A HISTORIAN'S 



COAST 



Things 



By David Cecelski 



W 



W w hen I began writing "A 

 Historian's Coast" three years ago, I never 

 expected to do so much research in a boat. 

 The tools of a historian's trade are usually 

 found in old books and archives, not in a 

 coastal swamp or tidal creek. 



But early on, I learned that I had to get 

 out and see a place if I really wanted to 

 understand its past. Even our wildest 

 swamps have a natural history — 

 sometimes gradual, other times cataclys- 

 mic — that has been influenced by 

 settlement, exploitation and other human 

 practices. Most of this past has never been 

 written down and is often not apparent, but 

 you can find traces of it in the land itself if 

 you spend the time and look closely. 



This is the last of my short essays for 

 Coastwatch. I've been writing "A 

 Historian's Coast" since January 1996 and, 

 regrettably, I can no longer fit the extra half 

 dozen deadlines a year into my life. In this, 

 my swan song in these pages, I'd like to 

 discuss some of the ways that the places 

 I've been in my canoe and kayak have 

 opened up our coastal history for me. 



I probably would feature many of 

 these places in future essays if I could keep 

 writing for Coastwatch. They all helped 

 me to visualize the coastal landscape at 

 different points in our past and to see a 

 reflection of ourselves in the ways that 

 we've left our mark on the land. 



Richard Cecebki examines a bald cypress on the Black River during a summer drought. 



28 WINTER 1999 



