It was a hot summer day when “Trapper” Bugle and his best friend Luta Cogfer arrived at the Moktthewen Wabskoki Illinois Watershed Reserve. It was time to catch some massive fish. The sun was hot and air muggy. It was Trapper’s perfect fishing weather. Trapper parked near the public access.
“You good to unload while I get our permit set?”
“Hell yeah,” Luta answered. “It’s time to get some fish.”
“Good. Let’s get the canoe ready then I’ll go.”
They hopped out and walked to the bed of the truck. They loosened the wenches tying down the canoe.
“Here,” Trapper said and tossed his wenches to Luta who put them in a large backpack. Trapper walked to the tailgate. “Hold it up for me.”
Luta came around the back and picked up the canoe which was sticking four feet out the back of the truck. Trapper dropped the tailgate. “Give me one sec,” Trapper added. He walked up to the back of the cab and grabbed the front of the canoe. “I’m good.”
They backed the canoe off the truck and carried it over near the public access. Without a trailer to roll the canoe into the water they’d load it from the boardwalk on the side of the access.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
“K.”
Trapper strolled over the welcome center. Luta unloaded the bed of the truck one heavy black crate and bag at a time. Sweat was seeping through his shirt when Trapper got back.
“Everything unloaded?” he asked as he looked in the bed of the truck. He grabbed the remaining tackle box and first aid kit and carried them over to the pile of gear. There was no one else around, probably because it was Tuesday morning, and Trapper felt okay leaving the gear unattended for a few minutes. “You wanna get your forms turned in, and I’ll park the truck?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
Trapper drove to the far side of the lot and used his parking pass to access the long-term parking. He double-checked the glove box and any other nooks and crannies in the cab of the truck to make sure nothing important had fallen out of a bag or box. “Oh,” he said, and grabbed his pistol case from underneath the driver’s seat.
When he arrived back at the canoe Luta was still pulling everything out of the bags. He passed Trapper a clipboard with a packing list. “Can’t believe you almost forgot your Glock.”
“This is pretty much the only time of year it leaves the truck. So used to it being in the truck I just forget, like it’s jumper cables.”
“Well, at least you didn’t leave it at home,” Luta laughed then his demeanor changed. “Did the gal in the welcoming center say anything to you about the gaters actin’ up this year?”
“Nope. Any other details?”
“Yeah. The water table’s gone down a few inches in some areas drying out sections of the swamp while others are higher and pushing onto the edge of farms. They’re getting past the nets or fences or something and grabbing cattle too close ta’ the water. But the gaters shouldn’t be in those areas.”
“All the more reason to bring her along,” Trapper smiled and patted the box with the clipboard.
“Deer and other stuff has been left half-eaten around the swamp in different areas. It’s been a strange summer, I guess.”
Trapper turned towards the welcoming center. “It’s so weird they didn’t say anything to me.”
“She said we should look for any drag marks on the ground. Could be a gater grabbed something and pulled it to its watery grave.”
“Now you’re just sounding dramatic, Luta.”
Luta looked up from the pack he was emptying. “It does kinda freak me out. I just wanna know if there’s something larger out there pushin’ the gaters to new territories. They’ve largely been habitatin’ in the same region for hundreds of years. And now they’re startin’ to spread out.”
“Well, it’s great to know, but it’s not gonna stop us, right?”
“Oh, never,” Luta laughed.
“Good. Let’s go through this list.”
Luta stepped over to the bagged guns. “We got your twenty-gauge shotty and .22LR. I’ve got my Rossi and Glock,” he said while pointing at the concealed carry at the small of his back.
“Food?”
“We got fifteen pounds of venison jerk and two pounds of potatoes. In the cooler we have four pounds of chicken, three pounds of pork, two bags of Vienna beef dogs, four pounds of various cuts of beef, two pounds of homemade venison sausage.”
“No bacon or pork belly?”
“Nope. Just what I listed.”
Trapper sighed.
“As if this won’t be enough for two weeks in the wilderness. It’ll be hell to carry if we gotta carry it far.”
“Yeah, it’s not really a thing. I see the thermoelectric cooler.”
“The battery for it is behind it.”
“Good.”
Luta held up each item as he listed them. “Cast iron skillet and fire-covering grill. Tongs, two plates, two forks, two knives, two small cups, and two bowls.” He carefully repacked the cooking gear.
“We got our four poles, two tackle boxes and knives.”
“Flashlights?”
“Three Mag lights with a pack of extra batteries.”
There were another dozen or so small items tucked away inside the backpacks they went through while repacking their supplies. They docked the canoe and tied it off. Luta boarded and Trapper passed him the cooler, weapons, bags and everything else.
“You ready to hit the water?” Luta said as he loaded the final bag.
“Definitely.” Trapper untied the ropes while Luta held onto the dock. He held out his hand to Trapper who took it and used it to balance his descent into the craft.
Luta grabbed his paddle and went to the box seat while Trapper held the boat in place. Luta took the dock to allow Trapper to get to the stern seat which was about a quarter the way up the length of the canoe. Their bags and equipment filled most the space between them with just a few places to step back and forth.
Trapper and Luta launched themselves from the deck. The air at the surface of the water was cooler at the height of their arms than their faces. Trapper adjusted his Sox hat and pulled out his sunglasses to counter the sun’s reflection off the water.
The water was still with only the occasional splash from fish, frogs or bugs. There was the occasional sunbathing turtle they’d pass that’d slide into the water as the canoe passed by.
Trapper found the sound of his paddle pulling them along the water very soothing. It was his favorite sound on their trips. He wished he could record it and just play it at home. He’d even tried in previous trips but the serenity was lost in the low quality of the tools he’d brought so he eventually gave up. He just took it all in as he widened his hearing to the crickets, frogs, wind-blown leaves and tall grass.
In the distance he saw some blue herons standing and watching the canoe from a distance. Their beaks were so long and thin like spears, he thought to himself. He smiled at the sight of one of them spreading its wings and taking off, hovering over the water until approaching a small island covered with reeds then soaring up into the sky.
Their tributary reached a larger branch of the swamp.
“North, right?” Luta yelled over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Keep left.”
“Got it.”
The area opened up. Small strands of land were intermittently forming banks or blockades between sections filled with water. Reeds and tall grass were spread along the banks. Cattails blew gently in the wind with the waving grass. The were smatterings of blue, yellow, red and white wild flowers above the banks, basking in the sunlight. Despite being a bit of a woodsman, Trapper wasn’t all that familiar with trees and bushes. All that he understood was that the age of the biodiverse forest covered most stages. Small trees and brush surrounding larger swaths of deep woodland on the soft, marshy land spread through the region.
At the bow, Luta was looking through the clear water for any obstructions. He was scouting for large rocks or sunken logs or the occasional shallow spots several feet ahead of their position. Knowing that the water table was lower, their regular route could possibly be obstructed by shallower-than-usual sections. In an area shallow enough, he could see sticks and leaves covering portions of the river bottom.
He was also on heightened alert to spot any alligators even though they were miles away from their usual habitat. Nor had any been spotted nearby; he had asked earlier. Having been out here for several years he knew the signs to look out for. They’ll generally stay away. They’re more likely to be sunbathing and if they were to sense Luta and Trapper they’d just camouflage themselves along the banks, most likely underwater. If they’re in their canoe and getting too close to where alligators are actually are: the reptiles would most likely open their mouths and hiss before attacking.
They paddled upstream for several miles, then broke off on a westward fork deeper into the swamp.
“Think we’ll see any ghosts this year?” Trapper asked.
“Not funny. You don’t believe that crap, do you?”
“Nah. But who knows, really. There’s all sorts of unknown things out there we can’t see or don’t know how to measure.”
“Then why can’t we ever get ghosts on camera?”
“I don’t know. What if there’s something our eyes can see that computer chips or film can’t? It’s like we can’t see x rays or microwaves, but other machines can measure them. What if we can perceive things that we just don’t have the technology to capture?”
Luta twisted backwards to see Trapper’s face. “Do you really believe Jack and Hue’s story from last summer?” He couldn’t get much of a read on Trapper due to the sunglasses and shadow on his face from his hat.
“Have you ever really thought about how remote this place is? It’s one of the least surveyed places in the U.S. Who knows what could be out here.”
“Yeah, I never quite understood why the courts struck down the law to let them drain it and turn it into farmland.”
“It’s ‘cause it was given back to the Potawatomi tribe. That’s where the name of this portion of the Kankakee Swamp comes from. I’m going to butcher the name but Moktthewen Wabskoki means something along the lines of ‘Bubbling Springs Swamp’.”
“How do you even know all this, Trapper?” Luta turned forward and quickly saw a log to avoid. “Log! Hard to starboard.”
Trapper plunged his paddle in the water on the right side of the boat. Luta paddled backwards. The bow of the canoe rotated starboard. “We’re good. That log was huge and pointed right at us.”