Paddling Ebenezer

By Cathy Sakas

Naturalist

Tybee Island Marine Science Center Foundation

Gray's Reef National Marine Sanctuary

I consider myself very lucky. I live near one of the most accessible wilderness freshwater waterways in coastal Georgia – Ebenezer Creek. I’m grateful for it every day, and especially now during the time of COVID-19, when gathering together isn’t a good plan. So, once a week I load up my canoe or kayak and within 30 minutes or so, I’m launching into that liquid stream of tranquility. 

Recently, my long-time friend and director of Gray’s Reef National Marine Sanctuary Foundation, Jody Patterson, met me at Ebenezer for an afternoon of canoeing. I found it quite appropriate as her foundation intrinsically connects Ebenezer via the Savannah River to Gray’s Reef. Now-retired research scientist Dr. Jack Blanton, formerly of Skidaway Institute of Oceanography, first alerted me to his research that made this connection. He traced tritium, leaking from the Savannah River site, down the Savannah River and all the way offshore, out to Gray’s Reef. So, Jody and I made note of that fact and appreciated paddling on water that would eventually make its way out to her reef.  

Within a few minutes of leaving our launch site, Jody and I floated into the most incredible, serene, green sanctuary that exists near both of our homes. Imagine big sighs of contentment!

Within the green tunnel of twisted cypress trees, we sat for a time without moving, just soaking up the ambiance. The experience is magical; a profound sense of serenity washes over you. Every muscle in your body relaxes and you nearly become one with the black mirrored water, with the twisted, buttressed trunks. A slight ripple moves across the black surface and catches a ray of light penetrating through the thick canopy. The reflected light dances in waves and I’m transfixed. 

Ebenezer is a black water creek. Our coastal waters are relatively warm year round and the waterways are slow moving since the elevation decline is gradual. In addition, there’s a constant supply of tannin leaching out from the leaves, bark, limbs and branches of trees. This process is similar to the leaves in tea bags I use to make my tea, lending to the descriptive term “black water.” In past years I’ve measured the pH of the water and found it to be quite acidic. The pH ranged between 6.5 and 5. Considering tap water is usually around 7.5, this water was quite acidic. The pH scale is exponential, meaning that pH6 is 10 times more acidic than pH7 and pH5 is 100 times more acidic than a pH7 and pH4 is 1000 times more acidic than pH7. You get my drift.

Back in the mid 1970’s, long before Ebenezer Creek earned the designation of National Natural Landmark, I led week-long summer camps for kids. We always paddled one day on Ebenezer, in the heat of the summer. With the thermometer registering near the top, all the kids wanted to get in that water! Although fears of alligators melted away with the heat, the black water you just couldn’t see through caused hesitation. That is, until one of us, the adult leaders, stood up in our canoe and jumped in. Then lots of splashing and laughing ensued! What fun!

Back here in the present, under the soul-soothing ambience of majestic cypress, a lot of activity goes on in the smaller scale of things. One of the creatures I find most fascinating are fish-eating spiders. They take up quite a big patch of tree bark, blending in with the dark gray bark as they rest. Even though relatively large, about the size of a small woman’s hand, the brush-like bundles on the ends of their legs enable them to walk across the surface of the water. When ready to hunt, they grab a bubble of air and dive under. Scuba diving arachnid style! With the bubble of air, the fishing spiders are able to stay under for several minutes to hunt their scaly prey. Large mandibles seize tiny fish and kill them by injecting toxin that dissolves the tissue so the spider can suck up the liquid nutrient easily.  

Within the first half mile of being on Ebenezer, Jody and I began searching for greenfly orchids. I knew they nestled in the crooks of cypress tree about 15 feet up. The first time I came across these lovely delicate orchids was on Little St. Simons Island. On every tour I gave to the north end of the island, I passed by a live oak that had a cluster of these orchids. They bloom in every month of the year but not the same month in a particular year. That year, the cluster bloomed in January, the next year in March. I eventually identified clusters in other trees and they too bloomed in various months throughout the year but different months in subsequent years. Anyway, the other interesting characteristic of these little delicate orchids is that they give off a licorice-like fragrance, but only at night. 

Looking up we see resurrection ferns lining the tops of limbs like hair on massive arms. So called because during dry spells, the fern curls up and retracts the chlorophyll from its petite compound leaves to conserve energy, appearing dead. No need to photosynthesize if there is no moisture to help the process. When it rains, the resurrection fern appears to come back to life, unfurling its leaves and restoring the vibrant green chlorophyll so photosynthesis can nourish its cells. 

Cascades of Spanish moss elegantly drape live Oaks and red maples. The moss too can look ghostly gray when it’s dry, but when the rain comes, it takes on a subtle, heather green hue. Likewise ball moss, in the same genus as Spanish moss, Tillandsia, also turns a beautiful shade of heather green when wet. It clumps together in a tight tangle with sporadic reproductive spikes sticking up like unruly hairs from a conductor’s head at the end of a long concert. 

In the spring duck weed, the smallest flowering plant in North America, covers the surface of the water changing it from mirrored black to matte bright green. This is the stuff that early Hollywood Tarzan movies used to depict quicksand. When you drop anything through it, the duck week parts momentarily and then collects back together covering the surface as if nothing ever happened. It makes for great Hollywood magic even though woefully inaccurate. 

When the water level is high at Ebenezer, as it is right now, wading birds are few and far between, if at all. On our visit, mostly songbirds called and winged through the trees overhead. We identified red-eyed vireos, prothonotary warblers, pileated woodpeckers, red-bellied woodpeckers and yellow-billed cuckoos. On numerous other trips I’ve heard and seen barred owls, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?” 

On most occasions when I have been lucky enough to see a barred owl, it was by chance. I just happened to be looking up for greenfly orchids, when I saw those big eyes looking down on me. Their heads swivel, appearing to turn in full circles. Although most kids will tell you they can, barred owls can’t actually twist their heads all the way around.

Owls ears are slightly offset, not directly opposite. One is slightly higher up on the head, allowing the owl to accurately pinpoint the location of prey. For example, noise from a mouse rummaging on the forest floor hits the owl’s ears at slightly different times and angles, enabling the owl’s brain to exactly locate the source of the noise. 

The fringed edges of an owl’s flight feathers allow the wind to pass through the feathers without alerting their prey to their approach. They are silent fliers.

The birds I hear mostly in Ebenezer are the wild calls of pileated woodpeckers. Our largest extant woodpecker, they sport a bright red crest on top their heads. The word pileus is Latin for felt cap. They can be heard for miles with their raucous calls and when they drum on hollow trees and limbs. The drumming is rapid and the louder the better as this drumming establishes and advertises the bird’s territory. When a pileated is feeding, you will hear loud, deliberate taps at several second intervals. The beaks of these birds have strong reflexive muscles that absorb the shock of the pecking or drumming. After a hard peck, the bird will use its beak to pry off a chunk of wood to get the goody inside. The goody is a tasty, plump grub. Yum, yum!

On a great day, usually in the height of summer’s heat, I will hear bird-voiced tree frogs. These wonderful little frogs are tiny but have big voices. Their call is one sharp repetitive whistle that literally sounds like a bird’s chirp. When all the males join up to create a chorus of love songs, it is a glorious concert of hopeful, amorous, loudly-imploring chirps. Other frogs can be heard here as well, like southern leopard frogs that sound like fully inflated balloons rubbing together. 

Carpenter frogs sound like a carpenter hammering nails or working a ratchet wrench, from a distance. Cricket frogs sound like a kid tapping two metal balls together over and over again. On a hot, misty summer’s night, the frog chorus is glorious and deafening!

When friends and guests from other areas paddle with me, inevitably one of the first questions is about alligators. I tell my nervous friends that when you grow up in Coastal Georgia you swim with alligators even though you may not know it. Any body of fresh water will have an alligator or two at some point, often as many as the water can accommodate. Ebenezer Creek is prime habitat for alligators, although I have only seen a few in all the many years I’ve paddled there, possibly due to the frequency of humans using the creek recreationally. When people ask nervously about the presence of alligators in Ebenezer Creek, I tell them they’re really lucky if they ever see one!

I’d been paddling Ebenezer for quite a few years before I heard the horrible story of a massacre that took place there in early December 1864. There’s now a marker at the restroom facility at Tommy Long Landing describing the tragedy. It reads:

One mile north, on December 9, 1864, during the American Civil War, U.S. Gen. Jeff. C. Davis crossed Ebenezer Creek with his 14th Army Corps as it advanced toward Savannah during Gen. William T. Sherman’s March to the Sea. Davis hastily removed the pontoon bridges over the creek, and hundreds of freed slaves following his army drowned trying to swim the swollen waters to escape the pursuing Confederates. Following a public outcry, Sec. of War Edwin Stanton met with Sherman and local black leaders in Savannah on January 12, 1865. Four days later, President Lincoln approved Sherman’s Special Field Orders No. 15, confiscating over 400,000 acres of coastal property and redistributing it to former slaves in 40-acre tracts.

Jody and I stopped paddling for several moments slowly drifting by as we remembered the lives of those who tried to cross Ebenezer that horrific day and didn’t make it. May they all rest in eternal peace. 

Mostly when I paddle Ebenezer, I put in at Tommy Long Landing and return to it. It’s simply much easier than running a shuttle. On a few occasions however, I run a shuttle so I can paddle the entire creek. I put in at Long Bridge and paddle the six or so miles all the way to the Savannah River taking out at Ebenezer Landing near the Salzburger’s Jerusalem Lutheran Church. It’s a boat ramp and the owner charges a fee. 

For me the most important part of my time on Ebenezer Creek is the way it makes me feel. It is the best therapy for calming my soul and lifting up my spirits. It completely recharges my batteries. Because it’s so close to home I have the luxury of deciding to go on a moment’s notice and within an hour of deciding, I am at peace once again. I slip into that dark water, look for my greenfly orchids on that first big turn, float up under the magic of the green cypress sanctuary and feel the weight of the world drip off my shoulders.