The Caterpillar Tree of Woods Bay

I remember watching a documentary about the National Parks.  It seemed odd that the fiercest advocate for the Everglades, Marjory Stoneman Douglas, had written, "To be a friend of the Everglades is not necessarily to spend time wandering around out there."  She was a petite middle class socialite much more accustomed to tea parties than to reptiles and humidity.  The documentary spoke her voice via her writings.  Her words are quite different than one might expect from an ardent advocate of the Everglades, " I know it's out there and I know its importance. I suppose you could say the Everglades and I have the kind of friendship that doesn't depend on constant physical contact."

And so it is with Woods Bay State Natural Area.  By any account, Woods Bay is South Carolina's answer to the deep Florida swamps.  Woods Bay beckons the traveler far from the beaten path into Olanta, SC.  We didn't know where that was either nor can I recount for you exactly how to get there.  My only advice in finding Woods Bay is to be nice to your GPS and hope it steers you true.

We turned from the main road and passed the ever present state park placard.  This same style of sign is present at Rose Hill and Landsford Canal State Parks.  Woods Bay is its own and is entirely different from either Rose Hill or Landsford Canal.  Woods Bay is deep and dark and mysterious.  

We were alone on the road.  It was dark- the sun being blocked by the trees.  Like a perfect movie set, clouds moved in and the sun shrank completely away.  It darkened further and cooled.  Nature held her breath wondering at our entry into the swamp.  

All children are instinctual and Ben is especially so.  He breathed in the dark mist and breathed out a foul mood.  We pulled up to the parking lot and he began to yell.  I came to him to help him out of the van and he tried to bite me.  Anchor and I exchanged glances wondering how long we would dare tarry here- much more wary of our son's behaviors than of the prospect of seeing gators.  

We scouted the kiosk and did not find the stamp.  Anchor went to the visitor center to find it closed. Ben, meanwhile, had escalated in his unhappiness.  I found a picnic shelter and directed Ben to sit at one side of it while I stayed closer to the other side.  The rain came.  Anchor and the other kiddos had all but given up on the stamp when they happened upon another human.  She had a key to the visitor center and so we got the stamp.  Success!  The family was reunited at the picnic shelter.  Their smiles left when they rightly perceived the enormity of Ben's ill mood.  "Give him some space," I instructed.

We couldn't get back in the van with Ben in his present mood- not when he was like this.  We had to wait for him to deescalate.  Anchor and I again spoke with our eyes.  We scanned the area and together saw the simple sign that beckoned us further into the swamp.  "Boardwalk>,"  it directed.  The air still dark and wet and the only other person in the park having abandoned the visitor center, we shrugged, gathered our children and proceeded toward the Boardwalk.

Anchor led with Ben.  Thoreau and Wetfoot took center but gravitated toward the rear along with Little Legs and me who were taking our usual place of sweep.  Ben was still in a foul mood and alternated yells, hitting his head and trying to lash out against Anchor.  My mama instincts were on high alert as we escorted our children through the still black waters of the swamp.  We approached the boardwalk and beheld the Cyprus forest- beautifully foreboding.  I expected to hear dark music to begin playing softly to serenade our unlikely parade of explorers.  

This would be the perfect time to insert an alligator into the script of our day.  There were signs warning of the reptiles.  I instructed my little hikers to "Stomp!"  So they did- six little feet stomping hard on the boards riveting noise and vibrations through the dark water.  If any cold blooded critter were to think of attacking my band, they would have to fight against  a millenia of instinct just to approach us.  

"Mom, Stop!" complained my teenage Wetfoot.  She wanted to see an alligator.  My eyes wide with mama fear and my reply was terse, "You're crazy."   I looked at my sweet Thoreau and Little Legs and directed "Keep stomping!"  They obeyed and helped to keep native reptiles at bay.

But even in the midst of my fears and of the dangers (real and imagined), there was wonder and beauty.  Still, Cyprus laden swamp waters gave way to thick impassible shrubs - impassible except for the ever present ribbon of safety embodied by the wooden boardwalk.  On we walked past signs describing the strange Carolina Bays, a natural phenomena as yet unexplained scientific geographic anomalies.  Perhaps this place was once the place where a series of meteors had landed.  Or maybe they were caused by aliens.  Wonderful, I thought.  Family of six aspiring ultimate outsiders eaten by alien alligators.  Lovely.  On we walked past the thick walls of the shrubs, past massive spiders and the occasional lizard, past a lizard caught in a spiders web, past the spider eating the lizard in the web.  Is that even possible, I wondered.  I have never before nor since seen a spider eating a lizard.  On and on we went until the boardwalk abruptly stopped.  It could no longer wrestle the swamp and so it simply stopped.  This was our boundary.  

We turned to retrace our steps and noticed a tree covered - teeming- overcome by  caterpillars.  Short, fuzzy black lines moving, undulating, progressing up and up as if to envelop the tall thin spire.  Six feet even above the boardwalk, the tree had become possessed and was succumbing to the power of the colony.  An organized mob of unexpected dark dashes on this unassuming tree demanded our attention.  We stopped and watched and gave the spectacle its due.  Our explorations had taken us to an alien place.  Nowhere more than here, in the surreal swamp of Woods Bay, have I felt myself so small and incredibly out of place...so very non native.  

It was a privilege to peep into the world of Woods Bay.  

We returned to the van, Ben having over time calmed.  We had been to Woods Bay and we were changed.  I do not need to go often to visit Woods Bay.  It is enough for me to appreciate it from my own place.  I am content to know that such a place exists and is protected.