Philadelphia Weekly

Remember my friend Bill, the gentleman who wrote that book about Hezekiah Smith and his wife Agnes? Well, the misadventures continue.

One evening last week, after a fruitless solo trek in search of lady's tresses (Spiranthes) and green wood orchids (Platanthera clavellata), I stopped by Bill's cedar-shingled bungalow, which is barely visible from the narrow road adjoining the dirt trail that leads to his house.

Bill's house is perched on the bank of Rancocas Creek just outside of Mount Holly, N.J., in a densely wooded floodplain home to owls, turkeys, raccoons and young beaver kits that sound off as they glide by in the black, dimly lit creek. All of which agrees with Bill, being an outdoorsy, pensive sort.

His rugged outpost is full of Eskimo carvings, Dogon sculptures and Purcell recordings. Add a Franklinia tree, a small bog garden, a stuffed pheasant in the shed and a plump little cat, and you get the picture.

Bill's house often serves as a departure/rendezvous/debriefing point for the Pine Barrens botanizing trips we conduct. In the evenings we sit on his dock suspended over the creek and discuss the day's discoveries, quaffing from Bill's famously big-boned gin and tonics. Over the summer we've occasionally waded across the creek to the far bank to visit a quaking bog full of buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis) and arrow arum (Peltandra virginica). From his wooden dock Bill has a first-row seat to the changing seasons, as the open bog and surrounding woods are alive with tree frogs in the spring, and aglow with fireflies in midsummer.

Anyway, that evening we had the brilliant idea of mounting an inner-tube expedition down Rancocas Creek. Inner tubes may sound like a silly mode of transport for two grown men, but in shallow, narrow creeks that bend abruptly and are full of downed trees, they can be the best way to inspect aquatic plants and get close to shy animals like turtles, snakes and deer.

Neither of us had scouted that part of the creek before. The water level looked good so we estimated it should only take an hour to reach town. We didn't deem sunlight a pressing issue.

Our makeshift poles of black gum (Nyssa sylvatica) failed to reach the creek's silty bottom after the first half-hour, and since paddling with a stick is the least effective mode of aquatic propulsion, we were at the mercy of the nonexistent current, walled in by the pitch-black scrim of trees pierced by the occasional light of secluded houses.

As the light slowly died, a chirping flurry of big brown bats (Eptesicus fuscus) swirled overhead as we drifted by freestanding fireplaces in mossy grottoes. We saw large stands of jewelweed (Impatiens capensis) and cardinal flower (Lobelia cardinalis), as well as attractive invasives like knotweed (Polygonum cuspidatum), which has large, slightly rounded triangular leaves.

Late summer is still a good time to see showy, flowering plants. Earlier in the week I'd seen large stations of ironweed (Vernonia altissima) in the Pine Barrens bog savannahs, which are such a vibrant fuschia they're visible from a quarter mile away. The dainty, demure lavender blooms of Nuttall's lobelia (Lobelia nuttallii) and purple torches of pickerelweed (Pontederia cordata) are also in great profusion out in the bogs and grassy floodplains along the Mullica and Batsto Rivers.

Our trip? Well, after three hours in the dark, we finally made it to the landing at Mount Holly's municipal park, then squished our way home. Bill had enough dignity to deflate his tube and carry it draped over his arm like an overcoat. I alone carry the shame of mycological evening wear: I wore said tube on my head, looking to the porch-perched neighbors like an invading alien race of giant perambulatory mushroom.

Foolish? Yes. But I'll bet we had more fun than you that night.