No dear friends, this has nothing to do with the politicians in Washington, DC. Back in the day if you traveled from the Western part of North Carolina toward Wrightsville or Carolina Beach more than likely you traveled Highway 211East. As you crossed the county line from Robeson into Bladen County your landscape changed from open fields of tobacco to the inner sanctum of The Big Swamp. Hwy. 211 suddenly became more narrow with black waters pushing against the shoulders of the highway, giant oaks and cypress trees creating a canopy over the highway that almost blocked out the sun. The swamp could be chilling and mysterious, but also inviting.
In it’s prime The Big Swamp was a haven for hunters and fisherman. There were white tailed deer, waterfowl galore, black bear, and some of the best fresh water fishing in North Carolina. It was also a haven for poisonous snakes, alligators, and black waters quick to swallow up the curious of heart. Of course for the locals ( yours truly ) in our minds it was our sandy white beach or sorts just like Wrightsville. Just as the hotel swimming pools would post warning signs, ” no diving” or ” no lifeguard on duty”, the swamp had it’s warning signs as well. The exception, these warnings were not printed on signs but warnings from the locals. Beware of water moccasins falling in your boat from dead tree limbs, objects that look like floating logs but upon closer inspection revealed bulging eyes just above the water line, or something large moving through the waters edge that was not a whitetail but a black bear. Being young and impetuous our mind set was, ” no danger here, full speed ahead”.
In our small town hazing was not even a word in our vocabulary, however there was a rite of passage that deemed you swamp worthy. It was simple, you just bailed your butt off the twenty foot high bridge that spanned the “Big Swamp”. The black current would sweep you down river for fifty yards like a feather in a whirlwind. We were reckless but mature enough to have spotters down river to assist anyone that needed help. No one was coerced into jumping. If it was a bad hairday you simply commented, ” maybe next time”?
As in any small town there are yarns spun beyond belief. You know “the six pound crappie that got away” or the ” twelve point buck that spooked before I could shoot”. And of course in the fifties, ” The Beast of Bladenboro” ( worth the Goggle) that was never solved.
Yes, the swamp was the playground for the young and old of heart. As some of can attest too ( yours truly) there were unwritten rules at times learned the hard way. The most important rule, ” when you take the Big Swamp for granted it’s black waters would swallow you up and still remain mysterious and inviting”.
Be safe.
Joe's Bakers Dozen 