Author: Christopher Hall

I had heard of Boyd Pond Park many years ago and in the back of my mind, I had often said that I needed to check it out. When I went back to school, I found my free time cut into my out of town trips, so I sought out local nature ‘fixes’. It was then that I found my way out to Boyd Pond Park.

When you drive down Boyd Pond Road you’ll see a dirt parking area on the right and left. Go to the left and you’ll see a place for frisbee golf and a wide-open field. On the right are miles of woods and dirt trails for the biking and hiking enthusiasts. If you follow the main trail to the end, you’ll be greeted by a solid, wooden footbridge that crosses over the shallow wetland at the end of Boyd Pond. It’s a magical place.

On a recent night after the Firefly experience, I ventured back to the park, almost at sunset, hoping to see one of the resident beavers. If one side of the park is a thickly wooded landscape of dirt trails, the other is more structured with playground equipment and baseball fields. That night I found games going on at the ballfield, so I headed to the dirt lot. Having parked the car, I headed down the trail with binoculars and my headlamp. I walked quietly as I neared the end where the dirt meets wood. Coming out from under the canopy of trees, I see a sky mixed with clouds and a sun setting over the horizon, coloring each of those straying clouds. The frogs were singing their chorus and birds were flitting about as nightfall approached. I slowly walked onto the bridge from under the cover of trees to find a painterly sky that continued to open up.

There’s a couple of overlooks built into the bridge and I headed towards the far end where the beaver lodge stood. I looked up into the sky and to the left, over the trees I just walked under, was a cloud, big and white. Over to my right was another bank of clouds hovering over the trees there and colored into a pinkish-orange hue. What lay between were thin, gray wispy clouds as if they were the landscape connecting two sets of mountains. In fact, it reminds me of a photo of Yellowstone with El Capitan on the left looking over the valley below. I stopped and took a deep breath. As I opened my eyes, I lifted my binoculars to search across the water for any beaver activity. From left to right, I scanned the water for ripples when I came across a beautiful dragonfly. It was a beautiful hue of blue. I followed him with my binoculars as he was lighting down on some grasses that were shooting into the sky. I quickly brought him into focus, when cruising right behind him and across my field of vision was a beaver, slightly out of focus! The timing and synchronicity were unbelievable and I quickly refocused my lens on the beaver, while I traced his path across the pond. Shortly, he slipped down into the water.

Turning my gaze back to the sky, I saw more clouds slowly turning from white to pink as the sun continued to sink into the horizon. The singing of the frogs began again and as I listened, I heard three maybe four different songs. The Spring Peepers, with their high-pitched voices, were easy to identify and represent the majority, by sound if not by numbers. Others that I heard sounded like they came from the Tree Frog family, though, it was hard to tell.

Looking across the water on the other side of the bridge, I raised my binoculars and after a few minutes, again, I see a beaver cruising across the water. He stopped where the water gave way to the ground and started chewing away at the vegetation. I sat there and watched, while he piled away food. When he decided he had had his fill, he slid back into the water, crossing under the bridge, slowly making his way home.

The sun had disappeared and with the sky almost black, I took in a deep breath as I looked at the sights around me, thinking about my good fortune. I flipped on my headlamp and made my way out of the woods.

I got off from work today and on the way back, I stopped off at the car wash to vacuum out my car. I get home, start stripping Buck’s beds (he has two), grab kitchen and front door rugs. It’s laundry time. I’ve been doing mortal combat with fleas and I hate to say it, but they seem to be winning. Buck is doing great, but me? I’ll get back to you on that. Floor-sweeping and mopping, flea spray here, there, everywhere and after switching loads of laundry, I decided I will be picking up dinner and maybe a head over to Boyd Pond. Buck is always eager to go and we load up.

It’s hard to reconcile Buck’s dive into the back seat of my Subaru with the dog that wandered into my life some 12 years ago. It was a cold, dark January night when I picked up Buck wandering around a friend’s property. At the end of the 20-mile drive back home, he let out a howl as the lights of Aiken came to view. I thought I was in for a long night, but we both settled right down into our respective sides of the room. Like most dogs you find out in the country, Buck had fleas and looked like he could use a good meal. When he got to his first vet visit, they decided he was about a year old and a mix between Golden Retriever and Chow. I remember the day, a few months after that January night when it seemed his eyes, and heart, opened wide and knew that this was his forever home. It wasn’t long after that when he really discovered the joy of car rides.

I made my way into Aiken, grabbed dinner to go and decided to eat at the park after all. We pulled into Boyd Pond, slowly headed over to the picnic area and to my delight, there were few cars around. Buck, as always, patiently waited by my side, as I ate my evening meal. Then it was time to hit the trail. It was after 8 PM by this time and though I didn’t have my headlamp with me, I did have a mini flashlight. When you enter Boyd Pond, the road pulls into a larger lot and veering off to the left will take you close to the ball fields, which is where I normally head. Down the sidewalk, past the bathrooms, we get to the top of the hill where the fields are. Buck was off leash (as normal) and he quickly turned right, following the line of the chain link fence, marking the boundaries for the fields. One field, then a second, our path dipped to the right into the woods, where we weaved around a couple of bends and then landed at the head of the wetlands. A bridge crosses over to the other side of the park, where there are numerous trails for mountain biking.

When we slipped into the woods, Buck ambled to the left, sniffing to his heart’s content. Bad move for him, but good for me as it put me into position to get him back on the leash. When the woods break away into the wetlands, I try to enter quietly, since you’ll never know what winged treasure you’ll find. Buck was on to me as I bent over, leash in hand to stop his forward progress. Fake to left, bolt to the right, he gave in knowing he wasn’t going to get by (as an aside, I could look at him and see the wheels turning, as he was trying to figure out how to outmaneuver me). With Buck leashed, we both started for the wetlands. When I got out there, I stopped and looked around. There was still a little bit of light and it was the perfect time for beavers to come out for their more active period of the day. A beaver lodge is just a stone’s throw away from the bridge and at times, I could see their movement under the water. It had been a while since I’ve seen them. I had brought my binoculars and I scanned across the water. Ripples here and there, I was finding more turtles then anything else—except for bugs! I started to move on. I wanted to let Buck have some fun too. Then I saw some more movement. I raised my binoculars and sure enough, at the other end was a beaver cruising with his head barely out of the water. A few seconds later, I saw him tuck under and dive in. He was huge!

We continued on our journey. I figured we’d walk for a little while, then turn back around. It was getting dark and I didn’t want to hang out there too long. After we crossed the bridge and slowly re-entered the forest, I started seeing fireflies. I had been seeing them over the past several weeks, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. What I didn’t know is what I would experience as I turned a corner in the woods—there must’ve been a hundred fireflies along the path ahead! The first word that came to mind was magical. With the tree canopies overhead, yet the path open and straight, I could see for about 25, 30 yards ahead, fireflies lighting up everywhere, from the forest floor to the highest canopy. Their lights weren’t synchronous, they were more quick flashes of light, like at a dance club, each one firing off at their own beat, in their own space of the forest, with their brothers, sisters, and cousins firing off too in their own timing.

I kept walking. I figured I’d continue to walk and watch this sacred dance until they thinned out and I saw the last of them. Then I’d turn around and see it again! But it didn’t stop. If you’ve been down this trail at Boyd’s Pond Park, there are many parts that the sky is blocked by a canopy of trees. At times, the forest would open up, others, it would come back down like a warm embrace. I continued walking and the light show continued to captivate me. Quietly, step by step, Buck and I walked down the trail we have walked so many times before, just above the shores of the pond. We reached the end of the trail and walked along the road to get back to the parking lot. We did see more fireflies, but nothing quite as majestic as our first entrance into the divine.