Lion’s Mane. Source: Congaree National Park
This is the third, and final, installment of the swamp saga. If you want to catch up, read the beginning and the middle.
So where were we? Oh yes, we were still lost in the miasma, losing all definition of where our bodies ended and the swamp began. And running short on food. The only good thing about those best-forgotten days was Peter came back from his vomitous, stygian trip to Hades. There wasn’t much he could do but he at least he was now our fearless leader again as we paddled in circles. Once in a while we would hear a plane fly high overhead and we’d try to find an opening in the trees, waving our paddles frantically. Surely they would send a search party at some point. But nothing. Nada. Back to paddling. Continue reading →
Eastern screech owl. Tiny package, big voice. Photo: Congaree National Park
This is the second installment of my tale of being lost in a swamp. If you want to see how we got here, click to the beginning.
When last we left our band of intrepid, if terrified, paddlers, we were experiencing a harrowing night. Turns out the shrieking monkey slaughter sounds were pint-sized screech owls, not much bigger than starlings, but that didn’t do much to calm our pounding hearts. I don’t think any of us slept much. We were all totally out of our element. We’d left the last comfort zone miles back, somewhere by the fried quail. Continue reading →
Eastern cottonmouth. Source: Congaree National Park.
Way back in the days of yore, I spent a week lost in a swamp. I’m not exactly sure what this has to do with tiny houses, but it’s been coming up for me a lot lately and I thought I’d share my tale of adventure. I will try to find some brilliant analogy by the time I get to the final installment!
I went to college in Ohio and being from Oregon, it was a little too far and too expensive to go home on breaks. I found out that another student, a tall, strapping blonde named Peter, nicknamed Bam Bam, led outdoor trips. I went on an awesome backpacking trip of his in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, wading through bright yellow leaves, the crystal blue of the great lake shining through white birch trees. That trip went off without a hitch, other than someone, perhaps me, forgot to wash out the shampoo bottle we used to hold the Yukon Jack we warmed ourselves with after fast baths in the icy waters.
Spring rolled around and I was again adrift come break time. When Peter suggested canoeing in what was then the Congaree Swamp National Monument in South Carolina, I was immediately on board. Continue reading →