Up early and away. Heading West on Route 98. Through New Augusta and McCallum, Mississippi, then around the south side of Hattiesburg, where we pick up I-59, passing by many small Mississippi towns. At 10:30 AM we cross the four hundred and forty-four-mile-long Pearl River, the lower part of which separates Mississippi from Louisiana.

We pick up I-12 and head into Baton Rouge, directly to Burbank Park. I spend some time at the Bluebonnet Regional Branch Library trying to get caught up on writing. We head west on I-10 and the twelve thousand-acre Sherburne Wildlife Management Area, a state game management unit associated with the Atchafalaya National Wildlife Refuge, a sprawling fifteen-thousand-acre area of lakes, cypress-tupelo swamps, wild river swamp, meandering  bayous, wetlands, bottomland oak, elm and hickory hardwood forest, complete with feral hogs, alligators, turtles, snakes, gray and fox squirrels, coyotes, eagles, osprey, swallow-tailed and Mississippi kites, black bears, whitetail deer, wild turkey, eastern cottontail and swamp rabbits, grey and red foxes, striped skunks, opossums, raccoons, mink, bobcats, nutria, muskrats, river otters, beavers, waterfowl, wading birds, one hundred billion gazillion insects and five hundred happy-go-lucky and armed Louisiana boys on any given day. A special note, this area supports the nation’s largest wintering concentration of American woodcocks.

These and other state and federal conservation areas are in the Atchafalaya River Basin, the largest wetland, river swamp and delta ecosystem in the United States.

What the hell is a bayou anyway?

It is not a swamp per se although it is attached to one. Imagine a broad, flat river delta plain with a river flowing across it. Although there is the main river channel, in such a broad flat area the river spills out and develops slow-moving side channels that interweave with other such channels to create a complex of interconnected waterways. These slow-moving side channels are bayous.

This kind of habitat provides “bayou boat people’ with a fabulous swamp highway to see to their daily affairs.  It also maximizes an alligator’s chance of gulping down any small white dog unfortunate enough to get off their owner’s leach.

Speaking of feral hogs, these animals descended from domesticated pigs (Sus scrofa) but live wild in these parts. And in other places in the world. The hogs cut, damage and destroy a substantial amount of habitat in the refuge by rooting and wallowing. Activities in which many of my friends back in Staunton participate in on any given Saturday night. You know who you are!

Feral hogs compete with other refuge animals for food resources and prey on small mammals, deer fawn, reptiles and amphibians, and ground-nesting birds.

And, they have a high reproductive rate. Refuge managers say that it’s not likely that they will eradicate them any time soon, although they support and encourage hog hunting and even sponsor frequent helicopter hunts in the early spring before vegetation provides cover. So, it seems, that the feral hog is a wily creature, a successful survivor in this vast land.

All this makes armed happy-go-lucky Louisiana boys even happier because they love nothing better than to hunt hogs. Not only is the hunt itself a hell of a lot of fun, but I’m told that there isn’t anything better than slow-cooked wild boar barbecue, braised wild boar, wild boar Bolognese, smoked wild boar, grilled wild boar, wild boar carnitas tacos, wild boar ragout, wild boar stew or, a true delicacy, braised wild boar belly. Throw in a Louisiana crawfish corn potato stew or a gumbo or jambalaya side dish, pass around the Jack Daniels, wash it all down with a couple of cases of Bud Lite, add in a little Cajun music and you have the makings of a real Louisiana hoedown.

A last note on hogs. We saw one. He was laying on the side of the road. I thought he is dead. We stop, which startled the poor thing to action. He jumped up and ran a short distance before collapsing. That startled us too. Maybe shot or hit by a car, or more likely a truck in this county. We leave him to his misery.

We turn north off Route I10 on to gravel road 975, known locally as Whiskey Bay Highway. I bet so. Lots of hiding placed for stills in these parts. Five miles later we pull into our “primitive” campsite situated on a levy with the magnificent one hundred thirty-seven mile long Atchafalaya River nearby, the fifth largest river in North America by discharge. All alone.

Two cars pass by in the next twelve hours.

A pleasant but buggy night. New adventures await tomorrow.

Hau, Mitakuyepi! Mikakuye Oyasin

(Greetings Friends!) (To all of my relations)