The Taming of the Slough: Central Big Swamp, 3 July 2015

IBWOH's:  Brian Carlisle, Chris Carlisle.

Summary:  After a sweltering June, temperatures moderated somewhat this first week of July in south Mississippi.  The more favorable weather, along with decreasing rainfall, prompted my brother Brian and I to attempt a further exploration of the central area of Big Swamp, where in May we had been foiled by the high, rushing waters of German Slough.  I hoped to be able to cross the slough, find the long north-south ATV trail that bisects the heart of Big Swamp, and thus finally explore the expanse of bottomland forest at our leisure.

We kayaked across Black Creek at around 7 a.m., hid our boats, and set off eastward at a brisk pace, passing the usual vaguely familiar landmarks that one must make note of in this kind of country:  oddly-shaped roots, deadfalls, weird tree trunks, rushing streams.  We came upon the slough that had brought us to a stop before; sure enough, the waters had receded enough for me to cross, my cost being merely water-filled boots.  Brian, however, took an alternate route.

I should note here -- for the curious -- that I wore no insect repellent of any kind for the duration of our time in the swamp, and only had to wave away the occasional mosquito.  The droves of bloodsuckers that had accosted me earlier in the year are an unpleasant memory.

Birds were fairly active, though as the day grew warmer they took to longer periods of quiet.  I heard red-headed and red-bellied woodpeckers, and we both saw and heard pileateds on the return hike, the latter spotted after stalking the source of some rather ominous, heavy tapping from a cluster of oaks.

Sole claimant to an abandoned boat near Black Creek.  Photo:  Brian Carlisle.

Photo:  Brian Carlisle. 

Photo:  Brian Carlisle.

Photo:  Brian Carlisle. 

Photo:  Brian Carlisle. 

Photo:  Brian Carlisle. 

Photo:  Brian Carlisle. 

Photo:  Brian Carlisle.

All that remains:  a crown of poison ivy. 

What was a rushing slough in May now permitted relatively easy passage, if one was willing to endure hiking in wet boots.  I was. 

Brian's alternate route, a bit downstream.  The swamp will have its due, though. 

 View from the Other Side.

Getting shut of about a half-gallon of swamp water (per boot).

 Cypress roots exposed by years of rushing waters.

Beyond the slough, the trail bore generally eastward through some impressive forest for several hundred yards, until we found ourselves at last at Big Swamp's north-south ATV trail.  We elected to bear left and head northward, hoping to come upon one of the large oxbow lakes that dominate the north end of Big Swamp.  There were signs of ATV activity upon the trail, though we never found out where they had come from, or where they had gone.  Numerous smaller trails snaked off the main one, and at length we took one that led eastward.  The day grew fine and hot, with only an occasional breeze to tease the treetops. We walked slowly, my waterlogged boots making an embarrassing loud squinch with each footfall, and indulged ourselves in a close, careful survey of this place.

A magnificent superdominant red oak.  There are many such, in this forest.

 Woodpecker project near the trail.

Small chips likely mean small bills at work here, or maybe Pileated. 

An odd bridge, formed by a length of steel pipe cut in half.  It may have been used during the last logging of the area.  The steel was rusted through in spots, but was still serviceable to foot traffic. 

Brian discovers another Grandfather cypress. 

Colorful millipedes busied themselves about his mighty foot.  Photo:  Brian Carlisle.

 Photo:  Brian Carlisle.

I am always awed and humbled by them, who without voices yet speak of an older world, which few but their kind now remember.  Photo:  Brian Carlisle.

Strange networks of reddish-colored hanging rootlike growth are fairly common in the lands round about the Pascagoula River. 

At length, we found ourselves passing through some younger forest, until we stood upon a bluff high above the Pascagoula River -- on the wrong side, as usual:  a nice sand bar gleamed invitingly at us from the far bank.  We retraced our steps back to the main trail, and continued up it for a ways, still hoping to come upon one of the oxbows.  But the heat was beginning to get to me, and we had hiked a long way, at least two miles; and the time was getting past 10 a.m.  After exploring an overgrown field near the trail, we decided to head back.

At the crossing, I waded back into the water, and Brian made his way to the downed tree he'd used earlier as a bridge.  I was about halfway across when I heard a yelp, and heard my brother exclaim, "I'm getting my boots wet!"  I didn't understand what he meant, until he explained that there was a freshly-shedded snakeskin in the bushes he was making his way through.  He ended up crossing the slough behind me, getting only a little less wet than me.  

Photo:  Brian Carlisle. 

Photo:  Brian Carlisle.

 Genus Crinum, Florida swamp-lily.  I spotted this one on the bank of a slough, where we rested and cooled ourselves on the return hike.

Brian discovered this little nest near the trail on our return hike.  The mother fled, so we could not determine the species. 

Conclusions:  We neither saw nor heard any evidence remotely suggestive of Ivory-billed Woodpeckers:  no feeding sign, interesting tree cavities, double-knocks, or kents (although it is probably too late in the year to hope for more than an occasional vocalization).  It should be noted, however, that the scope of our survey was limited to the areas along and in close proximity to the trails.  We are still in the very early stages of the investigation.  I hope to return, to follow again the north-south corridor, to find the lakes along the northern border, and eventually to follow the trail south, where (from the look of things on Google Earth) numerous creeks and sloughs coil through the bottomland to challenge and confound rambling bipeds.

Hopefully, too, I will not suffer for two days from shin splints.

Likely this will be my only foray during the month of July. August will bring even hotter days, but hopefully drier feet.  We'll see.

Flight of the Kuhn: The Road to Red Swamp, 25 May 2015

IBWOH:  Chris Carlisle.

Summary:  I returned to Big Swamp this morning after about a month and a half absence.  Work constraints, family duties, gardening and animal husbandry have kept me busy, and promise to again; so I decided to seize the opportunity for another trip to the field, this time to explore the third path from Black Creek landing, a path leading directly south towards Red Swamp, along the southwestern edge of Big Swamp.

I had spent a few extra minutes the night before trying a new method of securing my kayak, the Kuhn, to my sturdy little Nissan Frontier pickup.  There was some mild excitement when, as I made my way eastward this morning along Highway 98, the Kuhn slipped through its ratchet straps and lifted off.  I glanced into the rear-view mirror in time to see the kayak do a somersault some eight or nine feet above the blacktop before bouncing wildly to a stop in the middle of the road.  With a sense of calm known to those who hope for the best and expect the worst, I turned around on the four-lane highway and pulled off the road near my boat.  Luckily, traffic was nearly nonexistent on the normally busy highway, so I was able to safely drag it back to the truck and secure it as I usually do.

The sun had already risen when I launched the slightly battered Kuhn into the calm waters of Black Creek.  The waters were rather low in the surrounding swamp, the northernmost finger of Red Swamp.  Mosquitoes were only bothersome, though deer flies and horseflies joined them to make life generally annoying for the warm-blooded.  Few clouds broke the dawn, and occasional fresh breezes helped make things more comfortable.

I noticed on the long drive down that birds were very active, and Big Swamp rang with their songs and calls.  I made the quick crossing of Black Creek and stowed the Kuhn in its usual thicket, and set off.  The trail quickly turned southward, and I passed the other two as they forked off to the east.  The trail held a more or less southerly course, between Black Creek to the west and a series of sloughs to the east.  For about two miles I held this course, which led through some of the most impressive mixed bottomland forest I have had the pleasure to explore.

Green ash, I think; an uncommon species in this area. 

Swamp chestnut oak canopy.  There are many individuals of this species here, of large size. 

I spotted this beaver work on a young sweet gum on the other side of a shallow slough, and crossed it to get a better look. 

 I'd disturbed this yellow-crowned night heron while crossing the slough.  He flapped off,  but  returned to wait patiently until I left.  He was most gracious to allow me to get a decent photo.

Typical view on the first half mile of trail, which was very easy to follow.  There were no signs of recent human activity that I could tell. 

Evidence of woodpecker work was easy to find.  This is on a living sweet gum of medium size.  The vine is poison ivy. 

Sweet gum is a dominant species here.  I encountered many of respectable height and girth. 

 Smallish woodpecker cavity in a living water oak.  A very large woodpecker was feeding nearby, and I am fairly certain it was a pileated.

Crown of a downed spruce pine, showing extensive woodpecker work. 

Considering the presence of needles, the pine probably fell within the past few months.  Most of the bark was still tight, though some sections were loose enough to be peeled away by hand. 

Not sure whether the bark scaling was done before or after the pine fell.

The excavations here suggest to me pileated or smaller woodpecker work. 

 I did not see any evidence of beetle infestation.

 Poor quality photo of an oblong nest cavity, long disused.  

 Natural cavity, high in a cypress or water tupelo.

 Another canopy view.  

Some lovely swamp forest, probably kept open by periodic flooding of Black Creek and the surrounding creeks and sloughs. 

 Every tree is unique, but some are more unique than others.

 A dark cypress grove can be seen beyond the oaks, along with the glint of water.

Unexpectedly, a strong creek came into view to the west, between me and Black Creek.  Looks like someone's water heater is marooned among the driftwood. 

After a couple of miles, the trail faded into the open swamp forest in a point of land formed by a bend in the creek that had appeared to the west.  The creek flows more or less southerly, paralleling Black Creek, only to bend north-eastward.  I could not tell where the dying trail might have once forded the unnamed creek, though there were a couple of points where I could perhaps have crossed without difficulty; but recalling past misadventures, I decided not to take my chances alone in the trackless regions of Big Swamp, a policy that has served me well so far.

I did briefly leave the trail on the return hike, to explore the cypress grove that lay to the east.  Access was easy, and the slough was shallow, its waters dark red and relatively clear.  On the alert for cottonmouths, I instead found a turtle.

This fellow was not at all disturbed by my sloshing about. 

 He actually seemed a little sleepy.

 Turns out, he has only one eye.  

Somebody left the door ajar. 

Heavy woodpecker work on a recently-dead snag. 

 Another poor quality photo of a large cavity, this time about a dozen feet up in a dead pine snag.

 The only other reptile I encountered:  a southern black racer.

 After sticking his head into the ground for a few seconds, he rose again to peer at me.

 An encouraging sign recently posted at the landing on Black Creek.

 As I drove away from the landing through Red Swamp, I spotted a pair of white ibis, in the same area where I first saw the species last year, with my friend and brother Richard.

Conclusions:  Today I had the pleasure to explore some of the most impressive habitat I have yet encountered.  It was, at times, a solemn and spiritual experience.  Once, standing alone near the fading tendrils of the trail, I could not help but think that any people that would willfully destroy such magnificence is a lost people.  I hope to return to this timeless place, again and again, though it is probably beyond the practical limits of my search area.