Where the wild horses roam

The magical island where nature and gilded age ruins weave a surreally enchanting history

We set off from the Fernandina Beach dock enveloped in a heavy white fog. We may have been gliding down the intracoastal waterway making our way back into Georgia from our Florida port of departure but for all I knew, and could see, we could have been anywhere else. Our shrouded journey made it all the more shocking when we pulled up to the threshold of a wild island beckoning us off the boat into the gothic coastal forests. The island is a place where time stands still despite the ruins evidencing the decline and decay of some of America's most prominent families.

The quiet beauty and harsh natural environment invokes a sense of quiet reverence. Reverence for both the resilience and power of mother nature as well as for the ghosts who drift on the coastal breeze as it winds through the snarled branches of the live oaks.

If you're a 90s child, think Scooby Doo on Zombie Island minus the Scooby and the gang and the zombies.

Sunset overlooking the intracoastal waterway

Since pictures are worth a thousand words, I'll leave you in peace to ponder these.