t is rare treat to paddle through a bottomland forest, which is just what our group did when we headed up Deadwater Creek toward Beaver’s Lodge platform on the Roanoke River Paddle Trail and Camping System. Such a forest is shady and tranquil, with trees reaching high from murky depths. There is the sheen of silky brown water, the texture of bark, and occasional accents of bright green from low stubborn branches reaching for dappled light.

All is both quiet and loud, as the plunk of fish jumping, the flutter of escaping wings, and the voices of frogs and birds are magnified, in contrast to an atmosphere of stillness. Such was the setting as we arrived at our camping platform, a sturdy 20’x 20’ structure with three docking steps at different levels, allowing easy accessibility at variable water levels.

We unloaded the canoes, set up tents and some camp chairs, rolled out pads and settled in to enjoy the beauty of a special place. Some of us laid looking up at branches fanned in sunlight far above, while all marveled at the strange sounds and unfamiliar birds. It was at this time that a Prothonotary warbler (known locally as a swamp canary) paid his first visit. This bright yellow bird appeared just plain curious as he flitted about in the trees above our camp, and after examining the lot of us, proceeded to sing his boisterous melody.

Afternoon slipped seamlessly into evening while we drifted contentedly on this pleasant pause in the rush of daily life. As we ate our supper, around 8:00, a new sound began echoing through the forest. Barred owls were everywhere. What started with the better known call of “who cooks for you, who cooks for you all” would often crescendo into loud monkey-like cries. As bright stars winked through openings in the canopy, we retired, a day of exercise making us ready for sleep. At one point in the night we were all startled to wakefulness as several owls gathered in the trees right above the platform indulging in the full spectrum of their calls. Then suddenly they were gone again, replaced by the muted songs of tree frogs and the plunks and plops of wild things in the night.

Morning greeted us with the cheery song of our Prothonotary warbler, and time drifted forward until we were leaving our watery place in the forest, heading back to our busy lives—all with a desire to return. 

Backyard Briefs
A syndicated weekly column 
By Judy Jessop, Nature Conservancy Volunteer