Whether you know it, or not, we have one of the South’s crown jewel rivers right here in our state. And no, I’m not talking about the Mississippi River. I haven’t spent nearly as much time along this river as I would like, but the times that I’ve been there I’m blown away by it. The differing species of fish and other wildlife immediately grab your attention. It’s one of the few places that I’ve ever been where I can shoot (with a bow) a red fish, a catfish, a black drum, and a longnose gar all in the same place while having an alligator, or shark, try to take your fish before you can get it to the boat. It has a unique scenery that will blow you away, especially at sunset. If you’ve never visited “The Singing River” I strongly suggest you add it to your list of places to go this summer.
The river’s given name is the Pascagoula River, and it is one of the most ecologically significant waterways in the South. Stretching roughly 80 miles from the confluence of the Leaf and Chickasawhay rivers to the Mississippi Sound, it forms the largest free-flowing river system in the contiguous United States. No dams interrupt its course. No reservoirs flatten its seasonal pulses. It rises and falls according to rain, tide and gravity — the way rivers once universally did.
Across the country, rivers have been engineered into submission: dammed for hydroelectric power, leveed for flood control, channelized for navigation. Those changes often come at a cost, altered fish migration and diminished wetlands. The Pascagoula River stands as a rare counterexample. Its natural flow remains largely intact, which allows it to perform the work rivers evolved to do.
The legend most often associated with the river traces back to the Pascagoula people, a small native group who lived along its banks. According to oral history, rather than surrender to an attacking tribe, they joined hands and walked into the river chanting, their song lingering in the water. The tale has endured for centuries. While historians debate its specifics, the story underscores something important: long before modern conservationists recognized the river’s value, Native communities understood its power and presence.
The Pascagoula River basin drains more than 9,000 square miles of southeastern Mississippi. Within that watershed lives an extraordinary array of species: over 300 species of fish, countless invertebrates, amphibians and reptiles, as well as migratory birds that rely on its marshes and bottomland hardwood forests. Biologists consider it one of the most biologically rich river systems in North America. Its marshes near Pascagoula serve as nurseries for Gulf seafood — shrimp, blue crab and fish that later populate coastal waters. Freshwater from upstream mixes with saltwater from the Mississippi Sound, creating an estuarine gradient. That blending of salinity levels supports species adapted to brackish conditions. The productivity of these waters is not accidental. It is the direct result of sediment transport, tidal exchange and seasonal flooding.
When heavy rains swell the Leaf and Chickasawhay rivers, the Pascagoula expands beyond its banks, spilling into bottomland forests. While flooding is often viewed as destructive, it periodically replenishes nutrients in the soil, sustains wetlands and maintains habitat diversity. Fish move into newly flooded areas to spawn. Birds follow the fish. When waters recede, they leave behind fertile ground that supports the next cycle of growth. A dam would quiet much of that rhythm. Without seasonal pulses, sediment would settle differently. Wetlands could shrink. Species that depend on fluctuating water levels would struggle. The fact that the Pascagoula still floods naturally is not an oversight; it is a gift.
There is also the matter of storm protection. South Mississippi sits squarely in hurricane country. Coastal marshes connected to the river act as buffers, absorbing storm surge and reducing wave energy before it reaches developed areas. Each acre of healthy wetland can store vast quantities of floodwater. The river’s watershed also filters pollutants. Forested areas along its banks trap sediment and absorb excess nutrients before they reach open water. This natural filtration improves water quality and protects fisheries downstream. In regions where rivers have been heavily industrialized, such ecosystems are often lost or diminished.
All of that is not to say the Pascagoula is untouched. Industry has long been part of the local story. Shipbuilding, energy infrastructure and port operations contribute to the economy along the lower river. Balancing economic development with ecological preservation has required deliberate effort from state agencies, nonprofit organizations and local communities. Land conservation initiatives have protected significant tracts within the watershed, ensuring that large sections remain forested and undeveloped.
Even the “singing” itself has explanation rooted in physics. Water moving over sandbars and submerged logs creates vibrations. Tidal currents interacting with irregular banks produce subtle sounds. Wind through reeds and cypress knees layers additional texture. What earlier generations interpreted as spiritual echo can also be understood as natural acoustics, a reminder that science and storytelling don’t have to be against one another.
The Pascagoula River has flowed for hundreds of years, adapting to shifting coastlines. Its resilience lies in its freedom, its ability to bend, flood and recharge without artificial constraint. In a world defined by engineered landscapes, that freedom has become increasingly rare. To call it the Singing River is to acknowledge more than myth. It is to recognize the layered sounds of ecology in motion: sediment sliding, tides turning, marsh grass rustling, species interacting in a system that still functions largely as designed by nature. The song is not mystical. And in listening carefully, we learn not only why the river sings, but why it must be allowed to keep singing.
