Why Is Congaree National Park Special?

I have mentioned this place quite a bit in talking about the natural South.  Historically speaking it would not have been overly different from many other places in the lush bottomlands of the greater Southern lowcountry.  Yes, its location in the midst of South Carolina meant that it has played host to a number of significant historical events, not the least of which were the exploration of DeSoto and subsequent colonial ventures by the Spanish, as well as being a hiding place from which American nationalists would seek refuge from and use as a striking point against British forces during the Revolutionary War.  By and large, however, this land would just be considered more of what people were taking pains to avoid throughout the South.  People settled on higher ground where the floods could not reach and the land proved workable enough to not necessitate making an existence out of a swamp.  The mosquitoes alone would have sent me packing, as least as soon as summer came around!

Time pressed on, and with it came development.  The end of the antebellum economic system based on slavery meant that the a greater amount of industrialization came to cities like Columbia and Atlanta, along with railroads and a noticeable increase in population.  The swamps were still less than desirable to settle in, but as free and open land became harder to find, they too would fall before the path of civilization.  What's more, there were still incredible trees here the likes of which the first Europeans had seen when they landed on these shores centuries before.  Picture then the typical avarice found in your timber baron and it does not take long to imagine that the giants were seen wrapped in gift paper for the taking.  Baldcypress (Taxodium Distichum) grew this big, and had an even greater advantage to the consumer: extreme resistance to decay and rot.  What else would one expect of a tree that basically thrives when getting its feet wet?  When the forests of northern Michigan and Wisconsin started looking a bit thin of those equally valuable Eastern White Pines (Pinus Strobus) as the end of the nineteenth century arrived, northern millers also started turning an eye to new Southern potential.  With so many eyes on the scenery, it is a wonder that most of the riparian South held out as long as it did.

Congaree was fortunate, however, in having a rather broad floodplain which made extraction more difficult than in many places.  Even Chicago's Francis Beilder, one of the continent's most resourceful and determined timber barons, found that the logistics of extraction were just not economically feasible to make a clear cut of the place.  His company, which by the early twentieth century had purchased the land the park now sits on, left it alone.  Come 1969, prices for timber eventually caught up to the logistical difficulties.  Even as the Tar Sands of Alberta are now tapped for petroleum in an age when the costs of the process of extraction are cheaper than the raw material, so too then did the same reality come to nearly claim Congaree. 

The late sixties were a different sort of time, however.  Even as social upheaval changed the face of the continent and was putting a fight to sexism, racism, and a lot of different conventional ways of thinking, so too had come to pass a new environmental consciousness which had dawned in the wake of Rachel Carson giving everyone a reminder about the danger of our artificial domination of the biosphere.  By the end of the decade, a new appreciation for the science of ecology had awakened local fervor for such otherwise ignored sites like Hoosier Prairie.   What had once been viewed up as a typical Midwestern abandoned field was rediscovered as a true remnant of an otherwise glossed over tallgrass prairie.  In the South, the old bottomland finally got the same recognition, and the Sierra Club and others started to fight for Congaree.   By 1976, just as the locals back in Indiana got a taste and rush of feeling for something they had almost entirely lost, the locals down in deep South Carolina got the same thing for their majestic Congaree.  That's what makes this place so special, really.  Congaree is an amazing link back to the historical, indeed wild and primordial, South.  In an age when political divisions were already working toward the societal breaking point that they find themselves at today, you had all sorts of politicians suddenly drop camp, including even Strom Thurmond, better known for turning back the clock in other less than lovely ways.  All of a sudden people started looking at just how far we had come and just how much we were willing to throw away.

I mention the White Pine logging and Hoosier re-discovery in this post because of just how important Congaree is in relation to the rest of the, well, world conservation movement.  All too often national parks are thought of as areas that protect outstanding natural scenic beauty and little else, and while Congaree does boast incredible spires of trees in a nearly vanished virgin Southern bottomland, we really only see this now after the park has been in existence for a decade and has been officially protected since 1976.  People went nuts over the Sequoias as soon as they were found by us second-born North Americans; a swamp or a floodplain would take much longer to appreciate.  Hell, people still don't appreciate why Cuyahoga Valley got full national park status and probably will not for a long time to come; why be giddy over your typical Ohio low-relief ravine?  There is no towering cliff-face or even old growth forest there, it's just the natural backyard with a few historic trinkets... right?  Guess what, people thought the same thing about your background cypress swamp named Congaree.  People thought the same thing about Joshua Tree National Park until Minerva Hoyt spoke up on behalf of the Mojave.  People thought the same thing about the Everglades (a much better example for this soggy part of the world) until Marjory Douglas told the rest of us to give a damn.

Congaree got a reprieve, and in comparison with some other places like the tallgrass prairie or some bog somewhere on the Canadian Shield, it is easy to see why this place is special.  After all, the trees here are something amazing!  But like all those other places, what is most special about Congaree is how it keeps us connected not only with the wilderness, but with our connection to it.  I may constantly bring up the insane June visit I had among hordes of mosquitoes, but the fact is that this was a wonderful time to visit, to see just how comfortable this Northern Ontarian had otherwise become with the the ease of modern convenience.  It is easy to point out just how easily we can lose historical memory when we demolish a building or change a school curriculum to focus on more "practical" subjects, but it is even easier when do lose that "background" swamp, desert, prairie, etc. that we had to remind us what existence itself was like for those who brought us into our own.  So what does Congaree do for us that other parks do not to the same level of consciousness?

Let's head north for a little bit.

In Canada our national parks got to the same start the way that yours did.  We had our pre-Carson conservationists who had a sense of the overall importance of nature for the soul, you know, like your Roosevelts or Muirs or such.  They saw Banff and made a park out of it (yes, there is more to it than that, but you get the idea) just as down here you had Yellowstone and realized what a unique natural place it was and did the same thing.  After this, though, the Canadian concept of national parks changed.  Perhaps starting as early as 1893 when Algonquin was made into a (then) national park in an otherwise fairly typical section of southern Canadian Shield highlands, park makers got to thinking that in addition to protecting the outstanding areas, perhaps we should start protecting some of the more pristine or exemplary areas of particular biomes across the country.  Today we thus have a place like Point Pelee National Park set aside to show us what is so special about the southern Great Lakes and the Carolinian (eastern-mixed) forest, a place which aside from being a bird-watcher's paradise would not otherwise be seen as significant in the national or continental scheme of things. 

Back South now.

In Congaree we have an amazing park which does this very same thing, celebrating not just the lowland South Carolina landscape but that of the riparian South in general.  In essence, Congaree is amazing not just for its incredible forests but also because it is perhaps the first "regional" park of its kind according to the Canadian concept.  It has been joined recently by a California Chaparral version, Pinnacles National Park, which gives me hope for the future for the central prairies and other "background" scenery.  Yes, there have been many parks created for different purposes in the past which could easily fit into this line of conservation theory (Great Basin National Park really stands out in this regard), but Congaree strikes me as being a huge victory for this idea in general, and it helps that the place is downright beautiful and even a little savage.  Want to see what I saw?  Take a trip down the boardwalk with me next post, but in the meantime check out some of their amazing pictures at their various websites.


Main website

Congaree National Park Facebook Page

Congaree National Park Twitter Page

Residents Of The Piney South: The Longleaf Pine

The South did not always look as it does today.  The Loblolly Pine (Pinus Taeda), while common in pre-settlement times, was not nearly the apparent monoculture of endless coniferous wallpaper that it is today.  Once there were pines that were as tall and as graceful as the Eastern White Pines (Pinus Strobus), the best example one might give for their northern counterpart.  Both grand trees managed to make their way to the crown of forest existence only through a baptism of fire, and the northern majesty and southern elegance alike needed the flames to wipe out the competition and let the sun do its work.  The two could not otherwise be more different, however.

The White Pine, you see, needed competition gone to reach into heights above what would later fill back in as a main canopy beneath their super canopy.  This southern pine I speak of, however, was a creature of the savanna more so than the forest.  This pine is the Longleaf (Pinus Palustris).  Like the Loblolly, there are very few pictures of it that I can say to have taken, but not for the same reasons at all.  The Longleaf, you see, is a tree that has fallen on hard times for the last 150 years.  Aside from isolated trees (which can be found rather frequently), only a quarter or less of the ecosystem they supported in great numbers still exists.  In truth, I have never experienced a Longleaf savanna with my own senses.  Only recently in Congaree National Park did I even see a stand of more than several of them together:

Congaree is probably one of the most amazing national parks in the world, just in terms of sheer treeness.

And what a sight they were.  I was already pining away (did I just do that?) to see a gathering of them after having an inspiring read of Janisse Ray, but what I saw when I found them in an approximation of their past glory, I was surprised by just how impressive they truly are.  Up close they look somewhat similar to any globe-clustered pine, in some ways even more like an old growth Red Pine (Pinus Resinosa) than a Loblolly is, but from even a slight distance, the scale and elegant sweep of their branches puts them in a beauty class more approximate to that of the White Pine.  The forest you see above is not the best approximation one could give of what a healthy forest of these things looks like, namely because they were very much a creature of the forested grassland, soaring over happy little seedlings, blueberries, palmettos, Wiregrass (Aristida Stricta), and enough forbs to make even the Midwestern tallgrass prairie swoon in lust.  Apparently one could stand in a Longleaf "forest" and look in all directions and see miles and miles of trunks soaring over the park-like expanses as if they were columns in a natural cathedral of Cordoba.  Imagine it, a place where the game was plentiful, the breeze blew freely under a semi-open sky, and yet the grand trees still provided a lovely shade as if one were in thicker woods.  I suppose I have a weakness for our native grasslands of any stripe, yet you have to admit that this sounds pretty damn wonderful. 

The First Born certainly did.  In addition to the fires that the many storms of the region would provide and the grazing that the many ungulates, including Buffalo, would do, the First Born would keep the place as it was supposed to be by now and then starting a fire of their own, just as they would in the rest of the eastern grassland ecosystems.  This was simply their style of land management, to continue the work that nature was already doing and use it within their agricultural and hunting practices.  Then along came us, the Second Born, who were used to fencing off plots of land and requiring the soil to be productive not only for sustenance, but the generation of capital.  The first two and a half centuries of Southerners loved this ecosystem too for its fertility, but also because the trees were just incredible to use for lumber.  At the same time, there was a different pace of life in the South that let the land become conquered much more slowly.  Similar to how a semi-solitary existence and frontier mentality was the norm in the backcountry stretching from Vermont to the Smokies, the lowland people of the South did not try to farm over every square inch of what they saw and actually sort of blended into the back woods.  Yes, I did classify the land that the Longleaf once grew in as the low country, but Southern culture is a unique thing that blurs divisions like that.  More on this as the blog endures.

But then great changes came about as industrialization and productivity started taking over the nation after the Civil War.  The frontier moved west, and along with it went the go-to-hell rugged individualism of the Eastern backcountry.  That said, as the beautiful but inhuman plantation existence came to an end, many Southerners went back to fending for themselves and went into small-scale cotton farming in that wonderful ground that the Longleaf savannas once blessed.  In tandem, however, the market became more spread out and roads of rail and dirt alike starting developing the land faster and faster, and with it went what was left of those marvelous parklands of pine.  The pace has only increased ever since, along with the rate at which the last remnants of the old, colonial even, Southern culture have disappeared.  Again, this is not necessarily the classic movie-type slave-holding plantation culture, but something as older than cotton or Loblolly stands.  Like the Longleaf itself, such a culture is a lost memory consigned to the same dusty bin of history where the First Born sit, buried even behind the plantations and the sharecroppers and the other stuff that is now buried behind whatever it is we have developing today.  Almost makes me sound like an old man telling the kids to get off my lawn...

Anyway, as I neglected to provide a map last time for the Loblolly, and since the comparison of how deep into the South we are getting with our pines seems appropriate to now give, here's the Lobolly range:

Thanks USGS!

And the Longleaf range:

As you can see, the ranges are comparable, but the Longleaf likes just a little bit more of a lower and hotter climate and does not venture too far onto the Piedmont.  Ready to get even toastier and really sub-tropical?  Feast yer eyes on the range of the Slash Pine (Pinus Eliottii), which will be our next and final guest of pines before we get into some really fun Southern stuff:

Yep, this is where we really start getting into the DEEP South.  Heck, you can't even see Canada on that map.

Residents Of The Piney South: The Virginia Pine

Head anywhere south of the Ohio River or the Mason-Dixon line and all of a sudden you will find more pines than you can shake a stick at.  The first such wonderful resident is the Virginia Pine (Pinus Virginiana), which looks something like a Jack Pine that moved south and got a bit of a fuller crown and straighter branching as a package deal.

Taken at Cumberland Gap National Historical Park, one of the most cultural significant, scenic, and underrated places to visit in the eastern United States.  Here we see an absolutely stunning specimen of our friend that I would have to rate as the finest Virginia Pine I have ever encountered to date.  Here we see the pine in her full glory, worthy of being counted among the most stately Jack Pines (as featured in the painting of the same name).  The tree also bears a silhouette not far from that of a mature Eastern White Pine (Pinus Strobus).

Needles borne in clusters of two, like the Jack Pine.

Irregular spreading crown, especially while young, also like the Jack Pine.

In the east, they like to wander only slightly far from their mountain homes and thus are found mostly in the backcountry, or Piedmont.  In fact, the Virginia Pine never seems to stray very far from the Appalchians in general, as seen in the following map of their current natural distribution:

Public Domain.  Thank you again USGS, and rest in peace, Dr. Ebert Little.

In Virginia, even right up north near Washington, they seemed to be filling a role comparable to what Eastern White Pines used to, individual trees scattered among deciduous forests, sticking up above the canopy (but in much less of a grand profile). 

Not the best illustration of the concept, but it was the best I could do in 100 degree weather.  This was taken at Manassas National Battlefield Park, just outside of the Virginia side of the DC metro area.

Mind you, they do perform this role further on in their range, even if still only a junior partner to what the Eastern White Pines used to do in forming the supercanopy. 

Also from Cumberland Gap.  All such pictures were taken near the Pinnacle Overlook, which in addition to being a stunning vantage point to take in the Gap itself and the three surrounding states, is an excellent place for the casual explorer to have a taste of central and southern Appalachian flora.

Admittedly, I did not think too much of them for quite some time, a sentiment apparently shared by tree lovers of the past.  I do not recall seeing one at any botanic garden or historic home grounds anywhere one would expect to see them.  This is not overly shocking, as, again, they not present a robust profile as do the other native pines of the east.  Given a chance, however, they can form an elegant profile that makes for a lovely accent to the natural landscape and one that decidedly marks the passage between the Appalachians and the surrounding lands.

Same as above.

US 25 leaving Kentucky and approaching the modern tunnel under the Gap towards the junction of Virginia and Tennessee.

In the true Appalachians and plateau country to their west they are an entirely different animal, albeit again acting like the White Pines in certain situations.  Here they seem to favor rocky, well-drained soil and often grow as if emerging right out from the exposed rocks of the grand eastern mountains.  Much like the Pitch Pine (Pinus Rigida) barrens of further north along the Appalachians, or the Jack Pines growing under similar conditions on Georgian Bay, this is where we can find the Virginias often serving as the dominant tree, laughing at even the hardiest oaks and junipers. 

While not as open as the rocky haunts of the Jack or Pitch Pines, probably due to the greater precipitation available to them in their southward approach, the same effect is appreciable.  Both photos were taken at Pinnacle Overlook.

Such a phenomenon of the hardy pines can be found with relative ease by modern travelers: simply drive along any rock cut or past rock outcrops and even a thick stand of Virginia Pine might not be too far away. 

This blurry windshield shot was taken in a rather unwelcoming stretch of US 23 in Kentucky across the Ohio River from Portsmouth, Ohio.  While the valley had some lovely views, the area is lacking in safe pull out vantages.  Here they at least have a reason, as small bluffs press in close to the road.

 

 

Further south along US 23 in Kentucky, somewhere between Louisa and Hagerhill.  Where there are rock cuts, there are Virginia Pines thriving in the rocky, thin soils that wash down onto them and collect in the crevasses.  And yes, another windshield photo, but broad shoulders are far and few between in this part of Kentucky.

But while they thrive in rocky, dry areas, they are perfectly at home in richer soils more befitting of a forest area. 

Taken near Martin, KY, on Kentucky 80.

Virginia Pines are often the first trees to make their way into abandoned fields.  While the Appalachians do have grassy areas, be they summit balds, small pockets of the easternmost extensions of the prairie, or (formerly) buffalo corridors, grasslands here tend to be but the first stage in landscape transformation rather than a permanent feature.  Most seedlings of the region are somewhat vulnerable to intense sunlight and exposure, leaving the hardier oaks and Virginia Pines the job of handling the scorching summer sun that reminds the human traveler and dweller that this is, even in the mountains, a land of heat and the edge of the South. 

But again, this is not the land of pine barrens, and the Virginia Pine does not get to be the star of the show as do the Jack or Pitch Pines.  Eventually, the pines get surpassed by the forest once trees start shading the ground and making conditions a bit more palatable to other species.  Unless they happened to form a dense enough stand in the harsher conditions or can be found where such conditions never go away (as in an outcrop), much like the mighty White Pines, the Virginia Pines find themselves thinned out and striving for the canopy:

It almost looks like a Pinus Strobus, really.

One of the many overlooks along the road to the Pinnacle Overlook.  The town seen beyond the pines is Middlesboro, Kentucky.

"Accent piece" or not, however, Virginia Pines are certainly a lovely and integral feature of the central and southern highland landscape.  They are very much a traveler's tree, being a pioneer that welcomes back the forest from even centuries of cultivation and welcomes the human wanderer into frontier lands beyond the greater regions of both North and South.  Want to see more?  Time to get really into the South!

105 Years Ago

On this day, the Grand Canyon became permanently protected.

Both shots are from the north rim, which is an absolutely beautiful way to experience the canyon.

We might think that no one could want to harm this vista and land, but the truth of the matter is that hordes of miners were eyeing the exposed geology with riches in mind beyond the dreams of avarice.  Later on, even as a park, the thing was almost flooded for dams!  We have since come to recognize the greater value of this and many other wild lands.  Still, if people fought over something so obviously scenic and powerful, you can imagine how the struggle continues to protect lands (including just plain old water sources) that hold no apparent immediate value.

New National Park

Pinnacles National Monument in central California is now Pinnacles National Park, the newest in the United States national park system.  This would be the 59th park so designated.  Getting Pinnacles to this status was the work of both parties, a rarity in an age of political polarization.

Pinnacles is a place of lovely rock formations that often rise from a thick fog that regularly embraces areas of California close to the sea.  The landscape is abundant in life typical of what one would expect from California chaparral, and the park represents a California that has very much been neglected and/or developed over.  Pinnacles has long caught the attention of nature lovers; in 1908 Theodore Roosevelt made it one of the first national monuments.

Parks in the News: A Memorial for Margaret

On the first day of this year, Margaret Anderson, a ranger at Mount Rainier National Park was gunned down by a shooting suspect fleeing the Seattle metropolitan area.  In memory of her passing and service, a grove of Pacific Silver Fir (Abies Amabilis) have been planted near where she was killed.  The full story can be found here:

http://www.thenewstribune.com/2012/10/04/2320937/fitting-memorial-honors-mount.html

While monuments and memorials are often man made, something just seems really right for the more lasting beauty of nature to stand in memory of one who spent a life in service to her cause.  Even after the trees have fallen, their seedlings and those beyond them will live on even as the memory of Margaret fades.  May your trees grow tall, Margaret!

The last ranger to fall in the line of duty before Margaret was Kris Eggle, also gunned down, on August 9, 2002 in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument on the Mexican border in Arizona.