Just to catch everyone up, a few days before the thanksgiving holidays this year I made a discovery of an old stone structure I named “The Bridge To Nowhere.” I couldn’t put a finger on it but there was something about this old bridge that felt both dangerous and odd. After my first visit to this old place that has been long forgotten and neglected by man. I found myself still being drawn to its charm. In the weeks that were to follow I knew that someday I would return, for it never left my thoughts and like a bad rash it constantly called for my attention.

 I discovered this ruined old bridge stuck in the middle of the woods about two hundred yards from the main highway as my wife and I were traveling into the city one evening for dinner. Since that day I have found myself intrigued by its strange and mysterious allure of days that are no more. I know that it is not wise to live in the past, but for some reason I could not help myself. I poured over old records and highway maps of the early 1920s and to my surprise, I found nothing. I found no evidence anywhere that this road and bridge ever existed. I then did a pre- 1900 search and found that the map coordinates from an 1826 survey showed an old Indian trail just about where this old road and bridge currently are, yet there is nothing that mentions this road or bridge. With my research project now done on this and without satisfaction I knew that I would be returning soon. Therefore this last day of the year of 2006 I prepare to make my journey back to the “Bridge To Nowhere”.

It was an early afternoon and there was a light mist falling. The fog swirled in eerie plumes beneath the vapor lights of the city street. Securing what I thought to be a safe park considering the neighborhood, I retrieved my gear and exited the van. Cars and trucks sped by in obvious disregard of the posted speed limits and the wet road roared with life from the smell of burnt oil and diesel. After waiting for what seemed to be an eternity, I at last caught a break in the traffic and unlike my last visit; I strolled across the four lanes without fear of becoming road kill.

The fog was now lifting somewhat and revealed the depth of darkness in a sky which grew pregnant with voluminous rain. I knew that I did not have much time and came close to calling the whole thing off, yet something inside kept calling me forward. I made my way carefully down the steep, wet embankment being sure of my footing lest I fall. The roar of the traffic behind me grew fainter with each step, and I rejoiced in the coming silence. I stopped halfway into my journey and reached into my bag. I withdrew the 1826 surveyors map and tried to plot the exact location of the old Indian trail to see if this was indeed the trail that the upper Cherokee tribe used en-route to visit their Savannah River neighbors. I traced the lines of the map with my finger and matched the Latitude: 34.51 N, and the Longitude: 82.65 with my location

 and with an even more renewed excitement I concluded that yes, this was indeed the old Indian trail mentioned on the surveyors map.

Placing the map and compass back in my bag, I moved on in the direction of the old stone bridge. My imagination soon began to soar as I thought of all the feet that had walked the very trail that I was now walking. I thought of the hunting parties filled with brave young men that walked these very woods in search of food for their tribe. With my mind trapped in this distant past I failed to even realize that the rain was no longer a drizzle, but had become a downpour. Needing shelter I made a quick dash for the stone bridge some twenty yards away. Reaching the base of the stone structure I darted beneath its huge arch. A ground squirrel scurried from beneath my feet sending my heart into a pounding frenzy. I just hope I didn’t scare the squirrel as bad as he had scared me.

Regaining my composure now, I searched for a dry area in which to sit and found it in one of the old stone pilings. I sat there in the forested silence listening to the rain as it danced from the now naked trees to the ground. The creek beneath the bridge had turned into a swift moving stream from all the rain. Save only the sounds of the forest, all was quiet. Soon the rain storm passed after twenty minutes and the air became unseasonably warm. The fog was moving in again giving the forest a strange silvery glow. I sat still admiring the unique beauty when on the bridge above me I heard movement and childlike laughter. Startled, I rose quietly and moved to the outside. What I saw or didn’t see I am not sure I will understand. For crossing the bridge to nowhere were five or six children dressed in circa 1900 clothes. Standing at the entrance to the bridge was an older lad with a smug grin on his face. I moved quietly away from the side in order to get a better view of what I was or wasn’t seeing. I reached back into my pack a grabbed my camera and fired off a few quick shots not knowing if what I was shooting was real or just a trick of the mind caused by the refraction of light on the fog. I stood there in muted silence as I watched these children cross over this old stone bridge to the other side. I moved forward in slow pursuit, yet when I reached the edge of the bridge something spoke to me within and said…”not yet, your time has not been measured nor your days given number…no, not yet.” I stopped as if frozen in time and watched as the images turned silhouettes and disappeared on the other side. I then heard the barking of a dog and smelled cornbread cooking, I heard children’s laughter coming from the other side. I turned to walk back to my van with their vision in my mind. Soon 2006 will end and 2007 will order my steps a little closer to my measure in time….I will be back someday soon……

J. Allen Wilson 12/31/2006

The Bridge To Nowhere Part One