Return to Brickhill Bluff

Our March 2022 Cumberland Island trip began with our usual 'Dillo gathering at the Riverview Hotel in St. Marys.

 

Ted, Jeffery, Jennifer and I went on a Cumberland Island trip in the early 1990's.  We backpacked from Plum Orchard up to Brickhill Bluff.  Back then, on Sundays, the ferry would take you up from the Ranger Station to the luxurious historic Plum Orchard mansion.  This cut out most of the 10-plus mile hike north from the station.  Jennifer and I agreed that it was the best trip for us so far, though I liked Stafford Beach (where Jennifer and I honeymooned long years ago) better.  

I put up with a ton of bug bites but we were all enamored with the wonder of the northern part of the island.  Way up there where a small African Baptist Church and part of an old settlement remains.  Near there, about 3.5 miles away, was Brickhill Bluff campsite, nestled intimately against the river side of the island.  This was a different kind of experience from the beach side campsites I had preferred on my previous Cumberland trips.  

The north part of the island offers the opposite ruin to Dungeness to the far south.  There are no reminders of grandeur up here.  Instead, it feels like common life long ago within the deep, raw nature of the island.  That same rawness transcends time itself.  This trip Will, Stephanie, Clint, Brian, Jennifer and I definitely connected to the same inescapable rawness that was around before the old settlement was even built.  The same raw beauty that Ted and Jeffery had touched with us 30+ years ago.

Every campsite on Cumberland Island is special and worth spending days at, though, as I said, I prefer Stafford Beach overall.  But this second trip for me and Jennifer up to Brickhill was still surprising in all the same qualities that made the first trip so great.  I realized that you really can't say you have “seen” Cumberland Island until you make it to Brickhill Bluff.   

The ferry doesn't make those Sunday runs to Plum Orchard anymore.  So, this time we chartered a couple of boats, one for all our gear (this was a camping trip with tiny coolers, not backpacking), and another for the six Armadillos.  Will did a fantastic job in finding the right guys to do what we needed.

 

Jennifer snapped this early morning shot of a quaint shop across from the hotel as we prepped to go to Crooked River to embark on our adventure.

 

A view of the baggage boat leading our passenger boat into the fog-enshrouded estuary.

We disembarked on a small dry beach at high tide.  You can see the thick fog in the distance.

 

A shot of part of our gear sitting atop a small cliff on Wednesday morning.  Will is making arrangements with our captain for the return on Saturday morning.  He did a fantastic job of finding the right people to get us where we needed to go.

After the usual 'Dillo gathering at the Riverview Hotel we were up early on the last Wednesday morning in March.  Out on the brackish water, our captain and his mate motored toward the dock even as we assembled our gear and made ready.  Then, almost effortlessly, we were speeding out into a wondrous fog on the water that briefly baffled our captain as to where to work through the vast estuary to Brickhill Bluff.

That was soon remedied and I could clearly see the small beachy cliff that a different captain sent us a photo of two years ago when we were supposed to do this trip.  Our adventure was delayed as the first national pandemic lockdown hit.  Unlike the massive Gerhard Richter exhibit in New York City that I never got to see because of COVID, the island and the bluff were still around.  I could still go there for sure.

Since the small dry beachy cliff was in a photo of how close they could get the boat from the previous trip plan, the consensus was we should land here.  It was just a short cliff to raise our gear, not that big of a deal.  The captain's mate offered to take us south another 300 feet but that got shot down.  This was a good solid dry location.  

Naturally, we ended up moving all our food and gear pretty much exactly 300 feet down to where the mate had suggested.  We laughed at ourselves and decided that they could pull the two boats right up to our campsite when they came back to get us.   With a short salute they were off into the estuary fog and we seemed to have the island to ourselves.  We enjoyed a sultry live oak forest filled with palmettos and birdsong.

Facing west was a marvelous view of the estuary.  An open expanse of thick marshes that went on for miles back to our view of the horizon.  I knew this would be a cool sunset location and it did not disappoint in that sense.  

Brickhill Bluff itself had changed since my visit three decades ago.  Most of the large trees were still around, of course, but now a thick undergrowth of palmettos had come up where it was once an open space.  The campsite itself felt more intimate and less exposed because of this, a nice change actually.  When we had camped with Ted and Jeffery all the campsites situated on the bluff could see each other, though they were spaced apart.
       
We arrived mid-morning.  The first order of business was for everybody to take care of their gear.  Tents were raised, food and clothes unpacked, tarps were hung.  Over time things shifted and morphed within our camp as we all settled in.  After the usual festivities (which at this point still included coldish lagers and IPAs) and feeding, we pronounced ourselves encamped and ready for a day hike.

Me and Jennifer upon arrival at our campsite.  She gave each of us our choice of buffs, which come in handy with covering your head from bugs.  We are wearing ours here.  She originally bought them over two years ago for the trip that was canceled by the pandemic.  This year she finally got to give them out.

We initially had the whole of the bluff to ourselves.  A few other hikers came and went during our stay.  We enjoyed the most choice campsite, where the river came right up to the edge during high tide.  It was an idyllic spot.

Jennifer and I set up quickly enough.  We brought an extra heavy tarp because the forecast was for thunderstorms the next day.  This nice three-person tent has been a mainstay for us since before our 'Dillo trips to Swan Cabin.

As the tide receded, a wider beach unveiled for us to enjoy.  Clint immediately set out to photograph the incredible beauty that engulfed us.  He took a lot of wonderful photos and videos during our trip.

Jennifer spotted this pelvis rope-tided about eight feet up a small tree.  There was much discussion over from what animal this derived.  Cool spooky stuff, it was located along the bluff trail but I did not notice it because the brim of my straw hat blocked my view of the mystery.

Heading out for the first day hike.  This wonderful spanish moss was lush throughout the live oak forest.  To the left is the river, blocked in this shot.  The trail followed the river for a ways.  It was a striking contrast, the vast open estuary beyond the river to our left with the jungle-like qualities of the forest to our right.

We happened upon an archeological dig literally in the middle of the trail.  Clint is checking it out.

The remains of a large spike or nail.  Crushed by the passage of centuries of being walked upon.

I'm still not sure about this one.  Apparently, it is a deep trough (now filled with water obviously) into which settlers would run their cows in order to treat them for tics and other bugs.  Whatever, it is a sign of a past civilization within this wilderness.

Brickhill Bluff Trail crosses the main road and becomes a marshy area walking eastward.  We were incredibly fortunate that the whole of the bluff trail was freshly cleared of over/undergrowth, making it an easy hike.  The marsh created an opening in the live oak forest.  It was a wonderful sunny day.  Jennifer is crossing a small bridge through the marsh, Brian is up ahead.

Bunkley Trail was not recently maintained in either direction.  This part of the island burned a couple of years ago.  A few pines are just now coming back along the edges of the marsh.  Jennifer, Will, and Stephanie at the end of Brickhill Bluff Trail.  We noticed that we were being attacked by ticks moments after I took this shot.

Jennifer and I spent most of the second afternoon along the riverside, filled with marshes, grass, small crabs and all sorts of water-faring birds.

The winds were gusty but it was a glorious day.  It clouded up later but it never rained.  Lucky us.

Camp life was pretty casual but our raw broccoli and carrots made everything seem temporarily healthish.  Jennifer brought mosquito nets which, fortunately, helped with the gnats.

Non-potable water was easily attained with some old-fashioned pumping.  Jennifer's new filtration system was a remarkable piece of 'Dillo tech after the engineers finally figured out how it worked best.  It could filter a gallon of water very quickly, so we had endless fresh purified water at our disposal.

Brian, the master-chef at work with two of his camping stoves.  I learned that he still has his entire history of camping stoves going back decades.  Pretty cool.  His meals were a remarkable extravagance, but Jennifer enjoyed his famous breakfasts best.  You can see how close we were to the river at high tide.  Our campsite was right along the waterline.

I've been to Cumberland Island more times with Clint than with anyone excepting Jennifer, of course.

The openness and simplicity of the common area in our campsite.  The first time Jennifer and I were here, 30 years ago, these palmettos did not exist and everything was more visible.  Now things are much more private, which is very nice.

For the first day we did a simple two+ mile loop covering all of Brickhill Bluff Trail over to Bunkley Trail then back to camp via the sandy main road running up the island.  Before we started our hike three Georgia Conservancy trail maintenance folks passed our camp.  They were working with traditional saws and axes.  Chainsaws are not permitted up here.  You can't have all that noise.  Tolkien would approve of such frowning on machines.

They were all well-dressed for the insects and ticks that are plentiful in the brush of the island.  By our happy circumstance, they had just “cleared” all of the bluff trail as we were about to take it.  You can't get more fortuitous than that.  Thanks y'all for fixin' it so we didn't have to dodge the trail overgrowth.

Our first surprise of the trip came as we started north along the bluff trail.  An excavation was being conducted and a small artifact had been found directly upon the trail itself.  It appeared to be the fragments of a large spike or nail.  The rest of the hike along the riverside offered gentle breezes and fantastic views of the open estuary to the south, west, and north.  

The trail turned back inland and crossed the main road up ahead.  We passed another oddity, a kind of reservoir filled with dark water.  Later it was established that this was a trough that settlers would run cattle into to treat them for ticks and other bugs.  Another reminder that the northern part of the island has a different recent history from the southern.  

We crossed the main road and continued another three-tenths of a mile to the intersection with Bunkley Trail.  This trail was the shortest route up to the African Church area but, unfortunately, it was not maintained and was passable but only through thick overhanging bushes and branches.  It was not what any of us were up for.  So, we returned through a wet, marshy area to the main road.  

From there it was less than three-quarters of a mile straight back to camp where, upon arriving, we immediately reverted into party mode, with winding conversations over all manner of topics.  Now and then we would pause and listen.  We were still all pretty yacky early in the trip.  But the sounds of the wind in the live oaks and all sorts of birds throughout the canopy started melding into our minds more and more.  The island was taking us and would do so more each day.

Our campsite had a perfect private beach area that came and went with the tide.  When we weren't goofing off we watched the birds out on the river, distant sailboats, the sun shimmering off the water until it exploded into some brilliant sunsets during our stay.  

We all brought our own stuff to eat, obviously. 'Dillo trips to the island are always every dillo for themselves.  Bring what you want to eat.  But we share little treats with each other.  Brian, as always, was the master chef.  He had two backpacking camp stoves and all sorts of goodies in his little cooler.  Every evening he nailed it with something really special for dinner.  But his breakfasts are unrivaled in 'Dillo lore.

The pleasure of having these delicacies is amplified by the camping aspect of the experience.  Other than an inconsequential scattering of people coming and going, we had the whole space to ourselves.  The first day's sunset was wondrous and calm leaving Stephanie to question: “Is it really going to rain tomorrow?”  

It was hard to believe but the weather forecast was for wind gusts up to 40-miles per hour and thunderstorms.  It was the most lousy weather forecast you can get if you want to backpack.  Everybody becomes campers in weather like that.  But we all came well-prepared for the stormy weather with extra tarps and rain gear.  

The First African Baptist Church at the settlement about 3.5 miles from our campsite.

Simple, modest church interior.

Clint read from where the bible lay open, Proverbs 1, which is also the end of Psalms.

The settlement space is wonderfully open and rustically comfortable.  But for brief interruption, we enjoyed it mostly to ourselves.  Most of the trip was like having the island to ourselves.

A room in the Alberty House.

An old map of the island hangs on the wall.  It is sideways, north is right.

Some photos hung nearby.  They had a horse-driven railed trolley to the beach roughly a century ago.  Whoever the baby is in the middle seems to be the focal point of the image.  Its mother or sitter is wearing a fashionable headcover sitting on a wooden chair behind the child.  Black servants seem to run the trolley when it is in use.

Jennifer and I "recreate" the famous JFK, Jr. wedding moment.  This turned out to be completely wrong because I did not accurately remember the composition of the photo.  Anyway, it was fun!

In church.  Everyone enjoyed my tee shirt.  Clint and I have listened to Yes several times together, years ago.  I pulled his string one night when I declared that Roger Dean was dead.  He disproved me, of course, since I actually had no idea whether or not Dean had passed.

Stephanie and Brian on the main road coming back from the settlement.  Jennifer and Clint are further back.

Stephanie, Brian and Clint along the Brickhill Bluff Trail.

Jennifer and Brian distanced along the road amidst the wondrous pines and live oaks.

The way out to North Cut Road. This is the beginning of the beach side of the island. We ended up backtracking a bit to a spot along the far treeline in this shot where the trail we intended to take actually began.  It was obviously the path to take upon a second pass at it.  Lots of wild horses on the island. 

The first night was pleasant and uneventful except of the scurrying of armadillos and two magnificent whippoorwills close by.  Everyone said they slept great.  I felt fully rested.  I was up before 7AM each day.  As we had our morning coffee, the sunrise would shine across the island behind us and onto the grassy marsh westward before us.  The effect was so stunning, the greens and browns lit in a golden morning hue.  It only lasted a few minutes then the angle would change with the rising sun brightening everything.  

The winds were noticeably stronger but nothing too gusty.  It was a partly cloudy day.  Clint still had one foot in the grid and could get accurate radar of the storm front approaching us.  Instead of a full day of rain, the forecast had shifted all the rain to the end of the day.  He and Brian decided to hike for two hours southward and then recheck the radar, hiking back if necessary.  Will and Stephanie chose to join in and I went along at the last moment.

Shortly, we came to where the Killman Field Trail started off the main road.  Clint and Brian took that route but I stayed with Will and Stephanie on the road down to where it intersected the South Cut Trail.  They were going toward the beach straight east along that trail but I chose to return to camp.  Jennifer was there and we got tuned into the marshy region of the area at low tide.  

The wind picked up considerably, especially on the river with nothing to block it. I had to hold my hat to keep it on my head.  Jennifer and I hung out on the river beach and enjoyed the afternoon as the sky began to cloud-up more. The wind gusts were becoming very strong, jolting through our camp.  But all our stuff had been battened-down for raccoons anyway.  We had to re-position some tarps but otherwise everything was staying in place.

Meanwhile, Clint, Brian, Will and Stephanie had a Cumberland Island seaside beach experience.  The latter two made it as far as a high dune overlooking the beach and the Atlantic.  It was too windy for them to want to get sandblasted.  They turned back for camp.  But Clint and Brian soldiered on after having to solve a marshy puzzle in the trail before they got to the beach.  

Clint took some incredible photos and videos of the sand flowing over the beach blown by the strong winds.  It looked like a special place to be in that moment.  He also photoed a four-foot rattlesnake they encountered along with other critters and environs.  They had quite an adventure within the adventure!

Everyone managed to make it back safely and dry.  They were gone about three hours or so.  The weather conditions had become more cloudy and gusty but otherwise we were in the dry.  Clint showed me his radar image again.  The storm front broke right before us and was passing north and south of us.  It was incredible luck!  Instead of driving rain gusts we were greeted by a beautiful breezy sunset on the riverside.

Friday was our last full day.  The plan was for the longest hike, all the way up to the African Church and the settlement, the primary attraction on the north part of the island.  In years past 'Dillos had hiked up to Whitney Lake.  Clint and I skinny-dipped in it decades ago.  But the lake has shrank in size with the passage of time and is now mostly an unmaintained marsh.

This would be the first time these 'Dillos had been to the African Church.  Jennifer and I were there in the early 1990's.  It was my personal primary goal of the trip to see it again, my whole justification for Brickhill Bluff to begin with.  Had Bunkley Trail been more easily passable it would have been less than a three-mile hike to get there.  But, since we had to take the main road all the way up to the end of the island and then cut around to the settlement, it ended up being almost four miles one way.

We hiked through the rich ancient live oak forest.  A large variety of birds sounded lazily.  Armadillos sniffled through the thick forest leaves.  No human sound could be hear.  Neither jet nor plane nor boat.  I had the fantastic feeling of all of this space available for the enjoyment especially of our little band of hikers.  We were so lucky!  I said that several times during our stay.  How fortunate!

The African Church is a quaint structure.  JFK, Jr. famously got married there after we had already been coming to the island for years.  Jennifer and I playfully recreated our version of that moment, complete with a kiss through my mosquito net.  The settlement was a wonderful open space cut out of the surrounding forest.  There were National Park caliber picnic tables there.  A tour of two large vans and a truck brought about 25 guests up while we snacked and roamed.  They did not stay long.  Soon we had it all to ourselves again.

Clint took to the pulpit of the church while we were in it and started reading from the bible.  It was opened to the beginning of Proverbs and his voice thundered in the small sanctuary.  The bible happened to be in the New American Standard Version and it ringed with wisdom, I thought.
 

Proverbs 1:2 -
To know wisdom and instruction,
To discern the sayings of understanding,
3 -
To receive instruction in wise behavior,
Righteousness, justice, and integrity;
4 -
To give prudence to the naive,
To the youth knowledge and discretion,
5 -
A wise person will hear and increase in learning,
And a person of understanding will acquire wise counsel,
6 -
To understand a proverb and a saying,
The words of the wise and their riddles.

I looked at Brian and repeated “'give prudence to the naive.'  That's our problem in the world today.  None of our naive have any prudence.”  He smiled.

The hike back took us out on some beachy open terrain.  It was hot in the full sun and I longed for the easy shade of the forest.  We soon course-corrected and got on the proper trail back toward camp.  In the shade again.  As usual, I outpaced everybody and made it back to camp to kick-back and eat snacks.  The rest followed in dribbles later.

I really connect with old live oak trees.  This is one of the oldest trees on the island.

Same tree from the other side.  It was here before the sandy road that passes it ever existed.

In the predawn of the last morning (one week ago today) the river's surface became a perfect mirror.  The water was utterly still.  Not a hint of breeze either.  The vast stillness was magical.

Brian on the boat back, the captain at the helm.  Packing up was much drier than unpacking thanks to a change in docking - which happened to be right in the middle of our campsite's beachfront.

I took a ton of bad photos of shore birds along the river.  I did manage a decent Armadillo shot but this was not my best trip photography-wise.

Our last evening on the river was glorious.  By now we had all completely acclimated to the gnats and ticks.  For the record, I got hundreds of gnat bites (which fortunately do not itch).  And about 15 tick bites (which fortunately are mostly troubleless).  I got eaten alive by Brickhill Bluff 30 years ago and it happened again.  I guess I should have been more prepared but I don't like to use bug spray.  Anyway, all other 'Dillos had far fewer bites.  It is the price for being in all that raw beauty up there along the river.

The next morning we broke camp and our chartered boats returned early.  We planned our departure at the high tide but left a full hour before we anticipated.  The captain and his mate were able to bring their boats practically into our camp.  Whereas I got wet from the knees down unloading everything, only the toes of one shoe got wet upon our departure.

We ended the trip with a fabulous group feast at one of the local seafood dives in St. Marys.  I enjoyed fried green tomatoes, clam chowder, fried alligator tail, grilled salmon, coleslaw, lima beans, crispy hushpuppies and french fries.  Everyone feasted in a similar fashion, again sharing stuff.  In that moment it seemed like the tastiest meal of my life – which is often the case of the first meal after a camping trip (even with Brian's innovative cooking).  It was smiles all the way around and toasts to another in a long succession of 'Dillo pleasure trips to Cumberland Island.

Read about my last trip to the island back in 2015 here.

Will, Stephanie, Brian, and Clint taking in the sunset on our second night.  There was a gusty breeze which at least kept the gnats away.  It was supposed to rain that day but didn't.

Our last night. The four guys goofing off around low tide.

The final glow of the last day.  It was so spacious and peaceful.

The distance from Brickhill Bluff to the African Church featuring the main roads and trails of the north part of the island.  There were several trails we did not take and we never attempted to find Lake Whitney.  Four of us made it all the way to the lower right corner on this map, so, as a troop, we ranged widely.