Ok. Me vs. the Marsh, Round Two.
I scaled the decline in early morning, leaving behind my collection of leather and hooks. If I’m delayed, the rain may wash out my equipment. While I hate risking this, it’s better to store materials. I created a small break out of rocks that should shield the bindle of leather and bone and keep them from washing away.
The most difficult part about returning to the marsh is the inherent lack of familiarity. After the Compass Rock I have no way of reckoning where I am with respect to the last time.
The ferns are dense and the mud loosens as the decline bottoms out to the marsh. I stand now on a shore of green water. A thick layer of algae floats on top. The canopy of conifers is dense enough to block the sun. The water is dark in the distance. The haze is oppressive. The trees become a forest.
It occurs to me that this is not a natural state of affairs. Conifer trees, evergreens, don’t grow in swamps or marshes. I can’t say if the sort of plants that do grow in marshes have even evolved yet. What I know is that these belong on hilltops. This suggests that this is a recent growth, or that the runoff that has led to the formation of this marsh after the trees took root. In all likelihood, it’s the latter. I can’t profess to be an expert on plant ecology, least of all now. I suppose that the third possibility is that the marsh empties out periodically, though I can’t imagine how. There are things living in it.
I begin a slow exploration around the shore of the marsh. The tree canopy seems to thin a kilometer to the west of where I arrived. Progress along the shore is easier than through the ferns. The washout leaves a beach of mud that’s easier to traverse. Beyond the trees, the marsh opens up to a more conventional basin of water capped with algae, small plants, and the backs of amphibians floating in the oppressive sun.
One of the conifer branches lay on the shoreline, dried and baked in the sin. With my small stone axe, I cut away the branches until I have a long shaft about twice my height. I break off the far end, leaving a shaft my height with a smaller shaft that I can use for firewood. The longer, thicker shaft is rigid, strong, yet relatively light. It will serve as a walking stick, a means to test the depth of water, and more importantly, the shaft of a spear.
Those animals floating in the water have a fair amount of meat on them. I stand there and stare for a while. I plan. Oh, how my ranging lights my mind with possibilities.
But first, a spear. It began with a spear, or so I once read. It will begin with a spear again. A stone axe, then a spear, and fire.