Peaceful Waters, Murky Tides

“The dust slithers and strikes as it howls, into every nook and cranny of my tattered uniform, corners of my eyes, and worn boots with only half soles and laces gnarled and barely hanging from previous breaks and misuse over the long months. My pack so overburdened with weight, the straps strain and creak like the joints and spine that used to be my healthy body. The other men in front and behind me plod on with undeterminable expressions, they were different, changed from the elements and hardened to something almost mechanical in nature, cold. I cross the final weary steps to the edge of the helicopter, tears streak down the sides of my cheeks, emotions that felt entirely alien to my being, but welcome all the same…I was going home” (Badger, 1).

Coming back from war was the hard fought reward of our diligence and perseverance in the face of a ruthless deployment, harsh terrain and elusive enemy. Seven months in the hell of southern Afghanistan. Yet that victory and that reward of survival left other permanent remnants, things that will never be undone, the cost of freedom leaves no one unscathed. I left the United States Marine Corps after serving my four year enlistment wanting to move onto a more “normal” life, back to how things were. Life is rarely that simple. Walking through the woods bordering Quantico Creek I came to the sudden realization that my view of these woods has changed. I had grown up in these very same woods but now the sounds of the forest brought signals of alarm and danger rather than peace and tranquility as they once had. The snap of a twigs or the ear ringing silence that seemed to follow me as I worked my way down to the water’s edge involuntarily had the hairs on my neck standing on end. Always on the move in a squad of sometimes twenty men with the sole purpose of finding the fight before it found us. Walking more than twenty miles a day with a hundred pounds of gear fighting an enemy so reluctant to reveal themselves to us. This mentality left me with the sickening feeling of vulnerability, constantly on guard for an enemy no longer around the next bend in the road. As time ticked by it became more and more apparent that I was in desperate need of someplace or some activity to disengage from the overload of my stretched and weary mind. A young man so numb to the world he fought so hard to preserve and protect he no longer knew how to function in many regards. A Sanctuary must be found. I refused to let my experiences cripple my future and my way of life and the search for sanctuary began. Salvation came not from anti-depressants or the liquor bottle or writing chronicles of my life but rather from the quite stroke of a paddle, and the small flick of the rod. Sanctuary had been found and as the fish strikes the lure or the great blue heron takes flight the more menacing thoughts of old seem to fade ever so slightly into the past.

            Having to settle into a new location to afford a more reasonable commute for my wife, we landed in the never changing town of Sharptown Maryland, which butts right up to the wide murky Nanticoke River. Having no real knowledge of the area I decided to take my kayak out for a quick paddle. It was early august the morning was sticky, the water so calm and the air so still you unnoticeably hold your breath waiting for the silence to break. The kayak slices through the water without a sound. Cutting across the river I hug the bank trying to make the shortest path to a small side channel I noticed on my phone while looking around for a place to investigate the night before. The tide is pulling out against me making my strokes a little deeper and more purposeful to keep up as I come up on the mouth of the connecting creek. An abandoned duck blind is set up on the left hand side of the opening, old cedar branches and reeds collapsing into the water and the only sign of inhabitation is the constant humming of a rather large wasp nest inside. The fish are splashing furiously on the surface as an easy meal is dragged out from the relative safety of the creek into the deep dangers of the river with the tide. A couple hard strokes and I angle right up the middle of the channel looming on the edge of a magnificently twisted black gum swamp. Their branches hanging just above the water line, hesitant to go deeper like a child dangling a tiptoe above the icy swim. Black gum (Nyssa sylvatica) is a species not often talked about with many different varieties. Black gum is typically found along the edges of fields or swamps, where it grows small and twisted. But where black gum is found in a typically hardwood forest it grows much like any other mid-sized hardwood or sweet gum. This past summer I saw black gum as large as 30 inches in diameter and near 100 feet tall. Along the edges of the Nanticoke however the only black gums able to survive in the swamps are twenty to thirty feet high with twisted snarled trunks and wider trunks that help hold the trees in the ground. Black gum are typically one of the very first trees to show the signs of fall with bright red leaves and the last to leaf out in the spring.  Just ten feet from the mouth the temperature drops dramatically the same shy branches keep the sun off of the water yet still lets the morning breeze whisk away the sweat from my neck. Winding back and forth the creek led me deeper and deeper into the swamp. I felt a sense of timelessness, curiosity and strangest of all peace. As the kayak surged over fallen log and skirted upturned root balls I begin to notice the water becoming less murk and more clear by the minute. Within what felt like minutes but who knew at that point, a quick flicker of movement darts out of sight, fish. Not sure what kind but all I knew was that it was big. Now being able to see the submerged logs and dips with the bank they slowly began to show themselves. Not wanting to spoil the rest of the adventure I decide to turn around when I have more time and I am accompanied by rod and reel. Leaving with many questions and an almost tangible itch to return, and next time the fish will give some answers to this quiet stretch of swamp.

The place was Galestown Creek and as the week drew on from my first tantalizing encounter I had to return once more. Sparkling silhouettes dance between the branches while I drift along choosing my next ever so carefully placed cast. A quick flick of the arms and a release of the line gently sends the beetle spinner lure tumbling with a subtle splash into the water. Slowly reeling line in making the spinner dance and shimmer like the flick of scales and a tasty treat for something far larger. No rush this time no near rabid desire to race around every bend and dart over the half sunken logs, just letting the tide take the kayak or even lay a single leg over a branch dangling beside me keeping me in one place. Planning in advance I wanted to hit this point where the tide was as close as possible to the first visit hoping to see the clear water once more, I was not disappointed. With a quick tightening of line something has taken the spinner and running furiously from left to right.

Letting the predator loose in a sense, without needlessly taking life in this instance though. For it takes becoming the predator to catch the prey, and in this regard many questions start to pop up when the fish stop biting and the answers mean more fish. In my case the target species is the largemouth bass (Micropterus salmoides) and they are bountiful in these places but if one is to snag a bass it takes time and effort and answering all the right questions. How do they attack? What is their prey? Where do these fish wait for prey? In the search for sanctuary I am inherently thrown into the world of natural histories and the search can be endless so I will stick to just a few topics. The largemouth bass is a serious predator in the freshwater stretches and rarely have natural predators once they grow over a couple pounds in weight. They lie in wait in the shadows under the shelter of branches, logs and weeds. Largemouth bass will eat almost anything that is slightly smaller than themselves. They have even been seen preying on rats, frogs and baby birds. As their name would indicate largemouth bass are able to engulf extremely hefty meals and can grow up to 12 pounds. Realizing how these fish function in the ecosystem is helpful in increasing the chances of a strike. Next comes the practice. I never even tried bass fishing until two years ago when I moved to Sharptown and casting a lure is no easy feat. But being able to pick out the right lure and flick the rod and watch that lure gently hit the water two inches from a stump fort feet away and watch that line go taught as the largemouth engages that lure is something only the angler can understand.

 My goal unlike many is not for mere trophy taking, I have only kept a handful of which I dress and eat not get mounted on a wall and that is only when the fish has swallowed the hook so deep that survival is out of the question. What truly draws me to places like Galestown Creek is the surreal connection I feel the absolute silence of the mind letting nature seep in like an old forgotten friend.  With the fishing past its prime hours I decide to venture to the headwaters and see where the clear water is originating from and I was not disappointed. Around many of the tight bends I see my old friend beating wings and slapping feet across the surface of the water trying to escape my sight. My thoughts now drift from the waters edge and beneath now towards the trees and the heavens above. Scanning as I am this morning from left to right looking for the slightest inconsistency or group of dark blurs. Once you hunt birds for a while or even just go birding you can tell what species the bird is just by their body shape or movement and the time of morning they fly at. I know for a fact that there are graceful Wood ducks taking shelter in Galestown creek. Many times if you are able to sneak around the bend you can catch a glimpse of their sleek bodies taking flight into the trees to escape your view. The Wood Duck (Aix sponsa) is a beautiful bird and incredibly hard to shoot. They take little time in driving themselves from the air taking many times one pass or less around the decoys before they put into the water. On top of flying at incredible speeds these ducks are one of the first ducks to appear in the early morning hours, often times within minutes of legal shooting hours. Wood ducks are capable of flying up to 30 MPH and will often times only slow down in their last seconds of pitching in as they aggressively yet effortlessly swish onto the water with incredible ease right in front of your blind. Wood ducks are especially unique to me because they require cavities to reproduce, and they love oak tree cavities because they also eat mainly oak acorns. These birds will use any cavity that suits their needs and when the younglings are ready to leave the nest they will fall harmlessly from the tree cavity and follow the mother, sometimes as high as fifty feet from the ground. Not only are these birds incredibly beautiful and impressive, they are by far the best tasting duck in my opinion, due to the fact that these birds eat primarily acorns they lack the “gamey” taste that many complain of from waterfowl. After many minutes of pondering over the wood duck as I made my way further upstream the end has finally appeared.

 A small spillover with crystal clear water cascading down came into view with a slender fish ladder reaching back to the pond behind. Originally built in the 1800’s as a millpond dam the mill is long gone and has since blown out in 2007 but has been there since its creation. (Wheatley, 5). With the spillover in place the spring fed headwaters above soon began to fall over the other side. When the tide starts to come in, the dark murky water pushes and churns into the clear cool waters ahead making for a strange endless battles of the tides. When the tide begins to recede the spring water then again fights its way down towards the mouth once again.

As hours tick by my eyes wander from the surface of the water to the trees around me. Atlantic white-cedar (AWC) is my second favorite tree as they are extremely hard to find and what bothers me is the fact that I have no idea how they got up this section of the creek. Were they planted after the spillover blew-out 9 years ago or did they simply manage to hang on after the severe logging over the centuries? Atlantic white-cedar was once a prized timber for masts on ships and with the ship yard that once thrived in Sharptown, AWC barely had a chance. The surrounding area was soon clear cut and AWC was near impossible to find (Laderman 18-19). As hard as I looked later I could find no records of replanting operations up Galestown Creek so I believe they simply started to naturally regenerate once the logging ceased and the swamp was able to recover. Furthermore some of these trees were close to 12 inches in diameter which suggests at least some are over 40 years of age. A day well spent in the mystical clutches of this place, taking one last look back I silently glide back out onto the main expanse of the Nanticoke, but I shall return. With the final minutes of paddling and the sun has started to sink below the tree line my thoughts turn from silence to outward and finally inward, mixing of emotions like the Creek’s never ending struggle for clarity. After taking a short respite back home I wondered what the river looked like at night, and it did not disappoint. The moon. It has been almost four years since I prayed to God for a bright moon, and almost four years since I have had to endure the vast blanket of night when my prayers go unheard. Not many people understand the ordeal of light infantry night foot patrols in a moonless night in the wastelands of southern Afghanistan and I think my attempts will fall short. But the feeling of putting a hundred pounds of gear and weapons on your body and walking out into a night so illuminated by the sliver disk, you know you will not fall, you will not have an ankle so swollen it refuses to fit into a boot and you will not lose your way in the dark, not lose any friends that night. Oh how the moon was once more important than the sun to me, for when the moon was gone, so was all hope for the night. I am thankful for the opportunity to enjoy these simple pleasures where many brothers never got the chance to do the same.

John Badger

  

Works Cited

Badger, John R. “My First Taste of Freedom” Salisbury University. 6 Feb. 2013. 1-4. Web. 20

Nov. 2015.

Laderman, Aimlee D. "THE ECOLOGY OF ATLANTIC WHITE CEDAR: A Community

Profile." National Wetlands Research Center (7.21) Bioloigcal Report.85 (1989): 1-115. Web. 18 Oct. 2015.

Wheatley. Nancey C. “The History of Galaestown” Maryland Historical Trust. (1974): 5. Web.

20 Nov. 2015.