|
I reckon I've always been a bit off. One of the
clearest memories from my childhood in the foothills
of the Appalachian Mountains is preparing for our first
trip to Disney World in Orlando. My older brother was
excited about the rides, and my little sister was excited
about seeing Mickey Mouse. Not me, though. I was excited
about seeing Spanish moss, cypress trees, swamps, and all
the critters that live therein.
As a young kid, I had always been a bit sickly. Terrible
allergies and asthma limited my outside time a little, so
I spent a lot of time indoors, watching television. My
favorite programs in those days were not cartoons, not
even that giant, mutant mouse. What I really loved were
documentaries on animals. Among these was a documentary
on the Okeefenokee that had really fired up my ten-year-old
imagination.
Fast-forward about 8 or 10 years, and it was time to choose
a college. I considered several possibilities, but ended up
settling on Georgia Southern University, in Statesboro,
Georgia, smack in the middle of Georgia's coastal plain.
The fact that this school was in the swamp country was a
large part of my decision.
So, starting in my college years, and through the present,
I have learned the swamps: How to hunt them, fish them,
navigate them and love them. I remember fondly coming home
to Calhoun and the Southern Appalachians and regaling my
Granddaddy (now gone), brother and father with stories about
my latest exploits in hunting and fishing the swamps of
southeast Georgia. It was during these happy days that
Granddaddy started calling me Swamp Rat, which I now use
as my FAOL moniker.
Every time I went out into swamp country, I would see or
discover something unexpected and wonderful. While fishing
the swamps, I discovered spotted sunfish, warmouth, pickerel,
and mudfish (bowfin), none of which were familiar to me
before. I ran across deer, feral hogs, and some of the
biggest gray squirrels you've ever seen while hunting.
Whether you're hunting, fishing, or just traveling through,
you're bound to happen across something new. It may be a
6-foot tall great blue heron, or a 16-foot gator, or a
swallow-tailed kite, or one of the many hawks and owls
that use such habitat. Just last year, I discovered for
the fist time in my life, spider lilies, growing in huge
white masses on the lower Canoochee. I've had the privilege
to spend time in swamps so thick and remote, that all modern
sounds were too far away to be heard. I've been in swamps
that are trapped in permanent twilight, giving an unavoidable
sense that you are always being watched by something not of
this world. In fact, the best swamps are those that feel
nothing like this world. My love affair with the swamps
grew and grew, and continues to grow even today.
Back in the spring, we decided it was time to open a new
phase in our lives. I have wanted to move closer to my
family for a couple of years now, and my wife has wanted
to move from the "God forsaken humidity" for longer than
that. So, with a heavy heart, I threw my last flies and
molested my last Canoochee river red breast back in June.
We moved to Jackson, Georgia, which is about halfway in
between Atlanta and Macon, and is a different world from
the coastal plains I had grown to love.
In those last few weeks in Savannah, I grew steadily more
pessimistic about the fishing and hunting opportunities
I would have so close to Atlanta. My heart was torn in
two, between excitement and joy of buying our first house
and starting a better life, and the sorrow of leaving the
land that I had truly grown to call home. In my dreams,
tupelo and cypress trees melted and were reincarnated into
cold glass and steel high-rises. The black waters that I
so loved turned sickly yellow with refuse washed down from
Atlanta.
Thank God it didn't turn out that way! We moved to Jackson,
alright, but it was nothing like I feared. We got a house
very close to Lake Jackson, which is one of the oldest power
producers in Georgia. The fist fish I caught was a warmouth,
on my old buddy, the brim killer. I came to the lake with my
microlight spinning rig (gasp!) and live bait, but the fish
swung on the fly. After that, I knew it would be alright!
I have since discovered the rivers feeding Lake Jackson, and
coming out of it, are beautiful and full of fish. Sure,
there's no Spanish moss on the trees, and no gators, but
it's still nice. Also, just to my south is the Oconee
National forest. The land there is a really interesting
mix of very high foothills, smaller rolling hills, streams,
and swamps! I think I'll feel right at home hunting there.
I'm now looking forward to discovering all the things I don't
know about the piedmont. I wonder if Granddad is looking down
on me and calling me "Piedmont Rat" now? ~ Swamp Rat
|
