Swamp to Sea - South Carolina

In a perfect world, I would be out on a new expedition every other week. The thrill of packing up everything you need and living out of a kayak for four days is as liberating and empowering as walking around the house you bought, naked. When I start brainstorming these trips, it's always fueled by some type of fanciful photo I want to make and then the rest of the trek becomes a blank canvas to be filled with adventure and discovery.

My friends Van Whitehead, the deputy director of Upstate Forever, Mark Musselman the property manager of Francis Beidler Forest, and Joe Guthrie from the Florida Wildlife Corridor Expedition all thought this was a pretty good idea after looking at maps back in May. A bold one, though, it looked doable—or at least worth a try. It would be a maze of braided cypress sloughs and lots of backwoods portages over fallen trees through Four Holes Swamp for roughly 80 miles until we reached the ocean at Edisto.

As with all adventures, nothing goes as planned, and that's alright with me. The purpose was to follow the blackwater through Four Holes Swamp, down the watershed and natural corridors to the Edisto River (the largest free-flowing blackwater river in the US), and out to the ocean. South Carolina's state director of Audubon, Norman Brunswig, along with many other organizations has been protecting properties along this watershed for over 40 years, including the largest stand of virgin cypress and tupelo swamp in the world. Navigating some of these areas on a four-day trek would hopefully lend better insight as to the great accomplishments that have been made and also what more can be done.

Joe Guthrie pauses for a breather while hauling his kayak and gear .75 miles to the put-in. Photo © Mac Stone

Van Whitehead hauls his canoe to the water through the dark of night at 11:00PM. Off to a great start. Photo © Mac Stone

Our first night in the swamp, Joe and I set up hammocks between tupelo trees. Unfortunately we didn't get to sleep until 5:00am, running on the adrenaline of the adventure to come and the photos being made. Photo © Mac Stone

The only good light we had all trip was the first morning, but it did not disappoint. The cypress trees and braided channels of Four Holes Swamp are without match. Photo © Mac Stone

Of course we found many snakes, we lost count after 30. This water mocassin posed nicely for a few minutes. Photo © Mac Stone

Photo © Mac Stone

The first day was the hardest, with a long slog through the swamp, portaging our gear nearly a mile to avoid encroaching on private property. Photo © Mac Stone

Mark Musselman navigating skinny water in Four Holes Swamp. Photo © Mac Stone

In the remote sections of the swamp, we saw lots of wildlife. Photo © Mac Stone

Photo © Mac Stone

When we started approaching the Edisto River, we started to see clear signs of civilization and the difference between old growth swamp and timber lands. Photo © Mac Stone

Along the Edisto River the fall colors started to show on the high bluffs. Photo © Mac Stone

On the third night I was surprised when my hammock ripped open and birthed me out the bottom. Fortunately, I was over dry land this time: a very rare and fortunate thing. Photo by Joe Guthrie

Of course we couldn't resist the rope swings. Photo © Mac Stone

Photo © Mac Stone

Photo © Mac Stone

Our last night on the trip, we camped on a small dry spit of land and built a small fire. Drying clothes and making PB&Js, we were dreading the 6:00am departure to beat the tides. Photo © Mac Stone

Van checks his gear, readying for the arduous paddle to the coast. Photo © Mac Stone

Photo © Mac Stone

Beaten and battered, we finish strong and then have to find a way of cramming all of this gear and four people into my truck. From left: Mac Stone, Van Whitehead, Joe Guthrie, Mark Musselman. Photo © Mac Stone

Farewell South Carolina

My time as a naturalist at the Francis Beidler Forest has come to an end. Looking back on my journal and browsing through a full portfolio of images I can say with some degree of confidence that I made the best of three months with Audubon. If I were to quantify this time it would break down to something like this: three full moons, two seasons, twenty-six guided canoe trips, one music video in the swamp, four large-mouth bass, one plane ride, five visits from friends, one leech, one completed guidebook, one redesigned brochure, eighteen swamp stomps, and 6,000 photos.

In one last effort to convey to the world the importance and sanctity of this little oasis, I have compiled a video highlighting some of my favorite moments I shared with the swamp. Enjoy.

Flyin High

There are many ways to see a swamp. You can canoe. You can kayak. You can walk on a boardwalk. You can slog through the water. You can even hop from cypress knee to cypress knee. Or, you can fly.

Buddy Wehman, a retired pilot lives just outside Harleyville, SC and keeps his 1939 Fleet biplane in a hanger at the Summerville airport. After months of looking at aerial Google maps I wanted to see for myself the braided channels and towering trees of the 1,600 acres. I love anything that changes my perspective. My main motivation, however, was to document the dichotomy between old growth forest and clear-cut lowcountry.

On Monday morning I met him at the airport and we waited an hour for the fog to dissipate. To kill time he dissected the simplistic anatomy of a biplane and told me about the time the propeller nearly severed his femoral artery. All alone, he used a belt for a tourniquet and drove himself to a hospital 30 minutes away. I figured I was in good hands should our plane crash into the Hudson, or in our case, the Edisto. Any fears or uneasiness about flying in a seventy year-old plane quickly vanished once I put on the leather hat and goggles.

Flying high over the eastern edge of Harleyville we had a great view of the wetland transition zones. This whole area is located along the Four Holes Swamp watershed draining some 500,000 acres of land. As seen in the photos below the dividing line between secondary growth and primary forest is pretty abrupt.

Imagine 60 miles of this landscape once again connected, uninterrupted, and allowed to flow freely to the Edisto River. National Audubon and other conservation groups are slowly buying up pieces of private land to revert logged sections back to old growth. This sort of thing takes a lot of money and of course, a lot of time.

This is what is known as Mellard's Lake. The house I live in is at the middle bend just on the left.