Sunday, November 15, 2009. The low tide at 12:29 PM inspired me to take the outgoing flow in the morning to the island. The marine forecast was for light winds, and there was a little wind from the east going out Andersonville Creek into Bulls Bay. The wind finally died before I made it to my turning point around the shoal protruding out from the bay’s southwest edge, so I paddled for propulsion. I skimmed the edge of the shoal, monitoring the bottom, and made it into Bull Creek as the tide began its change. Without a breeze, Kingfisher had become a canoe again, but the smooth water made for easy paddling. The faintest of winds added a little push before I dropped sail for the landing at the public dock. People often ask me how long does it take to get to Bull Island on Kingfisher, and the answer is qualified by the factors of wind and tide. On this day the outgoing passage was long – two hours and fifteen minutes.
My plan was to take a walk to the new observation tower, built on the peninsula jutting out from the southwest into Jacks Creek. We had seen this structure when on the dike of Jacks Creek on October 4. I looked forward to the view, since the location is excellent, commanding a large panorama of this impoundment. The few clouds obscuring the sun on the trip over were gone, and the sun was warming up the day. It made me wonder about the mosquito count.
The previous month I took my brother Doug and his significant other Maggie over to the island for their first time. Chris Crolley warned me that the mosquitoes were fierce, and to be prepared with long sleeves and repellent. Despite our preparations, the walk from the dock north to Alligator Alley and the Boneyard was a bit of an ordeal with the mosquito horde (Doug and Maggie would describe the event in a more extreme manner). Doug wondered with me later if I had gotten even for whatever he did to me as a child (he actually was a very good older brother).
I followed the same beginning path that we did in October: out to the picnic area, northeast on Old Fort Road, southeast on Big Pond Road, northeast again on Sheepshead Ridge Road to Alligator Alley. Once on Sheepshead the mosquito count rose, though not quite as bad as last month. At the crossroads between Sheepshead Ridge Road and Alligator Alley, rather than turn right (the way to Lighthouse Road and the Boneyard), I crossed and continued on to the northeast on this peninsula. I have walked this road several times in the past, and outlooks intermittently appear on each side into the impoundment.
I found myself at the dead-end by the base of the tower. It is a substantial structure, perhaps thirty feet tall, with a series of stairs climbing to the top. As I ascended, the mosquito numbers decreased, until at the top I found refuge from the hordes below. I also discovered in the clear air more than the impressive Jacks Creek vista: the view went far beyond the impoundment, with views to Bull Breakers offshore, and shrimpers pulling their nets nearby. But I had also brought along a pair of 7 x 50 binoculars, and a quick look to the northeast revealed the two towers of Lighthouse Island in clear focus. Beyond these towers was the maritime forest of Cape Island. I scanned around the impoundment, focusing in on various wading birds, but did not see a spoonbill on this day. I was glad I lugged the heavy binoculars along, though I found an even stronger pair of glasses mounted on the top deck, bringing me even closer to the lighthouses.
This was the view I have been denied for years in the refuge – from a vertical height. There are various towers built for the view from above, but none have been available for me. On Bull Island an observation tower is located behind the Dominick House, but is closed to the public. On a refuge volunteer trip several years ago to Bull, while returning on Island Cat to the mainland, Chris Crolley informed me that I really missed it, since while I was hiking around the island several of the group had an exclusive climb to the top of the normally closed tower. Sarah Dawsey, refuge biologist, chimed in, letting me know that the view was spectacular. The refuge manager at the time, Matt Connolly, also threw salt on my wounds in lauding the view.
A similar tower lies on a small marsh island on the edge of Muddy Bay.
It appears the same provenance as the Bull Island tower, and probably served a similar purpose in the first decades of the refuge. For many boaters like myself, it serves as a navigation landmark amongst all the marsh islands and waterways.
The most impressive tower in the refuge is of course on Lighthouse Island. Almost twice the height of the 1827 lighthouse, the 1857 tower stands 150 feet tall. I have had the opportunity on a guided trip to Lighthouse Island to go inside, but due to safety issues the climb to the top has been off limits for a few years.
I have been using the virtual climb high above the refuge through satellite imaging. My comparison of the Google Map images with my old NOAA paper chart was immensely revealing in my understanding the geographic features of this Lowcountry archipelago. The most recent satellite imaging from the SCDNR GIS website has been both incredibly detailed and beautiful, as the small segment from the masthead image on the top of this page illustrates. (The image below is a larger segment of the one on the masthead courtesy of SCDNR).
Back on the ground and rejoining the mosquitoes, I began the forty-minute walk (fast pace) back to the dock. I took a brief detour on Alligator Alley to check out the reptiles assembled on the dike, and I was not disappointed. All in all, most of the ten alligators crawled off the dike as I crept forward for a closer view. I imagined that the lure of both the tower and this packed alligator location would attract many visitors here in the future.
I took Sheepshead Ridge Road all the way back to Beach Road before turning right to head toward the dock. A little wind, nicely from the SSE awaited me for raising sail, an operation fouled by a brown scum on the water that covered a section of my sail as it dipped into the creek. But I was sailing, a luxury after the paddle out. With the wind from behind, the sail through the ferry passage was easy, and the sun was already down behind the trees on the mainland as I approached the Romain Retreat landing.
