Though Tennessee and Georgia border each other, these Southern states differ vastly in their native landscapes. Some aspects are the same, but there are definitely identifying factors to each. After visiting my sister in Savannah, I noticed a similarity in the way people treat alligators there to how we treat black bears in the Smokies: seeing one isn't totally uncommon but still exciting when it happens, they are the poster animal for all tourist marketing, and if you ever meet someone who has eaten one you’re probably going to hear about it.
In addition to gators, there is a lot of aquatic biodiversity in the swampy areas of North Georgia where waterfowl and reptiles dwell. Conservation of this type of species is exactly why the Savannah National Wildlife Refuge was created. According to their website, “Wildlife conservation is at the heart of the National Wildlife Refuge System. It drives everything on U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service lands and waters managed within the Refuge System, from the purposes for which a national wildlife refuge is established to the recreational activities offered to the resource management tools used. Using conservation best practices, the Refuge System manages Service lands and waters to help ensure the survival of native wildlife species” (U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service).
During my sister’s and my visit we were pretty unlucky in the animal sighting category, with the wildlife on display being fairly sparse. That may have been our own fault, since we chose to go in the heat of the day when many critters retreat in search of a cooler place to hang out. I would be hiding in the shadows of the woody bog if I were a gator, too. The plant life was pretty enough to make up for the lack of animal sighting, though, and I loved seeing the many water lilies and other water plants along the banks of the river.
For Tennesseeans familiar with Cades Cove, you can think of Savannah National Wildlife Refuge as the Georgian equivalent. Driving your car through the stretching path is reminiscent of the Cades Cove loop, but instead of being surrounded by forests you’re surrounded by swampland with occasional Spanish moss-covered oaks, and instead of slowing down for passing deer, cars slowed for cranes and gallinules.
Another quality that reminds me of Cades Cove is the feeling of separation that occurs when we attempt to engage with nature from a vehicle. My sisters and I stopped at many pull-offs to get out and explore on foot, but we were in the vast minority of the refuge’s visitors in that regard. Engaging with nature can’t happen if you aren’t truly experiencing it, and you can’t experience it from a distance. However, people seems to be widening the gap between themselves and the outdoors in so many ways: we say we are visiting the beach rather than the ocean, we roll through wildlife refuges from the comfort of our vehicles, and we bring lawn chairs and folding tables to make picnics in National Parks more accommodating and cushy. While we haven't completely separated these activities from the nature we experience them in, the gap is widening. It’s time to reverse that trend and encourage everyone to take advantage of the freedom we have to roam the land we call home.
The vastness of the landscape is wonderful to experience in the refuge, and– although the fact that most visitors restricted themselves to vehicles probably contributes to this– the whole area feels completely untouched and pristine. We can balance responsible consumption of wilderness and complete division between humans and nature, though, and education is an essential component of this. Before you do visit a refuge, check their website to see what their regulations are around going off-trail, bringing furry friends, the use of bikes, etc. to ensure you are doing your part in both involvement and maintenance. Despite my lack of gator sightings I would go back to visit again in a heartbeat. You never know how different the next visit might be, and that is the beauty of nature: each experience is completely unique, whether you are in a different state or the same trail you walk every day.
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