By Christopher Hall
August 31, 2025

Buck was little more than a year old in 2007 and only in his forever home for about 3 months when he and I went exploring in Hitchcock Woods. I had been to the woods on several occasions, mostly taking that familiar path from the main entrance at South Boundary, Devil’s Backbone, to the Horse Show Ring. We walked and walked, one path leading to another.

After a while, I noticed the sun was starting to set. I decided it was time to head back. It was then that I also discovered that we were lost. Did I bring a map? No! Why would I need a map?! After all, this was ‘just’ Hitchcock Woods! I tried to retrace our steps and was moving along quickly when we crossed paths with someone. Directions were shared, and the fellow admirer of the woods went his way, while Buck and I went ours, trying to find our way out. It didn’t take long before I  realized that those well-intended directions just didn’t make sense.

All the while, the sun was slowly sinking off in the distance. I stopped. I felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere fast. Well, I was moving fast but no closer to where the hike started. The sky around me in those woods grew darker, and I made a decision: the woods aren’t that big, and if I headed in one direction long enough, I’d find my way out. With that in mind, I looked up towards the westward-setting sun, then set my course and started making tracks towards the south.

I found myself at the Palmetto Golf Course. Considering the day of the week and time of day, I felt the odds were slim of running across anyone, so I took the shortcut across the course. Getting to the other side, I reached a chainlink fence. I lifted Buck on my shoulder, climbed to the top of the fence, dropped him over on the other side and hurled myself over too. There on Whiskey Road, we walked along the sidewalk until arriving back at dirt lot at South Boundary. The sun had set, the stars were starting to shine, and Buck and I had our first of many adventures together.

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Recently, I started feeling my levels of stress rising and rising. It had been a while since I’d paddled or gone hiking anywhere, and there’s no better cure for stress than time spent outdoors. With that in mind, after work one day, I made a quick stop by the store, then headed to Hitchcock Woods at the Stable on the Woods entrance, which is located off of Dibble Road. With a quick change of clothes, I pulled on my boots and started down Cathedral Aisle. As I neared Black Gum Pond, I heard a Barred Owl in the distance. it wasn’t long before I felt that shift inside. I slowly started to unwind. Walking along, I cut off on the trail right before Black Gum Pond and started the slow climb uphill, continuing on until I reached High Point Line. In the back of my mind, I wanted to put in an hour’s hike, and I didn’t care what trails I took.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the woods over the years since that early adventure with Buck. Section by section, I learned the main routes that ran through the woods, north to south, and east to west. My general mode when I start another walk is to jump right in and follow whatever path seems to pull me in. I intend to get lost. The key, though, is that now I take a map — an important tool, since not every trail connecting the named trails has a name. I might head out on Coker Springs Road, but after heading down the main trail, I’ll take a left or a right, going deeper into areas with which I’m unfamiliar. Those unnamed, connector trails have the potential to make the day interesting.

Hiking along High Point Line, I cut across on another path and after a while, I noticed someone walking towards me. About that time, a light rain started to fall. We exchanged greetings and both agreed that the rain was a welcome event on this hot humid evening. She continued on her way and I on mine. The rain started falling harder, and I continued on my way, veering to the right on a path that seemed to offer some tree cover. As the rain came down, I looked over my shoulder and could see the pine trees on a slight incline with the sun shining through. The rain coming down made it a magical scene.

Walking along, I pulled out the map, but the rain made it difficult to read. I knew where I wanted to land so that I could connect back to Cathedral Aisle, and I had a sense of how long it would take to circle around to the start. I pulled out my phone to look at the time and noticed a missed call. Standing under some trees, with the rain falling down on me and all around, my friend and I talked about our days. I mentioned I was hiking in the woods with the intention of diverting from weights and gym workouts to connect with the outdoors for a while. My spirit needed it. They agreed. We said goodbye and I continued on. It wasn’t long before the trail I was on connected with another, and I recognized where I was – the Barton’s Pond Bridge, just as I planned.

The rain had stopped, and I started down Cathedral Aisle towards the parking lot and my car. In between the tall trees, the sun shone down, lighting everything it touched with a muted glow. Looking off into the trees, I stopped. Looking back between the trees, a doe was standing there frozen in motion. We stared at each other for a couple minutes, before she decided two’s a crowd. Off, deeper into the woods she went. I continued on, passing by Black Gum Pond. It wasn’t long before I was back in the parking lot. Drenched with both rain and sweat, I peeled out of my shirt and boots, then slipped on a t-shirt and Chacos. It’s handy to have some things in the car, just in case.

What strikes me and, yet, is not all surprising is how those things that were weighing on my mind as I went into the woods, somehow lifted out of my head and dissipated along those trails. While it may seem like some kind of mystery, science has confirmed what many of us knew for many years: time spent in nature is good for our physical and mental health. 

Photographs by Wren Dexter..

Reflecting on this, I am taken back to the early days of the pandemic. I was an essential worker. When everyone was told to stay home, I found myself driving along roads where no other cars were seen. All along these roads, I would see acre after acre of clear cutting of trees. On these same roads I saw deer, raccoons, dogs and other animals, whose lives had been lost by the thud of a bumper. It was 2020 and I knew our area was going to explode in growth. During this time, I thought about our county commissioners. I thought about what we might talk about if we were to drive around the county. Maybe we’d talk about favorite foods or restaurants in the area. Or maybe we’d talk about music. Food and music may not save the world, but in a time when people can’t seem to agree on much, maybe we could find common grounds on these simple things.

I might also ask about their favorite places in Aiken County, and maybe we’d drive by there. After a while, I’d talk about what the natural world means to me; what I’ve learned from it over the years, and how it’s given me solace at times of grief. I’d talk about the damage to our communities when our natural world is only viewed as a commodity to be used up. Some of the bedrock environmental policies, supported and passed by Republicans and Democrats alike, have been weakened over the years through industry-supported attacks, and what we lose now can’t be undone. 

What makes a place a great place to live? Hands down, it’s the trees, the rivers and lakes, and access to these special places that pulls people in. It’s about quality of life and recognizing that if we don’t protect these places, given all the ways they benefit us, who would we be?

Epilogue

It’s a little after 5 PM on Friday and I’m at a stop light on Powderhouse Road. As I look to the left and to the right on Whiskey Road, there’s a line of cars as far as I can see. Traffic is also lined up behind me on Powderhouse. It’s not unusual. And what these long lines of cars have to do with the clearcutting of trees is everything. It’s called sprawl.

When a developer proposes a project, they are supposed to submit a traffic study that looks at trips per day. Any development on or near Whiskey Road (or other high-volume roads) would automatically trigger a study. Next, the city engineer would review the study with a lens on current traffic levels and make recommendations. The review would then go to the planning commission and city council, who would then make a decision based on the study and recommendations from the city engineer. On a daily basis, I see evidence that whatever traffic studies were completed, and whatever recommendations were made by the city engineer, must have been ignored. How else could our roads be so far beyond capacity?  There are solutions to this, and it’s called citizen involvement.

With the onset of explosive growth in the Central Savannah River Area, why are there few opportunities for citizens to weigh in on impacts to the places we call home? The City of Aiken has an Energy & Environment committee with two openings that have gone unfilled for a long time. There’s also a Citizen’s Advisory Committee that’s part of the Augusta Regional Transportation Study Metropolitan Planning Organization (ARTS MPO). The last I knew, there was no chair for the committee and no non-elected official on that committee. The whole purpose of the citizen’s advisory committee, which services Richmond and Aiken Counties, as well as part of Columbia and Edgefield Counties, is to advise on transportation planning across the CSRA. And how transportation planning takes place has everything to do with the land. 

With the total population of over half-a-million people in Aiken, Richmond, and Columbia Counties, there are no other citizen committees to advocate for our natural resources in this area. This has to change.

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ABOVE: Whiskey Road gridlock on the southside. BELOW: Another longleaf pine forest clear-cut in 2024 on hillside acreage above Bridge Creek to expand the area subdivisions over to Trollelline Road, a road with already-existing issues of stormwater runoff, erosion and hazardous traffic conditions in the wake of growth and new developments over the past decade.