Swimming in Mud

It was a typical, hot July day on the coast. Alabama’s barrier island, Dauphin Island, was the perfect place to spend that summer day on. The white beaches, the warm Gulf water, the constant breeze, the semi-tropical forests sheltered between the dunes, and the northern marshes offered unlimited adventures and chances to explore and enjoy.

This particular day was a part of a particular week. It was in the middle of the first summer camp session, where students in the sixth, seventh, and eighth grades spent a whole week on the island, taking courses on marine biology. I was there with my two best friends, Jessica and Connor.

The three of us were inseparable. Everything our entire group did, we did together. Seining, fishing, swimming, tracking, dissecting sharks, and land navigation had not been a problem yet. We assumed the marshes would be no different. After all, all we were going to do was walk around, hunt big blue crabs, seine some more, skim with nets, and set out crab traps!

We got to the marshes, and it was hot and humid. Bugs – mosquitoes, flies, dragonflies, and countless others – created a thick fog over the surface of mud and water. The dark, pungent mud of the terrain was opulent in plant life; grasses and reeds stood in impassable thickets that reached our waists. The only way through the greenery was to follow a narrow path the guides had cut and used over passed years. Once through, the marshes were nothing but stretches of black mud, white sand, tide pools, and the open water of the Mississippi Straight.

The lessons for the day began. The acrid smell was caused by detritus, or rotting plant matter. The various reeds and grasses included edible and inedible herbs, two being “pickle plant” and water chestnut. Animal life was abundant and included herons, small birds of innumerable species, many types of crab, and small Atlantic and freshwater fish. Marshes served as nurseries for the fish, crabs, and birds, and contained both salt and fresh water. For the animals, the estuary was the perfect place to grow up.

For preteens, it was the perfect place to stir up trouble. Our group was split into two parts; one would go to the tide pools while the other seined and skimmed. Jessica, Connor, and I were going to the tide pools.

The tide pools were the messiest parts of the entire marsh! The ground looked firm, but was in fact very saturated and soft. Even standing on the edge of the area, you bogged down to your ankles. Looking out across the thirty-square feet or so, I could see partly submerged logs, water resting pointlessly on the surface of the supposedly-stronger-ground, and enormous blue crabs diving, disappearing to safety.

The fifteen of us spread out, circling the tide pool as we studied the land and searched for crabs – hermits, blue, and fiddlers, specifically. Some people dared the center, but withdrew when they sank deeper than their shins.

One boy, David, continued on. He was tall and well built for his age – sixteen – and was the oldest of us all. He must have assumed, being so much older and taller than everyone else, that he could make it all the way across the soggy middle.

“Look! He’s bogged in!” we heard someone call. Everyone turned to look, some with cameras in hand. David had made it to middle before finally plummeting. All that was left visible were his shoulders, neck, and head.

Jessica, Connor, and I went in. I doubt we knew what we were thinking. They had skirted the marshes and were on the other side of the middle, and I was to the left of the action. All three of us were going in, trying to maneuver through the thick mess and get to our comrade. They didn’t go five feet before they were in up to their waists; I had gone almost ten feet before finding myself stuck up to my thighs.

The cameras were then turned to us; many people were pointing, shouting lines of encouragement or jest, and even laughing at the scene. Imagine the three of us; I was the oldest and tallest, at fourteen years and five foot five. Connor and Jessica were both thirteen and less than five foot two. And we were trying to get to and help a sixteen-year-old boy who stood close to six foot two? That was one thing that would not happen.

We struggled to free ourselves, then. David managed to find footing somehow and scrambled free, covered from head to toe in black mud. Jessica and Connor were sinking deeper, up to their elbows and finally their shoulders. They kicked and scrambled, clawing at the surface only to have it give way beneath their hands and put them in deeper. I thrashed on my own, completely out of reach of any help. We all fell over at least three times before finally kicking ourselves free of the muck.

We staggered to the firmer ground, panting and laughing at what we had managed to do: nothing. We had made fools of ourselves, but it felt good. I knew that I would look back on this day and at the pictures and laugh. But at that moment, all I cared about was the fact that my white shorts and white shoes were now jet black, my brown shirt had mud up to my chest, and muck was splattered all over me – including my hair. I looked up, at Jessica and Connor, and saw that they were in no better shape. Jessica’s jeans were almost black and her orange shirt was a murky brown. Connor’s shirt and shorts could not be seen beneath the mud.

We walked around the tide pool, staying away from the soft edges, and just stared at each other. We took in the detail of everything – the mud, the disarray, the sunburns – and laughed. We stood together, arms over each other’s shoulders, and posed for the perfect picture; we did not know they would put that picture on the DVD at the end of the week. The three of us were literally soaked after practically swimming in mud, and everyone saw it. Including our parents and friends back home.

We finished the day by changing stations. Connor, Jessica, and I spent the next thirty minutes way out in the water, swimming and rinsing ourselves off. The murky water did little good, but it was better than nothing. At least we could move better and were fresher, as it were.

We lay in our room that night, laughing about the entire encounter. David was tormented the most, for he had been foolish enough to attempt it to begin with. The rest of us smiled at how the heroic act had turned on us and become chaos. It reminds me to this day to never act on impulse or just do something; things have a tendency to go wrong.