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THE PRIMEVAL CONGAREE
by Stephen Schoof
[originally published Autumn
2000 Sandlapper]
 I
was thrilled to be sitting on the ground in soaked
clothes as night fell in Congaree Swamp. Mist hung over
streams as ancient cypress and tupelo towered against a brooding
sky. Minutes earlier, I'd startled deer into a creek; they
snorted and bounded deeper into the woods. When a huge bird
flashed unidentified over my tent, it reminded me of a
pterodactyl. Never mind that South Carolina's bustling
captial was a half hour down the road -- I was 200 million years
from civilization.
Roughly half of Congaree Swamp National Monument,
or 11,000 acres, has never been logged. That makes it the largest
old-growth forest in the East and the largest old-growth
floodplain in North America. Here are sweet gums, willow oaks, and
southern red oaks as wide as a Chevy S-10. Water tupelos reach up to 10 stories, American elms
and cherrybark oaks to 11 stories. Most interesting are the
loblolly pines, which aren't expected in mature forests at all.
Ancient fires, hurricanes, or diseases may have opened the canopy;
now, loblollies rise 160 feet from the forest floor, taller than
dominant trees in the Amazonian rain forest.
 My
three-day hike in late November paid off with cool weather, no
bugs, and fine fall colors long after leaves had vanished around
my home in western North Carolina. Crowds were light even on
popular boardwalks by the visitor center. In the backcountry south
of Cedar Creek, ten miles on three different trails revealed one
tent and zero people. My experience reflected the Congaree's
status as an underdog park that operates on a thin budget and
offers little more than its natural wonders. With no museums, no
driving tours, no shops, and no restaurants, the place is either a
welcome refuge or a nightmare, depending on your expectations.
Personally, I loved strolling among old trees, mosses, and stream reflections that
together reminded me of some grand Japanese garden. The swamp's
eleven-page species list reveals ninety different trees and 230
herbaceous plants, all growing heartily in silt imported from
upstream. Among them live 24 species of reptiles, 41 mammals, 52
fish, and 200 birds. The American Bird Conservancy lists the swamp
as a Continentally Important Bird Area.
Perhaps less obvious is its role as a functioning
freshwater wetland. The Congaree River's nasty habit of
overflowing with Piedmont storm water ten times each year is
mitigated by the swamp's free flood control. As biologist Charles
H. Wharton wrote, "The river swamps . . . may function in
many ways: sponges for regulation of vital water cycle, giant
kidneys for waste purification, convalescent wards for the
esthetically ill, outdoor classrooms for school children and
oxygen machines for air quality." If the Congaree was a
man-made garden, it would be considered a marvel of aesthetics and
engineering.
 In
reality, it has been allowed to survive only because most other
options were thwarted. The myth that wetlands are wastelands
prevailed through 1860 as settlers tried clearing the land for
agriculture. All attempts were quickly abandoned, thanks to
the Congaree's erratic tendency to go underwater for days at a
time.
The first real threat came in 1905, when Francis
Beidler's Santee River Cypress Lumber Company bought the land.
Areas near the river were logged, but the trees refused to
dry, and green wood won't float to mills. Beidler
chose to preserve the swamp's natural splendor after visiting the
equally inspiring scenery of Yellowstone and Yosemite National
Parks.
Fifty years later, higher timber prices heightened
the temptation to log. Beidler's heirs cut up to 1,000 acres per
year, pushing the Sierra Club and concerned locals into action.
Congress finally formed Congaree Swamp National Monument in 1976,
a good decision confirmed seven years later when the site was
designated one of the world's 300 International Biosphere
Reserves.
Still, today's swamp
is a bit diminished from that of a dozen years ago. No
activist group or congressional legislation could prevent
non-selective logging by Hurricane Hugo in 1989, as trees that
were protected by a timber baron for decades were wiped out by 80
mph winds in one night. Half the forest canopy and several national
champion trees toppled, victims to shallow root systems that are
fine for general bottomland survival but are highly susceptible
to rare distress. The new openings do provide grazing land for
wildlife and, more importantly, opportunities for loblolly pines
to regenerate. In the darker woods of the recent past, loblolly
seedlings couldn't gain a foothold.
Though safe for now, the Monument's political
future carries no guarantees. According to The State
newspaper, for example, the Congaree appeared on a list of
expendables when federal budgets were snipped in 1994. The
editorial explained: "A proposed review commission could cut
the Park Service budget by cutting parks. . . . Despite National
Geographic's salute to Congaree Swamp as 'nature at its best,'
low-budget parks (which Congaree Swamp is) and parks that are
primarily preserved open space (which Congaree Swamp is) are
likely targets."
 Yet,
this Monument is far from being some remote, elitist wilderness.
With a full pack I was amazed by how quickly I clicked off miles
on easy trails. My parents, who hike frequently but avoid anything
unpleasant, would enjoy the shorter loops that make perfect day
hikes. Even our wheelchair-bound friend-of-the-family could go a
mile deep on the wooden Low Boardwalk, which gives an up-close
tour of wetland diversity on its way to Weston Lake. The 25
miles of excellent foot trails are complemented by an 18-mile
canoe trail that follows Cedar Creek to the Congaree River.
Over 90,000 visitors found the Congaree's secluded
main entrance in 1998, up 400% from ten years ago. The old stigma
associated with wetlands may disappear as more people appreciate
their role in flood control and clean water. General Francis
"Swamp Fox" Marion of Revolutionary War fame was no
naturalist, but he recognized the magnificence of his wetland
hideouts. Even the most casual modern visitor must agree with one
of Marion's most frequently-quoted journal entries: "I look
at the venerable trees around me and I know that I must not
dishonor them."
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