Swamp Patrol (f, grim)

[MoTU]

Ravenburg Swamp is best known for its rare fauna that attracts tourists from all over the country, but locals know of its hidden dangers. The occasional wildlife attack might scare some folks off, but its deadliest obstacle is the underlying muck known to ensnare unsuspecting travelers. Many a birdwatcher find themselves inching towards a critter, only to end up stuck deep in unrelenting mud until help arrives. Of course, the only help who would dare to patrol the area was the Ravenburg Swamp Patrol.

Josie started her day off as any patrolwoman would, donning her uniform (a pair of chest waders bearing the patrol’s emblem) and reviewing her assignment for the day, then excitedly headed out towards the middle of the swamp. Josie was a newer recruit, so most of her days on the patrol were spent walking around the more worn paths, giving directions and answering questions like a glorified tour guide. Few visitors find themselves in the swamp’s middle, though, so Josie looked forward to spending her day enjoying the tranquil ambiance.

The middle of the swamp features the area at its most saturated, with hip-deep water as far as the eye can see. Folks generally don’t like to get themselves soaked while exploring the swamp, but of course Josie’s waders allowed her to casually wade through the waters on her patrol. Her previous routes were so well-worn that they hardly felt natural, so today she spent most of her day appreciating the sights, the sounds, even the smells of the swamp as she casually sloshed through its waters.

Josie found herself so lost in her newfound appreciation for the swamp’s beauty, that by the time she caught sunset through the trees - signifying the end of her shift - she hardly knew which way to find her headquarters. She suddenly remembered about her dinner plans after work, and her aimless stroll quickly turned in a panicked rush to find the direction back. The waters of the swamp became a nuisance for her hurried pace, so Josie rushed to find a shore. A veteran patrol member would have noticed the land quaking and stayed away, but Josie’s inexperience with the patrol lead her directly into the danger underfoot.

As she rushed to get out of the water, Josie’s boots quickly found themselves slowed by the swamp mud just under the surface. She freed her right boot from the underwater mud and took a long stride onto land, only to find it swallowed up to her knee. Her left boot quickly followed suit, making it a few inches further but sinking down until the mud reached her thigh. If Josie had any experience rescuing stuck visitors then she would have known the swamp mud’s tenacity, gripping its victims tight but fluid enough to let them sink deeper, making strugglers feel as though they are being sucked down. In her inexperience, however, she pulled to free her back leg as her front sank down further.

Before long, Josie’s legs were together but her hips had disappeared under the surface. She knew she was stuck now, but all she could think to do was struggle to escape. Her training completely forgotten, Josie continued to yank each boot upward only to push the other deeper into the mud. Thick mud entombed Josie’s lower half, as she struggled to move her feet in any direction but down. Josie had sunk far enough that the patrol’s emblem on her waders was barely visible, the muck now settling around her stomach. A brief moment of clarity came as Josie realized her struggle was only making things worse, so she froze all movement to take stock of the situation.

Josie was in trouble, that much was clear, but her waders at least protected her from getting soaked and potentially suffering from hypothermia. She also wasn’t sinking, as long as she remained still and didn’t pull on the suction around her boots. On the downside, her rubber waders acted like a glove holding her body in place, so there was no way she could wriggle her way out and crawl to safety. At least, there was no way she could escape her waders without assistance. As the thought of pulling herself out crossed her mind, Josie noticed a potential savior - a tree root, just a couple feet to her left, sticking out of the mud. The plan was coming together; Josie could reach over, grab the root, and use it as leverage to wriggle out of her waders.

She hadn’t been stuck for long, but Josie was eager to escape as quickly as possible, so she lurched over to the root. Her optimism quickly faded into a grave realization, however, as this movement resulted in the unmistakable feeling of mud and water overtaking the side of her waders. In a common novice mistake, Josie hadn’t paid much attention to the height of her waders, and didn’t realize the mud was only an inch from the rim. Usually when a new patrol makes this mistake, they’re on solid ground under still water, so their punishment is wet clothing for the evening and mockery from the rest of the patrol. In Josie’s sticky situation, unfortunately, the punishment of flooded waders could prove to be quite grim.

In seconds, Josie felt wet muck pile up around her legs and hips, adding to the weight of her waders which now felt as though they were dragging her down into the bottomless mud. Josie screamed out in fear as her situation had suddenly turned deadly, knowing that unless her feet suddenly hit bottom, she’d disappear into the swamp forever in a matter of moments. The mud completely overtook her waders and swallowed her breasts, and in an instant the tree root that was supposed to save her was hopelessly out of reach. Josie, panic-stricken, tried clawing at the mud around her for any sort of leverage, but found nothing as wet muck squished between her fingers.

An exhausted, helpless Josie stood nearly buried in the swamp, being pulled into a thick, wet grave by her waders and the mud that filled them. As she sank past her shoulders, only her head and arms remained above the surface, a resigned look on her face as she left her arms laying out in front. There was nothing else to be done but sink; nobody she could scream to for help, let alone anybody who could get to her before she drowned. She didn’t bother tilting her head back or raising her arms for a last-minute savior, just felt the cool muck climb her neck and give her lips a cold, wet goodbye kiss. She took a last breath through her nose and meditated on the feeling of being sucked into the swamp. She wondered if any unlucky hikers or fellow patrol members had drowned in the same spot of mud that was now claiming her.

As Josie closed her eyes and felt the swamp overtake her head, she envisioned that the grip of the mud around her waders were the hands of those who had sunk before her. The thought gave her some peace as her lungs started to burn, that maybe her sacrifice would allow them to cross over to the afterlife. Josie’s hands slipped quietly under the mud, as her last breath bubbled up to the surface.

***

(Author's note: I took some liberties here with the physics of waders. In actuality it's unlikely-to-impossible that waders filled with mud will result in you being pulled down, it'll probably just make it harder to lift them above the surface when escaping. Consult an expert before submerging your waders in a swamp.)

[bogbud]

Great story MoTu. This location seems to be really interesting and an occupation as swamp-guard sounds intriguing.
Technically spoken, the bogs and her waders behavior are quite correct until the mud swamps them. Besides your authors note I just want to add, that in thick mud it is surprisingly hard to really swamp waders. They are already tightly pressed against your body (thus impossible to get out of them) and there is almost no room that could be flooded with mud.

[maria]

I half agree with the waders cant technically get flooded in thick mud ... however, it does depend on how thick the mud is and how long you end up struggling in the mud.

I prefer really thick mud that is difficult to get out of and one day when I was wearing waders, I found myself doing the usual thing trying not to flood the waders (yeah, right). The mud was genuinely thick and pretty hard to move around in. After 15 minutes I found myself down to the rims and did the thing where you try and lift one boot out, while the other goes a bit deeper. I then swapped legs I tried pulling the other wader out. Both rims went under and I spent another 10 or so minutes trying to stop myself getting to covered in mud.

Cut a long story short - I ended up waist deep, the thick mud loosened a little and started moving as one mass around me. My waders steadily filled up with fine sand and clay with each movement which allowed the tiniest of gaps between the shafts and my legs to act as conduits. Eventually the muddy sand filled my waders up particularly around my ankles and feet and I could feel it packing down on my skin. It took me ages to get out and the only way out was to dig. I was covered from the ears down in muck and had it been in a tidal quicksand situation I would have been a goner. Luckily it was a quarry.

Getting back to car unnoticed was difficult though!

[bogbud]

Maria, you are referring to your Hipboots I guess?
I have been in similar situations countless times in various bogs and tidal mud. Today swamping my waders and pulling / digging them out is just part of the fun for me.
My comment was about chestwaders. Sometimes I deliberately swamp my armpit-high pair too in my deepest bog. But the mud is so thick it clogs only the upper part and never reaches my legs. They still become quite heavy and the extraction becomes more challenging. Still they don't pull someone down but just try to hold me in place.

[101927700]

Late to the party here, but that was well done.