Check out the wonderful website that the Beaufort Chamber of Commerce has. Here you can learn about the town, find out about lodging, dining, and things to do while visiting Beaufort. This website also has relocation information for anyone who may be thinking of moving there. From the web page you can also email the chamber with questions if you need additional information.
Their web page address is www.beaufortsc.org
Fondest memory: Climbing to the top of the lighthouse in Hunting Island State Park, and watching dolphins hunting close to shore each morning from our camper's window.
Beaufort has been spared most hurricanes. The biggest hurricane was in 1893. In an interview with Clara Barton (Director of the Red Cross at the time) she said "On the 28th of August, 1893, a hurricane and tidal wave from the direction of the West Indes swept the coast of South Carolina, covering its entire range of Port Royal Islands, sixteen feet below the sea.
In 1959, Hurricane Gracie's "Drenching rains" and 145 m.p.h. winds caused 4 local deaths, damaged 2,394 area homes and wrought $4 million (about $24,000,000 in 2003 value) in property losses. The storm sent 12 shrimp boats "to the bottom," and on Oct. 8 farmer Rudolph Bishop reported nearly $20,000 (about $120,000 today) in crop damage
More recently Hugo in 1989 was only a Cat 1 and Floyd in 1999 went to NC.
Fondest memory: The lack of hurricanes has allowed the live oaks in the area to grow unmolested. These oaks grow 40 to 80 feet tall and 60 to 100 feet wide. In open landscapes the sprawling horizontal branches arch to the ground and form a broad, rounded canopy (photo 2)
The Spanish moss is more closely related to the pineapple than to moss. They release airbourne seeds which lodge in the cracks of rough-barked live oaks, and fasten temporary roots to keep it in place. It will grow only on trees. Spanish moss normally does no damage to a tree unless its weight becomes excessive.
Native Americans called the plant "tree hair". The French explorers termed it "Barbe espagnole" -- "Spanish Beard" -- to insult their bitter rivals. The Spanish retorted with "Cabello francés" ("French hair").
"Spanish Moss", a milder variation of the French taunt, has survived. Another common name is "Graybeard".
I have a photo of my dad posing with a 'beard' of Spanish moss.
Many animals are at home with the romantic looking Spanish moss - chiggers, rat snakes and three species of bats, plus a species of spider that lives only in Spanish Moss. Birds -- like the prothonotary warblers and chickadees -- also use Spanish Moss to build or conceal their nests, and the parula warbler makes its nest in the actual hanging clumps of the moss. Yellow-throated warblers make nests of Spanish moss and pine needles, both abundant materials in the Sea Islands. Squirrels, owls, egrets and mockingbirds also use Spanish Moss for nest bedding.
Early settlers used the Spanish moss as fodder, kindling, and as caulking.
Beaufort is not only boater friendly, is one of three National Historic Districts in South Carolina, and has a shrimping fleet but also is the home of Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Paris Island, the Marine Corps Air Station and the Naval Hospital. They even have their own aquarium.
Beaufort is somewhat hard to get to by road (see second picture), and is also in the middle of winding waterways (it is the orange area in the middle of the chart in the third picture) which take a lot of time to traverse. After the third visit by boat, we've always gone directly from Charleston to the St. Mary's River between Georgia and Florida.
Fondest memory: We never stayed here long enough to visit when we came by boat. In order to make it to Johns Island the next day we have to leave really early before the restrictions on the Ladies Island Bridge. And going south, in order to get to Thunderbolt in the daylight, we have to leave reasonably early. We did get to take a day-trip to Beaufort when we were at Hilton Head for a week.
The picture is of a Prospect Hill Plantation at MM 507- south of Johns Island and about 28 sm north of Beaufort by water.
It is taken with a digital camera from far away at maximum zoom and cropped in even more. It dates from 1790 and is even marked on the charts as "House". Ephraim Baynard was the first owner, and the design has been attributed to James Hoban. The plantation house is reported to have ghosts.
I was wondering what was going through My Brothers Head as we visited Him At Boot Camp.
Why am I hear**What did I do wrong**This isn't Hawaii, I want My Mommy
Enjoy the solitude and sleepy shady streets of the historical district.
Fondest memory: It felt good to be anywhere but Savannah. After being stuck there for three days that is. We secured a room and set off to find something to eat in Beaufort. Of course, I couldn’t just head into the main part of town and eat there. No, I wanted southern barbeque and had read about a small place on the outskirts. It was very dark already and with only a rudimentary map, it took forever to find. After the disappointment of it being closed passed, we realized it was getting pretty late and just opted for a Ruby Tuesday we had passed on our wild goose chase. In the dark, this little town wasn’t looking as friendly as we had imagined. The next day was a complete metamorphosis, with idyllic tree lined streets and glorious old mansions. We didn’t have much time but wandered through the main historical area with a walking guide provided by the tourist information booth. It was easy enough to snap a photo of most of the old homes but the most famous of all, “Tidalshom,” was encircled with trees and dense shrubbery. I noticed that the tide was low and a marshy area loomed beyond where the defense of the stately mansion extended. I gingerly made my way out to take my prized photo, careful of every step, fully knowing that there is often water under what seems like solid ground in such surroundings. I got my photo and walked back on what I thought was the same exact path and in my lack of care, I felt my foot go a little deeper than the surface would warrant. Much to my dismay, the water and mud oozed just over the lip of my trusty Birkenstocks. The damage was minimal and certainly not enough to make me mad at Doreen who stood on dry land, laughing at me. It was a very hot Southern afternoon and my hiking boots lie in the trunk of my car. Even with mud between my toes, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.