Tales From Congaree III: Back in the Saddle

Kicking off 2025 with a Southern rock singalong, parking lot pizza, and stroll under the stars.

*I'm a little embarrassed to admit it took me an entire calendar year to finish this trail journal. Better late than never I suppose! Now to catch up on all the other trail journals I failed to publish in 2025.

Congaree National Park is only habitable 100 days out of the year. Starting in the last week of November and ending somewhere around the last week of February. Coincidentally, that's about when the longer colder nights in the mountains lose their appeal, making Congaree my go-to Winter destination. I've made so many fun memories here over the years. It's where I first got my feet under me as a backpacker. It's where I came to get a few extra miles in as my due date approached. And now, it's where I'm taking a much needed night away from my responsibilities as a new mom.

Nineteen pounds! Pulling my backpack off the scale that morning, I couldn't believe it. The last time I managed to get my load that light was nearly 2 years ago. With all the extra gear I've had to bring for the baby, I almost forgot it was possible to have everything I need for a trip and still come in under 30lbs. While this wouldn't be my first night away from Wiggle, it would be my first time camping without her. I've thoroughly enjoyed introducing my little one to the outdoors, but it was time I got out on my own again. Sort of. In about two hours my friend, A. would be meeting me.

The boardwalk loop was still closed from storm damage and there was only so much to do in the Visitor Center. So, I decided to head to the campground and kill time there until A. arrived. I hoisted my pack up and onto my shoulders. After crossing the street to the trail, it dawned on me - "Water!" The closest thing to a water source at Bluff Campground is the Visitor Center fountain... a mile away. I backtracked to the car to get the gallon jug I stashed in the backseat. Ideally, I should have placed the jug in the center of my pack and rearranged my gear around it, but I really didn't feel like going through the hassle. Instead, I placed it at the top and synched the compression cord as tight as I could. Struggling to make the transfer from my knee to my shoulder again I thought "It was nice while it lasted." On the bright side, I wouldn't have to haul all this weight out the next day.

I followed the familiar path under water oaks and loblolly pines. In late November, this trail is nothing short of spectacular. The falling leaves twirl and flutter around in every direction like little gold butterflies. A soft rustling fills the air, and with each breeze more are shaken loose. The scene is how I always pictured Autumn in the Hundred Acre Wood as a kid. There were no falling leaves to admire at this point in the season. Instead, I was treated to rich green pines waving against a stark blue sky. The constant breeze made the hike in even more enjoyable. Every time the gnats and mosquitoes tried to descend, another gust would whisk them away.

Bluff Trail wove back and forth between the lanky trunks. After crossing a couple footbridges I reached the junction with Sims Rd. A brown and white painted sign pointed the way to the campground. In the last stretch, the trail became wider as it cut through the tall grass. The clearing came into view up, and I could hear the faint sound of music. Passing by, I realized it wasn't a speaker playing. It was a live performance. While his son rummaged around in a cooler, a man in a camp chair strummed his guitar and belted out the words to a Marshall Tucker Band song. As I emptied out my pack, I couldn’t help singing along.

"Can't you see.

Oh, can't you see.

What that woman, Lord.

She been doin' to me."

In addition to hauling a heavier load, I also got used to setting up camp under pressure. With no baby to tend to in between tasks, moving at a leisurely pace felt so foreign. After trying to draw out the setup process longer than necessary, I was disappointed to find I still had 45 minutes left. So, I spent the next 15 gathering downed wood around the site. With an impressive pile built up, I did the only other thing I could think of. I laid down in my tent and stared at the ceiling. Eventually, it was time to head back to the parking lot to meet A.

Our first meeting was truly serendipitous. Several years ago, I did a three day loop at Grayson Highlands / Mount Rogers NRA. On the second day I decided to take a break and refill my water at Old Orchard shelter. Not long after setting my pack down, another female backpacker stopped to do the same thing. We struck up a conversation and found out we had a lot in common. Including where we were from. She lived just an hour away from me! And before moving into our current house, Jordan and I lived just a couple minutes down the road from her. We exchanged numbers, and the rest is history.

A. brought along her dog, Indigo, a shy heeler mix. I doubt she remembered me, but I said it was good to see her again and offered her my hand sniff. Indigo tucked her tail and ducked. After a lot of coxing and wrapping the leash around her legs, A. was able to convince her to take a treat from me. On the way to camp, we ran into our neighbors with the guitar. The dad told A. about the way I zipped around to find firewood. "Stop working so hard! You make the rest of us feel bad for just sitting around." He joked. It's not the first time I've heard that. According to my husband, I look crazed when I'm in stick collecting mode.

I offered to help A. unpack when we reached the site, but she said she had it covered. After a couple minutes of standing around awkwardly, I decided to gather more sticks. We decided the day before it would be more fun to get pizza for dinner instead of cooking. So, when A. was through putting together her hammock setup, I placed a pick-up order.

"It'll be ready in 20 minutes."

We timed this very poorly. The hike to the car alone would take about 15 minutes, and with no traffic the drive would be another 25. I guess I thought because it was a weekend wait times for food would be longer. We raced back to the Visitor Center, loaded the dog in the backseat, and hit the road. Halfway there A. called to let them know we were on our way and add a salad to the order. We pulled up to a jam-packed lot. Between the broken asphalt and faded paint, it was hard to tell whether I was parked in a real spot or not. We scanned the strip of run down buildings for the pizza place. It was the last one on the end. Walking past one of the storefronts, we had to step over smashed produce and cans from a food bank locker someone had broken into.

Based on the decor, the restaurant had been an Irish pub at some point. There was a line of people waiting ahead of us. When we finally got our pizza, we were relieved to find it was still warm. A. and I stood by the door debating what to do next. Carrying the food all the way back to camp was out. And A. didn't feel comfortable leaving her dog in the car while we ate in the restaurant. It was dark now, and there were groups of people standing around drinking and shouting over the blaring music coming from their cars. Climbing into the passenger seat A. blurted out "What do you think about finding somewhere else to eat? Like a church or something?" She read my mind. On the drive back toward the park, I pulled into a brightly lit bank parking lot.

"How's this?" I asked.

"Perfect!"

We spent the next hour eating and chatting in the back of my SUV. At one point, another vehicle slowly crept around the side of the building. The driver glared suspiciously as she went by. To her disappointment there was nothing nefarious going on. Just a couple girls tossing pizza scraps to a dog.

On the rest of the drive back I had a terrifying realization.

"Oh crap!"

"What?!"

"Do you think they lock up at night?"

It's pretty common for national (or state) parks to lock the entrance gate overnight. While I've camped at Congaree many times, I've never left and come back after dark. I couldn't for the life of me remember what the reservation email said about leaving outside office hours. Or if there even was a gate. A. pulled up the website on her phone. "It says: Open 24 hours." That info was slightly comforting. In the event the website was wrong, we devised a plan to park on the roadside near the entrance and hike in from there. Then I would go back to the car before sunrise and wait for the ranger to open the gate. Thankfully, we didn't need to do any of that. The gate was still wide open when we arrived. As the one who relies on me to keep us out of trouble A. found this oversight on my part hilarious!

It's been a long time since I've gone on a baby-free hike, but it's been an even longer time since I've gone on a night hike. The parking lot was completely silent. Only a dozen or so cars were scattered across it. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of trying to find a spot earlier in the day. Overhead, the sky was so crisp and clear. I got so lost in the multitude of stars that I almost tripped. The trees obscured the incredible view as we crossed the road to the trail. I took the lead, pointing out the next two or three blazes in our path with my headlamp. There's a strange fun in walking a familiar trail in the dark. You know the way, but the limited visibility makes it feel like you're somewhere completely new.

Back at camp, I built a fire while guitar dad played in the background. A. heated up water in my kettle and fed her dog something more substantial. We sat around drinking tea and telling stories until around 10. While it was certainly chilly tonight, it was nowhere near as cold as our Winter trip in the Uwharries two years ago. That night the temperature dropped to a bitter 22 degrees. The sun set and the chill rolled in almost immediately. I checked the weather on my InReach everytime I went to the tent to put another layer on. After a while it became a running joke and I started announcing the new temperature reading every hour. "34!" "31!" "28!" By the time we went to bed it was around 25°. It was certainly a Type 2 fun kind of trip. After reminding A. of that adventure I added "There's no one else I'd rather freeze my butt off with."

In addition to adjusting to my new life as a mom, I've spent the last year dealing with chronic back pain. Getting on the trail has been a real challenge at times because of it. I was prepared to feel that dreaded twinge shoot down my back when I stood up from my camp chair. But there was nothing! I was even more surprised to feel no pain crawling out of my tent the next morning. Perhaps there's a curative property to spending time in the great outdoors. Or maybe getting a break from carrying around a one-year-old has something to do with it. Who knows?

The next morning was chilly and breezy. Perfect for sipping coffee by a fire. We burned through most of the wood pile I made the night before. While I gathered a few more sticks, I listened for signs of A. stirring in her hammock. She unzipped her sleeping bag a few minutes later, and Indigo popped her head up over the side. That's one of the many benefits to having a small dog for a hiking buddy. I tried to imagine getting one of my German Shepherds into a hammock. Not a chance!

For breakfast I packed Cheerios and the ingredients for DIY dirty chai: nonfat powdered milk, Stash double spice chai, and Cafe Bustelo instant espresso. I brought extra knowing A. would want to try it. We didn't spend long at camp. By the time we finished packing up, the campers at the other two sites were just getting out of their tents. It was too cold to put on the shorts and tank top I wore the day before. So, I hiked out in my camp clothes. We decided to take a short walk on the open sections of the Boardwalk Trail before going our separate ways. Unlike the one to camp, this trail winds over bottomland swamp on raised platforms. Everything was so quiet and still. We only encountered a few other people along the way. We were hoping to see a rainbow on the surface, but the conditions must not have been right. Our walk was short walk, but enjoyable nonetheless.

With all the back and forth between the Visitor Center and camp, I covered about 5 miles. Which, all things considered, isn't bad for a first trip of the year. I'm starting to find that some of the best trips are the simplest ones. I certainly miss going on multi-day section hikes, but in this instance, what I really needed was an easy overnight. Complete with good company, old stomping grounds, and a delicious parking lot pizza.