Arrival: The Marsh
It was a dull and gloomy day with an occasional game of hide-and-seek being played unsuccessfully by the sun. ~ The landscape reminded me of what the classic South Carolina landscape looked like and why I loved it so much. Although the sky was dove-grey for most of the trip, the warmth still surrounded us on the kayaks, humidity hanging in the air. The second I stepped out of the car, the heavy salt air washed over me and I took it in with a welcoming breath. The broken shell ground cracked under foot and I dodged a few sea puddles on my way to the kayaks resting on shore. ~ The marsh was much different than the river. There was a certain silence that was more soothing than the waters of the Waccamaw. Accompanying that silence were the mellow chirps of pelicans and seagulls, which glided by my eye view ever so often. I say “mellow” because rather than the usual racket of every bird singing at once, these chirps came every now and then just to break the silence. It was similar to that of tapes containing sounds of nature that my parents relax to. ~ It was humid; something similar to the feeling of a constant sweat after a mild sunburn. There was a choking thickness to the air. The water was unsettlingly calm. The shaded sky seemed to be taken directly out of a Winslow Homer Painting. Our English Crocodile Dundee guide helped us embark on the tour out of this shallow shell and sediment beach that looked like a mural itself. The white beach seemed peppered with different creatures such as crab and natural debris. Observation: Bald Eagle “There’s your bald eagle,” Paul said, as he pointed into the nearby woods. I slowly scanned the surrounding area until my eye caught the white-headed, yellow-beaked bird perched on a branch. A photographer stood watching the bird patiently. Occasionally, he would bring the camera up to his eye, the long lens sticking out pointing at the trees, and then drop it in disappointment. “They love to mess with the photographers,” Paul said. “They sit there waiting for the bird to do something exciting, and then eventually leave when nothing happens. It’s once they leave, that the bird usually does something.” ~ A Bald Eagle heralded our journey with a cry we were very unused to. The Bald Eagle, a heavy and brutal mugger of birds, turned out to have a weak, garbled cry. Like you had taken a recording of a hawk and shoved underwater, so that it was warped and began to short out. ~ A bald eagle sat in the distance waiting for careful observers to leave as to continue its life in secrecy. It held itself seeming paused in time, as everything else continued to be in play. Navigation: The Water As we started paddling I just looked up to the horizon line and could see nothing but the salt marsh grass with tall pine trees in the background. ~ In some parts of the marsh, the water was at the shallow end as I felt my paddle touching the thick, marshmallow-like muddy bottom. Each time my paddle hit this bottom the yellow tip of the paddle become lightly coated with the grey-black mud. The water was sort of a dark seafoam green color. Unlike the river, one could actually see the paddle a few inches below the actual surface. The water made a light hissing sound like a small snake, but there were no snakes to be found ~ The open area of the calm rippling water gave a certain sense of freedom. Unlike the river, which winds and curves, often leaving its victims clueless as to what lies ahead, the marsh was like a flat plain, everything visible. The calm water seemed to only be disrupted by an occasional scaly silver bellied fish jumping out of the water. ~ The gentle cold ripples in the water blended hues of green, grey, and dark blue. The gloomy day was reflected on the water’s surface, but this didn’t affect the wildlife’s agenda. Small fiddler crabs scurried about frantically on the shore, bobbing and weaving traveler’s around their burrows. Moorhens (marsh hens) roosted on the small islands the tide uncovered as it got drug out to sea. In a shallower part of the marsh, tiny mud covered looking balls laid below the surface. I reached my hand into the crisp clear water to pick one up. At first, I thought it was a rough shell, but the muddy formations turned out to be hundreds of slimy snails. ~ As we started to paddle long, the water caught my eye. It was a cool green-grey-blue that I wanted to use to paint my bedroom walls. It was so calming to me that I couldn't keep from reaching over the kayak to touch it once I stopped paddling. Before the tide started going out, it looked so clean and clear that I could see the ground underneath me; when the tide went back out, the water got cloudy, with visible particles floating around. Challenge: The Mud The grass grew in the grey-black mud. In some areas, there was no grass. It was just a small barren wasteland of mud. ~ Three of my fellow kayakers got out of their kayaks and stood in the mud to try to walk in it. The mud quickly swallowed their legs as they struggle to move in it. Not only that, but the mud stuck to their legs as if it was some type of cement. The smell of the mud was rancid in all sense of the word. The smell was a crossed between bad seafood and rotten eggs. ~ There was a challenge presented to cross the plough (pluff) mud and touch the spartina grass on the other side. I got out of my kayak slowly and stuck my legs into the rancid smelling, oozy mud below. My legs were instantly suctioned into the shiny brown sludge, becoming one with the salt marsh. Moving seemed impractical as the mud fastened me in place. With a few jerks and twists, I would wiggle a leg free enough to swing it forward into a new patch of plough until I reached the rough spartina grass. There were bubbles on top of a green film near the grass that left a distinct grotesque smell when they busted. My legs were covered in a dark brown paste when I found my way back to the kayak. Brown muddy smears insulted the bright yellow kayaks interior as I carefully got back inside. The rancid stench of plough mud lingered in the air as we floated back upstream. ~ The sand and mud was certainly soft, but we encountered a peculiar patch of mud. Murkier than the rest of the mud, and possessing an acrid odor, our guide challenged us to walk up to the grass. “You’re here for the experience,” he said, “Right?” Never one to back down from a challenge, I exited my kayak and stepped onto the mud... and sank immediately. It was like my foot was an Olympic diver, sinking into the mud with practically no disturbance to the surrounding area. Even the little slugs and the ground were unperturbed by my invasion. And yet, I committed. I trudged through this ‘Pluff Mud,’ as our guide called it, and reached the grass. The mud stained my legs black, and later I had to wash my legs in the river. My jeans, however, still need a couple washes to get the mud out. ~ I thought the smell of the plough mud was recent and going crotch deep in it was definitely an experience I would only recommend to those not faint of heart. I feel of the cool salt water felt great however when I had to wash away the muck matting my hair to my thighs and leg Observation: Oysters In the shallow end of the water, oysters could be seen, all cluster together like a pack of wolves trying to keep warm. Paul, the tour guide, explained that they like to spend their time in the mud and filter feed the bacteria out of the water. ~ On the way back, clusters of oysters were seen spitting water up like an elaborate fountain to keep themselves wet. The tide was getting lower and they were trying to preserve themselves. Navigation: Current Right before we landed we encountered another strong current, but this was different. It was stronger and more powerful than the last. It took a lot out of me, but I eventually got past it. ~ The coastal breeze that blew over the banks and marsh rippled the water leaving a consistent image of a wrinkled flag waving horizontally. The tidal pull was stronger as well. It was a magnet that either made paddling much easier or next to impossible to get to your destination. ~ Navigating the currents was a difficult part of the journey. The water moved fast, and made paddling difficult when fighting the current. And yet there were ways where the current wasn’t so strong, where our guide took us. Like at curves and bends, where the water would come down the far side fast, and return to fill the other side, keeping the water level but also creating an area where the current wasn’t so harsh. Still, it was a workout. Departure: Mediation After coming ashore, the shoreline were covered with small crabs that were scurrying around as if they were spiders. My mind instantly went to T.S. Eliot’s poem, “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock,” where the speakers says, “I should have been a pair of ragged claws / scuttling across the floors of silent seas.” ~ The water, that I once thought to be still, was actually flowing in all sorts of directions. No matter how hard I tried, my kayak would drift in whatever direction the water wanted to take it. Just as life often does to us. For anyone thinking of going on this trip, I would suggest getting some good rest because fighting the current is quite the workout. What I found interesting was that the marsh and river were more similar than my initial observations, due to the fact that each had an uncertainty. With the river, it’s a path laid, telling you the direction you’re going, but the curves of the water highway can leave anyone in the dark as to what lies ahead. The marsh’s plain-like nature made it easy to see what’s ahead, but an unexpected turn from the current still leaves one feeling as if they’re in a maze. No matter if it’s the river, salt marsh, or life, there must be an accompanied faith to go with the uncertainty.
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