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Return to Congaree

Synchronous fireflies light up the forest floor

By Scott Richardson

June 12^th, 2021

Three-day weekends are the best kind of weekends.

On my last three-day weekend, I drove 10 hours over a day and a half to Congaree National Park near Columbia, South Carolina. The landscape was flooded, with beautiful, ancient trees rising out of the murky water. I snapped a photo of the sun and trees reflecting in the water along the boardwalk, and thoughtlessly posted it to Instagram. A few days later, an Instagram account that highlighted local events in Columbia, SC asked to share my photo. It was just a quick snap, so I said, "Sure thing."

When the photo was posted, it was captioned with an alert that the Firefly Lottery was opening that day, and all it took was a $1 fee to enter for a chance to earn a spot to watch the famed synchronous fireflies. I was already planning to enter the lottery, hoping that the covid pandemic might keep people away and give me a better chance of winning, but I was fooling myself. Park visitation numbers have been at record highs, and this Instagram post wasn't going to help deter visitors.

Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful in the lottery, so viewing the fireflies in the front country became out of the question. But the backcountry was still an option, and viewing the park in a different season held a lot of allure. So, it was time to hit the road for another 10-hour drive.

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

It was only six weeks past my last visit, but the landscape was completely transformed. The land was no longer flooded. The cedar knobs were clearly visible on the forest floor. The glassy surface of the water had turned to mud, which made all of the hiking trails fully accessible. The weather was no longer cold and sunny, but rather hot, muggy, and cloudy.

I arrived late on Saturday afternoon, and immediately set off for a hike through the Congaree wilderness. The mud was full of animal tracks: raccoons and wild boars. I tried to stay keep my feet planted on hard-packed, solid ground. The mud made that impossible, it was everywhere. At one point, my foot sank deep into the mud, while my other foot slid into the creek. It took me a minute to free my foot, and when I got up, I realized I had bruised my arm and face.

After a quick cleanup, I headed deeper into the forest. The hoots of owls and the steady percussion of woodpeckers created a chaotic soundscape, but neither animal was visible, hidden deep within the trees.

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

The next morning I walked around the boardwalks, then completed the trail around Weston Lake. This area was completely underwater on my last visit.

A woodpecker steadily tapped in a tree above me as I admired the giant trees across the lake. Then, I noticed what appeared to be a log floating in the water, but the water was still and lacking any current. I realized it was an alligator, slowly floating on the surface.

I continued to walk along, admiring the intricate tree bases and root systems, all exposed above the low level of the water. Several barred owls flew overhead giving me a fleeting look as they disappeared into the trees.

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

That afternoon, I inflated my paddle board and launched into Cedar Creek. The water level was quite low, and every few minutes the board's fins caught a submerged log and almost bucked me off the board.

The front country portion of the park, near the Visitor's Center, contains a bluff featuring longleaf pines, blackened with signs of fire. The park uses prescribed burns to invigorate the growth of the pines, which provide a habitat for woodpeckers and other types of birds, coyotes, and squirrels. I'd also suspect raccoons by the sound of scratching at my tent late at night in the campground.

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

Return to Congaree

Each night, I set out to view the fireflies along the edge of the floodplain. At dusk, a few fireflies emerged, each blinking on their own. Around 9 pm, the fireflies' singular blinks became a chorus of unified blinking. It was a bizarre sight. There is truly nothing in nature I've seen that compares to what they were doing. The only thing I've seen that comes close was the synchronized blinking of warning lights on wind turbines while completing a night drive along the Texas panhandle.

This unique phenomenon only occurs in small pockets throughout the American south. Certain fireflies synchronize their flashing as part of an elaborate courtship ritual to attract a mate.

Return to Congaree

© 2026 Scott Richardson

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