Back to the Bog
Today our society is divided along so many lines. Hate and vitriol come so easily to people’s tongues as urban versus rural, red versus blue, and the never-ending fly fishing versus bait-chucking debate keeps us tirelessly at each other’s throats. It can feel overwhelming at times to think of the differences that separate us. Look at the shared ground though, and we can again begin to feel as part of a greater community where differences don’t intrinsically weaken us. Public lands and access, water rights, eco-tourism and fly fishing offer just a snippet of interests that brought people together in defense of the Okefenokee swamp recently. Our country is a smorgasbord of varying cultures, ethnicities and religious backgrounds to say nothing of people’s individual interests. These differences though, far from being a factor that should separate us, constantly find us uniting with neighbors we would otherwise expect to have little in common with. The very fabric of our nation is dependent on dissimilar cultures finding and building a middle ground together. In this way, as shown with the recent fight to protect the Okefenokee, we are made stronger through our various perspectives.
Though it is easy for many to assume that our society is at some great inflection point, the challenges facing the Okefenokee are as old as time. Namely, does the short term extraction of resources outweigh the long-term importance of a healthy, unique eco-system. Commonly, this is simply a question of money and interest. As so often seems to be the case, one of our world’s great natural resources has been threatened in recent years by the looming cloud of extractive industries. Wherever money stands to be made, some people will see the short term profits as outweighing the importance of a remarkable natural resource. Indeed, lucrative mines and heavy industry threaten some of our nation’s greatest natural treasures. From the incredible salmon runs of Bristol Bay, Alaska to the estuaries and marine ecosystems of the Everglades, the United States spans an incomprehensible amount of biodiversity. Even with historic protections enacted on these incredible places that are so inherently part of the American identity though, threats continue to be raised. As Bristol Bay is continuously threatened by potential mining, so too are the Everglades constantly embattled by water issues.
The Everglades and southern Florida illustrate how quickly water issues can alter an environment. In mere decades, the Everglades have been so thoroughly altered by human interference that they would seem to be only a shadow of their former self. Limited water flows that at times have been heavily laced with contaminants and agricultural runoff have critically impacted the native flora and fauna of that region. Mangroves and other hallmarks of this area have been depleted by these issues and, as with all things in the natural world, there are unexpected consequences to our meddling. With the destruction of the mangroves for instance, south Florida is vastly more vulnerable to the increasingly severe storms seen throughout the gulf. As the mangroves weaken, die and recede, the coast and the estuaries are subject to intense storm damage and the reduced ability to heal overtime. Although the Everglades are a beautiful place to see and explore, we can not allow other natural resources to be as thoroughly attacked by human interference and exploitation. Enter; the Okefenokee swamp. The Okefenokee swamp is an almost perfectly virginal example of the blackwater swamps of North America as they would have been found eons ago. Where the Everglades are now home to myriad invasive species, the Okefenokee has remained incredibly untouched by outside wildlife. The high acidity of the swamp’s waters likely plays a substantial role in this as the fish of the Okefenokee have evolved over countless generations to survive in the tannic flows. The fish, the plants, the land and the water of the greater Okefenokee area display what makes our native world so amazing. None of these single elements can be considered without the other as everything is so thoroughly intertwined. What effects one, effects the others. Protecting the water, the very lifeblood of the Okefenokee, is fundamental then to conserving the swamp for all time.
On a scorching mid-spring afternoon I fought my way through heavy traffic to meet Collin outside the Atlanta History Center. As my 27 year old jeep and I labored through the Mercedes and BMWs of the affluent Atlanta suburb, we towed behind us my 12 foot Carolina Skiff laden with a long weekend’s worth of fishing gear and camping materiel. As I pulled off of the busy urban grid so different than the quiet backroads of north Georgia, the juxtaposition of my equipment to my surroundings became even more stark. The stately southern mansions guarded the entrance to the imposing façade of steel and concrete that greeted my old jeep and I. As I hopped out of the kiln that passes as the jeep’s interior during a hot southern afternoon, I saw my fellow (and much better dressed) attendees of the Okefenokee Destiny event streaming into the museum. Feeling that this fly fishing bum dressed in a button down fishing shirt and chacos looked out of place, my fears were quickly ameliorated by the overwhelming passion I sensed coursing throughout the room. Though many men and women were wearing suits and outfits worth more than my boat, others like myself displayed long, unruly beards, unkempt hair and Stetson hats. Half this crowd felt as though they had just left a boardroom while the other half felt as though they had only just left the swamps of the south. This is what makes places like the Okefenokee so unique. Here, hundreds of miles away from the place in question, people of all different backgrounds were fighting for a natural resource because it called to them for one reason or another. Some of the people worked in and around the swamp, maybe their families had been in the area for generations. Others like me, had only recently discovered the sanctity of the swamp far from my own home. Here in this event, fighting for the Okefenokee, our differences felt like a core strength to our movement as senator’s aides, national wildlife refuge officers, professional conservationists, businessmen, philanthropists and even humble fishing guides felt empowered to work towards the protections of one of Georgia’s greatest natural treasures.
The Okefenokee Destiny screening and event was a gathering of friends and strangers who all shared in the same belief that the Okefenokee was worth protecting. Those at the event were passionate and helpful, willing to give advice and share their knowledge freely. Fishermen that we are, we always asked for advice about where and how to target the region’s seemingly ubiquitous bowfin. “The East side of the swamp should be fishing great near the canal and the outlying lakes” was a common refrain we heard that helped guide us in the days ahead. Many others asked what we were fishing for and were shocked by our reply of bowfin. “Mudfish??” they would ask, “who would want to target them?” This attitude is representative of the disdain that people have felt towards the lowly and oft-maligned bowfin. As they aren’t viewed as a good-eating fish, they are seen as bycatch that only gets in the way of tastier fare like pickerel (locally called jackfish), flyer, warmouth and bullheads. Things in and around the swamp have been primarily done out of necessity for generations. When someone was going into the swamp it was likely to hunt or fish and fill the larder. So, it may seem shocking to many locals that people would travel for hundreds of miles to catch and then release a fish that has held so little value in local’s eyes for generations. In this way, sport fishing can help bring a new and potentially prosperous identity to the swamp. Those native fish that are no good to eat? They sure are a lot of fun to catch.
This trip was about so much more than the fishing. Okefenokee Destiny had helped us feel the passion for the conservation of the swamp but we also wanted to experience some of the local flare that southern Georgia has to offer. We were loudly encouraged to travel to the Ponderosa Club to experience some of Barry’s famous fried bologna sandwiches. Stopping into the club and general store was like a refreshing step back in time. We were so warmly greeted by Barry and were so captivated by stories of his family’s past in the area, that our planned light repast ended up taking more than an hour. The vitality of the area is displayed not only in the fecundity of the swamp but in the hospitality of those who live their lives near it. With the afternoon waning, we said our goodbyes and talked eagerly about the next time we would be back to try some of the fantastic home-cooking.
Like in southern Florida, every pond, creek and ditch that holds water looks like it could just be full of fish! At times we couldn’t resist the beckoning of the blackwater and were forced to pull over and fling our flies into the tannic liquid. Bites and chases abounded but the hooked fish we desired eluded us. On to the swamp! Putting our little skiff in the water near Folkston had us on the hunt again shortly. We meandered through the swamp’s maze for a few miles before returning to an area we had previously deemed “Bowfin Alley”. Though time was short, we made the best of it and were rewarded shortly with pickerel, flyer, warmouth and bowfin! That evening after fishing Collin and I returned to another favorite of ours, the Swampfire Bistro. This secluded restaurant sits huddled under ancient oak trees smothered in draping Spanish moss and serves some of the finest rib eyes and seafood that I’ve had the pleasure of indulging in. As the streaks of light moved through the oaks, it was evident that we would have a truly excellent weekend.
As has become a tradition, our third companion, Chad, materialized out of the dark and into our campsite in the wee hours of the morning. He quickly made camp, said our pleasantries and tucked in for the night eagerly awaiting our coming time on the water together. An early morning led us deeper into the swamp than we three had been together before. We ventured south into a few of the ‘lakes’ where we figured the fishing pressure would be less substantial. Quickly after arriving to the diminutive Monkey Lake, we three found ourselves casting in all directions while I allowed the boat to drift slightly with the wind. As with much of the swamp, this open clearing was shallow and fenced by trees. Here though, we did have a rough circle maybe half an acre in size to stretch out our casts. Moments after arriving, Collin and I both missed bites. Not five minutes later though, my fly was crushed by an unseen presence, game on! The bowfin that came ripping and rolling to the surface was quite literally the largest I had ever seen in person. That may not mean much to the locals but to me it was a trophy beyond words! This muscular, slimy fish fought like a bulldog as I attempted to battle her towards our net. The Belizean hardwood net appeared miniscule in proportion to the 25 inch long bowfin sliding over its brim. This net, that has served me so well for monster trout, bass and carp up north, seemed so nearly outgunned by this ancient brute of the swamp. Taping out at about 25 inches and maybe 8 pounds, this bowfin was the only fish I needed to catch for the weekend. Everything else could simply be the icing on top.
Luck tends to come in waves though and, as it turned out, the swamp and its denizens showed me some great favor over the next couple of days. The morning proceeded with fish being landed on and off as the heat rose and the clouds dissipated. We eased into a larger lake nearby to find large fish and larger alligators. Collin, throwing a massive pike-style baitfish pattern hooked a monster chain pickerel larger than any of us had ever seen in person. Ripping line and pulling the boat in circles, the pickerel left an indelible mark on our memories. Chain pickerel continued to fall victims to our efforts as fast retrieves in open water were frequently rewarded. The bowfin were stacked more or less along the structure of the peat shoreline, ambushing their prey whenever they moved too close to their toothed maws. I let Collin and Chad do most of the fishing as my spirits were thoroughly buoyed by my morning’s trophy. Still, as the morning waned and lunch called to us, I picked up my 7 weight in preparation for a bit of casting. As I maneuvered us into position between two small peat islands, I threw a short cast inline between them. As I stripped it past the sleepy islands the water erupted and boiled where my fly clearly was. Another massive bowfin had ambushed my fly and proceeded to try every trick in the book to elude us. With my 7 weight bent in half fighting this tremendous fish, I begged Chad to scan the horizon for the ever-watchful alligators that we had noticed trailing us from a distance. Forced to land the fish quickly to avoid these massive reptiles, I was again able to celebrate an achievement that I had not expected to accomplish. This girthy female was even larger than the first pushing 26 inches and every bit and more of 9 pounds. Though many find them ugly, I find the prehistoric and nearly reptilian look of the bowfin to be quite beautiful. I admired my fish for a few moments, and ensuring no ‘gators in our immediate vicinity, released my catch back into the tea-waters of the swamp.
We retraced our steps the five or so miles back to the main canal before sidetracking back to Bowfin Alley. Here we knew that Collin and Chad stood their best chances for catching their first bowfin of the trip. Typically the front of the boat is considered the best place to fish. This location grants the fisherman the first shots at new targets and will more often than not grant the most fish at the end of the day. Besides, the guy in the back of my boat is also responsible for manning the trolling motor and dodging the most gear. As it turns out though, the bow and middle of the boat were consistently outperformed by the fisherman in the stern… who just so happened to be me! Luck was on my side as bowfin after bowfin fell victim to my casts even in water that both Chad and Collin had just fished. The fish gods even granted me another monster and perhaps my biggest bowfin ever, outstretching even the fat female from the lake earlier. Here in Bowfin Alley, the day had taken on a surreal glow. I was catching as many bowfin as I could have possibly imagined all while catching larger fish than I would have hoped for. Though I know my friends were happy for me with my first nice catch or two, by this point I think their altruism had worn out. As I gleefully netted an average size ‘fin, Collin turned around and with a flip of his wrist released my fish out of my own hands! Although I consistently offered them my flies, my rod and my position in the boat, sometimes its just your lucky day. Its best to enjoy days like these and not give your buddies too hard a time about them!
We found ourselves back at Swampfire that night for Chad to partake in the exquisite wood-fire grilled rib eyes. We conversed with the friendly staff about our purpose for the visit and listened to the compelling swamp stories they cherished so dearly. We ended our evening watching the sun streak through the Spanish moss as we formulated our plan for the ensuing days.
Our second full day together found us exploring new water together at a new boat ramp to the north. This ramp, tucked out of the way, was completely unoccupied during our arrival and departure and we saw almost no signs of people at all. This dredged canal we were in looked fishy but seemed to hide its secrets in ways we weren’t yet able to decipher. The bowfin and gar of our previous excursions had been more than willing to gulp air and reveal their locations. Here, they did not. So we stopped and fished but were only rewarded by the occasional skinny pickerel for our efforts. We ran further and further into the canal but couldn’t seem to turn our luck. As the sweltering heat built, we called an audible with only one more bowfin to hand.
So, what do fishermen do when they need to catch a particular fish? They return to the spot they know them to be! Find us again at Bowfin Alley a few hours later. While the pickerel weren’t shy to Collin and Chads tactics they still needed to catch their first bowfin of the trip as they were, ostensibly, the purpose of our whole venture! I again manned the tiller and again I was connecting with more fish than my fellows. We don’t know whether I was doing something different or if perhaps the disruption from the trolling motor helped encourage the fish to feed. Whatever the reason, I kept catching bowfin off the back of the boat. We changed flies, tactics, rods and lines but the curse still lingered for my companions. As the high sun began to fade into a premature dusk, Collin and Chad finally caught a couple small bowfin which achieved the perfect “swamp slam” for Collin as he had now caught bowfin, chain pickerel, warmouth, flyer and the elusive Florida gar! These fish came in the nick of time as lightning began to race overhead and the stagnant air of the swamp began to fill with an electric energy. You won’t outrun many storms with a 9.9 horse outboard and you especially won’t when dodging submerged logs and impediments. As we departed Bowfin Alley, the rains overtook us and the thunder overhead reminded us of the power that nature continues to hold in the swamp.
With the work of conservationists and motivated citizens, the mine that could catastrophically effect the water levels and quality of the Okefenokee has currently been defeated. Mines like the one that threaten the great Okefenokee, have a habit of not staying dead though. Again, take Bristol Bay, Alaska as example where the Pebble Mine continuously threatens one of the largest salmon runs remaining in the entire world. Year after year, conservationists, fishing guides, native tribes and impassioned citizens all over the world are instrumental in conserving the Bristol Bay area. This proverbial zombie mine though, rises from its grave every few years or so to challenge the virtue of this incredible area. As new presidents, Congresses, and societal norms come and go, it remains absolutely pivotal to remain ever-vigilant for the next threat to our great natural resources. When/if places like Bristol Bay or the Okefenokee are mined, that natural resource will never be found again in its wild form. When we alter our environment it is effectively on a permanent basis as the damage we so often cause is irreversible. While ‘progress’ and development are not intrinsically bad, it is absolutely paramount that we mitigate our impact wherever we can. Often, this is by understanding that there are places in our world that are too important to lose. The cultural, historical and natural elements they bring to the table are too valuable to be diminished by the shortsighted extraction of a few minerals.
- Resources-
Okefenokee Destiny - Click to view
Georgia River Network - Protect the Swamp
- GALLERY -
