Hunting Island Trail, photo by Luke Frazier
There’s a lot you can get up to in the woods. As a kid I lived near a marshy forested area in Connecticut thick with spindly trees that fired my revolutionary war fantasies as I darted about and between; as a teen it was more about beer, campfires and general mayhem in the farm-adjacent Ohio suburbs. As an adult I’ve come to appreciate the woods for their quiet, and associate hillsides with climbs to contemplation.
Moving to the Lowcountry introduced me to a different kind of vista characterized by a pervasive flatness. Tidal marshes stretch and sway into the distance, insinuating seaward motion. Creeks give way to rivers and piggyback rides to the ocean. You can look in any direction and be aware of water just waiting for your acknowledgement. Gazing over water is like constantly saying yes; it’s the vista of freedom with your feet grounded on earth, no climbing required.
I will say this view from sea level has taken some getting used to, and I’ve jonesed for altitude a couple of times. There was inordinate excitement at the top of the four-story Port Royal Boardwalk Observation Tower and I felt like planting a flag or something. And I breathlessly related my conquering of the elevated McTeer Bridge span to my wife the first time I biked over it.
So when a friend told me there was a wooded trail out on Hunting Island that had some elevation to it, I perked up.
Photo by Luke Frazier
How could this be? I’ve been out to that state park a dozen times by now, but my focus is always on getting to the beach. I’d seen the trail signs but never ventured off the paths to the water. I figured I had paused my pursuit of Shinrin-yoku, or “forest bathing,” a Japanese ecotherapy term, when I left the Smoky Mountains in the rearview mirror. I mean the paved park drive is stunning, but I thought any trails would be just flat and buggy. Wrong.
I found the suggested Diamondback Rattlesnake Trail just down from the nature center and took it. It turned into a magical walking wander that transported me beyond my beach-bound mind into a realm of shifty dimensions and sleight of lands. The overwhelming conclusion is that I stumbled on a portal of some kind, and the 1.9 mile trail connects to a segment of imagination not far from the Twilight Zone.
There are actual ups & downs as you wind your way north, and although you are never that far from Route 21 to the west, the totality of the trail encapsulates, you are both on a trail close to a road and far beyond any directional tethering. It is simultaneously a walk in the woods and not a walk in the woods. With just the easiest of surrenders, you are equidistant from the past and future, and the timeless light graces the tall trees, low shrubs, piney tufts, fronds both dead and alive, and occasional sandy patches. If you inhale deeply you’ll be rewarded with a crisp whiff of the present, no purchase required.
Photo by Luke Frazier
It was the Eastern-oriented writer Alan Watts that talked about hermits realizing that going far into the woods and getting very quiet leads to understanding that you’re connected to everything. Fair enough, but notions of “far” and “very quiet” might be more like signifiers than requirements here in the Lowcountry. I was fully bathed and connected in this short stretch of forest on Hunting Island, and I emerged sparkling on a Tuesday afternoon ready for anything.
Driving back on Sea Island Parkway I couldn’t shake the notion that there was a band of energy keeping pace with me from those woods. It was like I was pulling some of that depth of fecund richness mile after mile, past Coffin Point and Beedos, beyond the Parker’s and the Dataw turn off, onto Lady’s Island and across the Beaufort River. When I got home, I sat for a moment in the driveway and gave thanks for new heights in the Lowcountry.
