There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm. Willa Cather, The Song of the Lark
We first visited Ft. Pickens on Santa Rosa Island, Florida, part of the Gulf Islands National Seashore, south of Pensacola in 2002. Instantly, we fell in love with the white, white sand of the beaches, the azure green waters of the Gulf and the ongoing history of this site.
After the War of 1812, the United States Government constructed some two dozen seashore forts along the Atlantic and Gulf coastlines to protect the country from another invasion. Constructed of over 21 million bricks and with slave labor, Ft. Pickens was the largest of four in the area and the only one of four such outposts in the South not captured by the Confederacy during the Civil War.
In the late 19th century, Geronimo, along with other Apache warriors, were imprisoned here. During WWI and WWII, the fort batteries were reinforced with concrete and steel to protect it from the modern weaponry of the time. According to the U. S. Army, atomic bombs, guided missiles and long range bombers have made such forts obsolete; and in 1947, it abandoned Ft. Pickens to the state of Florida which created a park there. In 1971, the site became part of the Gulf Islands National Seashore; and in the Bicentennial year of 1976, it was opened as a national park.
A year after our first visit, we camped a second time at this spectacular place. The campground, situated beyond the tall dunes on the Gulf side of the island, proved to be an inviting place to stay.
Then in 2004, Hurricane Ivan tore through this area, leaving the entire island in shambles. Although we drove onto the island on our next visit, the park area was closed indefinitely. The storm had ripped up the asphalt road, caused major damage to the wooden barracks, tossed island trees and vegetation around like children’s toys.
It was five years before the public could access the entire island by road again.
The first time we ventured back, we were saddened by the sheer bareness of the place. The once pristine white sand dunes were still dotted with chunks of asphalt from the destroyed roadway. The campground, once tucked among the island trees, looked deserted. Only the brickwork of the original military batteries, completed in 1834, and the additional concrete gun structures added during WWII, had withstood the fierce winds, torrential rains and pounding surf.
Then in 2010 as the island was still healing, the BP oil spill into the Gulf brought tar balls to these beaches as well as to other shores along the Gulf. Day after day, volunteers swarmed the beaches to rescue wildlife coated in the black substance and to clean the beaches.
This year we once again visited the area and were in awe of how nature can restore and renew from the damages it inflicts on itself. The trees, the sea oats, the grasses have returned and the island looks alive again.
Unfortunately, nature is much slower in healing from manmade wounds. But for the tourists, who aren’t involved in the day to day restoration, the obvious recovery of both the natural attributes and the manmade structures astonishes us.
Of course, park rangers have likewise spent long hours to repair and rebuild the manmade structures important to the history of the area. After months of cleanup, they had to survey and reinforce the massive structure of the fort. Before visitors could ever return to walk the halls and climb the walls, the structure had to be made safe. Also, a replica of the wooden barracks serving as the museum has been rebuilt around the original chimney which is clearly marked with a water line at least six feet above ground level.
As I scanned the recorded history of the park at this site on this trip, I learned about the origin of the white sands. As the Appalachian Mountains have continued to erode over centuries, rocks tumble into streams feeding into rivers always flowing to the seas. By the time the rushing waters, especially in the Apalachicola River, reach the Gulf, they deposit white oval grains of pulverized quartz that actually squeak when one walks on them. The white beaches along Florida’s panhandle still grow today from this age old process.
Today, fishermen, seeking the bounty of the sea, line the new pier. Sunbathers sprawl on the beach while other beach goers look for shells or wade in the surf. Moving at a slower pace, campers, once again settled in at the campground, walk, ride bikes, visit with one another, enjoy the sheer beauty of the place.
Reluctant to leave after a few hours, I have revisited our recent outing at Ft. Pickens, mulling over what I experienced in such a short period. Nature can eventually rebound from its own self inflicted wounds. It may not return to the way we remembered, but it can renew itself.
While humans can also repair damage to manmade structures, we can’t always undo all damages to nature that we may cause in our greed, our carelessness, our indifference. We must continue to learn from history. No matter how much we know about any subject, thank goodness, we can always learn something new, hopefully for the better.
2016
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