Tom's Life Bits

Water slides between cypress and tupelo trunks at a dreamlike speed. On the coldest mornings, ice - rare in this part of South Carolina - hugs dwarf palmettos. The silence is so complete that the sudden flight of a flock of robins is startling.

In this part of the swamp known as the Francis Beidler Forest, about 70 miles southeast of Columbia, winter is a waiting season: waiting for snakes and turtles to rouse from winter rest, for warblers to wing back from Central America, for downstream alligators to stir.

But it's also an ideal time to visit, to walk the 1.75-mile boardwalk trail snaking through the swamp without the heat of summer.

The swamp is a key tributary to the Edisto River, lacing the South Carolina Lowcountry with black-water sloughs, hardwood forests and stands of towering bald cypress, some of which are 1,000 years old. The National Audubon Society owns 16,000 acres of the swamp, and those acres make up the Francis Beidler (pronounced “BYE-dler”) Forest.

The swamp attracts visitors in the spring, many on the trail of its star bird species, the prothonotary warbler. This yellow-orange sprite winters in Central and South America, then returns to the forest about the last week of March or early April, drawn by old-growth trees whose roots stand in water. Places that fit that description are shrinking fast, putting the warbler on the Audubon Society's watch list for habitat loss, said Mark Musselman, education director at the swamp.

The birds are bold and curious and “will land on the hand rail next to you,” he said.

But if spring brings warblers and bigger crowds to the forest, winter's nearly-mute mystery is just as appealing. The architecture of the forest, concealed by leaves in spring and summer, is laid bare. Feeding turkeys materialize just yards from the trail. Blue-headed vireos flicker and winter wrens flit among trees. A spattering of white droppings on the boardwalk reveals the perch of barred owls.

And everywhere, the forest is doubled, reflected on the swamp's dark surface.

“There are worlds in the water,” said one 5-year-old visitor, peering over the railing on a recent hike.

Cypress knees poke up from the water and look like skinny, gray gnomes. Scientists aren't sure what the knees are for. They may store starches, or act as snorkels, delivering oxygen to the tree. Regardless of the original purpose, now they anchor the towering trees, protecting them from high winds. During Hurricane Hugo in 1989, 80 percent of the trees in the dry area of the forest fell, Musselman said, while just 10 percent in the wet area toppled.

Turtles and snakes

The drier upland woods that fringe the swamp ensure the health of the watery areas, Musselman said. Turtles lay eggs in the dry forest, and snakes return there to hibernate. Creeks run through the land to feed the swamp, which doesn't receive water from a major river.

In fact, when it doesn't rain, the water in the swamp drains dry except in deep holes. Otherwise, the shin-deep water is always moving, flowing toward the Edisto. That movement means the water is clear and clean-smelling, and doesn't harbor as many mosquitoes as a still pond might.

The shade of the swamp means visitors aren't likely to encounter alligators on their walk, as the reptiles prefer the warmth of more open, streamside areas. And in winter, when the temperature drops below 60 degrees, alligators don't digest food, Musselman said, so they stop eating.

“They sit on the bottom or in shallows and periodically come up for oxygen,” he said. “They're as close to dead as you can be.”

Conservation

The boardwalk winds past some of the most ancient of the tract's trees, giants preserved by a combination of location and love. Chicago lumber baron Francis Beidler Sr. bought the swamp in the late 1800s, but it proved hard to get the giant trees out of their watery hold. Added to that, Beidler journeyed west and visited Yellowstone National Park - and the experience turned him into a conservationist.

“We owe Francis Beidler a debt of gratitude,” said Norman Brunswig, executive director of Audubon South Carolina. “He was growing up in that era of 'cut out and get out.' He went out West and saw the world in a bigger way and I think it influenced him profoundly.”

Beidler's heirs sold the swamp to the National Audubon Society and the Nature Conservancy in the 1960s and the Audubon Society eventually became the sole owner. The legacy of decisions made more than 100 years ago now towers above the swamp's black water - a treasure of trees.

“It's the largest remaining cypress-tupelo old-growth swamp in the world,” Musselman said. “There's nothing like it left.”