The Itch

I took protective measures. OK, I didn’t start spraying Deep Woods Off all over my body until after the initial attack. But the enemy is small and comes out as the daylight fades. There must be some rule against this- similar to the Geneva Convention rules. Nighttime attacks should be outlawed. At least in daylight I would have a fighting chance of spotting and defeating this tiny army.

Is it worth the two hour drive, the unloading of all the gear and the 30 minute setting up of the tent? I am a bit ambivalent as I walk along the “cat-walk”.  Yes, the massive cypress trees are impressive, but I walk with hesitancy along the narrow two foot wide boardwalk which sits on posts just above water level. The designers of this path must have thought it would be more exciting to put a single hand rail on the right side with the left side rail-less. Then they decided to lower the single right side rail to about two feet in height, just below the reach of the average adult. Finally, the individual planks creak and shift subtly beneath my footsteps. Why has this path been designated as an historic site? Is it because it was constructed in the depression by conservation workers? Or is it historic due to the loss of tourists who have fallen into the abyss? 

As I walk cautiously ahead I can not see what lies below the black water. I wonder if a couple of gators, some snakes and some man-eating fish are following me, waiting for a misstep. I am amazed by the silence. Should I feel at peace or does the silence foreshadow an attack from some unseen enemies?

As the final rays of sunshine retreat to the tops of the Cypress trees, the silence is suddenly broken by some screams in the woods resembling baboons or gorillas in the heat of battle. I stand motionless scanning the Cypress swamp. I speculate that there is some terrible unseen dispute. But just as quickly as it started, in thirty seconds it was over. Silence once again swept over the swamp. I spotted a large barred owl landing on a branch. We watched one another for about a minute until he sprang from his branch. With a few powerful downward thrusts of his wings he flew through the woods just across our wooden path perhaps to determine if we were a threat. It landed on a branch to our left and continued it’s surveillance. 

My son, grandson and myself watched this drama unfold without comment as we stood, privileged, on this narrow platform in this wild place. The moment was memorialized as I soon learned, in a few shots from my son’s Cannon 7800, with a 700 mm lens and super fast shutter speed of F 405- or something like that. I stared at the screen to see the owl frozen in time. Every feather distinctly pictured along with his piercing golden eyes and razor sharp talons. 

Sitting next to the crackling fire I am hypnotized by embers flying up into the black sky in a swirling fashion while the flames below flash and dim as the fire seeks new territory to explore and destroy. 

The Deep Woods mostly did its job. I am puzzled about the bite on my left rump. What path did that determined insect take to fight its way to that dark place. I have to admire the tiny beast. But I’d rather think about my final victory, squashing the intruder as I sit here. Like the noble barred owl, I take no prisoner. 

I recall that when I was invited on this camping trip, I immediately had the itch- the itch to escape the routine. I scratched it- now, with no regret.