The Queen of the Swamp! And more!

One of my favorite trips as a Scoutmaster was to Merchants Millpond State Park, an ancient cypress swamp in the northeast corner of North Carolina.  We camped on an (almost) island deep in the swamp, which could be reached only by canoe.  The last time we went, I even spotted one of the alligators that live there; the Park is their northern-most limit at present.   

I finally convinced Paula that taking her there was a good idea.  To remind you, she was a Youth Leadership major at BYU, which included courses such as Waterskiing 101, Whitewater Canoeing, Backpacking, etc.  And while we have hiked the Swiss Alps together, cycled the South Island of New Zealand and dove the Great Barrier Reef, her tastes as of late on overnight lodging have 'matured' if that's the right term.  

We had a blast!  The swamp is "other-worldly" in Paula's description, "like something out of Tolkien" with the twisted trees and hanging moss.  

We spotted only three other humans, and about 300 times that number of turtles, geese and other varmints.  The frog chorus that night was divine.

And her nails were perfect!

I have learned during the last 44 years that Paula must be fed on a regular basis or things don't go well.  Things were starting to get tense as I fixed dinner. 

In the end, a great trip to a unique place.  

However, on the drive from Raleigh, Paula had noticed a sign indicating the direction to Hassell, NC.  That's her maiden name, and her genealogy goes through the eastern part of the state.  On the way back we let Google do the directing, and ended up in the town of Hassell.  No kidding  

It would have been easy to miss.  The pleasant voice of Deb, our Google Maps assistant suddenly announced, "You have arrived."  Huh?  Then I spotted the telltale landmark - a tiny post office!

We looked it up, and the census of Hassell peaked in 1930, when there were 169 residents; the 2000 census counted 84 persons, up from 72 in 1990.  The town is 0.3 square miles in size, "all of it land."  The median income is quite humble, with a significant portion of the folks considered to be below the poverty level.

From North Carolina, the Hassell ancestors went on to Georgia and then Florida.  Paula's great grandfather joined the Church in that state, was widowed, then served a mission and eventually remarried and headed west.  They finally settled in the Mormon Colonies in northern Mexico, from where Paula's mom and her family immigrated to New Mexico when she was twelve years old.  This caused a kerfuffle when her  mother applied for a passport later in life.  She was told that while she seemed like a nice lady, she was actually a Mexican citizen.  Though it was all finally straightened out, there have been several times when Paula has misbehaved that I have threatened to call ICE and turn her in.  On the most recent occasion, she reminded me of an unpaid parking ticket on my record in Havertown, Pennsylvania and we called it even.     

We hope that your trips to the swamp go as well, and that your family history occasionally pops out at you also.  

Dave & Paula

Another problem solved, but too late

I was a Scoutmaster on and off for about fifteen years.  During that time I gained an unfair (in my opinion) knack for attracting bad weather.  This was the usual picture for whatever Friday night I had chosen for the monthly campout because of my call schedule.

To my chagrin, what I thought to be an unfair reputation turned out to actually be true.  A member of our congregation looked at the history over a two-year period and the likelihood of precipitation on one of my campouts was over 90%.  You name the form of water and it was going to fall on us that many times out of a hundred.  

But didn't my troop take the Boy Scout Motto seriously about being prepared?  Nope.  Not even close.  I became adept at helping them rig tarps and pick campsites, but it was very likely that when I checked a tent full of guys in the morning there would be standing waves in the water in their shelter.  Sleeping bags wick that water up very nicely, but luckily humans themselves are waterproof, mostly.  

Suggestions were plentiful from the snickering dads.  "Ever consider scuba gear, Dave?  Heh, heh."  And the moms.  "Oh, dear, can't you do something about the weather, Dave?  I'm tired of scrubbing the mold out of his uniform," or, "How did a fish end up in his sleeping bag, Dave?"

With a different Church assignment, my camping trips are far fewer.  Being retired, I can also pick the weather.  Mostly.  And then I saw this!

Oh, man!  This solves a bunch of problems!  Who cares about the rain?  You could just paddle back to the car!  I can imagine the whole troop with these things.

OK, there might be a few teensy, weentsy problems.  Like the $1,275.00 price tag.  Each.  And backpack-able?  Uh, they weigh 75 pounds.  Each.  Which was roughly twice the weight of many of my Scouts.  And while freeing up the group in terms of needing dry campsites, the wildlife problem took on a whole new aspect.

OK, and the middle-of-the-night 'nature calls' could be problematic.  Explaining how a kid almost drowned going to the bathroom would be 'twisty.'  But hey, there are still advantages to be considered.  Canoe trips without the canoes?  No problema!  No room at the oceanside camping areas?  Just camp in the ocean!

Sadly, and probably for meteorologic reasons, I no longer serve with the teenage young men.  When I raised the possibility of a floating tent with Paula, she dope slapped me and told me to quit surfing the Web, and reminded me that there was no need for such things at nice hotels.  Nice, dry hotels.

I hope that such innovations come to your attention while they could still be useful.

Dave