Why the destruction of Hunting Island’s tree boneyard was unforgivable | Opinion
When Carolyn Jebailey and her sister saw what had been done, they sat on the beach — one that looked as generic as any other now — and the two women cried.
They were stunned.
“I was paralyzed,” Jebailey said Wednesday. “There’s nothing left of it.”
What once was magical is now banal.
And there is no going back. No undoing it. No possibility of resurrection.
In this way, it was akin to a death.
Two months ago, South Carolina Department of Parks, Recreation and Tourism, along with the Marine Corps, cleared out the boneyard on the north end of Hunting Island — a patch of beach that contained the skeletal remains of hundreds of palm trees, pines and ancient live oaks, some still rooted and some that had been toppled by time and storms, smoothed and rearranged by the sea.
Officials say the boneyard, which was teeming with marine life, was removed for safety reasons.
Advocates for the environment say it was done in violation of a legal agreement, without public input and perhaps even in concert with an upcoming project to resupply the beach with sand.
And those who drew daily and spiritual inspiration from the unique landscape say it was done with callousness, negligence and apparent allegiance to money — with the tacit, blind-eye approval of and fatalistic shrugging from the very people who claim to be protectors of the park.
“What can be done about it now?” some say.
“Well, there’s still the south end boneyard,” say others.
Depending on the depth of your whimsy and sensitivity of your soul, Hunting Island State Park — a critical part of the ACE Basin, which is a sensitive and ecologically diverse, federally protected expanse of Lowcountry intentionally spared from the gobble and chaw of coastal developers — is one of two things.
Hunting Island is either a beach — geographically closer to some than Hilton Head, with a nearby parking lot, that costs $5 a person (soon to be $8) to access.
Or it is a life force.
To refer to the island as a “beach,” though, is to call the universe “the sky”; to regard miracles as coincidences; to only like but never love.
It is one of those rare places that cannot be approximated or understood until you go there yourself.
As such, the island is ineffable, but I will try anyway ...
It is feral but poised, grave yet playful, unburdened, unconcerned and unwilling to entertain your worries. They are all inconsequential. Yes, all of them.
In one breath, the island will say “Don’t tell anyone about me.” In the next, it screams “But you should! They all must find out.”
Don’t trust me on this.
Trust yourself.
To experience power, go sit alone on the south end at the height of high tide. You will feel appropriately small and all at once realize you’ve never actually been humble in your life, not really.
To feel joy, roam among the remaining boneyard — the one on the south end that is far less accessible than the one that men destroyed.
Find the animals in the shapes of the trees. There are side-planking meerkats, sleepy octopuses, speeding eagles, curious ostriches.
They are there, then gone and there again as your imagination shifts and tests itself.
To absorb beauty, trace the patterns left in the stumps by streams of water. To know peace, sit in the sand and wait for the crabs to overcome their shyness and trust your presence one by one by one.
To understand art, finally and truly understand it, contemplate the impossible twists of bare limb, outstretched and in motion despite standing still, balletic, never clumsy, musical and silent.
Climb the jungle gym of trees. Hop through the obstacle course. Lift yourself onto a trunk and watch flocks of plover run in unison through foamy surf.
And then to reduce your capacity for jealousy, let yourself feel utter envy. Stand back, take in what is front of you and it will become clear.
We live, we die, we disappear.
These trees, though. They found purpose in the afterlife.
They clung to existence and sometimes each other as the waves came for them again and again — until the ocean finally won.
They swayed then perished in the wind.
They cracked. They fell. They became a gift.
Look at them.
Then remember they can be taken away.
Why was the north-end boneyard annihilated?
Was it safety, as they say?
It should, of course, always be a concern. But Marines have culled the skeletons before. They’ve taken the bits and pieces that interfered, that posed a risk. They were instructed in the past not to mess with history. Why not now?
Did the renourishment project change things? The multimillion-dollar endeavor to pump 1.2 million cubic yards of sand back onto the beach, which erodes at up to 30 feet a year, is set to start soon.
Why do we keep rebuilding the beach when we know the ocean wants it back? When we know we cannot win that battle?
To allow another generation to experience this treasure? Or to fill state coffers with more milk from this cow?
Officials deny that the boneyard destruction was connected to the renourishment project.
But surely it will be easier without the boneyard in the way.
Heavy equipment — which is apparently in high demand — can move unfettered, which means the job can be done quicker, which means the contractor is free to take on another lucrative project elsewhere.
Was it cleared to make room for more visitors? For more heads, at $5 — now $8 — apiece?
Where were the people to prevent this from happening? The ones who say they love it. The ones with the stickers. The ones with the paychecks that say “Hunting Island.”
As Jacques Cousteau said, “People protect what they love.”
What does this say about Hunting Island then? More importantly, what can be done now?
For Jebailey, who was overcome with grief when she saw the bare sand before her, the fight has just begun.
“I’m not going down without making some noise,” she said.
The ACE Basin is being preserved for a reason.
And the renourishment project and the boneyard destruction fly in the face of that.
Jebailey wants to know why. And she wants more accountability, more transparency and more attention paid to the collective property we say we value.
If you’ve been to Hunting Island, you should want all of this too.
