Cumberland Island Wilder

By Charles Seabrook

I first went to Cumberland Island in November 1972, a month after President Richard Nixon signed the bill to create the Cumberland Island National Seashore.

It was love at first sight, as it is for so many other people who see Cumberland for the first time. The island’s natural splendor captivated me — a wide, sandy beach devoid of people and condominiums; a mature maritime forest of splendid live oaks and stately palmettos; a string of freshwater lakes shimmering in the sunlight; a grand salt marsh stretching as if never-ending to the far horizon.

Since that first visit, Cumberland has lured me back well over 50 times during all seasons of the year. The island remains as enchanting as the first time I saw it. The solitude and serenity still refresh a weary mind and revive the human spirit. And I find that immensely gratifying. Generations far into the future will be able to come to the island and enjoy the same natural grandeur and tranquility that mesmerize us today.

That possibility was ensured by the law that created the Cumberland Island Na­tional Seashore. It stipulates that the seashore “shall be permanently preserved in its primitive state” and no project can be undertaken that would jeopardize the island‘s “unique flora and fauna” and natural beauty.

Carrying out that mandate, however, has been a daunting task. Despite Cum­berland’s alluring beauty and sweet solitude, seething controversies and conflicts have beset it since the day the park was created. Various factions argue — and sometimes sue each other — over what they think is best for the island. The quarrels have caused once good friends to stop speaking to each other. They have sparked political squab­bles and have caused at least two Cumberland superintendents to lose their jobs.

The various groups argue over the number of visitors that should be allowed on the seashore. (The current limit is 300 per day). They fight over who should be al­lowed to drive on the beach. They argue over what should be done with Cumberland’s some 250 feral horses. The solemn-eyed creatures, many with ribs poking out, delight tourists but are a bone of contention for conservationists who fear that the animals ruin large swaths of fragile vegetation.

Some people bitterly oppose the congressionally designated wilderness area that encompasses most of Cumberland’s northern half. A wilderness area is supposed to be free of human intrusion except for occasional hikers and campers. No power equipment is allowed: No cars, chainsaws, ATVs, bulldozers. Yet, in Cumberland’s wilderness area, there are several houses. Underground utilities cross it. Also running through it is Cumberland’s main north-to-south route, a narrow, unpaved sandy road that some call Grand Avenue. Because of all the human alterations, opponents say that Cumberland  should never have been declared a wilderness, and they petitioned Con­gress to withdraw the designation.

U.S. Rep. Jack Kingston, who represents Georgia’s coastal area, did achieve a partial victory in that regard several years ago. He shepherded a rider through Congress that removed the entire Grand Avenue, a large section of the north end and the beach from Cumberland’s wilderness area -- the first time that wilder­ness had been removed from the federal system. Thus, now when you drive Grand Avenue to the island’s north end, you’re technically not in the wilderness. Not surprisingly, Kingston’s move did not settled any quarrels; instead, it only inflamed wilderness supporters who are trying to find ways to reverse his action.

Meanwhile, the Park Service — also at the behest of Kingston’s legislation—on August 11 began hauling van loads of tourists via Grand Avenue to the north end. The  tours make stops at the restored, spiffed-up Plum Orchard mansion (built in 1898 by Lucy Coleman Carnegie for one of her sons) and the First African Baptist Church where John Kennedy, Jr., married Carolyn Bessette in 1996. Cumberland Superintendent Fred Boyles told me that the tours have been a “resounding success; we already have bookings into January.”

In spite of all this, however, Cumberland Island National Seashore is about to become wilder. The Park Service is tak­ing a giant step towards the legislative mandate of permanently preserving the seashore in its primitive state. In essence, five original “retained estate” agreements — or “reserved proper­ties,” as the Park Service now calls them — on the island have expired, turning over 50 acres of land, seven houses and several smaller structures to the agency. The Park Service’s proposed plan says that some of the structures will be torn down, includ­ing a house known as Toonahowie in the wilderness area. Some houses, though, may be maintained for employee housing. At least one — a substantial two-story masonry house known as “The Grange” — is expected to be upgraded to provide services to visitors, especially those on the south end walking tours. Built in 1903 by Lucy Carnegie for her overseer, The Grange is on the National Register of Historic Places

Park officials and conservationists alike agree that over the decades, the retained rights have been the most contentious issue facing Cumberland. The Park Service and its agents signed 21 such agreements in the 1970s and 1980s that allowed for­mer property owners on the island to retain private use of their houses and properties for specified periods in return for selling their holdings to the government to create the seashore. The five expired agreements were for 40 years each. Sixteen other retained estate agreements will expire at later dates. Some, how­ever, may still be in effect until late in this century because the rights extend to the property owners’ last surviving grandchild.

Thornton Morris, an Atlanta lawyer who represented sev­eral Carnegie heirs who sold their Cumberland properties to the government in exchange for retained rights, once told me that the national seashore “would never have gotten off the ground” if it weren’t for the agreements

Essentially, the Park Service allows the use of retained rights agreements as a way of motivating people to sell their land to the government. Under the agency’s policy, the agreements are limited to 25 years and/or the life of the owner and spouse. On Cumberland, however, the 25 years went to 40, and some of the life estates were extended to grandchildren even though they weren’t owners.

The biggest reason for the special circumstances on Cumberland was that most of the retained rights agreements were negotiated by the National Park Foundation, the so-called national charitable partner of the Park Service that was acting for the agency. At the time of the Cumberland property negotia­tions in the early 1970s, the park foundation was using private money from the Mellon Foundation; the enabling legislation creating the national seashore had not yet been passed.

So, the park foundation could make the liberal retained rights arrangements that became legally binding on the Park Service. (In one agreement signed in 1982, however, the Park Service itself waived its 25-year limit.) None of the Cumberland agreements was the same. Some allowed special privileges such as driving on the beach or on Grand Avenue through the wilder­ness area.

All of the former owners, though, know that the day is coming when they must give up their special rights on Cum­berland. In the first round of expired agreements, three of the former retained rights holders quickly, though sadly, turned over their properties to the Park Service. The former owners of The Grange also have relinquished their property, but they have peti­tioned the Park Service for an historic lease to retain control of the house. The agency has been lukewarm to the notion.

One of the five former retained rights holders, however, vowed that he would not leave and even built a substantial facil­ity for disabled patients next to his home on Cumberland as part of a complex scheme to remain on the island. The Park Service said the facility was built in stark violation of agency rules; Jenkins was found guilty of criminal contempt but died in June 2010 before he was sentenced to prison. The seashore’s super­intendent at the time, however, was fired because he allegedly withheld information about the illegal construction.

The Park Service’s new management plan calls for Jenkins’ old house and the ill-conceived facility to be torn down, obliter­ated and the 7.5-acre tract allowed to revert back to its natural state.

A final decision, however, will be forthcoming after the Park Service reviews public comments on its proposals for the newly acquired properties.

This article first appeared in the fall 2011 issue of Panorama magazine, which is sent free to all of our members. Click here if you are interested in joining the Georgia Conservancy and receiving Panorama magazine.