Cumberland Island Wilderness Adventure 2024

Each March Snakeroot leads a 5-day backpacking expedition through the heart of Cumberland Island's 10,000 acre wilderness area. Cumberland Island is the least developed of the large southeastern Atlantic coast barrier islands. We explore the wild island's maritime forests, the longleaf pine savannas, the dunes, and the unpeopled beaches. The trip is a fundraiser for Wild Cumberland, the organization -- inspired by the lifelong work of Carol Ruckdeschel -- that works to defend the island's federally designated wilderness. What follows is a very brief trip report from our most recent expedition.

Sunrise on Stafford Beach

The trip began with weeks of preparation – getting gear in order, prepping bodies (and minds) to carry 30 pound packs for miles of trail. The official start of the expedition might be marked when the 10 of us gathered at a group campsite at Crooked River St. Park, or perhaps when we boarded the ferry in St. Mary’s. To me, the true adventure began as we huddled on Stafford beach in warm layers, steaming mugs in hand, to watch the sun rise on our first morning on the island. A few hours later, on the Parallel Trail just before the rise to Hickory Hill, we entered the Cumberland Island Wilderness Area – the untamed maritime forest that would be our home for the following two days and nights. We encountered ancient live oaks, sunlight shining through Spanish moss draped over their arched boughs. We walked on sandy roads and palmetto-crowded trails. We were serenaded by the constant chatter of white-eyed vireos and the trilling songs of northern parulas. 

Stafford campsite

On the third and middle day of the trip, we met up with Carol Ruckdeschel, fierce and stubborn defender of Cumberland’s wilderness. She’s lived in a tiny homestead on the northern tip of the island for 50+ years, and the 10,000 acre wilderness stretching to the south buffers her from the rest of civilization. Carol led us on a hike along the north shore – watching all manner of beach birds, and finding the tracks of raccoons, possums, and deer. She pointed out the tracks of an alligator – an individual she’s observed for years – leading into the sound on its daily fishing expedition. She showed us the type of sea lettuce that is good to eat, pointed out the richest mussel and oyster beds, and told us about her plan to make cannonball salad out of pickled jellyfish. 

Seashells at sunrise on Stafford Beach

Carol told us a story about how, after a hurricane swept over the island and all visitors had been evacuated, she was conducting her regular beach survey. She came upon a spot near the south end where usually stands an enormous dune that had been there as long as she’d known the spot. The storm had blown the dune aside, and there, in a hardened layer of sand, was an ancient fire ring. She studied the fire circle, thinking about the people, hundreds – perhaps thousands – of years ago, who had kindled and sat around that very fire. On her next survey, the following week, the dune had reformed and once again buried the fire circle. Standing now on this remote beach, I thought about all the people over the centuries who have inhabited -- or visited -- this spit of land, all reveling in the abundance of life where the sea meets the forest. Now though, I look up and down, miles in each direction, and we're the only humans in sight.

That night, through our headnets (the no-see-ums are fierce when it’s breezeless and over 60 degrees), we watched the sun set over the marsh from our campsite on Brickhill Bluff. Our bellies were full of noodles and peanut sauce and freshly gathered (slightly gritty) mussels, and the group was exhausted after 10 miles of rambling the north end of the island. We watched a solitary dolphin surface a few times among the feeding pelicans and terns, said our goodnights, and zipped ourselves into our tents.

Sunset from Brickhill Bluff