The Horror, The Beauty, History
We were greeted by a balmy morning when we reached Georgetown. Rows of historic houses, lined with Spanish moss trees, paved a path to the landing. A gentle breeze was blowing on the boat dock under clear blue skies and wide puffy clouds. Church bells from town signaled that it was now 11 o’clock. ~ This landing was more pristine with large stainless-steel docks that also included a separate dock just for kayaks. The first thing I noticed was how the water was different than what we have come accustomed to. It had an odd scent and was visibly a strange brownish color that reminded me of sewage water. ~ The water was brown and dirty. There was a thin film of filth that glazed the surface of the water. ~ I began to paddle and water splashed on my leg as usual, but this time, the water was much dirtier. It was as if I were looking at drops of brown coffee on my leg. ~ Unlike the black and seafoam waters from the previous paddles, the water in the bay was a brown color, almost like the color of a chocolate Lab. It was murky and disgusting as it smelled like rotten fish because of the factories. ~ Even paddling, I sometimes got stuck in the shallows; when I tried to paddle, I noticed clouds of mud forming in the water behind me. They confused me at first, but I realized that my struggle in paddling was because I dug my paddle into the mud and drug it up behind me. ~ Repeated dips into the surface of this brown abyss cleansed the oar back to its natural state. ~ Water notwithstanding, the smell was terrific: Burnt cabbage. That’s what the factories smelled like. ~ “What do you think is the future of Georgetown?” asked Professor Hensel. “Currently,” our tour guide, Paul Laurent, jokingly replied, “the future of Georgetown is death and decay.” The nearby paper mill, an old rusty maroon colored factory, and all other man-made objects in the surrounding area made it seem as if they were visitors in our habitat. Dead trees, that sprouted up from the greenery on the island we paddled around, sported bare branches calling out for life as they would soon join the company of other trees that lay waste around them. ~ Now the ports lay abandoned. Useless. There once was a paper mill in Georgetown, but paper and flammable chemicals don’t mix, so it blew up. Now they had a steel mill that really didn’t do much except pollute the water. “I’m pretty sure they just have it as a tax write off,” our guide said. A tax write off that left the water a murky orange that made me glad I had my tetanus shots. ~ As ugly as this river was, there was a beauty to it. It was a beauty that no other place we've been yet had: history. The landing had all these forgotten pillars that stuck out of the water. It resembled a constellation or a game of connect-the-dots. Long, thick, rotten pillars, as black as the mud that they were in, stuck out of the water two or three feet. These were once part of the Georgetown harbor dock. The dock wrapped almost all the way around the shore until it was destroyed. Now all that remains are the pillars and stories of what once was. ~ The island that we paddled around seemed untouched, especially when compared to the manufacturing land around us. The colors of the trees were that of an artist's palette; the grass growing out of the sand near the banks of the island looked like they were placed there, perfectly set for a picture. ~ The bluff of the island was nothing but pluff mud. The closer we got to the island, the color of the water changed to a darker brown because of the mud. The paddles became stuck in the mud causing the yellow paddles to turn to the grey-black color of the mud. The island was covered in a tall grass. ~ Along the bank were hundreds of fiddler crabs scurrying around like children running away from tide trying not to get wet. ~ Thousands of miniature crabs looked like tiny red dots moving in the distance. ~ I noticed a dead, sunbaked crab hiding in the grass. The crab was a pinkish-red color and turning white because it had been sun bleached from not being able to move back into the water. It was a sad sight to see. ~ Further along the trip, we came to some abandoned boats, one being a shrimp boat. The tail end of the boat looked like it had been chopped off. The boat itself was covered in rest as it had been left in the water for some time. The other boats were just floating there collecting rust and rotting away with time. ~ I came extremely close to see the wreckage. The boats were filled with water and pluff mud. Piece by piece, with rust and wood falling into the water, they were becoming additions to the bottom of the bay. ~ In the distance, an abandoned sun-kissed red speedboat sat wedged in-between a rundown dock and the mainland. The deck was adorned with dark grey mats and old colorful blankets. Its hull a deep candy apple red with a thick mustard yellow line hugging the body. The mast was missing its mainsail and jib sail, probably torn away from previous storms or lack of care from its owner. ~ The water had begun eating away at the white paint turning it into a tint of orange and light grey. Slowly cannibalizing the ship until it becomes a sunken rust bucket for explorers to lay eyes on. The dark blue main and jib sails still in tack but rolled away as to not be taken as the salt airs victims yet. A dark blue pinstripe laid across the hull with the faded word “Marial” written in small white letters. ~ The river began consuming the bow of the wooden ships, tearing of chunks to recycle back to nature from which they came. Mother nature shaking the masts down with her mighty force to make sure no man disturbs the ships eternal slumber. They became rust buckets, but in death they were still a wonder to behold. Although the water looked like death with the carcasses of ships, the riverbanks were filled with luscious green grass and bushes. ~ As we paddled across the bay toward the far edge of the river, there was a diverging sailboat that slowly trolled before our group, as a flirting girl might do to get a boy's attention. It had two pollen-covered, long, white masts with rust stains near the few visible rivets, that stood proud over the landscape; one smaller mast near the bow and one just forward of the center of the vessel. Both sails were wrapped up and tied down. The bottom of the boat was lined with black paint near the bottom to help it from abrasion. The white of the hull, just above the margin where the black paint stopped, was stained yellow fading upwards. ~ There was an old man on the stern of the boat who appeared to have tan, leathery skin. On the bow, however, it appeared that the man was growing a small garden on the vessel. ~ On deck, there was a captain in all white. A loose, long-sleeved V-neck draped the captains upper body while what almost looked like pajama bottoms accompanied it. Both pieces were somewhat yellow tinted and dirty but seemed white compared to the dark red skin of the captain. He had long thin white hair. His scalp was partially visible from the back. Just behind where he was steering, following him, was a tied off dingy. It was no more than six feet long, made of wood. It seemed to gently jerk left and right as the rope pulling it tightened and gained slack. It was almost like an uncooperative pet under his reign. ~ The old man and his ship passed. ~ Gusts of wind and a heavy current made it hard to get back to where we first began. ~ Factory smoke billowed from the distance, dead trees on Goat’s Island lay waste, and sightings of birds seemed scarce. I was reminded of the Dr. Seuss book, “The Lorax.” What was once nature seemed to be consumed completely my man. The one thought that kept occurring in my head was the fact that I am as much to blame as the people who built these things—because I do not hesitate to use the resources that are presented to me, even though the way they come about can hurt nature.
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