George P. Johnson 



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 



