I awoke to the sunrise, the soft pink light making the frost sparkle in its subdued painted hues.  It had been cold last night but I had kept warm.  The electric heated Ororo jacket I had purchased worth every penny I had spent on it.  It had even allowed me to watch the darkness of the sky, the smudge of the milky way against its darkness. The beginning of the Geminid Meteor Shower had started, and the only thing to move against the inky blackness and glittering stars was the streaking across the sky.  I had slept as well as one could alone in a swamp, asleep yet awake, calm yet on high alert.  I had been visited by raccoons, but thankfully, I had been advised to keep everything in my tent with me.  My guttural chastizations and grunts had kept them away. 

After a warm breakfast of coconut milk soaked oatmeal and banana, my canoe was packed and I was almost ready to go.  I wanted to stretch and do some yoga, move my sore body before my paddle to the 2^nd platform.  During the night, my hand couldn’t close without a knifing pain.  My down dog was interrupted by the growl of a boat which grew louder and idled by my canoe at the end of the dock.  I greeted the park rangers who were there to fix the picnic table, or so they said.

“It was the scariest part of my night!” I recounted as I remembered fearing that it would break with even the slightest pressure.  They laughed and apologized and questioned me thoroughly on my contentedness as I pushed off. 

“You’re sure you’re allright?” they asked. 

“Totally all good,” I replied.  Part of me wondered if the picnic bench was the only thing they were checking on.  I chuckled grateful for the network.  From the moment I had called to reserve my spot and chat to the Okee admin, all women, I had felt supported and encouraged.  Perhaps it was coincidence, perhaps not. 

My body had started more tired than the day before after 10 miles of rowing and sleeping on the hard ground in the cold.  But I still felt good as I found my rhythm once more.  As I paddled, my muscles warmed and relaxed, the sun was glowing. But slowly, the wind began to gale.  It pushed my canoe rudely into the reeds if even for a moment I would take a break.  I was having to paddle twice as hard on my right than I was on my left to simply steer straight.  Battling the headwinds, I kept going and finally reached the main canal and the turn off for Cedar Hammock.  I had been advised that it was super close to the entrance, about 1000 yards.  And as I paddled, my strength waning, the wind fighting me, my decision to stay a 2^nd was made for me.  I had almost no strength left as the “super close” platform did not appear as I paddled onward.  As I paddled and paddled and paddled I knew that I had no choice, no strength, my bed would be made wherever I ended up. I was too far away to turn back.  Finally, I turned the final bend, and there was Cedar Hammock.  A floating dock surrounded by a 360 degree view of the natural world around me totally bathed in sunshine.  I was overjoyed.

I tied up, got out, and immediately stripped out of my cold and wet clothes into warm dry ones.  The wind had not stopped, and blew hard across the open water. But I was not deterred.  I put my tent up and created a wind barrier.  My lighter had no propane left and my heart fell at the thought of a cold meal alone in the dark. But I concluded that the stove had propane and my lighter a flick of fire, and I was able to create a hot meal.  I harvested dry river grass in case I needed to make a fire and I bailed the canoe with a bottle that I had fashioned. (It came in handy for urine emergencies too! Lol.)  I covered my seat with the life jacket so the following morning my seat would remain dry and free of frost. I felt like an innovator, a survivor.

It is the simple things while in nature that can create the biggest feelings of joy and well-being, of strength and empowerment. The dock in the sun, the way the wind finally stilled for sunset, the light in the grasses, the coo of the owl at dusk, the darkness of the sky, the shooting of the stars.  It was the final night, and as the sun rose for my final morning on the swamps, the pride I felt in myself, the thought that I had made it, and not just survived out there alone, but thrived.  I unzipped my tent to greet the morning, the first words that spilled out of my mouth as I gazed upon the world softly waking in the mist of the morning, simply, “Wow.”  That encompassed it all. Wow.