A 



1\1 5:30 a.m., Johnnie's Diner is a blaze of orange. 



A half-dozen hunters pour in from the cool fall drizzle and 

 assemble in booths lining the walls. They want biscuits, eggs, 

 grits, sausage. 



Before the food arrives, they share a side order of tall tales. 



Here on the North Carolina side of the Great Dismal Swamp, 

 hunters in bright caps talk of how good the sport is, especially deer. 

 They speak with reverence of successful hunts, good companions 

 and favorite dogs. 



One man is mad at his wife for not going by a friend's house the 

 day before to pick up his prized hound. 



"You guys hunting today?" he asks me and my traveling com- 

 panion, George. 



"No, just exploring." 



The hunter grins. 



"You ever done much hunting around Lake Drummond?" I ask. 



"Yeah," he says. "Before they made it a park." 



He's talking about the Great Dismal Swamp National Wildlife 

 Refuge, managed by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service as a last 

 vestige of the once-great swamp. We tell him we're going to paddle 

 the Feeder Ditch into Lake Drummond this morning. 



Once before, bad weather had forced us back home. This time, 

 we say with a certain amount of naive pride, we're going into 

 Drummond regardless. 



He grins again, rums to his breakfast partner and whispers 

 something. They laugh under their breath. I feel uneasy. 



I'd heard about the refuge, a 107,000-acre spot of spongy soil 

 and tangled undergrowth straddling the North Carolina/Virginia line 

 between Sunbury and Suffolk. Scores of books and stories have 

 been written about the deep swamp's dark secrets, ghost stories, 

 tales of hidden runaway slaves and sad stories of men who wandered 

 in but not out. 



Those tales have been seasoned with accounts of ferocious 

 bears, screaming bobcats, diverse flora and a remoteness that makes 

 the swamp a favorite getaway for hikers, campers, scientists and 

 other exploring types such as George and me. 



That's why the hunters' caustic laughs make me squirm. I ask 

 George if he still wants to tackle the Great Dismal. "Yeah," he says. 



The Great Dismal Swamp was formed thousands of years ago 

 by one of several forces, depending on your scientific bent. Some say 

 it's a remnant of an ancient sea; others point to the swamp's most 

 prominent feature, Lake Drummond, and say it was formed after a 

 great fire burned a depression in the swamp's peat-based soil. 



Native Americans moved into the swamp more than 13,000 

 years ago. Archaeologists have found evidence of their villages, 

 particularly on the northwestern boundaries. By the mid- 1600s, 

 Native Americans moved to more hospitable areas, and Europeans 

 found little to interest them in the Great Dismal's foreboding depths. 



In 1665, a small party of adventurers forged into the swamp. 

 Only one returned: William Drummond, who later became a contro- 



