We were walking single file through sword fern and lizard’s tail so dense the three of us could not see where our steps fell. Cottonmouths, languidly sinister, coiled on rotting stumps in sunny patches where sunlight penetrated the dense canopy. I wondered if there was truth to the maxim that snakes don’t bite the first person through.
After seeing snake No. 3, I casually assumed the point position. Even under the thick tree canopy, it was exceedingly hot.
Our water supply was running low, but we weren’t much concerned until it started getting to be late afternoon. We hiked alongside poison ivy vines thick as an adult arm, twisted around giant bald cypress and cottonwoods stretching 50 feet into the canopy. The wind picked up and boxelder trees, weakened from the systematic gnawing of millions of emerald ash borers, creaked in the breeze.
A branch snapped off and crashed into the damp forest floor off to our left; it augered into the ground; stood upright like a crooked fence post. Sensing movement in the undergrowth, we stopped and watched as an armadillo approached a narrow slough. At the water’s edge, it eased into the tannic water and disappeared.
An irregular line of bubbles appeared on the surface showing his (her?) path along the slough’s bottom. After a minute or two, the animal emerged on the far bank and scuttled into the thick undergrowth, its back coated with algae. Though the scene played out for less than a couple of minutes, the diversion was welcome.
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