A veil of Spanish moss drips from a canopy of towering live oaks, nearly filtering out the midday sun on Georgia's largest and southernmost barrier island.
A half mile further, rows of statuesque pines stand like vigilant sentinels, forming an elegant walkway toward the sand dunes that shield the trees from the salt spray.
Horses graze under the shade of stately oaks as a young foal nuzzles awkwardly at her mother's flanks.
Welcome to Cumberland Island, a National Sea Shore, located about six hours from Atlanta, near the Florida line.
It's a primitive place where time stands nearly still, animals run wild and modern-day conveniences are scarce. Consider it a Spanish moss-encrusted treasure in Georgia's crown.
It's one of those rare place that can remind man that he is the visitor here on Planet Earth. A nearly-tropical wilderness, Cumberland has managed to escape the rape and pillage of modern life, mainly through the proctection of the National Park Service.
In fact, getting to the island is a journey in itself. The only way to reach Cumberland is by taking a private boat or a 45-minute ride on a park service ferry.
From there, it was a six-mile hike to our primitive campsite. But campsites also are available closer to and further away from the docks. Sea Camp, near the docks, is the easiest to reach and offers drinking water and bathroom facilities. The furthest is about 11 miles from the docks.
The wildlife, especially the pesky ones, reminds us, that it's their island.
A baby alligator lounges in a murky swamp, wild turkeys cackle and about 10 feral pigs crash and thunder through the forest at a wild gallop. Odd-looking armadillos and colorful lizards dart in and out of the palmetto, continually spooking these snake-fearing cityslickers.
There were, of course, the unwelcome guests: ticks, horseflies and a never-ending swarm of mosquitos.
Signs of human life do appear, but most often in the form of no trespassing signs and solitary sunbathers. Private residences are few and camping is tightly controlled.
The ruins at Dungeness, the restored mansion at Plum Orchard and lonely chimneys where a community once stood tell the story of different times -- when cotton and the Carnegies were king.
Located near the park service headquarters, the once-glorious Carnegie mansion, Dungeness, has been reduced to a ruined shell of brick and mortar. Armadillos and lizards scamper across the grounds. The ruins are off limits because they're unstable and home to diamondback snakes.
The Cumberland landscape flows between salt-water marshes, enormous sand dunes, a wide swath of beach, live oak forests, knots of pines, fresh water ponds and boggy areas that seem to hiss with the sound of snakes.
Lapped by the tide, the sugary white beach is littered with perfect shells, sand dollars and the remains of other sea life. Herons, brown pelicans and sea gulls chase the surf in search of fish and shellfish and dolphins play in the ocean beyond.
At night, the stars shine like something in a planetarium while a loosely knit orchestra of cicadas mix with the baritone of a bull alligator in a primitive symphony. Songbirds and hammering woodpeckers take their place in the morning.
If it weren't for the sight of pulp mills in the distance, you could easily forget you were still in Georgia, or the U.S. for that matter.
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