Tall trees of Congaree Swamp

This is an amazing story I read the other day in our local paper. It is about a place that isdear to the hearts of so many of us in South Carolina, a magnificent bottomland swamp forest, a wilderness of many thousands of acres, saved from logging more than 25 years ago.

I was a young journalist and newspaper writer at the time, and wrote columns and stories about the swamp during the fight to get it set aside as a national monument.

The efforts of so many people were rewarded, and today this is the last significant stand of old-growth, riverbottom hardwood forest. It has miles of trails and boardwalks. It is seasonally flooded, and is a realm of great mystery and beauty, set apart from civilization.

When I visited last October, I hiked with gratitude and awe through this primeval and sublime woodland, where some of the tallest trees in the country are located. To think that it is only a two-hour drive from where I live!

The college student who discovered the record loblolly pine tree is truly a kindred spirit to me. I would have loved to have been able to know the swamp as well as he does when I was that age. To be young and so conscious of the great gifts of nature — I admire Jess Riddle greatly. I wish there were more in his generation like him. They give me hope for the future.

The excerpt below is from my other online journal, and it gives you a brief glimpse of what the experience of Congaree is like. It is, incidentally, the first online journal entry I ever wrote, almost exactly four years ago. It seems like yesterday now when I look back.

A visit to Congaree Swamp

It’s been a little over a week since I visited Congaree Swamp National Monument near Columbia, the last remaining stand of old-growth bottomland swamp forest in the U.S. A magnificent realm of tea-colored water and light filtering down from a tall canopy of trees, many more than 100 feet tall, some of them state and national record trees. The day I was there the trails were just barely passable after the most recent floods from spring rains in the Congaree River drainage basin. Weston Lake, an old oxbow of the Congaree, was dark and still and chocolate colored. A snake basked on a log. Birdsong filled the air. There was the great stillness of the deep swamp, miles from the nearest road. There is something primeval about this place, almost as if this must have been what the earth was like millennia ago before human influence totally altered the landscape. Lizards, salamanders and othe creatures dart about and rustle leaves and plants in the undergrowth. The senses are more keen to these sounds because it is so still.

By 11 that morning I was leaving the forest. I didn’t want to re-enter the outside world at first, but at least knew I’d be quieter and calmer as I made my way back to Charleston. As tall loblolly pines receded in my rear view mirror, a clearing emerged and cultivated gardens and some cleared and plowed farmland appeared. Soon I was on the road, gaining speed. The day became hotter. Memories of the great forest remained.

(Written June 1, 1998)

Congaree Swamp National Monument

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