To journey through the Dismal Swamp is to take a trip back in time. The low drone of the diesel blends with the boat’s bubbling wake to create a hypnotic trance. In the early morning, swirls of mist curl beneath overhanging tree boughs as if rising from witch’s cauldrons just beneath the surface. As we passed, each of our crew perched on the deck in solitude and gazed at the symmetry of the canal that extended in perfect perspective into the horizon. A heron hop scotched ahead of us for a period as if our shepherd. Both your eyes and ears can play tricks on you. As I stared – Were those the ghostly voices of travelers past I heard floating through the trees?