 It was just me and Starla from New Mexico (by way of Chapel Hill), and with the tide high and the sky overcast and not a breath of wind, the water was as flat and calm as I can remember it ever being. We crossed the flats and snuck up on two twin bald eagles perched like gargoyles on twin dead oaks, looking at each other like they were having a staring contest. We circled around the back creeks and came upon four roseate spoonbills on the old hurricane-torn Nature Center dock. One yawned. We pretty much had the beautiful morning all to ourselves—I was surprised by the lack of weekend boat traffic—and we were able to take some side creeks that I normally stay away from. Starla said it was a ten-star day, and I had to agree. She also said she could drift along forever out in the salt marsh, and I had to agree with that, too!
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 For this special paddle, I teamed up with the Georgetown Library for a program called “A Glorious Cause: South Carolina and the American Revolution,” which was made possible by an LSTA grant (Library Services and Technology Act) from the Institute of Museum and Library Services administered by the South Carolina State Library. Eleven folks signed up and met us at the landing for a tour of the Black Mingo creek and the site where Francis Marion and his Whig militia won a decisive skirmish against the Tories in September of 1780, a turning point in the war.
The day had threatened rain but turned into a gorgeous spring morning. I got everyone outfitted and launched, and I divvied up the tour into distinct sections and stops: 1. At the landing, to discuss the backdrop of the war and the battle, and a disclaimer that I am no historian, only a kayak guide interested in history. 2. Just past the Dollard’s Tavern site, where the skirmish took place, to discuss the importance of ferries and the intimate nature of this “civil war.” 3. At the place where the Willtown Bridge once crossed the creek and where Francis Marion and his men crossed at midnight on their way to engage. 4. Into the swamps, where we discussed the natural history of the creek, including its unique geological history. Since this was an out-and-back paddle, we revisited these sites, and my friend and fellow naturalist Mathilde clued us in on the difference between cypress and tupelo species, and we saw many turtles sunning on logs beside blooming swamp roses and river lilies. It was a fine paddle with fine people on a fine day, and I hope I was able to make history a little less abstract for them out on the creek than it would be in a timeline or textbook.  I’m glad my mother was in Ace Hardware the other day in Columbia, SC and ran into Peggy, whose husband was my soccer coach and whose son I used to play soccer with—three decades ago—and that Peggy was going to be on vacation in Pawleys and was looking for a kayaking trip. Now I owe my mother the $4.50 finder’s fee, which I’m more than happy to pay because it was an absolute delight paddling with Peggy through the back creeks of the Waccamaw river system. We took Cow House creek with its two chillaxing alligators, then cut through the canal with pickerel weed in purple bloom and swamp rose in pink bloom and river lily in yellow bloom. Up White Creek we chatted naturally about this and that, about the people we knew, with the high tide water about as calm as I’ve ever known it to be. We made good enough time to tack on Vaux Creek, and the tide was draining when we got back to the river, which was good because a headwind kicked up. When you see people whom you haven’t seen in thirty years, you think naturally about the course of your own life, how it might have flowed away from your hometown and the people you once knew, but how sometimes the waters reconnect, braid back together, on our universal journey to the sea.
 Dolphins! In the river! A pod of four spouting beside our kayaks a little upriver from the landing...a Memorial Day treat for Donna, a repeat customer, and her crew of three, one of whom was an ornithologist, all of whom were cool. Swamp rose in good bloom, herons and osprey on display. We had the river unbelievably all to ourselves on this morning that started overcast and ended sunny. No gators or snakes, but a few sunning turtles and lots of water gliders, dragonflies, prothonotary warblers, and a single red cardinal blotching red the swamp. We made it into Vaux Creek just as the tide turned, and got out on the island for a hike with white-tailed deer running through the forest. Yellow pitcher plants, turkey tracks, songbirds, oh my. On the way back the boat traffic had picked up, but we raced home safely along the shoreline with the tide pushing us as though the Waccamaw were a lazy river. The landing was packed with the holiday weekend boaters blasting their engines and music, but we got out safely and all the wiser for yet another terrific River Reader trip.
 A return Memorial Day Weekend visit from the four sisters. I love these women, who pivoted from our initial plan out of Peachtree to the salt marsh, and then were good with me pivoting again when I got out to Oaks Creek because of the wind. I’m glad they got a low tide paddle this time, below the marsh grass and among the oyster beds, where great egrets were standing candlelike in the flats. I took them up into the muddiest flats where the shrimp were being chased by redfish and the mullet jumped high. We turned around, our paddle blades gunked with pluff, and snapped pics of the bald eagle poising regally atop a live oak. I wasn’t about to get stuck in mud two days running, so we paddled back to the main channel, talking of everything under the Carolina sun. They bought a copy of the book, too, a gesture in line with their kindness and interest in our watershed, which after all, is their watershed, too.
 I was beginning to forget this was work. I had the sneaking suspicion I was stealing people’s money. That I had somehow cheated the system to be able to do what I do. And for the first one hour and forty-five minutes of our two-hour river tour today, with Tom and Tammy from West Virginia—a damn cool couple just back from a trip to Greece—everything was pretty damn perfect. We took the falling tide down Cow House Creek as egrets and osprey took flight. We returned to the river and then up the side creek that I call Little Gator Creek, where sure enough little gators swam. Yellow-crowned night herons stalked the mud flats, too, and a six-foot alligator was sunbathing on the banks as we rounded into White Creek. Tammy and Tom and I talked of travel and family and kayaking—the conversation flowing freely on the open water—but I was beginning to worry about the water levels in the canal. Would we have enough water to make it through?
Long story short: we did not. I had checked the tide charts but had neglected to account for the drought. We didn’t have enough water in the canal to ensure free and easy passage, even though the tidal range was, well, supposedly within my range. I had to get out. I had to heave. I had to ho. I had to crawl on my belly in the mud like an alligator. I had to push. I had to pull. I sank up to my thighs with every step. So much for the gym this afternoon. By the time I got them into enough water where they could push-pole the rest of the way, I was panting like a pup. Thankfully, they were cool and understanding and patient. We agreed it was a pretty good story to tell. Which is all I’m ever after anyways. And even though today’s tour turned into work, and I’m plumb wore out, and it’ll take two washes the get the mud off my clothes and gear, I wouldn’t trade this job for any job in the world.  Paige and Bill from Texas, on their 35th wedding anniversary road trip through the South, were friendly and cheerful and interested and up for the salt marsh adventure on a day with blue skies and blue water. We launched from Morse Park with great egrets taking flight out of the marsh grass and the tide coming in. The wind gusted here and there, but not too much, as we passed the crabbers crabbing and the fishermen fishing and the least terns dive-bombing and the back creeks amazing in every sense of the word.
I did notice, coming around the bend back into Oaks Creek, that the lone cedar tree on the oyster bank had wilted...another victim of sea-level rise. On the beach Paige picked up some sea pork in laughing surprise, and we watched schools of tiny minnows flit about in the tidal pools. Ruddy turnstones loafed at the water's edge, and one pelican soared like a fighter jet. I think I'm batting 1000 this season--that is, good people, good tour, good weather, good times.  Laurel and Josh from just outside of Pittsburgh and I crossed the river on a beautiful spring day and immediately saw a turtle basking and a brown water snake swimming, then wrap itself around a piece of driftwood on the far shore. An anhinga kept poking its head up in the river lilies right beside our kayaks as we made our way upriver. Herons in the nests, turtles on the log, ospreys in the air. In the back creeks the cutgrass sagged heavy with its seed heads, and a few spider lilies bloomed. On the island, redheaded woodpeckers flew from pine to pine, and the pitcher plants were bright green in their new growth. Josh was an electrician and gently corrected me on the powerline situation on the island (not two-phase but one-phase split in two...I think!). We crossed the river immediately after the cut and fought a headwind that slowed us down, but made for a nice air-conditioning as the day warmed up. What to say other than it was pretty damn perfect, once again...
 This morning, the first of May, started cold enough for a beanie and long sleeves as a jovial couple from Shelby, NC—by way of Cape Cod—entrusted me with taking them on a two-hour river tour. Wind gusted about, but the sun broke through just as we launched and crossed towards Cow House Creek. I duly noted that, should I ever get up to Cape Cod, I must try the fried clams at a strip mall hole-in-the-wall called Sir Cricket’s.
The rice canal today was gorgeous as ever, shadowed in deep spring, with a pileated woodpecker guiding me down it, in swoops and dips, then a pair of swallowtail kites coasting and circling. In White Creek, prothonotary warblers bothered the branches of stout dogwoods, and one posed preening for us above a yellow-budding arrow-shaped river lily—each little yellow thing like a distorted reflection of the other. In the big water I found a big blue catfish hooked on a limb line below the blue heron rookery. Big and blue—that might be one way to describe the day as a whole—which was another great day out on the Waccamaw. |
AuthorHastings Hensel Archives
May 2026
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