Georgia's Ebenezer Creek a beautiful, spooky paddle
Ebenezer Creek's waters flow silently, and once you paddle beyond earshot of the traffic crossing Long Bridge Road you can go hours without hearing anything but the incessant drumming of sapsuckers and the whispers of Civil War ghosts.
The tributary of the Savannah River is a black-water channel. When the water spills over its banks -- as it does now after a wretchedly wet fall -- any part of the surrounding swamp is easily accessible in a kayak or canoe. When the water is down, it exposes the massive buttresses and knees of ancient cypress trees that line its banks.
Either way, as you glide across silent, inky water beneath drapes of Spanish moss, the only intrusion upon utter peacefulness is … well … a feeling that something sinister lurks, too. That is the magic of this place.
Creepies and crawlies can be found in any swamp. In Ebenezer, there is something more to the eeriness.
To begin with, there's an inescapable sense that you've arrived just after marauders have departed. Though there are vast expanses of pristine swamp, there also is this: Discarded beer cans, shotgun shells and fishing bobbers entangled in tree limbs that linger like the smoke of a hastily doused campfire.
And there is other nastiness in the water.
On our first trip there, my wife and I paddled past a soggy cardboard box that contained a dog's rotting carcass. On our second trip, we spotted a brand-new cooler floating in the water. Debi stayed put, recalling the odoriferous discovery of our first trip. I paddled closer for a better look, jiggled the lid, then wretched at a stench that could gag a maggot. I decided I did not need to know what was in that cooler. Whatever it was, it was dead.
Not to make light, but death is a historical theme on Ebenezer Creek.
As Sherman's March to the Sea rolled through Southern plantations, thousands of newly freed slaves followed the Union army's infantry columns. Though the Yankees found their labor useful, some in Sherman’s command, notably Brigadier Gen. Jefferson C. Davis, believed the refugees exacerbated the army’s food shortages and slowed troop movements as Confederate cavalry dogged the Federals’ rear guard.
Davis devised a "solution" to these problems when the army reached Ebenezer Creek.
On Dec. 9, 1864, the Union used a pontoon bridge to cross on its way to Savannah. On the pretense that his army would encounter the enemy on the other side, Davis ordered the refugees to halt for their own safety. But once his men were safely across, he ordered the pontoon bridge removed, stranding thousands of refugees on the far bank. With Confederate troops advancing toward them, panic overwhelmed the freed slaves. Many plunged into the cold waters in an attempt to escape but drowned instead. Others were shot by Confederates as they fell back from the bank.
If you're paddling around with this history lesson swimming in your head, it is difficult not to be disquieted by the silence of Ebenezer. This does not diminish its beauty, however. History and foul-smelling coolers notwithstanding, the swamp teems with life.
On our most recent trip, my wife and I were treated to a first-in-a-lifetime experience. Taking advantage of the high water to paddle deep into a stand of cypress trees, we were halted by a loud “whoosh” ahead of us. Seconds later, an otter peeked at us from behind a stump. It slowly pulled itself up on a log about 20 yards away, shook the water from its fur, then sat and stared at us for several minutes.
My heart throbbed in my ears as our eyes lock in mutual curiosity. I recognized this beating as the sound of life -- life within and life all around at Ebenezer Creek.
I raised my lens, and the otter sat politely, unperturbed by the clicking of my shutter. After a long while, he bowed his head and slinked quietly back into the black water, disappearing like another of Ebenezer’s apparitions.
This story was originally published January 8, 2016 at 7:56 AM with the headline "Georgia's Ebenezer Creek a beautiful, spooky paddle ."