Great Dismal Swamp National Wildlife Refuge

There's really only one time of year to visit the Great Dismal Swamp, and the time is now. In summer, the swamp tends to live up to its name: it's hot, dark, smelly, and the bugs. Oh, the bugs! By mid-May, the mosquitoes are out in swarms and they don't go away until October or November, and by then, things are pretty gray and flat and all of the singing frogs and birds have buried themselves in the mud or flown south for the winter.

But for a few weeks in early spring, the Dismal Swamp is like Goldilocks' porridge: juuuust right. Last Saturday just happened to fall in the right window and so that's when we visited. The trees were beginning to leaf out, but the branches were still bare enough to let in a little sun and warmth. The swamp seemed to be coming to life under our eyes. Everything was still and quiet, but with branches rustling and birds calling from the tree tops, it was one of the loudest silences I've ever heard.

The Great Dismal Swamp is huge, one of the last true wildernesses in the United States, and entrances for it scattered throughout Chesapeake, Suffolk, and northeastern North Carolina. After doing a little research, we settled on the Washington Ditch entrance in Suffolk. For a few reasons: first, the raised boardwalk trail seemed best for our little hiker. At a manageable 3/4-mile, it was a reasonable distance for Baby A. -- we knew that there was a good possibility that she'd be able to walk it without us having to carry her all the way back. Second, Washington Ditch is one of the only swamp entrances with bathrooms in the parking area, a boon that should not be discounted. Third, there have been very few black bear sightings (!) there recently. 

Anne enjoyed herself immensely. Who knew that toddlers were so keen on swamps? She listened hard for the bird and frog calls and mimicked each one; she found a stick and poked around in the murky water; she noticed every vine and leaf and amassed quite a collection of bright red maple seed pods. I enjoyed watching her watch everything -- there were honestly a lot of things I would have missed if I hadn't seen them through her eyes.


Sometime in the future, James and I would like to take Anne to hike the 4.5-mile Washington Ditch trail to Lake Drummond, one of the only two natural lakes in Virginia. The trail was surveyed by George Washington himself in 1775, and the placid ditch alongside was dug entirely by slave labor, a truly mind-boggling task once you see how long and wide it is and think about what that must have meant in the age before heavy-duty digging equipment was invented. We walked a little of the trail today, but it's going to be a long time before A. can manage the 9-mile trek in and out. Still, tween and teen hikers might be able to manage it, or younger kids, if there are bikes involved.


A word to the wise: any time you go into the Great Dismal Swamp, bring sunscreen and bug spray just in case, and be sure to plan for any eventuality -- cell phone service is spotty (at best) in the swamp. And remind your kids what poison ivy looks like. It's everywhere, all over the trees and creeping up the wood railings on the path in places. As the poet Thomas Moore reminds us his ballad, "The Lake of the Dismal Swamp," written in 1806, it really should be avoided at all costs: