Every great adventure needs some kind of obstacle and in this case, that obstacle was time and sand. Dad had always told me about his trips down the Little Pee Dee, both hunting and camping. What stood out the most were the stories from his camping trip following the river from Dillon to Georgetown. I had spent a lot of time on the upper Little Pee Dee in Dillon and at Galivant’s Ferry in Aynor, but the remainder of the river remained as our great frontier.  I was always trying to recruit a group to make the ride to Georgetown but the logistics were not easy to work out at the time.

Finally, Garrett Freel and Jeffery Hansen agreed to make the voyage, and we launched our boats at Nichols on the Lumber River. From that point on, we were plagued with storms and a broken motor, so we called off the trip before reaching Fork Retch.
The following summer, Matt Jordan, Dawson Jordan, and myself made plans to give Expedition River Run a second attempt. We spent the preparing our gear, food, motors, and studying Google Earth, as we counted down the days until Friday’s launch.
We only had one trailer, so we tied one john boat upside down on top of the other before pulling them to the river. Garrett Freel and Clay Price joined us for the launch and helped to load the boats and put them in the water. Our boats were full of gear and fuel, leaving little room to move beyond the seats. I pull-started the engine and Garrett pushed me off into the Lumber River. Garrett and Clay waved us off and both boats sped down the river. Garrett and Clay drove the car home for us.
Matt was driving a War Eagle boat with Dawson, and I drove a Polar Kraft john boat with a pull-starting 15hp Evinrude motor. We sped down the river swinging wide at the turns to avoid hitting sandbars. The deep side of the river is always the outside of a bend and the river was so low, that this was the only navigable path. It was not long before we hit bottom and had to raise the engines. This was the first of many sandbars we were to encounter. We drifted across, cranked up, and motored on down the river. I had all the distances mapped out. We were to travel 22 miles on Friday to reach our first campsite at Galivants Ferry before dark. I had paddled this stretch before in a day but this time, we only had 4 hours, and much of that time was spent drifting over inches of water waiting for it to get deeper.
I passed Fork Retch 5 miles downriver where the Little Pee Dee overtakes the Lumber River. The river was now less than a foot deep all across the river, and we continued to drift. We started to worry we wouldn’t make it to camp in time, so we got in the water and pulled the boats. I spotted a mudfish against the bank and drew my bow for a shot and aimed about 6 inches too low, accounting for the refraction. The arrow was tied to a string and sailed straight through the mudfish, but the fight was not over yet. The mudfish surged away and made one great leap in the air before my arrowhead broke loose and the arrow slipped out. The moment of excitement was soon followed by deeper water so we cranked up and motored on.
The sun was dropping into the trees and we continued to hop in and out of the boats, trying to make some time. It was getting dark, and we were all in the water pulling the boats when Matt called out a cottonmouth. I looked and saw Mr. No Shoulders swimming straight to me with his head raised, and dark fat body swaying behind him. I pulled out my snake charmer, a single shot .410, and shot it before it could get close.
We found deeper water at this point and sped down the river. The sky was dark, and the egrets were flying in huge flocks to their resting places. I was doubtful of us reaching the island campsite until I noticed a spot I would never forget where I had caught a 32 lb. flathead catfish. I knew we were close at this point. We continued to drive in the dark and found the island near Galivant’s Ferry. The river was so low that the island was no longer surrounded by water and we beached the boats on the back side. Dawson and I set camp while Matt cooked hotdogs, corn, and baked beans over the fire.
We sat around the fire and talked briefly before going to sleep. Dawson and I slept in individual tents, and Matt slept suspended in a hammock. All around us were the sounds of the river: owls were hooting and fighting for branches; the river trickling by; and my favorite sound, bullfrogs croaking at night, continued all through our sleep. It is a sound that no sleep machine could emulate. The morning came quickly, and we rose to break camp and load the boats. Dawson divided some energy bars and pop tarts for breakfast, and we launched for a 69-mile day. The Galivant’s Ferry Bridge was the point of no return. Past the bridge was all unknown river, and we didn’t have any plan for pulling out if something were to break. We sped down the river feeling a new sense of freedom in the deep water until both boats ran aground again. We had plenty of time on Saturday, and occasionally, tied the boats together to eat oranges and canned chicken as we drifted. I tried several times to shoot a gar with the arrow, but they were a bit trickier than hitting the mudfish the day before.
I began to dread our stops on sandbars because it always took about 6-10 pulls to get my engine started again. I was constantly alternating fingers to start the engine because they were all blistered. Once we got started with the motors, we may only round a single bend before running aground again. Our boats drifted side by side down the river, and the temperature suddenly hiked drastically. Matt, Dawson, and I jumped in the water and floated along with the boats to keep cool.
You really have a chance to appreciate the peaceful silence on the river when the motors are off and everyone is quiet. The river is so quiet I could hear the wings of a distant bug that flew by. A herd of deer walked across the river not too far ahead of us and watched us from the bank as we drifted by.
The river took many shapes as we moved along. The river was sometimes hundreds of feet wide but could change to being only several feet wide around the next bend. My favorite part of the ride was when the river became extremely narrow, with weeds and cattails growing into the river before the cypress trees. We could see the gold sandy bottom through the Little Pee Dee’s black water but nonetheless raced through at full speed, cutting tight turns. The speed thrill was short lived, and I nailed a stump, throwing me to the bow, and almost knocking my motor off the boat. I took some rope and tied it to the motor to be sure that I wouldn’t lose it in the future.
The sand bars continued, and we were faced with some uncertainty as to our chances of reaching the Great Pee Dee today. We had no bearing of where we were and how much farther we would move before finding deep water.
We approached the fingers where the river begins to split in many different directions. Matt, Dawson, and I would pick a path that looked to have the best depth but constantly ran aground. House boats were lined all along the trees on the Horry side of the river. The Little Pee Dee’s widest point is here, likely stretching more than 800 feet across, but it is also extremely shallow. We walked along for miles before we found deeper water. This was such a beautiful stretch of river, and it looked so foreign compared to what the past miles of river looked like. We found the Horry side of the river to be the deep enough for the motors and hugged the bank as we made our way to the confluence with the Great Pee Dee. I knew that our struggles would be over as soon as we reach the confluence.
The land to our right came to a point and I saw the Big Pee Dee joining with the Little Pee Dee. The black water of the Little Pee Dee meets the brown water of the Big Pee Dee here and causes a line stretching for close to a mile before the two rivers mix. I had heard about the line but did not expect it to be so bold and clear until I saw it. Dawson remarked that it should be added to the seven wonders of the world.
The going was easy from this point on. We were in deep water and drove full speed down river. In a matter of minutes, we switched from the swampy cypress banks of the Little Pee Dee, to the sandy cliffs topped with pine trees on the Big Pee Dee. We continued for about 14 miles before reaching our campsite on Sandy Island.
Sandy Island has some historical background and is especially worth mentioning for the Fourth of July this weekend. Sandy Island is one of the places where Francis Marion and his troops made camp during the American Revolution.
We tied off the boats at the base of a sandy cliff and hauled our gear to the top. Our fire and tents were set on the edge of the cliff with an awesome view looking upriver and to the sunset. Matt, Dawson, and I had been on the river in the hot July sun for 13 hours and took a heavy nap before cooking dinner. We put more effort into this meal than the night before and cooked burritos, corn, and blueberry cobbler over the fire. Most campers are limited to hamburgers and hot dogs on a fire but Matt lets his culinary skills shine and takes pride in being able to cook any meal over a fire.
Dawson took a spotlight to the edge of the cliff and shined into the river. Reflecting back at us were close to 20 sets of alligator eyes swimming in the dark. We knew the reflections were indications of alligators but there was no way to judge the size. I stepped into my tent and realized how bad I really smelled. It was too hot for a sleeping bag, so I just laid on top of it and sweated all night. Thank goodness I had a tent, because the screen was speckled with blood thirsty mosquitoes that couldn’t touch me. I closed my eyes and slept hard all night.
We woke up in the morning, and I cooked bacon and eggs while Matt rolled and fried dough in brown sugar for doughnuts. Dawson broke down the camp, and we sat down for the last meal of our expedition. After eating, Matt dropped the bags from the cliff while Dawson and I loaded the boats. I did not realize that this was tidal water and the boats were beached. We pushed off for our last stretch of 24 miles, and I thanked the good Lord that this was the last time I had to pull start the motor for the trip. Coming around the Northern tip of Sandy Island, we conjoined the Waccamaw River and were now on a straight shot to Winyah Bay. The water became somewhat choppy as we passed underneath the Highway 17 bridge, and the salty water sprayed over the boat. I was hoping to keep the corrosive salt off of my supplies, but it was apparent that everything would need a deep cleaning. Matt followed me into the Georgetown Marina, and we docked right in front of a large sport-fishing boat. I can only imagine what the men on the boat thought of the muddy boys and how far we must have come with the empty gas cans. I tied my boat to the dock, and a giant gar surfaced beside me. I quickly grabbed my bow and shot the fish through the back when it rose again. The rope was tight and I wrangled it onto the dock. We left the boats at the dock and our first order of business was to walk downtown to Taco Bell.
Dad and his brother, Thomas, met us in Georgetown with a change of clothes. We stayed in Georgetown for the night and went offshore fishing the next day for the Fourth of July. In three days, Matt, Dawson, and I traveled 115 miles down the Lumber, Little Pee Dee, Big Pee Dee, and Waccamaw Rivers. There were many laughs, frustrations, decisions, and moments of awe along the way. As a side note to anyone who might want to give Expedition River Run a try, I would recommend taking a right at Bull Creek (right turn by sandy island) and remaining on the Great Pee Dee for the entire ride to Georgetown instead of taking the Waccamaw as I did. The Big Pee Dee splits into 4 main streams and passes old plantation homes and rice fields before reforming at the 17 bridge. Both options are beautiful stretches, though, and it is hard to go wrong either way. I wanted to see the old tree house in the fingers, but I missed that on this trip. To find the tree house, take a right after the power lines as you enter the fingers on the Little Pee Dee. The next thing I would recommend, assuming you could do this for a full week, is to do the same trip again by canoe. Papa paddled from Floyd Dale into Georgetown on a wooden Carolina boat with a friend. Dad used a Ghenoe with an 8 hp and made the run twice. You can read the story, but nothing beats having your own experience of taming the rivers yourself. There is a lot of wild, even in the Pee Dee.