distinctively charleston

The sounds, swells and shagging at Folly beach pier keep fans coming back for more.

Walking above ocean waves is a singular experience. You hear them crash against the pilings and glimpse the water moving through the spaces between the slats. Soon you step past the breakers to the glistening swells that move behind them. It is a feeling of being stable and still and in the middle of things all at the same time. It is the experience of being on a pier, the meeting place at the beach i that man-made structure extending the edge of something out into a space all its own.

The Edwin S. Taylor Folly Beach Fishing Pier has been a Charleston mainstay since the 1930s when Folly first became a beach destination. It has beckoned many a person to drive those 10 miles from downtown to the dunes, park (on the beach in years past) and suddenly be someplace else.

"The pier was almost like going into another city, taking a trip," says James Island resident and Charleston native Jerry Wade. "It took so long to get there, and once you were there, you never wanted to leave."

Wade's young adult days were spent at the Folly Beach Pier, listening to Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs, dancing with the young woman who would later be his wife, and drinking some of the coldest draft beer he could find.

The old pier structure that housed those music-filled nights burned in 1977, and Hugo took care of the next Folly pier incarnation when it blew through in 1989. Today, the beautiful structure extends 1,045 feet into the Atlantic Ocean and is 23 feet above sea level. A pavilion on the end hosts the popular Moonlight Mixers every summer, where 550 people sway to the music under the stars and over the waves.

The pier house holds a bright and clean pier shop on one side (hot dogs, gifts galore and fresh bait) and Locklear's Lowcountry Grill on the other, where diners enjoy one of the few beachfront views on Folly. Managed by the Charleston County Park and Recreation Commission, the structure recently reopened after the second phase of a refurbishment project. It has five full-time and 20 part-time employees whose biggest challenge is managing the crowds.

"We record 250,000 visitors a year and about 20,000 fishermen," says Kerry Hanson, facility manager for the Folly Beach Fishing Pier for the past 12 years. "It can get hectic, but I love coming to work."

Hanson's day begins at 5:30 a.m., and he often gets a chance to watch the sunrise over the water before he turns to the tasks of the day, which recently have included reopening the pier and welcoming fishermen (and women) once again to its railings.

The renovation included new bathrooms, hurricane-resistant windows, HardiPlank siding and replacing deckboards and adding pickets. There were also new benches and rod holders added, creating a structure as well as an atmosphere that can withstand the large amount of visitors. The reopening of the pier on Sunday, March 16, brought 2,420 people to see the changes and take a stroll, once again claiming ownership of their boardwalk out to sea.

For many, though, the pier is still not about its physical attributes but its sense of place, its inherent nature as a centerpiece and a destination for the region. And for some people, it is almost a second home.

Judy Moody of North Charleston has been fishing the Folly Beach Fishing Pier at least three times a week for the last five years. "We have a family out here," she says, gesturing around her as she calls to someone to watch her rod for her. "I've met so many nice people from here and out of state. I love being out here."

And, it goes without saying, the fishing's not bad either. Judy often enjoys catching whiting and black drum, as well as the occasional elusive sheepshead that unsuspectingly bites her bait while feeding near the pilings in the shade of the pier.

There have been plenty of record-size fish caught on the Folly pier, including a five-pound spotted sea trout and a 100-pound tarpon. But it's not the fishing that necessarily keeps those who love the pier coming back. It's the people, and the sounds of those waves endlessly crashing against the pilings.