Courtesy of Louisiana Department of Transportation and Development
The Louisiana Department of Transportation and Development is working to identify and preserve historic bridges all over the state. The Caddo Lake Drawbridge (above) is one of their targets; the bridge acts as the chief landmark of Mooringspot, La. How many more bridges lie hidden in Louisiana?
You don’t make many friends driving along federal four-lane highways at thirty miles per hour, but you do get to know your surroundings better. I’ve been commuting up and down the section of U.S. Highway 61 from the Mississippi state line to the point at which it meets I-110 in Scotlandville on a more or less daily basis for the past twelve years. So you’d think at this point, there really wouldn’t be anything new to see. Imagine my surprise when, while passing through Starhill the other morning, I glanced to my right and spotted a rather handsome bridge protruding from the underbrush—there, back in the woods not thirty yards from the four-lane highway down which I and my fellow commuters were hurtling, straddling one of the myriad sandy-bottomed creeks that meander through the gullies of the southern Tunica Hills. I only saw it for an instant; but since I have a bit of a thing for bridges and since it’s not every day that one spies a hitherto unnoticed one standing in the woods a stone’s throw from one’s morning commute, I did a U-turn and went back for another look.
Built of masonry and with perhaps a thirty-foot span, the single-lane bridge didn’t look like the result of some ambitious private property-owner’s hardscape improvement project. Its spandrels and balustrades were finished with the art deco-style geometric designs common to government building projects of the Machine Age; and despite the fact that it stands now in overgrown solitude, it still exudes an air of stolid dependability that must have impressed the local nabobs when it was built to replace whatever had fallen into the creek beforehand. Pulling off the shoulder for a better look, I briefly wondered why anyone would have bothered to build a fine art-deco stone bridge thirty yards to one side of the Great River Road. Then I realized that what I must be looking at was the original roadway along which generations of travelers had trundled at lower velocity prior to the “new” Highway 61 being built and widened through the Felicianas—in, what? The 50s? On closer inspection I could see that the land leading towards and away from the bridge—although overgrown with trees—was flatter and more level than the topography to either side, betraying the presence of the long-abandoned roadway. As for how I’d managed to miss the thing for all these years, I concluded that I must have the harsh winter to thank. The exceptionally cold weather of the past couple of months has stripped the woods barer than usual, and secrets normally concealed behind an impenetrable wall of vegetation are emerging, for better (old barns, heritage live oaks, art deco bridges) or worse (skeletal cars, piles of dumped trash, disemboweled couches). Every day now while driving down that section of 61, probably to the annoyance of my fellow commuters, I slow down to catch another glimpse of my bridge and wonder how long it will be before spring draws a green curtain across the scene for another year.
This is the second abandoned bridge I’ve stumbled across in the Felicianas, the other being a disused railroad trestle bridge that is gradually disappearing into the forest several miles downstream where Thompson Creek runs under Highway 61. Consequently, it’s accessible only by canoe when the water is high or by a very long walk down the creek bed when it’s not. That bridge is long and massive, and roaming around its decaying structure, miles from the nearest road in the middle of an apparent wilderness, I can imagine how an archaeologist must feel when he stumbles upon the remains of some vanished civilization. Louisiana is a watery place, with thousands of watercourses to cross and vegetation that grows so fast you can almost watch it advance. So how many more of these vestiges of bygone transit must there be out beyond the trees, marking progress’ missteps, subsiding into the streams they span, leading nowhere? It makes me wonder what else we’re missing while hammering along at seventy miles per hour, fiddling with our cell phones.
Of course that’s the whole, oft-repeated, argument for getting off the highway, slowing down, and having a proper look around. Take the slow road; open all the windows. Or better still, hop on a bike. You see (and hear, and smell) things from the vantage point of a bicycle seat that you’d never notice from behind the wheel. Same goes for a canoe, a pirogue, or any other conveyance that doesn’t make a lot of noise, sealing you off from your surroundings within an air conditioned envelope and moving much faster than a sensible person would walk. It’s March, the countryside of South Louisiana and Mississippi is about to be at its loveliest; and with a calendar full of hikes, biking destinations, canoe trips, and garden tours, there have never been more ways to enjoy it. So get out and see some; smell the flowers; and keep your eyes peeled for unexpected discoveries. You never know what you might find.
• A note for other readers with a thing about bridges: The Louisiana Department of Transportation and Development and the State Historic Preservation Office are currently studying historic bridges throughout the state with the goal of developing ways to identify, manage, and preserve them. To learn more, visit bit.ly/historicbridges.
