Blue Goose ~ Day 248

January 30, 2015 ~ Buck Hall Campground, SC to Florence, SC

McClellanville is a small town six miles from the campground. I got gas there and drove through this sweet little place. While historically a fishing town, it now also attracts artists and those desirous of a slower pace of living. It's only an hour from Charleston.

EN.WIKIPEDIA.ORG

In 1989 the town was devastated by the full brunt of Hurricane Hugo which destroyed homes, downed century old oaks, deposited shrimp boats in front yards, and otherwise altered much of the picturesque character of this historic fishing village. The stronger north side of the eyewall passed directly over the village while a Category 4 hurricane. Residents taking refuge in the local high school, a designated storm shelter, were surprised by a storm surge which threatened to drown the refugees. Helping one another in complete darkness, they managed to crawl into a space above the false ceilings of the building and, fortunately, none were lost.

McClellanville, SC

McClellanville, SC

I moved inland, driving through the national forest, stopping when I saw white-ringed trees, hoping to see RC Woodpeckers but didn't. The roads were narrow with little traffic, and I could safely pull partway onto the shoulder, although there is seldom a road without water-filled ditches all with an appalling amount of white plastic bags, beer and soda cans and bottles and assorted other plastic objects, large and small.

When I got to Santee River NWR, it was sunny but cold and very windy. The VC is on the shores of a large lake, Lake Marion, created by the Santee Dam. There is both a Santee Native American Mound here and the site of Fort Watson, a British Revolutionary War fort. But I chose to walk a wooded trail, mostly through the uplands, and saw both kinglet species, a Carolina Wren, chickadees, a Blue-headed Vireo, titmice.... Again and again I am struck by the peacefulness of nearly every refuge, how the noise of the world recedes and is replaced by bird calls and breezes moving through trees, or by complete silence. The dried leaves crunched underfoot; there were tiny new buds on the branches. Spring is imminent. These places are magical to me.

I stayed in a motel in Florence and worked.

Santee NWR - SC