 Three solo paddlers from New England—Wayne from New Hampshire, Mary from Vermont, and Phyllis from Greenville by way of Massachusetts—came together as one, for one of the best River Reader trips in a long time.
The mid-February day turned sunny and blue as we crossed the river and took, in a change of last-minute heart, the long way to Sandy Island by way of Cowhouse Creek and the rice canals. No wind tickled the rice, and the river was as calm as the river can be. Two red cardinals provided something of a color spark for a day otherwise birdless. In White Creek we rode the last of the incoming tide, chatting idly in the way of fellow kayakers about our various lives, then turned into Vaux Creek for gorgeous swimming sunlight. On the island, on our hike, Mary found a buck’s antlers (four points!), and the longleaf pinecones were closed up in anticipation of the week's coming rain. We found two small yellow pitcher plants fresh and green among the winter's decay, and we heard pigs squealing and grunting at the edge of the rice fields when we got back to the dock. Then a big black pig swimming--fast as hell!--across the creek! We fought a little headwind on the way back, but we dug in and kept quiet in our thoughts until we reached the blue heron rookery. We noticed that the birds had returned and were building their nests--twigs in their beaks--and then an osprey cut across the sky to remind us that the river is never truly birdless.
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 The new and third River Reader season finally began on Valentine's Day with an afternoon double-header. First it was a noon river tour, and four young men--one in college, three others just graduated and down here for the federal holiday weekend--joined me for a two-hour loop. They wanted, they said, to see the Waccamaw National Wildlife Refuge. And so we made our way downriver on the outgoing tide, everything in winter browns and grays but only just--you could sense it--about to burst into the greens of spring. We turned off-river and made our way through Buckskin Creek, our kayaks and a few holly berries the only touch of bright color in the entire landscape. A bald eagle soared above us--the first any of the group had ever seen in the wild--but not much else. Still, the day was warm and bright, the water cold and brown, the whole two hours fine and pleasant. One of the young men said, "I always say, 'South Carolina is where God goes to retire.'" And we all had to nod and amen him.  A few hours later, I found myself in the salt marsh with four wonderful women from my hometown. The afternoon wind whipped up the slightest nip, but the sky overhead was wide, the clouds wispy, and the light slanted with a particular kind of coastal clarity. The water was calm and very clear--you could see right through it with polarized lenses--and the incoming tide didn't put up much of a fight for the first ten minutes we paddled against it.
An oystercatcher worked the last little oysterbeds sticking up above the surface like a sentence, and an osprey carved the sky at the upper end of Oaks Creek. We followed the crab buoys and had just--just!--enough water to glide over the oysters as we rounded the bend under the eagle's nest. And then--as if returning from the river earlier--we heard the unmistakable chatter of the bird itself, and looked up to see a bald eagle soaring above. ~ All in all, I'd say, the world gave us quite the love letter on Valentine's Day. |
AuthorHastings Hensel Archives
May 2026
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