I’m not sure how common swinging bridges are elsewhere in the U.S., but I remember seeing quite a few of them as a kid growing up in West Virginia. Over time, however, their use seems to have dwindled, and nowadays you’re about as likely to run across a sasquatch.
Swinging bridges were so much fun to cross. The “deck” seemed to always be made of semi-rotten planks, with about half of those missing. And as you walked across you’d experience a vertigo-inducing rocking, swaying, sagging motion that seemed destined to sink the whole contraption into the watery depths. With each safe passage you’d swear a miracle had occurred, but looking back now I realize that I miss them.
The swinging bridge in the image below spans the Greenbrier River a couple miles downstream from Durbin, West Virginia. I wanted to relive some childhood memories and make a crossing, but unfortunately the bridge was private and posted aggressively as such.