Ode to Jambalaya - 4/21/02

[Mark Walker]

I am back in the Big Easy, enjoying some pretty nice weather - though the
daytime temperatures are pushing 90 degrees F.  I flew into town on
Saturday, and had a few hours before picking up a friend at the airport - so
I decided to venture off into the swamp for a look see.  I chose to drive
south on Interstate 310, over the Mississippi River, and into parts more
remote.  I had never had an opportunity to do any serious swamp collecting,
so I was looking forward to the experience.
 
I found a fantastic spot in this St. Charles parish location where an access
road (with plenty of no trespassing signs) ventured off into the dark and
creepy hollows surrounded by water bound stands of both deciduous and
evergreen trees.  Oddly, I had already noticed the apparent lack of
butterfly fauna - as I had highly expected to see many flopping across the
highway even as I left the airport.  This area, like most of the gulf
region, has been enjoying spring Lepidoptera for over a month now.  The lack
of highway sightings must be a coincidence.
 
After the first 50 yards or so I knew there was something strange going on.
Not a single lep was sighted anywhere, and there was actually a pretty good
availability of nectar.  The dragonflies, however, were annoyingly common.
Each step would trigger 6-10 ode individuals darting off this way or that.
They would react to anything airborne, and would dive bomb whatever appeared
to be choosing flight as a mode for escape.  This resulted in a lot of
dragonfly dogfights - all happening around the clumsy oaf who dared stroll
into this uninhabitable landscape.  Could it be that the swampland of the
gulf region has a seasonal dip in butterfly activity on account of severe
predation by Odonata?  I ventured into the swamp further.  Surely there
would be something flying besides dragonflies (I have a drawer of
dragonflies, but I have yet to become serious about collecting them).  The
only thing really flying besides dragonflies was a pretty impressive black
and white hornet (or paper wasp), and a really cool double eye-spotted click
beetle that is close to two inches long (which just about flew into my net).
Other than that, just thousands of dragonflies.
 
The farther I ventured the creepier things became around me.  Plooshes,
splashes, and plops occurred all around me, several quite large indeed, and
slithering snakes could be seen either flopping down from the branches above
or slithering further up into the trees as I caught them off guard.  One in
particular was a good five feet in length, and he let me get up pretty close
for an inspection.  It wasn't very colorful - really just a dull grey-brown,
and probably not particularly dangerous.  I didn't see any alligators, which
was reassuring, but given how common I've found them in unexpected places in
Florida and Georgia - I was seriously expecting another encounter.  But many
things were very much alive and on the move as I slowly trekked further into
this fascinating terrain.  None were in the mood for proposing a challenge,
and that suited me just fine.  
 
Just as I was reaching a turn-around point, I was delighted to find a big
fat female Limenitus archiippus (Viceroy) flying higher up and successfully
avoiding the onslaught of dragonfly competition.  Satisfied, I made my way
back through the swamp and enjoyed a second pass of splishing and splashing.
 
Later, as I explored more stretches of Louisiana swampland, I noted the
amazing evidence of longtime human habitation - in spite of so many
obstacles.  When I looked upon the rickety, rustic (and sometimes inhabited)
shacks teetering on stilts along the river edges, and then pondered the many
remains of stilted foundations whose houses had long crumbled or slipped
into the murky waters, I concluded that Louisiana is very much a living
piece of Americana.  Speaking of conservation and the effects of a growing
and ravenously consumptive world, there are many human cultures that are
also truly on the verge of extinction.  When I experience things like
southern Louisiana, I am comforted that there are still many households -
modest as they may be - where families are still living the lives of their
great grandparents.  It also comforts me that most of them have no notion of
email.
 
In the evening I ventured into another swamp of sorts - the French Quarter -
and found me a small restaurant that served the delectable trilogy of
Jambalaya, Crawfish Pie, and Red Beans and Rice.  All that and live music to
boot!  Incidentally, I love Crawfish Pie, and it's really pretty hard to
find.
 
Mark Walker
Presently in New Orleans, LA 
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