eat, drink, and live for the swamp. I encourage you to find your own little haunt and enjoy what seclusion and nature offers. Go deep into the unknown and perhaps you’ll find what I have and perhaps even more. Who knows, you may even find yourself.
Until next time enjoy our woods and waters and remember, let’s leave it better than we found it.
