First Person
Would you jump into a nasty swamp to rescue something you loved?
Becoming a journalist changes the way you think. Every interesting event or harrowing adventure is a possible story.
Restoring a vintage camper? Story. Take any trip to anywhere? Story. First birthday after losing your mom? A rather cathartic story. Watch thousands of dollars of your camera gear sink into the cold, black water of a Louisiana swamp?
You’re reading that one now.
I began writing this in my still-soaking-wet head as soon as I saw my reflection in the car’s mirror.
You better believe I dove in after that camera.
Still in shock from the plunge and shivering in my waterlogged boots, I thought, “I need to capture this moment.” But how? I’d just scooped my camera off the bottom of the bayou and as for my phone … well, my phone and car keys were still in my pocket as I took the swampy plunge.
“Did you get a picture?” is a common question in newsrooms across the country when a story happens. Especially at the Gazette.
I held my head low in pseudo shame the next day as I explained to my editor that I in fact did not get the picture. “The only time you’ve failed us in the 16 years you’ve been here,” he said in the sternest tone he could muster without laughing.
It was a joke, but I knew this story needed a visual so I dug deep in my journalist toolbox. Real deep.
I got started in this business as a photographer and illustrator at a young age — back in the days of film — when a guy who owned a local newspaper saw some of my images at a photo lab we both frequented.
After a phone call to my mother — I was just a kid after all — I was hired.
It was those illustrator’s skills I’d have to dust off to capture this story.
The image popped into my head as I sat down that evening to document my underwater ordeal for posterity and Facebook.
That post sets the scene for the illustration on the opposite page and follows below:
My camera, cellphone and car keys took a dip in Black Bayou today. The camera went first (my tripod failed) and I dove in after it … forgetting the phone and keys were in my pocket.
Thankful my mom taught me to swim when I was young because the water was way deeper than I expected. And colder. And blacker.
(They don’t call it Black Bayou for nothing — you can’t see anything down there.)
After three unsuccessful dives, I decided to grab onto the pier and push myself down while holding a post. I felt around the bottom with my feet, found what felt like the camera and came back up for air. After a couple more dives, I found it and placed it on the pier.
Instead of trying to pull myself out of the water (I was cold and exhausted) I decided to swim to shore, a short distance away.
After I made it to the bank I realized my phone and keys were soaked so I clicked the unlock button and when I got a response, I immediately turned on the car. I did not want to be stuck in rural Caddo Parish soaking wet with no car and no phone. It just doesn’t sound fun.
I keep telling myself the water is too cold for alligators to be active. I have no idea if that’s true, but I saw the biggest one of my life in that bayou when I was a child.
Magnus, one of my three Catahoula pups, was on the pier losing her mind the entire time. I had to pull her out of the water earlier in the day because she panicked when she couldn’t touch the bottom.
She did everything she could — short of biting me — to keep me from going back onto the pier to grab my gear.
At least one of us has some sense. Everything is in a bucket of rice. Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.
I’m still hoping, by the way. That was weeks ago and though I’ve replaced the car key and phone, the camera is still in the bucket of rice ( to pull the moisture out). I haven’t summoned the courage to see if it worked.
I’ll keep you posted.