The Edisto River by Debbie Wells, Savannah, GA

The sun was setting on the horizon as I was driving up I-95 to Colleton State Park. I was meeting a few friends for a Sierra camping and kayaking trip on the Edisto river.

I arrived around 8 p.m. Patti Phillips and Dave Chafin were already there. Patti had borrowed a tent from a friend, and Dave was struggling to solve the mechanics of how to pitch it. We both used our car headlights to aid in this effort.

Dave had the campfire blazing, as the temperature was now in the fifty's. Soon the three of us would settle around the fire and become mesmerized by the burning red embers.

Saturday morning we were joined by Gary McKinley and Sharon Wheeler. It was a cool 52 degree's, but the sun was out and the temperature would soon be warm enough to remove a few of our layers.

We launched our boats around 10:30 that morning at Whetstone Crossroads. The distance of our paddle would be 13.5 miles. The sun was bright, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The current on the Edisto was swift and we were paddling effortlessly down the tranquil black water.

Gliding past the willows and birches, the smell of autumn was in the air. The greens of summer had given way to a quiet corridor of autumn. With each stroke of the paddle, the water quivered with the colors of a painter's pallet. The maples now dressed in crimson, the hickories a delicate gold, and the towering spires of cypress were robed in a rich cinnamon. Color splashed all around us, and we breathed deep and released the weeks woes.

Wildlife was not apparently abundant, but as we took a break along the river bank, we would spot small chickadees and kinglets searching for food among the branches. Despite the absence of wildlife, this trip would be far from mundane.

There are several hunting clubs in Colleton County, and the hunters were taking advantage of the warm Fall weather. Once in a while we would hear a shotgun blast, which made us a little nervous. White-tailed deer seemed to be their main quarry. As we approached a bend in the river, we could hear a hunter trying to call his dogs back. He was "whooping and hollering" "Here beagle, here beagle." (I guess hunters don't name the dogs they hunt with, but call them by their breed?!?) Anyway, as I approached them it was obvious that a few of their dogs had swam across the river. I could hear one of them say "Jim, shoot your gun." Then apparently Jim noticed our presence, and said, "There are a group of boats, Ray." His partner said, "Well, turn around and shoot the other way." This was a bit scary to know they were on the water and shooting guns. We were paddling quickly to get out of their way, when I noticed another dog swimming across the river. The men were frantic, so I sped up and intercepted the dog and turned him around so he would head back to shore. It felt like I had taken part in a cattle roundup. (I have often wondered what it would feel like to be a cowgirl.)

Soon my group was "whooping" my name shouting, "Way to go Deb." We picked up our pace and soon the river returned to the serene and quiet beauty that we had enjoyed before.

Sharon found a small friend to share the river with. A belted kingfisher would chatter as she approached and then fly off in a zig zag pattern. It would land in a tree 30 feet in front of her and repeat this throughout the day. Oh, the small joys that you encounter on a lazy river. She had her little feathered friend, the aromatic smell of the woodlands, and the fellowship of other paddlers. It just doesn't get better than this.

We arrived at Green Pond Church Landing at 3:30. Our group had enjoyed five hours of splendid beauty and a few adventures to boot. When we returned to camp, Teresa Clemmons was there waiting for us. She was ready to camp and eager to paddle with us on Sunday. Gary had other plans for Sunday, so we said good-bye to him and welcomed Teresa to our circle.

Dinner would be at Duke's Barbecue. This is a wonderful "all you can eat" restaurant. For the meager price of $6.36 you are served barbecue, chicken, vegetables, dessert, and it even includes your drink. I really don't know how they stay in business with the appetite of kayakers and hunter's as patrons. We had an enjoyable meal, good conversation, and when we returned to our campsite, a nice warm fire.

It wasn't long after dinner that the ranger came by to collect our camp fees. He was a local gentleman who had grown up in the area not far from where we were camping. We mentioned that we hadn't seen any snakes while we were on the river. He told us that a long time ago, when the river was high, there would be snakes piled three feet deep on limbs and logs on the river bank. He also told us that alligators were migratory and could be here one year and not the next. He assured us that he had never known a gator to attack a boat, but if you stepped in his home, he would definitely let you know about it. The ranger also told us a story about a king snake that lived on his property. Whether this is a true story we couldn't discern, but Sharon believed it to be true. I personally think this fellow was telling us quite a big yarn.

The story went like this:

Once while going to his field, he noticed a large slender shadow under the cattle gate. As he approached the gate, he could see that it was a large king snake. He stomped his foot, and made some noise, but the fellow just laid there stretched out like a long pole. So he opened the gate, slid his hands under the snakes belly and gently picked him up. He told us as long as you lift the snake up in this manner, he would not try to coil around your arm and constrict.

The next day he returned to his field, and there was the king back under the gate. So once again he leaned over and moved the snake out of his way. Now this ranger really likes snakes, especially king snakes as they will eat the poisonous snakes on your property.

As the ranger started his tractor to cut his field, he noticed the snake slithering behind him. He would make a turn, and the snake would change directions and follow him. After several passes, the ranger noticed that the snake had crawled upon the back of his tractor disc. The snake slowly wove around the man's shoulder. It sat there watching for other snakes and rodents while the ranger completed cutting his field. After this day, they became friends, and the snake lived in his attic. He told us he never had a problem with rats or squirrels while the snake was around. This continued for a few years, until one day, the man had gone to his field and spied a long furrow in the sand. He knew the track was the imprint of a large rattlesnake. For days he went outside early in the morning and late in the evening trying to spot the snake, but the snake always eluded him. So he decided to get his king snake, and put it on the path. He said the king could smell that rattler and it immediately started to hunt him down. The snake went into the barn, but soon returned. Then he headed out to the field house and went under the door. After a short time the ranger saw it exit through a cracked window pane. Then the snake went under the old house, and the ranger heard the music of the rattler. There was a big commotion, and neither snake ever exited from under the house.

The ranger thinks the king snake killed that rattler. But unfortunately, the rattler must have inflicted his deadly venom and killed the old king too.

Now readers, you tell me, is this true or the biggest yarn you have ever heard? We couldn't tell by his expression one way or the other. Dave and I were sure by the time he came to the end of his tale, that he would laugh and we would know he had spun a good one. But the old fellow never cracked a smile.

He also enlightened us about the old way his mother used boric acid twice a year to kill ants. He spoke about how to cure and smoke a ham, and also elaborated on a few Emus that someone had turned loose on forest service property after they realized they couldn't make a profit.

He was quite the storyteller, and we enjoyed his antics whether they were true or not.

As we sat around complaining about how much we had eaten, we were pleasantly surprised by our newest member. Patti had been a guitar player and jazz singer while living in New York. (Actually she is one multi-talented woman.) She entertained us with songs from Ella Fitzgerald, and other jazz greats. She has a beautiful voice, and we felt lucky to have her along with us.

The startling jet black sky, full of glistening stars, covered the night like a blanket. The warmth of the campfire, the fullness of our bellies, and the soft, sultry voice of Patti, would soon lead us into a gentle slumber.

On Sunday morning, as we were leaving the campground to launch our boats, we saw a flock of turkeys in a field along the side of the road. They were too busy eating the copious amount of acorns to give us any thought. We stopped our cars and watched as they finally made their way to the edge of the forest. We drove to Stokes Bridge and were on the water by 10 a.m. We were excited and couldn't wait to embrace the day. The current was still moving at a fast pace, and the temperature would again reach into the 70's. The distance on this section, would be 12.5 miles.

Teresa was the only canoeist and we were all amazed at the energy she exhibited during the day. She paddled along side of us and could have over taken us at any point of our journey.

Paddling the Edisto can be very rewarding. Nature abounds if you keep your eyes and ears open. Floating along the river I could hear a red shoulder hawk flying through the forest, calling "Keer, Keer, Keer." Yellow sulfur butterflies, still searching for the last of summer's nectar, were seen fluttering among the asters. We counted seven yellow-eared sliders sunning themselves on logs until we approached too closely. Then we would hear the "plop and plunk" as they slid into the water. There is always something to discover, whatever time of year you decide to make your river odyssey.

Toward the end of our paddle, the sandy banks of the river had now changed to limestone bluffs. The lichen-stained bluffs, created a niche for small ferns and mosses. We paddled close to the wall of limestone and glided under the overhanging branches of small shrubs that were attached to the rock face. The cool air surrounding the rock enveloped us and enhanced the smell of Autumn.

Our journey had now come to an end. We would reach Givhans Ferry State Park at 2:30. We pulled our boats up on the ramp and walked up the steep hill to make our shuttle. But wait, there would be one more story to tell.

As we approached the parking lot, we heard music and noticed a couple of musicians. Then all of a sudden, dressed in white leather, black sunglasses, a colored scarf around his neck, and a shirt open to the waist, was Elvis! Yes, I said Elvis! He was swaying, and singing "Blue Suede Shoes". While he sang he would walk into the audience and drape the colored scarves around the women sitting on the lawn by the recreation center. We found out later, that it was a family reunion, and they had hired an Elvis impersonator from Savannah, GA!

After listening for a short while to the wonderful old rock and roll, we said our good-byes, exchanged phone numbers and made a promise to hold our own reunion next year on the enchanting water of the Edisto.

Debbie Wells

Skidaway Institute of Oceanography

Recreation is valuable in proportion to the intensity of its experiences, and to the degree to which it differs from and contrasts with workaday life.

A. Leopold