SANDY ISLAND

The morning started cold as we launched from the cypress shadows of Wachesaw Landing, but the sun warmed us up as soon as we hit the big open water of the river. I had two groups this fine mid-March day for a Sandy Island trip—a family of four from Greenville, and a couple down here vacationing from P.A.—pleasant and curious and wonderful people, all. 

Spring showed itself in the greening buds, and the swamp azalea pinking the banks, and the great blue herons nesting in their rookery high in the canopy. A shrieking osprey swooped down and caught a fish, as if giving us the Nat Geo special. In the back creeks, a few songbirds flittered, and the wild rice, still golden, swayed in a cool breeze. 

On our walk on the island, we saw pig and deer tracks, the pitcher plants just beginning to green a little for spring. Vireos and cardinals and chickadees punctuated the day with their songs, and on the way back, I found a handsome wild turkey feather in the river. We made our way through the little secret path in the grass and paddled in the open air on the big water back home, quietly and reverently at first, then chatting away like old friends. 

What a time, as they say, to be alive.