Feathers & Fur

Barred owl on the North Landing River

Swamps are magical places. Forbidding to some, but to those who venture, they reveal a world full of life and secrets. The swamp is no wasteland but a sanctuary—a place where beauty and wonder are written in feathers and fur and shadows, a true sanctuary of nature’s endless wonder. Primitive and untouched, nature's wild artistry is on full display in this hidden world, inviting those who dare to look closer to discover its captivating charm. 

In the light that filters through the cypress and gum, a barred owl watches silently from the tangled canopy, a patient guardian of ancient mysteries. A great blue heron rests and waits, watching the dark, still water, and silently, river otters pause and inspect the intruder. 

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Great blue heron on the North Landing River

River otters on the North Landing River

Rare Encounters

King rail on the edge of the marsh.

The North Landing River is a wildlife enthusiast's paradise and is always a pleasure to explore. Gliding along the water, you'll often spot familiar species like bald eagles, great blue herons, and ospreys soaring overhead. But the river holds its secrets, and you're always hoping to catch a glimpse of a rarer creature, like a shy mink or a playful river otter. Occasionally, you might even stumble upon something truly uncommon, like the elusive king rail or a coyote silently stalking the marsh. The river is a constant surprise; you never know what's waiting just around the next bend.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

The Dragon Tree

The Dragon Tree

It is said that people sometimes hear the secret of the land. It is a sound that comes from the marsh, from the very soul of the land and sounds like a distant drumbeat that floats across the shallow waters of Currituck Sound on still, windless days. Folklore has it that it is the Devil beating his drum and to hear it is a sign of impending tragedy.

But what if it wasn't the Devil making that distant, beating sound? What if the sound comes from something ancient, a long-forgotten guardian of the Sound? A creature so hideous and monstrous it disguises itself as a gnarled live oak, its roots sunk deep in the earth and its trunk twisted into a reptilian form? 

Perhaps the sound isn't drums at all, but the slow, ominous heartbeat of this creature coming through the water, seemingly from everywhere and nowhere. The rumbling sound might be a message, a warning, not a punishment. Perhaps the ancient creature is a benevolent spirit, not an evil beast. Perhaps it is old and weary, its body a part of the landscape and its resounding heartbeat an attempt to warn the good people of Currituck - a misunderstood protector. 

Or, maybe not!

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Sunrise on a River

Sunrise on the North Landing River

It’s not always the sunrise. The sun rises every single day and some days are more dramatic than others, while other days are more of a flat, uninspired gray. Of course, most of us are happily entertained when the morning sky is afire with the magical colors of daybreak. But, often, it’s more about where you are experiencing the sunrise than the event itself. 

Sunrise on the beach is nice, but I prefer for there to be ‘something’ in the foreground. A surfer, maybe, studying the waves or a couple walking slowly along the edge of the water. My favorite location to watch the start of the day, however, is on the North Landing River. The bald cypress trees stand like sentinels along the shore and marsh grasses line the river, bending gently in the morning breeze, filling the air with a soft rustling. Frogs call from their secret places and wood ducks descend from the trees. A splash somewhere out of sight. The air smells of the earth and the sky is colored by heaven. 

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

“He who scratches..”

The North Landing River has a secret. It is whispered that it is the most biodiverse place in Virginia east of the Blue Ridge Mountains and has the highest concentration of rare species this side of the Appalachians. It is not hard to understand why when you consider that there are tens of thousands of acres of wetlands in the area. The North Landing River Natural Area Preserve - the first of its kind in the state - alone is over three thousand acres and The Nature Conservancy owns another six or seven thousand acres.Approximatley 40% of all plants and animals depend on wetlands for survival and breeding and that makes this river a wildlife haven. The North Landing is also on the Atlantic Flyway which brings hundreds of species of birds from as far as the Arctic and the Tropics. 

One of the common mammals you may see swimming or scavenging along the shore is the raccoon. Many North American tribes characterized the raccoon as a trickster and mischief-maker. Its Latin name, Procyon lotor, translates to “before the dog washer.” The word raccoon came from the Algonquin people and means“he who scratches with his hands.”

The next time you are on the North Landing River, keep your eyes peeled to the shoreline. It is there that you are most likely to see one of the mammals that dwell on the river and its surrounding wetlands. Most of these animals are crepuscular, so early morning and late afternoons are likely to be more fruitful. Personally, I have seen most mammals in areas that are more “woody” than “marshy.” “He who scratches with his hands” can be seen digging in the shallow water for crawdads and other crustaceans. 

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Spanish moss and Geese

The Choctaw believed that Spanish moss originated from the hair of the daughter of the ‘Father of a Thousand Leaves’ after she was murdered. The Father of a Thousand Leaves demanded that all of the trees in the land mourn the death of his daughter.

Spanish moss has had many uses throughout the millennia, from pottery making by Native Americans to providing blankets during the Civil War. It also had its place in the modern world, serving as insulation, a binder in construction materials, and even as stuffing in automobile seats. The use of Spanish moss diminished as synthetic fibers were developed, but animals still use the epiphytic flowering plant as nesting material. The goslings that hatch in this nest on a tree island in a swamp along the North Landing River will start life in luxury. 

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

On the way to the River

The clerk at the convenience store was less than friendly and certainly not interested in small talk. His cell phone was laying on the counter, an Instagram Reel looping. I think I interrupted his scrolling session by buying a cup of coffee. On the way to the river, I was tailgated by a mid-size silver SUV - there seem to be thousands of them on the roads these days. The driver, obviously in a hurry, was doing her best to attempt to pass me. I could see the displeasure in her face in my rear view mirror, frustrated in the glow from the phone that she held in her right hand reflecting off of her eye glasses. Further down the road past the Pungo light, a red sedan sat parked on the side of the pavement. It was not really parked, more like stuck in the soft mud on the far side of the ditch, the front end of the vehicle just in the soybeans. I imagined the driver fell asleep or was distracted, perhaps by the same reel the clerk was watching.  But I was in no hurry. Sunrise was still a half hour away. I had my coffee, the latest international news played on the radio, and I was headed to my escape place - the North Landing River.

The water was high that day. The winds were blowing from the south, pushing water up from the Albemarle Sound, allowing me to maneuver my boat further up the small creeks that feed the river. With the outboard motor off and the frogs giving way to the cicadas, I wondered how long it would take for that one strand of Spanish moss to grow long enough to reach that cypress knee.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Birds in the Swamp

The North Landing River is a magical ribbon of water in Southern Virginia Beach. A true southern blackwater river, it flows from the swamps and pocosins in the southern part of the city and joins the Currituck Sound just over the border in North Carolina. The habitat along the main stem of the river is primarily pocosin in the northern stretches and marsh in the southern. But if you explore the many creeks along the North Landing, you will encounter a third wetland type, forested swamp. One may observe many different species in each zone, and sometimes you are the one being watched. 

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

An Extinction of Experience

We do not get out into the natural world as often as we once did. It’s not intentional, but more of a creeping indifference. A recent UK study found that the human connection to nature has declined 60% in the last 200 years. Essentially, many of us in our modern, western world seem to have lost that bond with the natural world. It may even be that it’s not lost, but rather not cultivated. The study found that two of the largest contributors to this disconnection with nature are urbanisation and the loss of wildlife in our neighborhoods. But the largest factor is the failure of parents to teach children to appreciate the natural world. In order to teach a love for nature, one must be in nature. All of the way in. Watching a wildlife series on a streaming service is a passive experience and can not replicate the feel of walking on a muddy path in the woods, the beauty of the sunrise on the beach, or the sounds and smells of canoeing in a swamp amongst the cypress knees.

I see it every morning. The bus stop is full of elementary-aged kids, but where are they in the afternoons and on the weekends?. They are not to be found on the streets and in the fields in this neighborhood. They are either out in the forests with their parents or in their homes, their faces bathed in a blueish glow from a screen they are watching. I suspect the latter.

There is an “extinction of experience” taking place. But that is easily corrected, isn't it? Get outside. Take your children or grandchildren hiking in the woods or go fishing. Book an ecotour or swim in a river. Make a connection to nature and build on it.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

A Blast of Red

Swamps are dark places. Black gums, cypresses and tupelos tower above the dark tannic water, shutting out all but the few rays of sunlight that manage to break through the thick canopy and cut through the shadows. In the interior of the swamp, inky, shallow water flows slowly under the giants, meandering between the buttressed trunks, snags and cypress knees. The animals that dwell in this darkness are cautious and stealthy. Otters swim in graceful silence, always hunting, and beavers work to maintain this realm of wetness. Raccoons and possums search the tree islands for meals while mink busily hunt every corner of the swamp, above and below the black water. But the hunters are also the hunted. From above, owls watch patiently and bobcats drift like shadows through the undergrowth.

In this world of shadows and decay, vibrant colors are a disadvantage. Here, life is painted in earthy tones, but occasionally a rare blast of color interrupts the muted palette. Against a backdrop of Spanish moss, a gorgeous cardinal flower blazes.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Where’d you take that picture?

“Where’d you take that picture?” I get that a lot. By now, after many years of exploring the rivers, bays, creeks, marshes, and swamps of southern Virginia Beach, those who know me know that, unless I say otherwise, all of my pictures are from south of Indian River Road down to the northern portions of Currituck Sound. I have not been everywhere - there are certainly many local boys that know many locations much more intimately than I ever will - but I do try to find new places and push my limits. I remember one particular exploration where I thought that perhaps I had taken it too far. I waded through a swamp for three hours in deep, boot-sucking mud to reach a hummock that I had spotted on a map. By the time I reached the hard surface road six hours after I started, I was exhausted and my heart was pounding out of my chest. I’m glad I went, and I’ll go again. But I love it. 

“Where’d you take that picture?” Somewhere most have never been nor will ever see. Well, unless they go on one of my ecotours. These are places where dark water flows between cypress knees under the shade of giants, where otters swim, bobcats hunt, moss sways from the trees, and horses graze on marsh islands. I do go to some places many times over, like the marshes near Old Currituck Inlet. When I’m lucky, there are wild horses in the marsh. 

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

AI Can’t Generate an Experience

In what seems a very short time, AI has infiltrated most aspects of our lives. I don’t even have to explain what AI stands for. It is everywhere. Analysing data, automating repetitive tasks. AI is in our factories and hospitals and is even driving cars in some states. Don’t get me wrong, AI can be very useful to all of us in so many ways. It can generate workout programs, answer emails, translate languages, create art, write stories - hell, I could have used Gemini to write this for me! From what I am reading, people even have digital companions now. Relationships. Relationships? But there are limits. AI comes to you through the motherboard, not your mother. AI can’t make you experience things. It can create an image of asunrise, but it can’t put you on Knott's Island Bay as the sun creeps above the live oaks and pines of False Cape and a warm, late summer breeze with a hint of ocean salt gently sways the marsh and sighs against your skin. It can’t do that. Nor would you want it to. On my ecotours I show you things and take you places that must be seen, heard, and sensed. There is magic here in the early morning light. It’s in the air and in the water and in the moment. AI can do a lot, but it can't make you feel the magic of life.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Summer Sounds

With the heat comes the sweet sounds of a southern summer in the mash. There is a low murmur of rustling grass as the warm winds blow across the tall grasses. During the day the cicadas sing from the pines and live oaks as ospreys shriek in the distance. In the evenings the crickets and frogs fill the heavy, muggy air from the shores of the shallow waters and owls call in the darkness. 

For the birders, these wetlands in southern Virginia Beach and northeastern North Carolina are a party and Monkey Island is the gift. It is a wading bird rookery located on a small island in Currituck Sound. Starting with mating rituals and nest building in April, the island is a constant hub of activity and unlimited photo opportunities. Some time in May the first eggs hatch and by June the population triples to what is estimated to over two thousand. By mid to late July, nearly all of the eggs have hatched and most chicks have fledged. As the heat of high summer settles in on the sound and the shallow water nears 90 degrees, the birds leave the now overcrowded little island for the bounty of the lush, expansive marshes of the Green Sea.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Marsh Green

The wetlands along the North Landing River in Virginia Beach are dominated by a hundred shades of green in the marshes, swamps and pocosins. The world slows down on these creeks, hushed by the gentle rustling of reeds and the fluttering of dragonfly wings. It’s a serene escape filled with dark water and warm summer breezes. I could get used to this and be persuaded to lose myself in this wildness.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Juniper

Of all of the rivers in Virginia, there is one that calls out with a voice of its own and stands out above them all. The North Landing River is located in the embayed region of Virginia and North Carolina in Virginia Beach. Not only is the North Landing a Virginia Scenic River, but it is the most biodiverse place in Virginia east of the Blue Ridge. Stained by the earth itself, it is a beautiful blackwater river draining the wetlands in Virginia Beach and flowing into the ‘Yellowstone of the East’, the Albemarle. Within this wild, sodden world are many rare and threatened natural communities, of which Peatland Atlantic White Cedar Forests may be the most singular.

Peatland Atlantic White Cedar Forests were once abundant along the Atlantic coast from Maine to Georgia, but logging, land use changes and the escalating impacts of climate change have taken a grievous toll on the forests and they are now globally threatened. These forests are found within 130 miles of the coastline on slightly elevated hummocks in wetlands. Less than 5% of the original acreage remains of this special type of wetland and what has not been lost is found primarily in North Carolina and southeastern Virginia in the Great Dismal Swamp and along the winding course of the North Landing River.

Actually, Atlantic White Cedar (Chamaecyparis thyoides) is not a cedar at all. It is in the cypress family, but the local name for this tree is juniper. On the North Landing River the remnants of these woodlands are located on peat flats situated on terraces formed by ancient erosional and depositional processes. These forests play a vital role regulating water quality, store huge amounts of carbon in the peat below the surface and are critical habitat for a variety of specialized flora and fauna such as the endangered Hessel’s hairstreak butterfly, a testament to the irreplaceable wonders sheltered by this extraordinary river.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

The Reason Why

There are a limited number of places to watch the sunrise on Back Bay - from land. But if you have a boat, the opportunities are endless. There are only two humble ramps from which to launch, but other than during duck season, there is seldom a crowd. 

If a sunrise is beautiful, twilight will be spectacular. In order to witness that most peaceful and glorious unveiling of the day, I must have the boat in the water at least an hour before natures grand performance. I prefer an hour and a half. To accomplish that, I leave the house at least two hours prior to whatever time Google told me the sun would rise.  And, of course, I need to tack on an extra fifteen minutes for a 7-11 coffee stop and ten more to let the dogs out. Yeah, my sunrise experiences start somewhere around the third hour after midnight. 

Some days, I question myself as if I don’t know the reason why I put myself through it. I suppose, at some point, you have to ask yourself how you ended up here. But I know the answer. I’m drawn to the water, I always have been. As a boy fishing a pond or rowing on a fjord in Norway to pursuing Cobia off the Virginia coast, stalking Blue Ridge brookies or chasing stripers all night in the cold of winter - I hear her call. It all began with fishing, but now it’s so much more. I get as much joy out of watching otters hunting, listening to the marsh rustling in the breeze, and sunsets on a river as I do landing an enormous bull red drum. Perhaps more. The water is my element, she is always calling. Buffett may as well have been writing about me when he said “mother, mother ocean, I have heard you call.”

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Otters & Eagles

This January, a rare cold seized Virginia Beach. It was the last few weeks of duck season, but the ice on Back Bay was so thick in many places that even the power of the heavier juniper boats had problems breaking through the ice  - winter's grip was tight. Some of the duck hunters ended up on the North Landing River. The creeks off of the North Landing were locked up in ice as well, but since the main channel of the river is part of the intracoastal waterway, the few yachts who dared the ice etched a ribbon of open water for the duck hunters. A barge plowed its way upriver Saturday morning and put a real hurting on the ice and loosened winter's hold.

You know that quiet, serene boat ride you look forward to on a sluggish blackwater river? Yeah, that’s not what it was like boating that Saturday. My boat was a noisy intruder of the stillness of a winter river. As part of the Winter Wildlife Festival, I took nature lovers out on the North Landing to look for wildlife - eagles, mostly. The boat ride that morning was thunderous as the boat cut through the ice choked water.  We did find eagles. Lots of eagles. We even had the rare spectacle of experiencing a cormorant escape the talons of a swooping eagle by a feathers edge. We also saw more ducks than I have ever encountered on the river. Ducks need open, ice free water and the creeks and pools were frozen.

On one tour we came across a lone juvenile bald eagle perched atop a dead pine tree. I cut the engine and the boat stopped, the ice our anchor. As we watched the eagle and the noise from the ice dissipated, we heard a faint crunching sound. Resting in the gnarled roots of a cypress tree, two river otters were enjoying the fish they had just caught, so I used my shove pole to slowly push the boat forward while the otters were otherwise engaged. We were lucky enough to spend fifteen minutes in their company, watching and watched.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Owls in the Swamp

I had been walking in Gum Swamp for nearly six hours. ‘Walking’ is not the appropriate word. It was more of a hellish slog through ankle to knee deep muck. The temperature was in the thirties, but I was drenched in sweat in my neoprene boot sock waders. The hat, gloves and wool sweater my mother made were already in my backpack. The water was low in the swamp due to the lack of rain the past few months, so it was easier - or, rather, less hard - than it could have been. I had trudged to a hummock in the swamp and was making my way back to the road where I left the truck. It’s a two hour haul just to cover a mile. I only know of one other person who has been there, and he named it the Devil’s Bedroom. I have been to that swamp island twice before, but that is a story for another time. 

I made my way through the pathless swamp after departing the island and could see the main creek channel through the cypresses and gums - walking would be easier along the creek edge. In a flash, a small hawk flew and landed a few yards in front of me with a small rodent held tightly in its talons. In the same instant, an enormous barred owl flew towards the hawk and the hawk disappeared as fast as he had shown himself. The owl, sensing me, flew a few yards into the swamp and landed on the trunk of a tree, its wing wrapped around the trunk for balance. He stared intently towards where the hawk disappeared for a moment, then vanished into the swamp - as did I.

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

A hummock in the swamp

There is no scarcity of palustrine wetlands in southern Virginia Beach - they are a defining feature of the landscape in this part of our state. There are marshes, pocosins and swamps. Although I explore the marshes at any time of the year, I do not venture into the swamps in the warmer months. The vegetation is so thick that it is difficult to see well and, of course, the snakes and angry, biting hordes of insects are distracting. And it’s hot. Ninety degree days trudging through deep mud in waist deep water wearing chest waders is a miserable way to spend a morning. In the winter months, however, I’m all in! The only thing that bites in winter are the greenbriars - my tenacious tape patched up neoprene boot-sock waders are evidence of my battles with nature's version of barbed wire. I might go with canvas waders next time. 

It was a cold day in January and the water level in the swamp was lower than normal due to the near drought conditions that hve persisted for several months. It was cold, but wading through shin-deep mud for two hours is exhausting and it did not take long before my sweater, gloves and hat ended up stuffed into my backpack. I was on a mission. Deep in this swamp there is a hummock - an island that rises out of the morass. I have been there twice before. Once with one of my sons. Once with a friend that will not go back. He swears I was trying to kill him. I have asked others to accompany me, but  once I explain that to reach the island you must wade a mile through a swamp with no trail in up to waist deep water and knee deep mud, well, all but two have declined. So, I went alone.

The hummock rises six feet out of the swamp, like an oasis and a refuge from the mire. The island is approximately one hundred yards wide and four hundred yards long and there are no signs that anyone has ever been there. Ever. A friend of mine that believes he ended up there once while hunting called it the Devil’s Bedroom because you have to go through hell to get there. The island may be the most tranquil and concealed place that I have ever chanced upon,  but I must remember that the way back is the same as the way in. 

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.

Ecotourism

Virginia Beach is often recognized as one of the best cities on the east coast in which to live. Different organizations use varying criteria to determine the ‘desirability’ of a place, but overall, Virginia Beach often ranks high among the larger east coast cities no matter what the standards are. Our city has decent schools, beaches, a mild climate, lowish crime rates, seafood, things to do. I have seen some of the Virginia Beach commercials that run up north. They promote the beach, the bay and ocean, restaurants, swimming, the boardwalk, shopping, museums…you know, stuff they think tourists are seeking, whomever ‘they’ are. I have seen some quick video clips of charter fishing included in those commercials. And dolphins. Always dolphins.

Ecotourism is one of the fastest growing sectors of the tourism industry but is not addressed in most ads encouraging people to visit the city. Bird watching and nature-based activities are popular and demand is rising. Approximately one-third of all bird species globally rely on wetlands for breeding, feeding, and shelter and, boy, does Virginia Beach have birds and wetlands! The southern half of Virginia Beach - actually 67% - drains south to the Albemarle. The North Landing River, Back Bay and the Northwest River are part of the Chowan drainage basin and ⅓ of Virginia’s rare plants occur in the Chowan River Basin, but this area only covers ca. 8% of Virginia’s landmass. Generically, the southern ⅔ of Virginia Beach is called the Southern Rivers Watershed (SWA) and the VA Dept. of Conservation and Recreation has documented the presence of 19 rare natural communities, 67 rare plants, and 22 rare animals within the SWA.

Why the city does not promote environmental tourism, I do not know. On the other hand, I enjoy having the whole place basically to myself. Oh, and if you’re looking for a private boat ecotour, I know a guy…

Schedule your ecotour to explore this environmental wonderland.