File:Coast watch (1979) (20666194431).jpg

Title: Coast watch
Identifier: coastwatch00uncs_7 (find matches)
Year: 1979 (1970s)
Authors: UNC Sea Grant College Program
Subjects: Marine resources; Oceanography; Coastal zone management; Coastal ecology
Publisher: (Raleigh, N. C. : UNC Sea Grant College Program)
Contributing Library: State Library of North Carolina
Digitizing Sponsor: North Carolina Digital Heritage Center

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Text Appearing Before Image:
George P. Johnson
Text Appearing After Image:
Even experienced swampers feel the imposing power of the Dismal's deep secrets. And the bright light of day won't always assure you that the Great Dismal Swamp and its crowning jewel, Lake Drummond, can be tamed. "Even if the sun is shining, you can get disoriented on the lake if you're not careful," Jenkins says. "I got lost recently, and I've been on that lake for 18 years." Jenkins and Dick say few people will attempt to enter the almost impenetrable depths of the swamp with even a small degree of confidence. Dick remembers a Navy pilot who, flying a jet in a training mission from nearby Portsmouth, lost control of his aircraft over the Great Dismal. The jet teetered and crashed near Portsmouth Ditch, clipping the tops of trees as it went down. The Navy located the jet by helicopter, but no attempt was made to recover the pilot's body or the plane's radio equipment until Dick and another swamper agreed to head a search party into the morass. Dick and his partner led a company of 20 sailors and two officers into the bramble, straight to the downed jet. "Not many people can do that in the Great Dismal," Dick says confidently, but with more than a hint of respect for the swamp in his voice. He admits he's like a hundred others who have made their homes in or near the swamp. They're intimate with the lay of the land and the games nature plays there from time to time. They love the swamp, but know by experience that fickleness is the Great Dismal's middle name. The two hunters finish their lunches, slurping down a last bite of stew. Then they lope back to the small kitchen and place a few dollars in a small dish on the counter, a familiar ritual for the pair. "Well, I guess George and I will paddle out to the lake," I say, pushing my chair from the table. "The wind's picking up and the clouds haven't broken yet. But that shouldn't bother us on such a shallow lake." Jenkins' face turns serious. "I wouldn't try it if I were you," he says. "If the wind's just right, the whitecaps on the lake will force you out of there in a minute. You don't want to be out there when that happens." George and I note his advice but agree to give Lake Drummond a try anyway. It's a 10-minute paddle down the Feeder Ditch from campground to lake. When we get there, the clouds are darkening Looking down the Feeder Ditch 8 NOVEMBER/DECEMBER 1994

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