A Pocket of Wilderness
Between the capitol city of Columbia, S. C., and ever-busy Interstate 95, amid an otherwise rural countryside, is Congaree National Park, an unexpected, 26,276-acre expanse of wilderness.
By Alaskan standards this wilderness would fit in a back pocket, but on the eastern seaboard it is to be appreciated, celebrated.
The National Park Service describes it as the largest contiguous mass of old-growth bottomland hardwoods in the United States. Not technically a swamp, but appearing to be, Congaree is a low-lying forest that is flooded often throughout the year by the Congaree and Wateree rivers.
Enormous old-growth trees - bald cypress, tupelo, loblolly pine, among them - rise up from the bottomland, averaging over 130 high, at least one loblolly over 150 feet high. Meandering through the park is Cedar Creek, a most intimate, peaceful way to experience the deep-woods soul of Congaree.
Indeed, there really are only two ways to see this ancient forest; hiking, or paddling a canoe or kayak. In a visit of a day and a half, I managed to do both. Get your hands wet paddling through this historic forest and it becomes forest bathing in both the figurative and literal senses.
An excellent introduction to the park is to hike the boardwalk loop from the Harry Hampton Visitor Center. Get the Boardwalk self-guided pamphlet at the visitor center. The 2.4-mile loop takes you deep into the forest with excellent close-up views of the old-growth trees, colonies of sizable American holly, stands of dwarf palmetto. There are at least 11 trails winding through the park.
Birds were scarce on the winter afternoon I did the boardwalk loop, but birding can be excellent. Woodpeckers are common.
I visited the park in January, the deciduous trees leafless. I’d guess this forest, which is appealing enough in winter, must be spectacularly beautiful in spring when the leaves pop, birds are mating, temperatures most comfortable.
An advantage of a winter visit, though, is that there will likely be fewer visitors, assuming you like the idea of a huge forest to share with but a few others. I spent a couple of hours on the boardwalk and an adjoining trail and saw a total of perhaps 6 or 8 couples and families.
The next morning I arrived at the South Cedar Creek Canoe Landing, my kayak atop my SUV. A couple was unloading their kayaks, about to paddle the creek. I’d been told by a park ranger that if I were to paddle upstream from the launch I would come upon a fallen tree blockage that would require a portage. The couple, who lead group trips on the creek, said there also was a blockage downstream and they were there to try to dislodge it.
I decided to paddle upstream to the blockage, then turn downstream and see if the couple had opened up the downriver blockage. They indeed had made some progress, opening a tiny passage on the right. My kayak slipped through nicely. The guides were about to head back upriver to the launch area.
For the next couple of hours it was me, the forest and the stream. I did not see another person in 5 miles of paddling. It was quiet. So quiet I found my consciousness completely attuned to the trees and the creek. No distractions. A row of huge bald cypress just past a bend in the river commanded attention, as if it were an exhibit. An otter spotted me - animals in the wild almost always see you first - as I paddled back upriver. It kept just ahead of me on the surface for easily 150 feet, before finally diving and disappearing. I watched every moment. The call of a pileated woodpecker deep in the forest carried clearly, unmistakably, in the quiet of the woods.
The creek itself, at least the section I paddled, is entirely flatwater with a slight current, the water brown from the tannins carried by the periodic flooding that overspreads the forest floor, unlike the clearwater streams I’m used to in New England. Brown. Different. Quiet. A path through deep woods.
Only the difficulty of logging in a bottomland forest spared many of the old-growth trees. A conservation campaign that began in the late 20th century led to the forest’s status first as a National Monument in 1976 and then as a national park in 2003, making it one of the newer national parks.
And a destination park for tree huggers.
The 2.4-mile-long boardwalk in South Carolina’s Congaree National Park is accessed from the Visitor Center and gets visitors well into the old-growth forest of cypress, tupelo, loblolly pine and other species. What appear to be stumps or tiny branch-less trees are cypress “knees,” that rise up from the roots of the cypress. They are thought to provide extra stability when the forest floods. Click to enlarge.
The red-brown, scaly bark of a huge, old loblolly pine in Congaree National Park. Loblolly pine is a tree of the southeastern U. S. that reaches maximum heights in the park’s old-growth wilderness. Click to enlarge.
As if planted as ornamentals, a long row of ancient bald cypress trees is on display as paddlers round a corner on Cedar Creek, deep in the old-growth forest. Click to enlarge.
Dwarf palmetto adding color to the forest, as seen from the boardwalk trail. Click to enlarge.
American holly, an evergreen, adds color to the forest in winter, even overhanging Cedar Creek in places. Click to enlarge.
After paddling 5 miles, I returned to the South Cedar Creek Canoe Landing. Click to enlarge.