Litterbugs, what compels you to leave behind your sandwich wrappers and beer cans? I’m going to tell myself it isn’t intentional, but after the third lawn chair buoy, I find it hard to chalk it up to benevolent ignorance/carelessness. I mean, how do you forget a lawn chair?
Despite the obvious signs of human presence (abandoned dwellings and peppering of new buildings, fishing line-tinseled trees adorned with red-capped bobbers, and the aforementioned frakking lawn chairs), the Edisto River is an extraordinary sight. Twisted trees hug the riverbanks and the tannin-stained waters are otherworldly. Damselflies or maybe dragonflies skim the water and somehow never break the surface tension. Lily pads bounce around the slow pulsing blackwater river—it's lovely.
I will say though no one mentioned the post-apocalyptic vibing abandoned power plant at the end of the 10-mile trip or the fact that Interstate 95 looms over a section of the river. They don’t spoil the experience, but they’re pretty clear reminders of how everything intersects. Given the poor maneuverability of my canoe and the entangled cypress, oak, and cedar trees, I was only able to take the weathered pieces of trash within arm's reach. I’m doing a poor job of talking this place up. It really is a unique and wonderful area—the litter isn’t its fault.