A nearly impenetrable forest of dense phragmites scratched at the skin on my exposed arms and legs as I slowly pushed through the thick brush. The reeds were so concentrated that I wasn't sure if I was making any noticeable progress, however, I suspected I was gaining closer to my destination as the stench of brackish water began to fill the air. A terribly foul scent indeed, a mix between rotting fish, crude oil sludge, and sewage water, that I never did become nose blind too. After an intense losing battle of getting bitched slapped non-stop by the elastic stalks slinging back up at my face, a shimmer of light caught my attention. I trudged deeper through the reeds towards the light source, soon realizing it was the reflection of the sun off the river water; a sign that I had made it!
My timing appeared to pan out as-well, for it was most certainly low tide. As I emerged from the thicket of wetland grass hell, I was able to witness the true extent from my battle with the reed monster. Short sleeves and shorts was no doubt a terrible choice of armor. My once white socks were stained red with blood that had become diluted from sweat dripping down my legs from the many dozens of small paper-like cuts bestowed upon me by the abrasive wetland vegetation. My arms were just as much a bloody mess, the fresh wounds smarting from the salty, humid summer air. Across the muddy river bed, a noticed a cast of hundreds of fiddler crabs dancing atop an oily sheen gurgling up from the depths of the thick muck. Then the crabs in unison scurried sideways across the oil rainbow, quickly burying themselves beneath the brown sludge upon detecting my presence.
I placed my right foot on the mud only for my ass to hit the ground instantaneously, it all occurred before I could even think about moving my left leg forward to take a full step. At this point I was coated in an oily ooze, slicker than the smoothest ice. Worse, the mire muck had a consistency of clay, for it stuck to my clothes and reeked of a fetid, gag inducing odor. I had truly become one with the swamp despite my best intentions to stay clean. The good news was the hulking ruin of the landlocked yacht was just ahead of me, it too battered and bruised by the quagmire. Time was now working again me though, for unless I could get vessel afloat, I'd be battling the reeds again, but this time at high tide. I'd rather die, I thought to myself. And so with much brevity I explored as captain for the day.
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