Was a couple of weekends ago that I made my way out to the fabled Hockomock Swamp for an overnight. Seeing as how your reading this, I made it back alive none the worse-for-wear. I may have found a regular spot for myself. In all honesty, I wasn't exactly ass-deep in swamp-water, but it was a good start. Next time, I'll venture deeper. The hammock worked well. It was fairly comfortable (gotta give some credit to my sleeping bag for that) and helped keep the monsters at bay. Although, I may have just looked like a giant McDonalds breakfast burrito to anything predatory that may have wandered by. Thankfully I was spared the indignity of trying to fight off a giant bird-of-prey while firmly shrouded in cotton, canvas and Polartech. Huge thunderbirds out there apparently.
I was comforted by the fact that I may have done something that nobody has ever done before, spending an entire night, ALONE, in the dreaded Hockomock Swamp. In your face Loren Coleman!! You may be able to string some words together and produce some of them there fancy books, but I am hardcore to the core.
Wanna count the hairs on my manly, flying-in-the-face-of-danger chest?
I'll have to make some return trips. Maybe I'll bring someone along the next time. I'm thinking of waiting till Kevin falls asleep, and then stringing up some pork chops around his hammock and sitting back and waiting for the feeding-frenzy to ensue. Betcha he'll scream like a little girl at a Backstreet Boys concert.
Something occurred to me while I was out there. The ordeal of taking a dump while out in the woods. How can such a simple thing take on such overwhelming logistics? Fear of someone coming along while your doing your business, fear of squatting in a lovely field of poison ivy, fear of being discovered by rabid, driven-mad-by-syphilis hillbillies bent on finding themselves a "Mountain Bride?" Not being able to read the latest fly-fishing tips from the newest Field and Stream!!! Talk about being in the center of a hellish nightmare. I could be; to quote Mike Tyson; wrapped in a cocoon of horror. Crude subject I know, but hey, I spent the night in the HOCKOMOCK SWAMP. So I can say whatever I want, you fancy-boy pack of sissies!
All that toilet humor aside. I think I've found my spot. I will go back. It's a huge area and begs further investigation. I might have found a weekend home. Wish me luck. And if I don't make it back, well, anyone need a subscription to Field and Stream?
