Last November I almost captured a unicorn.

I didn’t realize at the time. I was winding down a perfect day in Charleston, heading back to my car around sunset. I was at a crosswalk waiting for the light to turn when a horse-drawn carriage full of tourists stopped at the corner. These tours are very popular downtown, running day and night year-round.

Right before the light went green, I hunched down slightly and snapped this photo:

It was golden hour on King Street and my natural reaction was to take a picture of the horse. Most people do.

It wasn’t until later when reviewing the day’s haul that I looked at the photo with a more imaginative, discerning eye. If I had crouched just a little lower, that church steeple in the background would have appeared to look like a horn on the horse’s head.

A Charleston unicorn.

For the next few months I played with the idea in my head and kept it in my back pocket for a couple visits the following March. I was getting antsy in Myrtle, I had discovered Southern Charm, and couldn’t shake the feeling that greatness was calling my name in Charleston. I made back-to-back Sunday trips as the flowers bloomed downtown and had great success sharpening my street photography skills.

When I got back from the second trip, Cam asked me if I got my ‘unicorn shot’.

Yep, I said assuredly.

But I was only taking the phrase figuratively; forgetting that I told him about the idea from November. I had meant a metaphorical unicorn, a once-in-a-lifetime type photo like this one of a heart-shaped cloud in Hampton Park. But he meant it literally: Did you line up a church and a horse and make magic like you said you were going to?

And the answer to that was no. Over the span of two full days I didn’t even get an attempt. I didn’t see a single horse with a church in the background.

I thought about all the things that would need to go my way; all the boxes that would need to be checked for it to actually look like a unicorn.

The steeple placement, the pose of the horse, the background scenery, the lighting, the weather. The horses don’t stop in one spot for long, and there are so many trees and buildings downtown that catching a steeple on the horizon is a real challenge; mostly done at or in intersections.

Maybe, I thought, I’m lucky to even get as close as I did. This could be nearly impossible.

A perfect unicorn horn, for those with eyes to see.

April came and went (work has been crazy) and before I knew it I was staring at a post on my phone that brought equal parts dread and excitement: it was Charleston Magazine announcing that there were 31 days to enter your submissions for their 2026 photo contest issue. I looked up at the calendar. It’s May already!? This was something I had on my radar since last year; I actually made it into the magazine in 2025 but had my qualms about it.

The photo selected was not my favorite (I kind of hate it to be honest) and I was out of the country when the magazine hosted a big party for the winners (publishee’s?) Between not being proud of the photo and missing the event, it hardly felt like a success. Making it to that party - no, kicking the figurative doors down - is what I really needed to do. Go five-for-five. Make a name for myself in this place I had fallen in love with. Make some connections. Get a job. The possibilities were endless.

But the contest snuck up on me. I thought it was held later in the summer and had planned on having a few more visits under my belt by submission time. I had collected some cool photos over the last few trips, but nothing that I considered magazine-worthy. I wanted to make a splash. And with a trip to the mountains planned for the end of the month, this meant I had just three Sundays.

Three Sundays to find my unicorn.

I slept good all week. I got into a good routine, same bedtime every night. I was taking this as seriously as my second try at college. [Editor’s note: And much more seriously than the first.]

I brainstormed, I plotted, I daydreamed. The last one was the most important.

“Wake up kid, you got the dreamer’s disease”

— New Radicals "You Get What You Give"

I woke up on Sunday and left my apartment before 7 AM. It was a smooth ride and everything was going according to plan until I arrived downtown. I took a right on King and my stomach sank. My secret free parking spot, the staple of my day-long visits here for the last six years, was gated off, just as I feared might one day happen. Damn it.

I didn’t do well without a plan. I circled, I start-stopped, I read parking signs out the window at a slow-roll. I couldn’t have looked any more like an out-of-towner, which I was in every sense. But I belong here, damn it.

I eventually found a spot, and as it turns out, it was in the projects. Fine by me. Beggars can’t be choosers. I parked and got the day started.

I’d never seen this part of Charleston before and it offered some new views. What it did not offer, was horse-drawn carriage rides. I was probably a good mile or two from hearing any hooves clicking. My camera shutter would have to make up for it in the meantime.

As I practically skipped down Nassua Street, something caught - no, commanded my attention. A colossal rumble from the sky. I flipped my camera on and pointed it to the heavens. I was a soccer goalie, making a split-second instinctual guess at which way to jump.

And I guessed right! That’s a BLUE ANGEL in the wild, leaving the area after being part of a show in town the day prior. Thousands of people took it’s photo that day. I’d be willing to bet I’m the only one who got one this morning - he wasn’t at ‘show speed’ but he wasn’t doing any Sunday driving either .

This was a good sign. I was ready for the day.

I passed St. John’s Chapel, which has this stunning tree in the courtyard. The sign says the church was established in 1839, which made me wonder: which is older - the church or the tree!?

Do you think there’s 187 rings in that trunk or no

The photo contest technically has a theme, or tagline: “So Charleston” ie: Do you have a photo that’s So Charleston?

How does one even know where to begin? It’s quaint, historic, and enchanting. It’s a world-renowned destination for top-notch food, beverage and hospitality. But it’s also a dirty college town, an enormous hospital campus, and home to a countless of breath-taking parks. museums, and churches. It’s got a world-class shopping district and… the projects I parked in earlier.

It’s a million years old, draped in powerlines, laughably flood-prone and full of eccentric locals and transplants that live life out loud.

So how do you even decide what it means to be So Charleston? To me, it could be something like this:

Or something like this:

Or this:

It’s as charming as Savannah, as expensive as San Diego, and it’s as haunted as is spiritually possible for a single place to be. So, again, I ask: how does one decide what “So Charleston” means!?

Well for me, it transcends into magical territory. I’ve written about it over and over. The parks, the trees, the alleyways. From the window boxes to the gravestones; life, death and everything in between is utterly spellbinding in Charleston, South Carolina.

It’s known as the Holy City; the churches are plentiful, stunning and as historic as any in the country. Their steeples, instead of skyscrapers, make up the skyline of the city.

The horse-drawn carriage tours, while controversial to some, cannot be argued against as a staple of the culture on the peninsula. It simply would not be the same without them.

So by combining the two of the most essential elements of Charleston - the church steeples and the carriage rides - I was trying to create something magical, to really show everyone what I thought of this place.

I’m going to capture a unicorn today.

Can you imagine leaving your job and you’re like ‘OK time to go home now’ and then you go here lmao.

But I still had another half a mile at least before I see anything with hooves. My new parking spot was a lot further from the action than in trip’s past. I walked faster in anticipation.

“Live what you imagine, ma”

— KID cudi "hit the streetz in my nikes"

Oh cool you live in a gently-haunted gingerbread house in a whimsical Southern neighborhood? No big deal, very common lifestyle, not jealous at all.

After a ton of steps and more sun than I had bargained for this early in the day, I finally made it to the shopping and dining district.

I knew that the carriage rides had a home base; a stable in the heart of downtown - I visited it once back in 2020 - so I thought I would start there; it wasn’t far from here. [Editor’s note: the ‘i' goes before ‘a’ in carriage!? Hm. I don’t like that or agree with it but won’t protest any further.]

Didn’t get nearly low enough, the canopy is also not ideal.

My first attempt of the day at a unicorn photo was right in front of the Old South Carriage stable doors. This horse was just getting done with a tour and there was one coming out of the stable behind me. Changing shifts. Which meant I was in the way of not just one, but two parties. This is not a sustainable spot or method. It was almost certainly be only a matter of time before someone, probably that guy in the shades, tells me to get lost.

This is the second attempt, 10-15 minutes later. I stood in the shade around the corner from the main entrance/exit to the stables, and listened as people gathered and waited their turn to board the carriages. They gabbed about brunch, church, vacations, staycations, you name it. I looked at my phone. It was still the ‘first-half’, but time was indeed ticking. Standing around listening to the Housewives of West Ashley review their cranberry-mimosa pancakes or whatever the f*** they’re talking about might be a bad strategy, regardless of location.

As soon as this black horse pulled in, I ran out into the entrance driveway again and tried once more. Close but no cigar. I liked the attempt, but I didn’t get low enough; the same problem as the original photo back in November. It would seem to get this shot, I would not just need the imagination of a child, I would need the stature of one too.

Eli the horse, coming dangerously close to being Eli the unicorn. But the angle - both of the photo and of the horn - are not great.

While waiting for another shot for what seemed like forever, a lady basically parallel-parked a horse right next to me on the corner. I introduced myself and told her what I was doing; showed her my efforts thus far. She seemed genuinely impressed by the idea and told me to give it a try with Eli here.

So, I had a horse standing in one spot, with a trainer to coax it, a church in the background and all the time that I could possibly ask for. And this is still the best that I got. While the second attempt in front of the stables encouraged me, shooting Eli almost did the opposite. To get the shot that I had in my head was going to be very, very hard.

Also, I really wanted one without all the leather on. They looked like Harley jackets.

I had been loitering around the stables for almost an hour when I got a clean shot at this guy. I liked the angle, but it just doesn’t jump out as a unicorn. It’s only recognizable as one if someone points it out. I want it to be obvious.

At this point, I had heard all the FAQs answered by the gentleman out front of the stables, acting as an ambassador for both the business and the horses, or their owners at least. And honestly I was fully swayed by the information (or propaganda) that he was doling out. Like I said before, the horses can be controversial - there are locals who protest their use in hot temperatures (which is much of the year in Charleston) or even at all.

But from what I heard and saw, they live a good life. They work four-hour shifts, were coddled by trainers and tourists alike from start to finish, and were taken home to John’s Island every night. And on top of that, they only work 100 days a year. Now, if you don’t believe these animals should work at all, then that’s your belief, but:

A.) People have been using horses for work and transportation since the year [checks Wikipedia] 3000 BC. There is a track record, and it starts with hieroglyphics.

B.) I would like a job where I only work 100 days a year and go home to John’s Island every night [median home price 966k].

Another notable from hanging around: I noticed there is a separate but symbiotic business dedicated entirely to cleaning up after the horses. The carriage operator keeps a handheld GPS that he uses any time the horse relieves itself in the street. Within a minute or two these guys show up in this Dr. Seuss looking vehicle to make everything disappear. It’s a pretty seamless system and an absolutely perfect job to quit in a fit of rage (‘I’m tired of this horseshit!’)

I was once again spirited by that last attempt, but decided it was time to move on. It was not my M.O. to stand around in Charleston and I felt that might be the best I could do with that location. It may have been the easiest spot to find a horse, but to really get what I wanted I was going to have to catch one out in the wild. So I packed my stuff up (Celsius, water, sunscreen, camera) and hit the streets again.

An extremely Charleston photo that could have also been taken in Savannah.

I’ve stated it before and will do so here again: I am an absolute sucker for tree cover. Tree-covered streets, alleys, sidewalks, whatever. The more the better.

American Gothic windows (s/o Grant Wood)

A Honda Pilot parallel-parking behind a Lamborghini with license plates that read “U FN WSH” (I do not.)

The only cloud in the sky, reflected off a bank window downtown.

I went back and looked at the last unicorn attempt a few times. It was growing on me. Had I done it? It looked pretty good.

I was talking myself into settling [Editor’s note: don’t do that.] But I was also convincing myself that I was heating up. Perceived success can build momentum, help garner a flow, even when there is no real merit to it.

So I heated up. Especially at Waterfront Park.

That lady has two palm trees on the back of her shirt : )

After two outfit matches in as many minutes at the pineapple fountain, I felt like was really cooking. That’s when I came across Lily.

Lily is a sculpture by Charleston artist Mary Whyte. Mary is an unbelievably talented painter and sculptor, who actually has an exhibit at the Gibbes Museum of Art as we speak. I didn’t originally plan to do anything with the statue other than admire it. It is someone else’s art, after all.

After a few minutes of admiration, however, I noticed the gulls flying to and fro in the background, against a Toy Story-wallpaper sky. I had to try something.

My first couple attempts shown above. I had to consider framing, lighting and composition while also waiting for a bird. I did not bring a tripod, of course, so I was stuck in the same position a catcher crouches in when they’re intentionally walking a batter. Please hurry up bird, take your base.

A few minutes (seven that felt like twenty, actually) I got my bird. Or Lily got hers. Whichever. I was ecstatic. There were two gentlemen smoking giant cigars on the bench directly behind me, watching the whole scene take place. I turned and looked at them like I might need one myself. ‘Close, but no cigar’ this was not. Gimme one of those things. This was a surefire entry.

[Editor’s note/update: It did end being an entry, and I titled it “Lily Goes For It feat art by Mary Whyte”. It’s like an R&B song that samples a rap hook but then features the rapper on the remix as well. You can’t just take a picture of someone’s art and turn it in and say “OK here’s my art”. You have to make it your own somehow. Remix it. Sample it. Feature them.]

There’s an African Grey Parrot on that porch that cat-calls and does other various whistles. I was flattered.

I was covering all kinds of ground, with a pep in my step. I wound up on Broad Street, home of my favorite church in town (that I know of so far) Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist.

I stopped in a few years back to escape the heat and have done the same ever since. It’s a moving experience even opening the front door (which is unlocked all day on Sundays, praise Jesus). It’s impossible not to feel something inside.

Probably should have turned this one in.

I sat and prayed. Things were really going my way today, so it was more of a thank you than a plea. God bless.

“My light is still on, so why would I pray now?”

— Big KRIT "Mixed Messages"

After thanking the universe for the day so far, I cut through the City Market and got a turkey-apple panini straight from God herself, I believe. That’s what it tasted like, at least (I had forgotten to eat up until this point, 4:30p-ish).

As I sat and watched the market shoppers, I noticed one intersection in particular got a lot of hoof action. Church and Market.

I circled the area a few times and set up on a corner in anticipation of this blonde-headed stallion walking past. I lined her up with the 330-year old church in the horizon and snapped away. It was a rousing attempt. Definitely more Charleston in the background, and the angle was pretty good, but not perfect. And again too much gear; he had more leather on than Billy Idol.

That’s when I saw this guy coming:

I thought quickly about the checklist:

Perfect location, beautiful white horse, minimal gear. No canopy, small carriage, blue skies. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

I ran into the middle of the intersection, which I miraculously had to myself, kneeled on one knee and starting firing off.

Here is the unedited sequence, straight from my camera, followed by the finished product:

AHHHHHHHHHHHH HAHAHAHAHAHA

OH MY GOD

He trotted right into focus, right into the light, right into Charleston Magazine, if it were up to me (it is not). [Editor’s note 6/23/26 - It did not, in fact make it into the magazine.]

After getting out of the way of the horse I just turned into a unicorn, I just stood on the corner in shock.

‘You got that good angle’ the man in the shades said with deep low-country drawl as he steered the horse past me.

Bro you have no idea.

I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Should I call someone? Text someone? I pulled out my phone and took my heart rate.

99 beats per minute. My heart was about to beat out of my chest.

I gathered myself and started back towards the stables, still in a stupor. Should I show them what just happened? Them being, in this case, anyone with eyeballs near the stables.

On the other side of the Market was a similar intersection, just a block up. I saw two more horses coming.

“BANG!!! ....BANG!!!!”

— MIKE BREEN

Another one. My camera might as well have been physically smoking. And I once again could have used one of those cigars from the park.

Not one, but TWO back-to-back “I’ve had this in my head just like this for six months and here it is in real life” photos. Time to go home man.

“Take me back home, yeah”

— billy idol "white wedding"

That’s when the sobering feeling sunk in. Realizing that I am nowhere - nowhere - near my car right now. It’s on the other side of the peninsula, in the housing projects, at 6pm. Better get moving.

Even when I’m trying to beeline it to the car I can’t just not stop for scenes like these.

Just like Ferris sprinting through the neighborhood backyards but still finding the time to introduce himself to a sunbather, I still managed to find time to stop for some photos in my hurried state.

Most days leaving on a Shrek-pajamas outfit-match is beyond good enough. But I was too hot to call it quits.

As I got off the Ravenel Bridge leaving Charleston, I saw a basketball court at a park under the Mount Pleasant exit, one I would normally blow past to head home, albeit with a pang of envy in my stomach; it looked incredible.

But this time I got off, and went to find that park.

HEAT CHECK.

I parked my car and this is the first picture I took. A pristine ‘lowcountry’ scene. If there were a bird anywhere in sight I might have another entry. So serene.

The Mighty Ravenel bridge seen at dusk through two fountains that are meant to mimic it.

I couldn’t believe how beautiful the park was. I needed to explore more - but was running out of time. The sun was going down, I was at 26,000 steps and my ETA home was pushing 10pm.

“Leave it all, on the floor”

— Nipsey Hussle "On The Floor"

This will sound hyperbolic, corny, over-the-top; but I’m going to say it anyways because I mean it: this type of shooting day justifies everything. It’s a license to be OK with all my decisions:

To leave home; to tell my friends and family that I’m meant for more in this world.

To re-brand myself with my real name, and in third-person nonetheless (tongue-in-cheek, of course, but still).

To even say: I’m a photographer.

In January of last year I wrote about the struggles of regretting leaving home, and weighing that against the burden of unfulfilled potential. I concluded, after pouring my guts out and examining them, that I still had a lot more to prove. To the world, to my hometown, to myself.

This is what I was talking about. A day like this is ‘proof’.

“ALLOW ME TO RE-INTRODUCE MYSELF”

— Jay-z "PSA"

The third-person has always been tongue-in-cheek, but the statement; the sentiment was not.

Ladies and gentleman, my name is STEW and I GET BUCKETS.

God Bless and thank you for reading.

Read about crossing the Ravenel bridge and trying to top myself the following weekend in part 2 of this three-part series HERE.

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HUNTING FOR UNICORNS