Paddling to Capers Island, SC (again)

10 Nov 2009 by Sean in Charleston Outside

So it seems I have a compulsion to paddle to Capers Island every two months or so.  This past Saturday, I made it out again.  Departing mid-afternoon during the short days of November meant we would be pressed to leave the island and start our 1 hr. paddle back before sunset.

But the weather was incredibly calm, and we ended up navigating the maze of tidal creeks in the near-dark dusk.  Aside from the familiar squawks of wading birds that always seem to start their conversations at sunset, we might have thought we were in another world.

Ride the tide

I went paddling Saturday with my friend Noah, who had never been kayaking before.  Last I heard, this trip was enough to get him scheming about buying a kayak and pretty much moving into the marsh.

Well, we ended up timing the tide perfectly.  It’s never bad to get a little extra push from the tide—and it always drives me nuts to have to fight it.  The trip out to Capers from the tiny, rugged boat ramp at the end of Gadsdenville Rd. in north Mount Pleasant winds through a maze of tidal creeks that get wider and deeper as they near the ocean side of the marsh.

From the first narrow creek (it gets down to six or eight feet wide at points) that leads out from the boat ramp, it’s easy to see why the best planned trips from this landing never begin or end within 90 minutes of either side of low tide.

The first turns are quickly staggered together.  A quick right into a seemingly large creek—seemingly because its width is not even slightly indicative of its shallow depth—precedes a quick left not 150 feet down-creek.

Unless the tide is up, it’s important to resist the temptation to wander into the vast Copahee Sound.  Again, width is no indication of depth, as the middle of Copahee Sound barely gets 6 or 7 ft. of water at high tide.

If the tide is incoming, it’s safe to wander since any shallows are in the process of becoming less shallow, but it’s no picnic to run aground against an oyster bank during an ebb tide.  There isn’t anywhere to go, and neither the shoe-eating pluff mud nor the razor-sharp oyster shells are very much hospitable.

We press on with a fire tower on the north side of Dewees Island, Capers’ southern brother, as our target.

Winding and wandering

Nothing describes a Lowcountry tidal creek better than the word ‘winding’.  Check out a Google map of the area, and you’ll see an organic maze of water, mud and spartina grass.

It’s beyond easy to get lost in the marsh, and it’s vital to get your bearings before you wander into the beautifully monotonous avenues of salt water.

Roughly two-thirds of the way along, we cross the Intracoastal Waterway, a north-south highway for boats. Recreational boats, local fishermen, commercial barge traffic and long-haul yacht traffic share this canal, originally built around World War II as a safe passage for supply vessels in response to the potential threat of German U-Boats offshore.

Looking both ways, we push on towards the power lines crossing Capers Inlet.

After another jaunt down the creek, the waters really open up at Capers Inlet where the four larger tidal creeks in the area merge and connect the marsh to the ocean between Capers and Dewees Islands.  This can be the one scary part of the paddle if there’s some wind.  It’s open enough that you have to pick your route to stay out of the wind and waves (or turn back if necessary).

The water in the inlet feels deep.  The currents boil in the big water.  Supposedly, the deep holes make for great shark fishing.  Makes me feel good to be in my nice long touring kayak.  I don’t get quite the occasional panicky shark paranoia that flashes through my mind now and then surfing.

Sand ho!

Well, after getting pushed through the inlet with the tide, it’s time to look for a place to land.  Getting near the mouth of the inlet, the shore starts to turn from mud and grass to sand.  On the Capers side, the last creek before the beach pushes out lots of sand and silt that forms a bar I inevitably run aground on.

When the tide is down like it was Saturday, the delta-like flats outside the mouth of the inlet act like a shield, breaking the waves offshore and keeping the inlet nice and calm.

Side note: when the tide is in, the waves tend to push in and reflect off of Dewees Island and break on the shore near your landing on Capers.  You can kind of see where it’s safe to land without waves breaking around you.

My advice: if you have anything of value you want to keep dry, I mean anything at all, give that “safe zone” a little space and make sure you’re not going to have to deal with any surf at your landing.  Not that the challenge of a little wave in isn’t fun—it’s just that you’ll run up on the beach way before you’re ready, and a wave will break on your boat just as you’re getting out and will destroy your expensive camera.  Yes, I speak from experience.

Heading offshore

Back to our story.  We didn’t actually land on Capers.  We decided to push on to the sand flats that were exposed outside the inlet at low tide.

While it’s just a lot of sand, not much different from what you’d find off Breach Inlet between Sullivan’s Island and Isle of Palms, getting out there gives you a great perspective.

And since I haven’t been on an inlet sand flat in a while, it was just a great experience, period.  There were some wild textures in the sand from the currents running day in and day out.

Noah, who also makes his living building the internet, noticed he actually had 3G service on his iPhone.  Meanwhile, AT&T can’t get me cell phone service at my mom’s house in Snee Farm.  But I digress.

Now you can’t stand on a sand flat next to a huge island long and not want to get back across to the huge island and have a look around.  We portaged the tiny “point” between the inlet side of the flat and the island side, hopped in and paddled across near the main campsite on Capers.

Hurricane Hugo

Those familiar with Charleston know a lot about Hurricane Hugo.  But Capers Island knows Hugo as much as anyone in South Carolina.

The evidence still stands along the length of the entire beach on Capers.  Full-size trees stand, sun bleached and salt-preserved, in the tidal zone off the beach.  They look like giant coral sculptures and can make a good bench for your picnic.

If you look towards the island where the beach meets the land, you’ll likely see a line of dead trees as the outer rows of trees guard the living behind.

The shadow sea in the forest looks imposing.  Even on a clear day, the Capers’ wilderness fights off the sun.  But the mosquitoes keep us from investigating.

Come back and go camping

I’ve been camping on Capers, and it’s great.  I’m not going to go into any depth about the campsite in this post.

A few friends of mine have been talking about coming out for a camping trip, and I’ve been pretty excited at the prospect.  But the mosquitoes we found just standing in the site for a few minutes did a lot to push that trip back a month or so.

I’ll be sure to write more about camping when we make that trip. :)

Paddling in the dark

We watched sunset from Capers as we got back in our boats.  I would never recommend paddling back at dusk.  But the weather was so calm, it didn’t much matter, and I was excited about the idea of paddling at night.

We made it back across the waterway and into the smaller creeks before it started to get really dark.

Only because I’ve paddled these waters a dozen or so times before did we get lucky and find our way without getting lost.  Not that the two of us didn’t have to deliberate a bit at some of the forks in the creek.

It was peaceful, and the colors on the water, reflecting the dusky sky and our vivid plastic boats, etched themselves in my memory.

We made it back to the landing as the last light disappeared on the horizon.