My name is mud.

I "worked form home" yesterday morning. Or rather, I had the morning off to blast through a few obligations, enjoy some free time, and sprint to a nearby inlet I'd been meaning to explore.

The channel weaves its way back through nearby neighborhoods and we'd seen it on our afternoon runs. In fact, I usually force a pause in our pace when we jog by. I swerve towards the water like an orbiting moon stone, craning my neck to spot bait fish and egrets, crossing my fingers to see a tailing beast.

Kakis beneath my waders, I practically sprinted to the water. Checked my watch. 11:36.

"Okay, so I should be at work by 12:45.  I need to be at work by 1:00.... That gives me a good 40 minutes if I get changed quickly."

 A quickly as I approached the water's edge, I pulled back on my reigns. Whoa, David. I was sliding and sinking like a, well, foot in the mud.

The water was warm and low. Damn those tides. The bait fish were abundant, but I saw no sign of hungry fish eager to put up a fight.

The muddy water was peaceful, but she was not going to give her secrets to me today. Rather, it seemed she wanted to swallow my boots as the cost of my intrusion.

As cooler weather returns, I hope the speckled trout move up the inlet. If I dare venture back into the water, I'll need a fish to help pull me out.

Along the backs I did get a glimpse at a nice hornet's nest. Maybe wasps... Jay, can a brotha get a little entomology help?


The bigger fish may not call this habitat home right now, but it is definitely a nursery and sanctuary for birds, fiddler crabs, young and/or small fish, and mollusks galore. The shores were lined with exposed mussels.

Digging down into the mud, I think they were awaiting the return of high tide just as much as me.