The Old Forest

The Old Forest

By Virginia Holman 

A Carolina Paddler Reprint

This article first appeared in November, 2013 edition of Salt magazine.

∞ According to the USGS gauge at Tomahawk, the Black River is running at thirteen feet. Fall is in the air, and the warmth of the afternoon sun is shot through with a fine cool breeze. Paul Ferguson and I, and three of my friends, aim to paddle the river for the better part of the day, spending most of it among the oldest living trees east of the Rockies. We’re almost to the Narrows, a notoriously long, boggy point of portage if the water’s under six feet. Today, with the river so high, I’ve been looking forward to gliding through the Narrows without muddying my feet and dragging my kayak.

Paul’s ahead of me, paddling his battered 20-year-old Mad River Explorer canoe, a big old honking brontosaurus of a boat compared with the sleek, nimble Hurricane kayaks my companions and I are paddling. “I know an alternate route,” Paul calls over his shoulder. He is a tall, direct, understated and highly accomplished man of seventy who has meticulously documented thousands of miles of trails in the Carolinas. The result is Paddling Eastern North Carolina, a book so revered among paddlers in the Southeast it is often referred to simply as “Ferguson’s” or “The Paddler’s Bible.” His book tells you exactly where to put in and take out, minimum and maximum water levels for paddling, as well as useful information on flora and fauna. Other guidebooks may be adequate but none begin to approach the thoroughness and technical accuracy of “Ferguson’s.” Unlike other paddling guides to the region, if the information is in “Ferguson’s,” you may rely on it. Next year, Pocosin Press will publish his second book, Canoe Kayak South Carolina.

Our group is excited to go off the “beaten path” of the swamp with Ferguson. Who cares what time we return? As autumn comes on, the sun’s setting earlier and earlier. If I were out here with anyone other than Paul Ferguson and was asked if I wanted to take an alternate route through this blackwater labyrinth, I’d be wary. Three Sisters cypress swamp is not the sort of place most folks want to be past dark. Cell reception is spotty to nonexistent depending on your carrier, there are no nearby homes, the best banks for take-outs today are underwater, and in the last two hours we’ve spotted a good bit of critter activity on our way to the swamp: five friendly northern water snakes; one coiled, lurking cottonmouth; three basketball-sized hornets’ nests; and four swarming wasps’ nests — most at eye-level or within arm’s reach given the floodwaters. Let’s just say it’s a good day to steer clear of the brush along the banks.

Paul says he sees a small, clear path and proceeds to carve a turn toward an eight-foot-wide bloom of poison ivy. Then, he slices his canoe paddle in the water just behind his hip, and the brontosaurus pivots, suddenly elegant and sylphlike, before it vanishes from sight in the dappled swamp. Even if you know where you’re going in the swamp, it doesn’t take much to get turned around, and simply following the way the water flows won’t necessarily lead you to anyplace a kayak can pass through. This swamp is a profoundly mysterious place, and one of intoxicating beauty, like something out of a fairytale.

I look back at my friends, all of whom escaped their Thursday workday duties to meet and paddle with the legendary Ferguson. Lydia is a former world champion surf kayaker, and my other two friends are kayak guides by trade. I’ve been paddling for nearly ten years now and am an ACA level 3 certified coastal kayak instructor and avid Greenland style kayak roller. I sound like I’m bragging on our group, but I’m mostly pointing out that we’re a skilled and experienced lot, and we’ve been out in the Three Sisters cypress swamp nearly a hundred times among the four of us. So it’s mildly disconcerting to look ahead and realize that we now resemble a waterborne version of the Keystone Kops in pursuit of the elegant Paul Ferguson.

The small passage between the “poison ivy tree”and an old cypress is only about three feet wide, barely wide enough for a canoe, but spacious enough for my 21-inch-wide kayak. I head toward it, bow rudder, and the kayak turns, but I still find I have to back up and re-angle my boat, which means the poison ivy is now brushing my collar and sleeve. I hack at the bush with my paddle. Once through, I zip ahead to see if I can locate Paul in the swampy cypress maze. The water is so high, many of the huge cypress knees, or pneumatophores, are completely submerged. Small bubbles carve a bright path ahead. I’m disappointed to discover these weren’t made by Paul’s canoe; they are just generated by the current.

There’s thrashing behind me followed by a brief discussion of cortisone shots and allergies. One of my two guide pals passes me and then disappears in the swamp as well. After ten minutes or so, we see the stern of his red kayak and then the flash of Paul’s white paddle. Now that we’re all in sight of one  another, we can relax and explore. The cypress trees in this swamp are exceptional not because of their height, but because of their age. In 1981, researchers from the University of Arkansas took core samples of some of the older looking trees in the swamp.

Some, according to David Stahle, the researcher who first core sampled the trees, are around 2,000 years old. It’s almost impossible to imagine: a tree, alive, for 2,000 years. If you are looking for perspective in your life, a trip to the Three Sisters cypress swamp is a useful human reminder that all is vanity. Some of these trees were growing when Diocletian was Emperor of Rome. How much has fallen and passed away in the centuries since they sprouted? Yet here these cypress stand, silent and thriving in the ever flowing blackwater. This year the cypress trees housed heron nests and a wood stork rookery. Their gnarled branches form a tangled canopy above us. They seem to map the sky.

For a time, one tree became famous. She was named Methuselah and marked with a small metal tag, because her core sample dated her at 1,800 years of age. Other trees are older, but because they suffered heart rot, these could not be accurately core sampled. Methuselah’s tag is now gone, and her location known to a handful. It’s just as well. Many of the cypress here are ancient trees — there seems little need to single out any one in particular. When we exit the swamp, we take out for lunch at a private landing on a hill. Paul knows the owner. One of our guide friends wades out to the bench for a photo op. The water is so high he appears to float on a park bench in the middle of the river, cooling his heels.

Over lunch on the riverbank I tell Paul that his book is wonderful (which it is) and that it must be satisfying to have created something that has helped and inspired so many people to explore North Carolina’s waterways. He thanks me, but it’s clear he doesn’t like having too much attention focused on him. Instead, he speaks of some of his favorite rivers: the Haw, near his home in Raleigh, and the Edisto River in South Carolina.

The book is meticulous in its detail, no doubt informed by his years as an engineer. His career at IBM included a stint as lead engineer of the team that supported the ground computer system for the Saturn V rocket, accompanying the  Apollo capsules. He describes the year leading up to the launch as exciting. But after that first launch, he decided he wanted a new challenge and put in for a transfer. He worked in Raleigh and London and found that paddling became a part of his personal life. “I worked in London for three years and while there I bought a canoe and paddled in England and Scotland. “I also took my canoe on some vacations in France and Swedish Lapland.” When he retired at age 50, he set out to write his book because it would be a fresh challenge and get him out on the water with regularity. To assemble the book on Eastern North Carolina, Paul estimates that he drove over 75 thousand miles to various water trails. So far for his upcoming book on South Carolina, he estimates he’s driven 30 thousand miles. “My next book should be on where not to eat while you’re on the road.”

The floodwater carries us to our take-out at Newby’s Landing faster than I’d like. On the open stretches, we barely have to paddle at all. When we arrive at our take-out, Paul motions me over to his van. It’s a seven-foot-tall fully outfitted affair. Inside, he’s outfitted it with many creature comforts. Several old wooden wine cases have been cleverly assembled to form both a bureau for camping supplies and to serve as a platform for Paul’s fold-out double bed. It’s a pretty spiffy setup, and I wish I had enough overhead room in my truck camper for something similar. As the rest of us load our kayaks, Paul reaches down, flips the brontosaurus of a canoe up to his chest, and then hoists it over his head. He carries it over to his seven-foot van, straps it down, downs a cold Frappuccino from the cooler in his super-cool camper, and says, “Hey, this was fun. Thanks for inviting me.” Then, all at once, the van’s gone up the driveway in a cloud of gravel dust, and Paul’s off to his next adventure.

Want to go to the Three Sisters?

Buy a copy of Paul Ferguson’s book, Paddling Eastern North Carolina; www.pocosinpress.com. Out of publication now but available from used book vendors. This article describes paddling section six of the Black River.

An updated version of this guide, Paddling the Carolinas-A Guide to the Cape Fear and Yadkin-Pee Dee Basins by Paul Ferguson and Alton Chewning will be available through UNC Press in early 2028.

Several kayak companies offer tours of the area.

Author Virginia Holman is a writer and editor. After 36 years in NC, Virginia now lives in Colorado.

Special thanks to Hurricane Kayaks for providing the kayaks for the paddlers on this excursion.