CHAPTER TWELVE: SLOW MOTION DISCOVERS TWO WAY FISH CAMP

CHAPTER TWELVE: SLOW MOTION DISCOVERS TWO WAY FISH CAMP

On Sunday we had a non-cruising day. I got a hold of a courtesy bike from the marina manager and tooled around Jekyll Island. Next time we upload photos, you’ll see some of the 16 to 20 room “cottages” of the rich families (Astors, Rockefellers, et al) that enjoyed this island all by themselves for a while. And their silver spooned progeny still spend vacations at these “cottages” – one of them had bathing suits hanging over a third floor balcony. I spent a fair amount of time riding around in this historic area, because the trees are very large and the shade they gave me was welcome relief from a relentless sun and a temp approaching one hundred. Also, there was a store that served blue raspberry slushes, and I had a few of those to keep my body temp down. I intended to enter the Georgia Sea Turtle Museum, but chose the slushes over the Museum entrance fee. Part of the Museum contains a hospital for sick sea turtles. My latest source of local information, the blue raspberry slush purveyor, told me this is a banner year for the sea turtles. They have already counted 100 sea turtle nests, and the nesting period extends into August. That’s Beach Music to Conroy’s mother figure, the great protector of sea turtle eggs. Thanks for that book, Cath.

I finally left the historic area and headed out on the 20 miles of bike paths around Jekyll Island. There are two main paths, one through thick vegetation past ponds that warn of the presence of alligators and one along the sandy dunes. I started on the thick vegetation path, but didn’t like the idea of being alone and so close to those fast moving carnivores. So I switched to the dune path – hotsky totsky! The dunes are beautiful. I kept imagining September-October weather and I pedaled faster to get a better breeze. This was Sunday and I expected the beaches to be full; there were groups of people dotted along the beach where I rode, but nothing like the Jersey Shore, with bodies nearly on top of each other. There was still plenty of empty space. I took a few photos – hope I did justice to the natural beauty of the place. After biking around for about 3 hours, I returned to the marina and found that Art had spent most of that time with the engines, crawling around in the very tiny space between them. It looked like we needed oil in both engines, so we got a couple of quarts and lifted up the floor in the salon, and (photo please) Art climbed down to “fill ‘er up”. Nothing comes between a man and his boat engines, nothing – not even a day at the beach. Slow Motion comes first.

The night before, Saturday night, Art and I had gone to Sea Jay’s, the restaurant at the Marina. “Funky” in the dictionary – put a picture of this restaurant beside it. All locals, it seemed, out with their kids, who were amazingly well behaved (not like the kids at Adventure Yacht Harbor, who kept chasing the panhandling egret and throwing their bread in the water). Art loves seafood, so this restaurant was perfect for him. His plate of oysters and shrimp was overflowing. Okay – now for the boring one: Yes, I ordered a hamburger. Aside from not enjoying fried seafood very much, the red meat provides the protein I need to keep those red blood cells growing. And I like to compare hamburgers – does that sound a little bit defensive? Well, it’s actually a lot defensive. Here we are where men and women make their living fishing for shrimp and other delicacies from the waterways. Here is where the shrimp and oysters and crab are at their best. Okay, okay, next time….

I’m jumping around, but the next thing of interest, after our divergent Sunday morning experiences, is the noise that started under our bed (“berth”, not “bed” … editor) about 7 p.m. both nights we were at Jekyll Island. Sunday afternoon is a blur of heat, sleep, more heat, more sleep, but we roused ourselves to plot out the navigation we were doing on Monday. Then we went to bed. And what did we hear? It was an eerie repetitive sound of something crunching against the hull right beneath us. Art checked around with the neighbor boaters, and they told him that they hear the same sound at night. Are you ready for this? A fish called the sheepshead gnaws “food” off boat hulls. After learning this, of course, we had several unanswered questions. Just what kind of food is “growing” on the hull? And as the sheepshead keeps gnawing, are they chewing into the fiberglass, doing damage to the hull? We’re not going back to Jekyll Island Harbor Marina until we get the answers. The sheepshead has a hard mouth with several rows of stubby teeth, according to a recent Wikipedia leak. How comforting – at least the teeth are not pointed and sharp, like the ones on the barracuda caught by the guys in a boat called “Fat Boy”. But then again, are the teeth stubby because the sheepshead wear them down gnawing on boat hulls? These questions were of no import just a few days ago; now the sheepshead fish keep us awake at night, gnawing at our subconscious – and our boat!

Okay, after finally falling asleep to the sheepshead orchestra, we awoke to borrow the marina manager’s Pontiac van, sans rear view mirror and windshield wiper fluid, to drive to Brunswick bright and early for my weekly blood draw. The day before Art had somehow finagled the loan of the van, rather than being driven to our lab by marina staff. This meant we could also get supplies on the way to or from the lab. Boy, the folks at this particular Labcorp could not have been nicer or more efficient. Kudos to Brunswick. I never know, going into a new lab, 1) whether my standing order will be honored; 2) whether I have to arrange for more paperwork from my doctor in Salinas; and/or 3) how long the wait will be. But today, we were in and out in less than half an hour, a new record. So we had plenty of time to go to the Winn Dixie and stock up before returning the Pontiac to the marina. Art was driving on land for the first time in weeks, and he kept looking for the depth chart on the dash. Once he realized that we would not “go aground” any more than any of the other vehicles on the roadway, he stopped worrying about our “depth” and “docked” the van easily next to the marina office. No lines to tie – what a concept!

We were able to leave the Jekyll Harbor Marina at 9:45 a.m. There were two guys helping us with our lines, and they kept telling us what great guests we had been and to come back any time – they clearly know about their sheepshead problem. And they were great guys besides. With courtesy bicycles, the loan of a van, help at the dock with the lines – oh yes, and Orange Crush in their store fridge and “Fat Boy” ice cream sandwiches in their freezer – who could ask for anything more?

The ICW posed a lot of interesting challenges today. So did our Garmin electronic chart. For much of the trip from Jekyll Harbor to Two Fish Camp we had no “magenta line”. A ship pilot on the ICW without the magenta line is like, well, a fish without water. We also had no other boats to follow. So we were winging it across one of the sounds, which had no markers. We came to one shallow area with a depth of 5 feet (believe me, with Slow Motion, you want at least 9), and then we quickly went to another part of the sound where the depth was more than 30 feet. We know we have a very tough day tomorrow with the Little Mud River, the hardest place to navigate in the ICW, but we did not expect a real test of our navigating abilities two days in a row. Once we made it to the mouth of the South Altamaha River, we had to cross some water that was 5 feet in depth, but when we got into the river channel, we had wonderfully deep water all the way to, get this, Two Way Fish Camp. Yep, that’s the name of our marina tonight. It will be appearing soon on “Swamp People”. The folks here are so friendly and helpful. The marina manager, Cricket, gave us a discount without telling his boss. He is the first man named Cricket I have ever met. He has a black Lab who follows him everywhere, who was standing by, panting, as Cricket helped us dock. Hats off to Art, for making a 180 turn look effortless and coming into this dock stern first with ease. Thanks to Cricket for his help with the lines and the fenders.

Some places just aren’t “resorts”, as we now construe that word. Two Way Fish Camp is definitely a fish camp, not a resort. There is no pool (Jekyll had one). There are no courtesy vehicles of any kind. There is no lock on the women’s restroom. I shared the shower with a cross between a crab and a cockroach; Art immediately identified it as a crabroach. But there is a warm (actually very hot) atmosphere, and there is a great dockside restaurant, Mudcat Charley’s, which is known hither and yon for its seafood and its, you guessed it, hamburgers. So you already know by now that Art had oysters and I had a hamburger (very good indeed). I also had shrimp, a bow to the local fishery. And the chef was trying to get the 4 foot alligator that was tooling around on the mud flat below us, so he could serve something special tomorrow. With Cricket’s discount, we felt we could afford this very affordable restaurant. It has no pretenses, just its fresh seafood, and freshly ground (every day) beef – didn’t even get to the peach pie. But, oh my, I had my first hush puppy, and I’m in love. Fried corn bread – delicious! These must be served for breakfast; don’t save them for dinner as a side dish. Listen to the words – hush puppy – thank you, Two Way Fish Camp, Georgia, for this surprise present wrapped in deep fat.

One closing note: Two Way Fish Camp is located in a place where you can actually go fresh water fishing and saltwater fishing, almost at the same time. But our Florida fishing licenses don’t extend this far. We do intend to fish during this adventure, and Art particularly has bemoaned the fact that we have not yet thrown out a fishing line. In due time, in due time. The task at hand is to wake up at 6 a.m. and get an early start for the Little Mud River, arriving at high tide so that our water depth is 9 feet, if we’re lucky. And so to bed.