“He’s Gone”: A 30-Hour Vigil in the Great Dismal Swamp (Photo 6 of 6)

“He’s Gone”: A 30-Hour Vigil in the Great Dismal Swamp, photo 6

When I scooped him up, he didn’t feel like a ghost or a statistic; he felt warm and incredibly solid. He hooked his small arms around my neck and let out a long, tired sigh. He had survived the snakes, the swamp, and the freezing dark, and he looked at me as if he’d just finished a long afternoon of play.

We never did find out how he lost his clothes—perhaps the swamp mud claimed them, or he shed them in a feverish chill—but he had the survival instinct to find a porch and stay put.

As I carried him toward the sound of his mother’s frantic, joyful screams, the entire search party stood in a silent line. In this business, the wilderness usually wins. But today, the swamp had to give one back.