I’ve travelled to a number of places of historical interest in my journeys; likewise places of incredible beauty. Cumberland Island National Seashore off the far southeastern coast of Georgia is both. It challenges you eyes, your brain and your body… and you damn well better make the 4:30 boat off the island!
The adventure begins with a boat ride. It’s about 45 minutes to the island from St. Marys, Georgia’s modest port where the park headquarters is located. Costing $18 (less for seniors and kids) for the boat and another $4 for the park fees (If you are over 62, get a $10 senior pass from the National Park Service. It gets you into every national park for free).
After purchasing my ticket, I was waiting for an orientation when a man asked, “How are you doing?”
“Better than this guy,” I replied. “Pointing out that the young man with him was wearing a New England Patriots sweatshirt. He was actually a Giants fan and the family was from New York. A relative had given him the shirt. The family included the man, his wife, his son and a daughter. The daughter seemed rather clingy to her mom and as we were talking, she came over to me and touched the small baseball I had attached to my camera strap. As a former special ed teacher, I realized she was exhibiting symptoms of autism and I let her do what she wanted. The dad had just purchased a souvenir tee shirt and I told him there was a good chance the insects would love nothing more than to snack on his arms. I offered him some insect repellent, which he declined.
The orientation was pretty basic. A ranger showed us a map including the places we would visit and the two boat stops. She was kind enough to remind us that if we didn’t get to the 4:30 boat on time, a charter would cost us several hundred dollars. I then realized I had left my cell phone in the trailer – charging it for the trip. Oh well! It's not that I wanted to make a call, my phone is also my watch.
There are two spots where the boat lands, Dungeness and Sea Camp. Dungeness is the name of a location for two mansions built in two very different times in American History. Sea Camp is the Park’s camping ground. It is very primitive. You haul everything you need in and out of there except water. They do provide showers – cold showers – as well. My departure was at Dungeness. I basically wanted to look at the woods and the beach. But thanks to a wonderful Ranger who acted as a tour guide at Dungeness, I had a wonderful education that in some respects is a microcosm of the history of the United States. At the beginning of the trip, the ranger advised us to wear long sleeves and insect repellent. My acquaintance in the tee shirt took me up on the offer, spraying his family as well.
The island’s first residents date back to the time of about 1000 a.d. They were Timucuans who lived and hunted there. As with most tribes, the men were hunters and gatherers while women maintained the homes and produced items such as clothing and pottery. Around the mid 1500s, Spanish explorers reached the island and introduced, perhaps by force, an agricultural aspect. The native population was wiped out due to the diseases the Spanish brought with them. Europeans generally infected the natives with measles, a minor childhood disease to us but fatal to a people who had never been exposed to the germs. They did leave us a disease in return that was minor to them – Syphilis. At any rate, it is believed that a Catholic mission remained on the island for about 80 years before the white man abandoned it for better places.
Saint Marys is located only a few miles from the Florida border. In 1736, the British, led by General James Oglethorpe, took over the island and established small forts at each end. A small battle in 1742 confirmed the British claim that the Island was a part of Georgia. Oglethorpe was a member of the British Parliament who founded the colony as a haven for prisoners in debt. But the island had not experienced any significant homesteading until the time of the American Revolution.
It was what the scientists would describe as a maritime forest. It was filled with live oaks and palmetto plants as well as some small game. Many of the trees there are believed to be more than 500 years old.
Following the American Revolution, Nathaneal Greene, a man who had raised himself from a private to general of the southern army, was given a number of land grants in the Carolinas and Georgia, including Cumberland Island. Greene harvested much of the live oak trees for use by the Navy. This included the timber for the U.S.S. Constitution, “Old Ironsides”, whose sides were actually made from the two-foot thick timber from the island. Greene died shortly afterwards and his wife chose to settle on the island, turning it into a plantation growing Sea Island cotton. She built a large home on the island, naming it Dungeness. She died in 1814 and the family eventually abandoned the island. However, it is the burial place of “Lighthorse Harry” Lee, revolutionary war hero who died there after becoming sick on the Georgia coast. Lee was also the father of Robert E. Lee, the commanding general of the Southern forces during the Civil War. Eventually, his remains were dug up and placed next to those of his son’s in Virginia.
Abandoned for more than half a century, the island was taken over by Thomas Carnegie, business partner and brother of steel baron Andrew Carnegie. The Carnegies rebuilt Dungeness over the spot where the Greene family’s plot was. Elaborate and expansive, the complex included four stories and is thought to be the first home in the south to have electricity. It employed more than 200 servants, mostly African Americans, who formed a village at the other side of the island.
The main building was burned to the ground in the 1920s. By then, it was used as a summer retreat by the Carnegies and at the time of the fire was maintained by a caretaker. Local lore has it that some poachers were shot at and sought revenge by burning the building. At any rate humans abandoned it, but the horses the Carnegies owned were set free to fend for themselves. It is believed the current population of these now-wild horses number about 200.
Looking at these horses gives one an entirely different perspective of what these animals are really about. Most of us encounter well-groomed and cared for horses that are stabled and cared for. We use them for racing and equestrian events and in many cases, pets. But the horses of Cumberland Island fend for themselves. Many are scared from the battles between stallions and a few are scrawny with bones showing as they suffer from diseases. There is no medical care. Their footprints look as if the horses are shoed, but they aren’t. They are used to humans, and allow us to come within a few feet of them. At the ruined mansion, they were grazing on the lawn, and fertilizing it. What appears to be perfect grooming, except for the horse manure, is actually the result of grazing on the extensive lawns the Carnegie family used for recreation.
The ruins of the buildings are indeed ruins. Our ranger told us that it was way too dangerous for people to enter what is left of the buildings and they won’t be explored for evidence of the family’s treasures until the walls finally collapse completely. Also in the area, one can find the rusted remains of pre-world war one era automobiles and farm vehicles. Had they been preserved, they would probably be worth millions by today’s standards.
With yet another warning to be on time for the 4:30 boat, our ranger left us to our own. She and I had spoke about how best to see the island and she suggested I follow the beach in a northbound direction up to the Sea Camp region. It was about three miles up the coast, she said, about the same distance as we had already hiked. And she again reminded me to be there by 4:30 p.m.
As I departed the Dungeness area, I asked someone the time. It was about 1:30 p.m., seemingly plenty of time to get to where I needed to be. Most of my companions stopped to eat, but I walked by myself along paths surrounded by pristine dunes. Even the horses took the paths to their grazing areas. At one end of the island are vast expanses of Marsh that seemed to reach out miles to the ocean. I was worried that I was lost. I found no evidence of footprints and thought I had missed the boardwalk path to the beach. But eventually I found it and I began the trek up the beach. It was low tide and the sand was hardened by he still wet ground. Depending on the beach area, it was between 50 and 100 yards between the beach dunes and the waves. I walked to the waves, shallow at this time of day, and photographed some seabirds foraging for goodies like crabs as the waves receded.
The entire beach was filled with shells, many of them quite attractive. The most plentiful were of small conch. However, I had many of them from previous ventures to Florida. One conch shell did attract my attention. Rather than the light brown and vanilla white ones, this one was a very dark blue and it was pitted. I picked it up, not knowing why I really wanted it. But as I continued to traverse the beach, I realized it was very much like the autistic girl I had met on our way out on the boat. It was battered and different, yet very beautiful in its own way. I decided to give it to her.
The trek along the beach was long. I spotted an object in the distance that I thought was a landmark designating the sea camp trail. Yet as I walked for at least two hours, it seemed to be no different in size. By this time, I was getting concerned. I had purchased a hiking staff earlier in the day to replace my other walking stick that was cane size. It was a very wise decision, as my bad knee needed support with every step. I yearned to take a break. I had a backpack filled with canned soda, food, insect repellent and a telephoto lens. Yet as I observed the sun on the horizon, I realized the time was getting short. Eventually I reached the landmark. It turned out that it was a group of beach chairs for those who were camping were enjoying the now higher waves.
“Lie to me if you have to but tell me this is Sea Camp,” I asked one of the men who were there. He told me I had made it and offered me a beer. I declined but asked how far to the docks. It was about 20 minutes and it was only 4 p.m. I was going to make it. Pup, the pup, who was back at my trailer enjoying the air conditioning, would get to go out and take care of business soon. I would have had no problems surviving the night on the island, but could only imagine what condition the trailer would be in if the poor dog had to wait until the next day to relieve himself.
I hiked the last part of the trail through the dense live oak and palmetto bush and with a sigh of relief made it to the dock area. Suddenly, I heard a hearty “hello” from the man I had spoken to earlier that morning. I immediately gave him the seashell I had found, telling him how it reminded me of his daughter. He seemed to be overcome with gratitude. As his family had made the trek along the beach, all the shells they found seemed to have some dying marine life and they didn’t pick up any. I was asked to offer the girl the shell. Her mother asked the girl “can you say thank you?” And she did.
I spoke to the man and his older son for a while and learned that it was the first time she had said thank you to a stranger. It was a big step for her. We talked for a while about the New York Yankees in the days of Mantle. Finally I begged to be excused. I hadn’t eaten or drank for the entire day and was exhausted. I am told that I hiked about eight miles, more than I had since my Army days in the sandy timber forest of Fort Polk, LA. And I felt it.
So I sat at a picnic table and had a can of cola and some grapes. I was too exhausted to eat anything else. It was too much of an effort to open the pop top on a can of soup. Still leaning on my walking stick, I made my way to the boat. I set my bag down and accidentally knocked it into the water. A member of the crew gaffed it but my telephoto lens was ruined. I figured it was worth the price of the good things that happened that day.
On the way back to Saint Marys, we were being followed by some seagulls. Someone bought a bag of chips and crumbled them up tossing them to the birds. Soon the area where the man was, including the autistic girl, were surrounded by gulls. I watched her delighted face as they swooped within inches of her. Despite the physical hardships of the day, it was one worth remembering. God had once again enabled me to do something kind to another person.
