Jekyll Island

Just a hop from Brunswick is Jekyll Island, developed as the winter home of the Newport Rhode Island millionaires in the late 18oos. The Rockefellers, Morgans, Vanderbilts, Pulitzers, Astors, they were all here for the season. The state of Georgia bought the island after world war II and now we can all visit. The millionaires' descendents found the place a little boring and the government evacuated them all during WWII fearing U boat attacks, so it only took $675,00 to make the purchase. This is another island made for bike exploration. We rode both days and left only the southern end unexplored. The millionaire's club house is now a hotel. We were told to go to the bakery there for half priced pastries after four. It was nice to sit on the porch enjoying them while viewing the pristine grounds and the croquet game. We didn't see the interiors but the museum pictures were impressive and the little chapel had a Tiffany window. They came by private railway cars and personal yachts and brought their chefs and staff. Too bad they had to wear their heavy victorian garb, even on the beach. Many of the men seemed to die soon after building their dream homes.

Brunswick, GA

Fourteen docks of slips welcome boaters to Brunswick with heated bathrooms and beautiful laundry facilities. Our boater friends on Rum Tum Tiger have dropped anchor here and restored a house in the downtown area. We walked over for a visit and they took us to the Opry. We didn't know most of the songs and couldn't sing along like most of the audience, but enjoyed the production. At least ten musicians were on the stage at all times with others rotating on and off. Most were seniors with only one young boy who had just celebrated his ninth birthday left to carry on the tradition. Everyone got their turn as featured artist; the little guy could barely climb onto his stool and reach his arms around his new Martin guitar, but he could play and sing with the best of them. If SNL had done a spoof on the whole thing, it would have included one very old long haired lady in housedress and slippers being helped onto the stage. Unfortunately they wanted newcomers to introduce themselves and we New Yorkers became commentary for the rest of the evening. Does all Opry features very bad jokes? Before the Opry we ate at a crossroads barbecue joint with a campfire in the middle of the outdoor tables and a duo that would have been appreciated in the best of city hotels. Brunswick was also a mystery, mansions and bungaloes alternating. It has many large squares and was designed by the same Oglethorpe who planned the squares of Savannah. These were not as well kept and Lee kept pining for a park bench. Our landed friend gave us a ride to the grocery the next morning and we provisioned for Thanksgiving at St Mary's, if not for the rest of our voyage.

St Simons Island

We had visions of visiting several of the barrier islands off the coast of Georgia. St Catherines is off limits to tourists and serves as a home for endangered species. One guidebook described an anchorage where we might view zebras. But it was off the beaten path and shallow, so we passed it by. We were more hopeful about Sapelo Island with a lighthouse and a nature preserve. But again we found it to be approachable only by a ferry and not private dingy. Little St Simons is privately owned. Fort Frederica's dingy dock we heard was damaged. So on we went to St Simons anchorage. We found a marina that would let us leave the dingy all day with access to a bike path. We were able to spend most of the day touring by bike: beaches, piers, a lighthouse, a museum, lunch, ice cream, a farmer's stand, a stained glass shop, a long-lost cousin. The cousin part was a surprise. Lee remembered his aunt and uncle had retired here years ago. He called his mom who called his cousin who called us and said he was around the corner and would walk over. We sat on the bench in front of "Pain in the Glass" and waited. Half hour later when we had just enough time to bike back before dark we gave up, after several phone calls. Evidently he didn't see us and we didn't see him. That was remedied the next morning when we docked at Brunswick, he came to the boat for a 30 year reunion.

St Simons Island

Savannah, GA

When we pulled anchor at Daufuskie around three in the afternoon, we had the choice of heading up the next river to Savannah or following the ICW. The current and distance to Savannah made the decision. The tide was with us and we had plenty of time to get tied up at the free city dock center stage Savannah. Center stage is what it felt like with huge crowds of Sunday afternoon tourists watching our scruffy selves fling fenders and lines to squeeze into the last few feet of empty free dock. We were so busy answering questions and even giving a boat tour that we almost forgot WE are also tourists. We shaped up and departed for a quick tour of the squares of Savannah. It might be even more beautiful after dark with the lighted fountains and streets that reminded me of Brooklyn, except for the live oaks and Spanish moss and a million other things. We headed out early the next morning for a daylight town tour. The other cruisers warned of a cruise ship that needed the dock later in the day, so we left a note on the boat to call us if we needed to vacate in a hurry. We later got word that the ship wasn't due until six, so we had time for the visitor center movie and museum and the artist market. Savannah is a major port and we popped our heads out the hatch a few times during the night to see what was passing by. The large yacht on the top of one cargo ship was the most interesting sight.

Daufuskie Island

We couldn't find much information about Daufuskie Island from our guide books; the marina name and number was wrong. We had heard there wasn't a bridge, just a ferry from the neighboring Hilton Head Island. Conroy's book from 1972 talked of its isolation, Gullah population, large alligators, and enormous rattle snakes. We had to see this. We anchored across from what we thought was the ferry dock and dingied in. The dock led to the dirt road and on to the paved road. We planned to explore a little before going to the trouble of bringing the bikes ashore. The distances were greater than we had thought and once we got a map at the small museum, we decided to come back in the morning with bikes. Map in hand, we biked to every corner of the island, ending at the beach. Who should we meet but a woman from my home town of Owensboro, KY. We walked and talked, learning much about the island. There are several gated communities which only allow golf carts, explaining the lack of cars; hers is now in bankruptcy. Property taxes are based on the 2007 assessments and you can't give the lots away. One man tried giving away a $90,000 piece of land to avoid the taxes and had no takers. Services like ferries and maintenance are disappearing. We rode through the equestrian center and saw no horses or people. One golf course is abandoned. What we did see was a beautiful island with paved roads, pine forests, a long deserted ocean beach, nothing commercial. It was a perfecting day of biking and beach combing, and no, we didn't see any alligators or rattle snakes. We also didn't see any natives, but were told there were 20 Gullahs left. We did see John Mellencamp's home a got a picture of it. We did hear that Pat Conroy never comes back.

Beaufort Scenes, the waterfront, lunch at Sgt Whites, a tea party (not our brand)

Onward to Beaufort

We didn't have to vacate our dock at the marina until noon, so Jessica had time to go home and pack for the voyage to Beaufort and we had time for one more bike ride. We viewed Charleston's other river, the Cooper, from the pavilion where we once enjoyed Thanksgiving. That year we hadn't planned ahead and had to feast at a picnic table on turkey subs with Crispy Cream donuts for dessert. It was actually alright. This year's feast for boaters at St Mary's sounds like more fun.

Beaufort (that's Bewfort, SC) was home for four nights, since we wanted to be securely anchored for the passage of Hurricane Ida. It was mostly a non-event with winds of around 25 knots. It would have been dreary with two days of rain, except we discovered old boater friends anchored nearby who happened to have a car. We hadn't been in a car in a month and made the most of it. First we delivered Jessica to the bus station, then made all the provisioning and shopping and eating stops. Our friends had to locate a marina to store their boat for the month of December, so we got to tour the gated island of Dataw. The next day we piled even more people into the car and cruised (in the land sense of the word) around again. We walked and biked every minute it didn't rain and got our fill of the historical neighborhood. Pat Conroy is legendary here, just missed a book signing by a few days at the local store. I bought his book "The Water is Wide" about his year as a teacher on Dafuskie Island, our next stop down the way. He didn't bother signing the cheap paperback copies.

Charleston Continued

It was my turn to do a little boat work and being at a marina with running water is the only time the boat is ever going to get scrubbed. It now has one clean side, must make pictures only of that side. It's still a waste of good touristing time and should be limited. Our son's friend Jessica, who lives in Charleston joined us for a few days and gave us an insider's tour Sunday afternoon. We saw the city from the top of the Market Pavilion Hotel; the rooftop pool and restaurant with mushroom heaters was an upscale change from our usual haunts. We headed around the corner for dinner at Hyman's Seafood' one of the oldest restaurants in Charleston. They lure tourists in with sample hush puppies on the street. There's a lot of tourist luring in Charleston, Jessica says they call it body snatching.

Charleston touring

The hiking and biking and dining in Charleston has already become a blur. Dining on ribs at Sticky Fingers is one clear memory. Getting back to the boat too tired to do up the town on a Saturday night is another. At least going to bed at eight lets us get an early start. A boater friend and I met at 7:30 to walk every cobblestone and brick street in Charleston. Sunday morning walks in a new city are the best. We handed newspapers through cast iron gates to the landed gentry, met puppies and their owners, found alley walkways, got desparate for coffee and treats before we finally got back to the marina restaurant. We left husbands on board to do boat work, they seemed happy not to be trudging around with us. Lee got the stove installed with only a few setbacks, like to gas line coming in on the opposite side. He was very motivated to get the on-board bakery up and running.

Charleston's waterfront

We arrived in Charleston in time to anchor out and then move to the City Marina the next morning. Since checkout time is noon, we paid for two nights at the marina and had 2 1/2 days to explore Charleston. We took advantage of their van to get to the West Marine Store to pick up our new stove, a clever machine that puts all the blame on me for any future burned baked goods. We used the extra time to provision at the Harris Teeter, Charleston's version of our beloved hometown Wegmans. We ignored the laundry, launching our folding bikes for a thorough exploration of Charlestown historic neighborhood south of Broad.

Rounding the Battery in Charleston

Miss Nell and her crew

Front Street Georgetown SC

Unnecessary sign

Georgetown's anchorage, the good, the bad, and the ugly

Lockwood's Folly fishermen

Live here in Wilmington? Maybe

One of Wilmington's driftwood statues & Lee

Through the Carolinas: Oriental to Charleston

Only a week has gone by since we left Oriental, but I had to pull out the log to untangle the line of days and ports. Only our growing collection of boat cards helps sort out the boats and their owners. Two boat families stand out. We loved a visit from two year old Michael and three month old Alex's family. Alex was born on board and Michael's permanent wardrobe is a lifejacket. He immediately got to work adjusting all our switches, testing all our nuts and bolts, and inserting anything to be found into all available openings. Alex just smiled. Great boat kids with good parents, but an hour was enough. Then we met two women on a new boat headed for Trinidad. They had all the equipment and all the training, so why not. One said she was a retired nun, which is so incongruent I'm still questioning my hearing. They had lots of questions and Lee's main advice was to slow down and do it in two years.

A 20 mile run from Oriental to Beaufort (that's Bo-fort, NC, not Bew-fort, SC) left us plenty of time to anchor in the creek in front of the historic waterfront area and do a walk and museum visit. A short film on the wild horses tempted us to venture over to the Rachel Carson preserve to see them up close, but we never found any sign of a trail. After the poisonous snake exhibit at the museum, there was no way I was trudging through the marsh. We did see one horse from the boat. We had no more success finding a burger for dinner and just about gave up before we found a pool hall with a few tables. The entire length of the waterfront displayed only elegant menus with equally intimidating prices. The anchorage was full of boats, since this is a jumping off spot for boats headed for the Caribbean. Maybe they were willing to splurge for a last meal.

We went south only a few miles to Morehead City, where the Sanitary Restaurant lets boaters tie up for a meal. We bought the meal to share, but what we really wanted was access to the highway so Lee could ride his bike to pick up his new anchor. He thought about wearing a "need ride" sign to get back, but ended up hiring a taxi. I do love the new anchor, even though it is too big and has made a "insignificant" hole in the boat.

Halloween night we anchored at Swansboro and went for a walk thinking we would see lots of Trick-or-Treaters; we saw one. Swansboro may have historic old houses, but it doesn't seem to have any people, must be the wrong time of day or year.

We sailed right through the Camp Lejeune area,where a green light assured us they weren't having target practice across our heads that day. We skipped a favorite overnight at Carolina Beach State Park after hearing the docks were under repair and stayed instead at an anchorage just before the cut over to Cape Fear River. For the first time in all our ICW trips the tide was right to head up the river to Wilmington. The current can run up to six knots which is intimidating for a boat which goes seven knots. Wilmington must have more bars per foot downtown than the average, each with only a few patrons. It is the county seat with a community college downtown, so at least there were people out and about. It was a contender in the "I could live here" contest with a "if I had to" clause. I had my heart set on seeing a movie at the restored downtown theater. We got there an hour early and found only one ticket left.

But the lady at the box office had a cancellation and generously gave us that ticket. We watched what turned out to be a private showing of "The Horse Boy", a documentary made by an autisic boy's father about his journey to the ends of the earth (Mongolia) searching for a cure . A local foundation was kicking off a fundraiser for a spring conference and many of the caregivers for autistic children were there. One mom gave a moving introduction to the movie. So we felt less transient and part of a community for a little while. It's hard to get a feel for a community with only 24 hours to do it. I've always like the idea of staying a month in each place, maybe someday.

We worked with the tide again to get back down the river and onto the ICW the next morning. There seems to have been a higher than usual tide the past few weeks and we had no trouble getting through Lockwood Folly area. The name comes from a boat builder whose folly was building a boat too big to ever get out the inlet. The continuing folly is the number of small boats anchored in the middle of the channel fishing obliviously. We managed to skirt around their lines and not disturb their concentration.

It's a nice balance alternating the small town anchorages with the isolated river ones. The chart now shows winding rivers (Lee hates the ones that go northwest away from the Bahamas) connected with short cuts, only marshes and trees with hanging moss and lots of boats headed south. We anchored with a few other boats just at dusk at Calabash River, again deliriously happy when the anchor grabbed the first time. We got to sit on the deck sipping a glass of wine watching another boat reanchor countless times. They were gone when we woke up, but we heard later they drug at 2 am and woke up in two feet of water. They moved to the next marina at that point. You probably have to be a boater to fully understand the peace of mind a good anchor can give you. When Lee gets back after months on the boat, he continues to sit up in bed, look out at the trees and question why they're so close.

Our next stop, Georgetown, was a "can live here with no clauses" kind of town. We even met a newcomer from Massachussetts who said they chose it over many other towns they considered. We anchored, did our walk-about, stopped at the shrimpboat dock to buy dinner and feasted on fresh shrimp and scallops. Of course we had to go for breakfast where the locals eat at Thomas Diner. We called Miss Nell, a retired school secretary, whose walking tours we always take, and arranged a morning tour. We even talked other boaters on the sidewalk into coming along. She is involved with the preservation district which dictates absolutely everything but color (and they're working on that) and a bargain at $7 a tour. She even hugged us good-by and apologized for keeping us too long. This year's tour included the grounds of a landscape architect's house, the asking prices of houses on the market, and a little local gossip. We went back to Thomas's to share the advertised turkey dinner, not too shy anymore about asking for an extra plate. It's usually just too much food not to share. A walk on the docks caught us up with boaters we'd been playing leapfrog with the past few days. We got to hear about Avocet's anchoring problems, see Freedom's polished beauty up close, and make new friends to invite for Dominoes. I knocked on the door of Mrs June Ross, (Miss Nell told me to), and got invited in for a visit and a viewing of her famous applique quilts. We walked to the Piggley Wiggley grocery (too far to walk, as we always hear when we ask directions) and got back after dark. This day sums up what is best about this boating life: when you wake up in the morning you have no idea what's in store, and it's mostly good.