Getting Soaked in Congaree

LONG STORY SHORT
We knew we'd get wet, but not THIS wet.

By Kristine McGowan

Jason and I made a big mistake on our way out the door this morning. We just didn’t know it until 45 minutes later, when we got to our destination.

As soon as we pulled up to Kingsnake Trailhead in Congaree National Park, we hopped out of the truck and dashed to the boats lined up near Cedar Creek. We had a three-hour kayaking trip scheduled to start at 12:50 p.m., and we were running late. It’d taken longer than expected to fix something on the truck this morning,* so we’d had to grab our gear in a hurry and rush to the park as fast as we could.

At the trailhead, we found our kayaking guide right away. Strangely, he looked as frazzled as we felt.

Are we that late? I thought, but it was only 12:52 p.m. Our guide was still readying the boats, our fellow paddlers still zipping up their life jackets. If we’d caused a delay, it wasn’t a big one.

Then our guide told us, “I don’t know if you’ve seen the radar, but it’s coming.”

It meaning rain. A lot of rain. And, because we’d rushed out the door, Jason and I had forgotten our rain jackets and dry pants.**

The guide gave us a rapid pep talk. The rain might move north and miss us, or it might not. Thunder and lightning were possible, which could make kayaking dangerous (water’s an excellent conductor of electricity, after all). And our fellow paddlers were a family of four, including two small kids, so we might have to go slow. If things started to look bad, we’d have to get to shore fast and cut the trip short.

In all, it sounded like the makings of an awful day.

Still, we packed into our boats and set out on the creek. We’d see how far we could paddle before something forced us to turn around.

It didn’t take long for the rain to catch us. The steady drizzle soaked our clothes right away. A chill settled into my skin. Water pooled in my boat, submerging my feet.

That said—it also didn’t take long for us to see how cool this was.

Cedar Creek flows through the heart of Congaree, and today the water level was high: 8 or 9 feet deep, whereas it usually sits at 3 feet. The water overtook the creek’s banks, swallowing tree trunks and spreading in all directions, sometimes as far as we could see. According to our guide and the Congaree National Park website, this happens only about 10 times a year.

Thanks to the high water, we had a lot of room to explore. We could thread our way between submerged trees. We could spread out from one another and chart our own routes. And we could follow the calls of barred owls as they soared through the sunken forest around us.

The rain added some fun, too. Yes, I was wet and cold. But I also loved lifting my paddle out of the water, sitting back, and watching the raindrops plop all around while mist rose off the creek’s surface.

To top it off, we had great company. Our guide and fellow paddlers were all warm, friendly, and fun to talk to. And I have to give those kids credit—despite our potentially miserable conditions, they didn’t complain once. (Or if they did, they did it very quietly and while I wasn’t within earshot.)

Eventually, the weather did force us to turn back. About two miles down the creek thunder rolled overhead, close enough to rattle my eardrums. The rain intensified, driving down on us as if it suspected it’d missed a spot. (It hadn’t.) Our guide decided we should call it a day. Given that I don’t like to mess around with thunder and lightning, I readily agreed.

Still. After kayaking in Congaree, I had to adjust my idea of what makes for an awful day.
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Because it certainly wasn’t this.

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* The truck’s underbody cover, aka diaper, had fallen down. I’m sure other F-150 owners can sympathize.

** We typically don’t bring these waterproof shells on kayaking trips unless there’s heavy rain in the forecast—and thanks to our issue with the truck, we didn’t realize just how ominous the forecast was.