n l Melissa's Adventure

In two canoes we drift on the slow-moving Roa­noke River on our way to camp in the Carolina Bayou, a swamp. This is my first trip into the depth of a cypress forest. It’s quiet and enchanting — otherworldly.

Cypress knees surrounding a majestic 500-year-old cypress tree resemble gnomes wearing peaked hats. Was King Henry VIII on the throne when it was a seedling? I am awestruck — in a world where I am a stranger. A fish jumps in the water. I stop dreaming and take up my paddle.

Photographer David Smith and I are eco-adventurers on a canoe and camping trip with our guide, Don Gray, the owner of Fayetteville-based Natural Adventures. We had driven to Williamston and put in at Gardners Creek to canoe the Roanoke River toward Albemarle Sound and the Atlantic Ocean. We are on our way to Beaver Tale, one of the Roanoke River Partners’ camping platforms.

The river takes a turn and the water moves faster. A cooling wind hits my face. Suddenly, a huge black bird rises in the air through a thick canopy of giant tupelo trees. Don identifies it as a black vulture. “Flap, glide, flap, glide, short tail,” he shouts from his canoe.

When Don spots a nest of a red-shouldered hawk, we stop paddling and through the trees see the large hawk’s young looking over the side of the nest, their heads moving from side to side.

While I am seeing only river and trees, Don spots a great blue heron, a snowy egret, a green heron, and even an anhinga. I’ve seen these in the Florida Keys outback but didn’t know that they migrate this far. Canada geese playfully skim across the water. Don is amused when I call them “Canadian geese” and says, “We don’t know where they are from, just that they are called Canada geese.”

We watch and learn names of fish and fowl. I promptly forget those I don’t write down, much to Don’s chagrin.
We are on the river that runs through several creeks and swamps. Vibrant plants are everywhere in this amazing setting.

Left and above, Melissa Clement explores the
Roanoke River by canoe with guide Don Gray and photographer David Smith.

SETTING UP CAMP

After an hour or so of easy paddling, we glide into upper Deadwater Slough and on into the interior of Bull Run Island. When a sign says, Devil’s Gut, David reaches for his camera while I back paddle and swing around for his photos. The name doesn’t sound too inviting, but we paddle on.

We are coming off the river, which is brown because of alluvial soils, prompting Don to comment, “A little bit of Virginia sedimentation washed down the river.”

It’s mud to me.

We are heading into the backwater swamp, a blackwater creek stained by tannin, and into the Carolina Bayou. After about two hours and five or six miles of leisurely paddling we arrive at our camp, a water-bound platform, one of the first of the 12 that were built along the Roanoke River through the efforts of Roanoke River Partners. Ours is named Beaver Tale, built by volunteers, including Don. After that, he built others under contract with RRP.

I am surprised at how clean and large, 16 by 28 feet, it is. Steps lead to a privy and to another platform far enough away for privacy. Don explains how it was built by driving 12-foot posts 7-feet deep into the muck.

There is a lot of gear to unload: sleeping bags, tents and food. I have always camped light, but years of camping and a year of living in the swamps have taught Don to bring everything he needs and some comforts of home. He brought the required portable toilet, lots of great food and drink and even camp chairs.

He throws me a metal chairs to assemble with no directions. It is quite a puzzle. Don, a longtime friend, likes to tease me about anything I can’t do or remember, but this time I put the chair together, and, in retaliation, sit in it and let him sweep the platform, raise the tents with the help of David, and cook dinner.

While I sit and watch, Don takes a swig — well, many swigs —from a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. I sit enjoying a beer while pondering the fact that I am actually drinking on the job.

A GOURMET MEAL IN THE WOODS

Don takes out a satchel that opens wide to expose neat spices and chefs’ seasonings for the gourmet meal he is preparing. Curiosity draws me from my chair and he puts samples in my hand to taste — cinnamon, garlic, onion, chili and then an oil. I lick it off my hand. It is soap. He laughs. David, an experienced news photographer, is quick to take a shot of my surprised expression before I spit it out in the swamp water.

Oh, well. It gives me an excuse to open another beer.

The outstanding dinner is Alaskan wild salmon, asparagus, fettuccine Alfredo with capers and salad. Not exactly the soggy fruit and canned beans usually on my camping menus.

“Get your fork and go to eating,’’ he says, adding a few notes of some song from yesteryear. As twilight darkens, we hear the call of a barred owl. “Who Cooks for You,’’ it seems to say. “Who cooks for you,” Don answers back with good imitation. Another call from the owl. That goes on for a while until there is a call from another nearby owl. I am getting apprehensive about large owls diving down upon us. Is it mating season?

Suddenly, one bird breaks through the thick canopy of trees and swoops over us, perhaps to find his true love. Amazingly, he doesn’t disturb a single leaf on
a tree.

When night falls, the gas lantern comes out, along with humming mosquitoes, but we have bug spray and fingers with which to scratch.

Don goes down to the canoes and we hear a splash. David and I look at each other as Don yelps. We start down to pull him out of the swamp when we hear him laugh. He only bounced a canoe in the water. He knows animals, but not about crying “wolf.”

Although the sun was out all this perfect day, it is overcast tonight with nothing to moon over. I leave the rain-fly off my tent to watch the sky and listen to the night sounds — fish slapping water, night birds calling, frogs singing, trees rustling and mosquitoes whining, probably because we are now unavailable.

I appreciate the beauty and tranquil night that the wilderness provides. At home, I would be watching distressing news on television. Here I am in my elements. Ever since age 12, when I first went to summer camp, I have longed to live in the wilds since it requires few creature comforts.

I sleep soundly, only waking when rain splattering on my face. I get up to throw the tent-flap on and wake the guys who do the same. Immediately, it stops raining. I will catch flak about that in the morning.

Navigating the Roanoke: Water so clear, you can
see your reflection.

BEAUTIFUL SWAMP THINGS

In the morning, I wash my face in the swamp water which, although dark in color, seems clean and is odor-free. I have a comb but no mirror, so I pull on a hat and just let it go.
After another gourmet meal of vegetarian sausage, sliced papaya, mango and hot tea, we pack and are off. I am in the canoe with Don this time. David is in the smaller canoe.

I take copious notes as Don names and explains river creatures. Large, almost transparent, dragonflies swirl around the canoe and water bugs skim through the current. As a pink flower drifts by, Don says it is a swamp rose and jokes,

“Anybody can track a bear, but it takes a real outdoorsman to track a flower floating in the water.”

We stop at a wooden bird’s nest rising from the water surrounded by a metal guard. Don stands up in the canoe, pulls a rotten egg out and smashes it. We see a snapping turtle climbing on a rock. Don points out a muskrat swimming with just a nose out of the water heading straight into a beaver’s lodge.

“Beavers are valuable in preventing stream bank erosion,” he says. “They help improve water quality and wildlife habitat. We come in and build a dam and it’s OK. Beavers come into their natural habitat and build a dam and (we think) there is something wrong with that.”

My thoughts wander to how man has used this river over time — Indian dug-out canoes first, then for travel and cargo exchange. Certainly, it was home to runaway slaves and later bootleggers.

I realize that, contrary to my former notions, swamps are not forbidden places filled with biting insects, snakes, alligators, nasty water with bad odors. Although it is home to some dangerous creatures, they mostly leave you alone if you don’t bother them, with the exception of mosquitoes.

There is no foul smell. Flowers bloom, fish abound and birds make glorious music. It is teeming with life and treasures. This has been a rich learning experience and has fed my voracious curiosity. n

Gray’s anatomy

Don Gray’s company, Natural Adventures, leads outdoor trips with a focus on environmental education and good food.

Trips can be single or multiple days with camping or bed-and-breakfast arrangements. All equipment, boats and camping gear are provided. Natural Adventures runs trips on most of the rivers, sounds and swamps of the South from the

Everglades to the Roanoke River, including the Black, the Lumber and Aahepoo-Combahee-Edisto (ACE river basin), near Charleston, S.C.

Gray, 54, above, grew up in Southwest England walking the woods with his grandfather.

“I always had a natural inclination to be in the woods, looking for bird eggs, nests, looking for wild mushrooms and berries,” he says. “I had my first canoe at age 12.”

Later he moved to California and finally to Fayetteville, studied art at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte and drifted into landscaping, which evolved into garden construction — and construction led to building river camping platforms for the N.C. Nature Conservancy and Roanoke River Partners.

“I feel connected to nature,” he says. “I feel as one with it. It is so beautiful, and I enjoy reading and learning about it. The decaying environment in the swamps is full of life. Compost feeds other life and exchanges life over the years. It’s so rich.’’

There was a time when Don hunted and fished. A student of Eastern philosophy, he now prefers to observe, live and learn from nature.

Contact Don Gray at (910) 624-0347 or e-mail: swamppaddler@yahoo.com.