I have a problem.
I feel compelled to paddle into the salt marsh of the May River to make pictures of birds and whatever else looks interesting. I spend hours each week, packed into my kayak cockpit with photographic gear, feeding sand gnats, mosquitoes, green-head flies, and occasionally, a fish gullible enough to gobble a lure trolled behind..
From my low perch in the water, I see marsh, sky and all manner of wildlife from the perspective of a dabbling duck. I'm...
more »I have a problem.
I feel compelled to paddle into the salt marsh of the May River to make pictures of birds and whatever else looks interesting. I spend hours each week, packed into my kayak cockpit with photographic gear, feeding sand gnats, mosquitoes, green-head flies, and occasionally, a fish gullible enough to gobble a lure trolled behind..
From my low perch in the water, I see marsh, sky and all manner of wildlife from the perspective of a dabbling duck. I'm entertained by eagles and egrets. I hang out with herons and marsh hens. I seek out sparrows, wrens and rails. I dance with dolphins and cram full idle minutes photographing fiddler crabs. All this unfolds before the impressive bow of my simple craft.
I think my problem stems from an intense desire to help others understand the incredible experience that is our May River, her marshes and the critters who live there. She is precious. She is in trouble. And her value is much greater than the amazing oysters, crabs, great fishing and sand bar beaches that make this most abundant wildlife habitat a real estate amenity.
She is wild. Her wildness is beautiful. And taming her will destroy that beauty.
-- greg smith
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