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FOR ME, THE EXPLORATION HAS ALWAYS STARTED AT THE END OF CIVILIZATION. In most places, one must retreat from the neon signs and golden arches and completely step out of the concrete jungle to find nature. Generally, if I have only one reception bar on my cell phone, I have not gone far enough. Most populated places in America attempt to integrate nature into civilization in the form of “green spaces” – finely manicured lawns and picnic benches that are supposed to convey a sense of nature and openness. In the Deep South, it is the other way around. Here, small towns carve a sense of civilization into vast and untamed wilderness. Even the largest suburbs seem tense to keep a creeping desert at bay.

Slidell is a suburb of New Orleans that sits under a canopy of pine trees on the northeast shore of Lake Pontchartrain. It’s an area saturated with rivers and swamps, where little gravel roads lead to neighborhoods of houses on stilts deep in the marshes where you wouldn’t think neighborhoods would or could be. It is low ground so low (3 feet, to be exact) that the term “dry land” doesn’t really apply. And unlike most places in the country, here one can be simultaneously deep in nature and a stone’s throw from a waffle house.

Slidell is bordered to the east by the West Pearl River, which flows from its headwaters into the Nanih Waiya Indian Mound area in central Mississippi and empties into the Rigolets and finally into the Gulf of Mexico. The Pearl is home to the Honey Island Swamp, one of the most beautiful and least disturbed river swamps in the United States. It takes its name from the tales of abundant wild honey made by rogue bees that had escaped from their beekeepers.

SWAMP CONDITIONS

We had not made hotel reservations. There was nothing on the itinerary. We had no other plan than to drive on lonely roads and explore forgotten corners of this subtropical wonderland. We drove slowly down Hwy 190, trying to absorb it all. I soon saw that the graves weren’t the only items stolen by the Katrina floodwaters. A large tugboat loomed along the road, miles from any open sea. I went out to take some photos and was instantly attacked by swarms of what looked like large flying ants. These little monsters came in mating pairs, and I was amazed that they took time out of their procreative rite to sink their teeth (or fangs, or pricks, or whatever) into my forearms. My only option was to run until I got close enough to take a couple of photos and then run back to the car. It’s amazing how fast an out-of-shape thirty-year-old can run when chased by hordes of two-headed devilish insects.

A few miles and several more beached boats later, we came to a clam lot in front of a swampy museum on the shores of the Pearl. A wooden walkway led to the shore where we met two captains from the swamp tour, both with strong Cajun accents. It was early afternoon and both captains had finished their tours for the day. The swamp tour business was good before Katrina, they told me. Honey Island Swamp guides are now lucky enough to have a full boat per day, and it would have been a waste of fuel and time to take just us on an after hours tour. As we turned to walk back to our car, another tour boat floated by and offered to take us on board.

Ah, the swamp. Something that I have seen in many movies but have never experienced for myself. It was incredibly peaceful for an area so rich in wildlife. The setting was just outside the ship launch scene on the Pirates of the Caribbean trip at Disneyland, except that particular trip scene was probably shot directly from here. Old ramshackle boathouses lined the shore in front of the launch, and I almost expected to meet a fisherman strumming ‘O Susanna’ on his banjo before plunging down a waterfall into the world of swashbuckling pirates. But this was the real deal. It was obvious that Katrina had been here. Rows of boathouses floated abandoned along the shore. On the other side of the launch, a medium-sized boathouse rested on top of a much smaller latrine. A smaller boathouse floated alongside the first, apparently untouched by the storm.

DEAD RIVER

“I’m going to turn on some air conditioning,” said Capt. Neil Benson, owner of Pearl River Eco-tours. “Oh good,” I thought. “I’m dying here!” Turns out, he just meant he was going to drive the boat really fast. It felt good though. After speeding along the main waterway for a mile or so, Captain Neil stopped to turn into a narrow channel that leads into a swamp he named the Dead River. A marsh is a shallow backwater lake system that parallels the main channel of the marsh. The Honey Island Swamp is a 70,000 acre maze of these swamps.

“Watch out for the giant cut grass as we go,” Neil warned as he pointed to the thick patches of tall, broad-leaved grass that brushed the sides of the boat as we drifted past. “That will cut your fingers pretty good.”

Neil Benson grew up in the swamp. He first set off alone in a canoe at age 10 and owned his first motorized flat boat at 12. “I know some people here who are quite strange. Everyone who lives in the swamp is running from something, be it the law or the voices in their heads. “

This caught my interest. Later I asked him to explain more.

“The swamp is a place to get lost, sometimes on purpose, sometimes accidentally. If you are on the run from life, the swamp will easily adapt to your request and will take whatever past you have and hide it in its waters and under its canopy of trees. . “

We were a mile into the Dead River maze when I realized I hadn’t been bitten by a bug since we left the car. Not even a mosquito, which surprised me, given that we were in an open boat deep in the swamp. In fact, aside from our boy’s repeated attempts to jump off the boat, this was the most peaceful boat ride I’ve ever been on. The swamp is a hauntingly beautiful place. Gnarled knees of bald cypress trees seem to float on the cloudy surface. The calm, dark waters combine with impenetrable wildlife and moss-hung tupelos to cast a haunting yet enchanting spell. Wikipedia defines a swamp as “a wetland that presents temporary or permanent flooding of large areas of land by shallow bodies of water.” Neil defines it as an “underwater forest”.

CRITTERS

Neil cut the engine when the swamp opened into a meandering lake or billabong, created when a wide meander of the river is cut. I noticed a small green tree frog perched on the railing next to my elbow. Although the swamp is densely populated with wildlife, it takes a trained eye to spot most of it. Once I saw that frog, I started noticing them everywhere. The swamp is like a 3-D book Where’s Wally? The best way to observe wildlife is to think of one type of animal and scan the banks until you see it.

We don’t have many creatures in Utah. I sleep on the forest floor and dive into lakes and rivers without a second thought. My wife, raised in Texas, nearly suffered cardiac arrest the first time she saw me wade across the Provo River to swim. In Utah there is a notable lack of animals that can injure / maim / kill compared to the Deep South. The most dangerous creature for hikers in Utah is the rattlesnake, and even he will give you fair warning before attacking.

What makes me uneasy in this swamp is the wildlife you can’t see, the creatures that lurk beneath the rusty surface of the water. Neil says that swimming in the swamp is no more dangerous than swimming in any other river. “Yes, we do have alligators, snakes and the occasional bull shark in the river. However, like most animals in their natural ecosystem, animals are more afraid of humans than they are of humans.”

Well I guess if it’s just an occasional bull shark mixed with alligators and snakes. I feel so calm!

SWAMP RATS AND GATOR

Something of a political anomaly, Neil is a serious environmentalist who drives a van with an NRA sticker. His love of exploration and adventure turned into a passion for this delicate ecosystem, and he has been guiding wetland tours for more than a decade. A few days after Hurricane Katrina nearly took the life of the swamp by ripping off its canopy and flooding it with salt water, Neil ventured out to inspect the damage with reporter Ben Montgomery from the Tampa Tribune.

“This is unbelievable,” he told Montgomery. “For the life of me, I never would have guessed. He’s gone. All of that.”

“It was the first time I went back to the swamp after the storm,” Neil tells me over the phone two years later, on the second anniversary of Katrina’s arrival. “It was heartbreaking. I am not an emotional person, but I must tell you I was crying.” A couple of hours on a boat with Captain Neil reveals his zeal for this place.

Back in open water, we saw our first alligator. Once we saw one, we started to see them everywhere. As they passed, the alligators swam toward the boat in search of the marshmallows Neil threw at them. He even reached out to pet the one he calls Big Al.

In the swamp, you see many things out of the corner of your eye. A frog or a snake here, an alligator or a wild boar there. Stories abound about an elusive creature affectionately called “The Thing.” Of the numerous reported sightings, an intelligible photo of the beast has never been taken. But there are many believers. The Honey Island Swamp Monster is more than a myth to fishermen and swamp dwellers. Over the years, various researchers have produced plaster casts of the monster’s supposed footprints. Neil owns one of these casts. He preferred not to discuss it during the tour, “because I would like to have some credibility.” Your official position? “I believe in the Honey Island Swamp Monster and therefore it exists. If God didn’t exist, it would be necessary to invent it.”

That day we did not witness this mythical creature. But then again, maybe they just took us to the “tourist friendly” areas of the swamp where the beast is less likely to hide. Looking at a satellite image of the swamp, I am amazed at how little we saw. The next time I’m on that trail, I plan to convince Neil to introduce me to the most secret caves in this mysterious and wonderful place.

Neil tells me that he takes people on extended private field trips, but requires clients to sign a “sign your waiver” waiver.

“Because when you get this far into the middle of nowhere, no one can predict what might happen.”

Sign me up, Neil!

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