CHAPTER FOURTEEN:GOING THROUGH HELL, ARRIVING AT HOPE

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: GOING THROUGH HELL, ARRIVING AT HOPE

Two Way Fish Camp will not be forgotten. Cricket was the friendliest, most helpful dock hand, and he will long be remembered for the “Cricket Discount.” The night before we left, Art was talking to some folks on the dock, who described cleaning their fish at the end of their boat and attracting gators from miles around. No swimming at Two Way Fish Camp or anywhere near it. Those gator eyes can be seen in the waters watching you cruise by, hoping that you dangle something – a fish, a toe – in the water for them to snatch up. I swear I heard the sound of a watch ticking under Slow Motion the night we were at Two Way Fish Camp. (That’s for all you folks who “won’t grow up”. You know who you are, Cathy.)

I saw dawn at TWFC and took a lot of photos. Unfortunately, what I saw did not come out in the photos. The sun was a solid bright red ball coming up between some trees. It wasn’t a sunset red ball. It was tighter, not diffuse at all. I might try getting up at dawn again just to see that phenomenon again. We got up early and left at 6:50 a.m. as part of our plan to defy the odds at a stretch of the ICW that was billed as the most dangerous, most likely to ground your boat, shallowest part of the entire ICW: Little Mud River. We had read a lot of horror stories by captains with years of experience, who lost the battle with the shoals at Little Mud River. One recent “professional” boat captain wrote about the perils of trying to get through depths of 3 feet or less. We were told our only chance of survival unscathed was to go through Little Mud River at high tide. And high tide was at 8:30 a.m. the day we planned to run this gauntlet. We calculated that it would take us 1 and ½ hours to get to Little Mud River from TWFC, so we planned our departure time accordingly.

Oh the anticipation! Oh the nail biting! What if high tide was not high enough to get through? What were we going to do if we were grounded? So there we were at 8:30 a.m. at Little Mud River entering the renowned shallow area, expecting the worst. And our depth gauge never went shallower than 9 feet. Mostly we cruised right on through at depths of 12 feet or more. “Hah!” said the Admiral, “that ‘professional’ boat captain doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” The Admiral was very proud to have maneuvered so easily through the most perilous stretch of water on the ICW. We high-fived our success, as the Admiral muttered about Little Mud River being overhyped. I was ecstatic that we had come through undamaged. I cheered the Admiral’s great planning and made a note only to go through Little Mud River at high tide.

With this navigational victory still fresh, the Admiral posed a daring change of plans. That’s our way of life: “There’s been a change of plans”. No matter how many hours we spend concocting a plan of travel for the next day – a very rational plan of travel for very sound reasons – something happens. For example, we do more miles in much less time than we expected, thanks to the winds and the currents that day. And our planned destination is now reachable at mid-day. Well, why get off the ICW at mid-day, when you can keep going until 4 or 5 in the afternoon? Or we decide to try to outrun a storm and get to a safer haven than the one we had planned on. Or, let’s see if we can do 70 miles in a day – we’ve never done that before. One thing has become clear in these daily plan changes – the Admiral is a lot more flexible than I am. “There’s been a change of plans” may never be music to my ears, but at the very least, over time, I think I’ll become more receptive to change.

So instead of going to the Sunbury Crab Company Marina after surviving Little Mud River, we forged ahead to Isle of Hope Marina, 10 miles away from Savannah, Georgia. We had not reviewed our charts for the ICW between Sunbury Crab Company and Isle of Hope, so I started studying the area to find out if we had any problem areas. It was then that I found out that we were heading straight to Hell…Gate – That’s Hell Gate. (Nope, not Hell’s Gate, Hell Gate). Whenever there is a potentially dangerous part of the ICW coming up, our guidebook writes about the area in highlighted yellow, indicating that this is an area that requires our full attention – or perhaps an alternate route. In this case, about 15 minutes before we descended into Hell, I read about Hell Gate and I quickly shared the dire predictions of shallow shoals and unsafe depths with the Admiral. He received the news at first with equanimity – after all, Little Mud River had received the same bad press.

But then as we approached Hell Gate, we saw lots of land, and more land – muddy land with a buoy up on the land. The buoy was supposed to be one of our markers IN THE WATER! We looked at the posts for the day signs, and the water was down about four feet from the high water mark. The Admiral asked about the tidal change. I reported that the tidal change was supposed to be 8 feet. So we did the math and thought that maybe there was still 4 feet of water left in this small man-made channel for us to get through without bottoming out. A small speedboat came out of nowhere and whizzed right through Hell Gate -- was that the Siren luring us to a tragic end? Well, the alternative was also highlighted in yellow – going out into the ocean and fighting dangerous currents to get out there and then to return to the ICW. So we were at the Gate of Hell, and the Admiral pressed forward. The depth meter went to 6, 5, 4 – okay, what we expected. The Admiral told me to go to the stern to see if our props were churning up the mud from the bottom – mud in engines, fuggedaboudit! I went to the stern and breathed a sigh of relief – green water, only green water. I reported back to the Admiral – “no brown, it’s still green!” He reported “We’re at 1.9, 1.5 feet!” I looked again and shouted “Still green!” And that’s how we got through Hell Gate. Another high five – this is the most difficult part of the ICW, not the Little Mud River.

You would think that we could have rested on our laurels for a few miles, after miraculously getting through Hell Gate without hitting bottom. But no! The rest of the path of the ICW to Isle of Hope is twisty/turny and requires constant attention to avoid shallow shoals on the inside of every twist and turn. I remember taking time to photograph a bird nest with birds in it, which was sitting atop one of the day markers. I saw two bridges, one right next to the other – the old one with 21 foot vertical clearance and the new one with 65 foot clearance. I ran down from the flying bridge to take my bridge photos (“No more bridge photos” boomed the Admiral.) And then we were at Isle of Hope at about 4 p.m. We got some great help docking – it’s getting easier for me, no lines thrown in the water, the fenders down before we docked. Still have to master the clove hitch and the bowline knot.

Isle of Hope Marina is very friendly. They have two courtesy cars they lend for 2 hour periods, both with rear view mirrors (upgrade from Jekyll Island). There is something about islands that attracts the most interesting (read bohemian) people. And island marinas become home to them. Then there are the folks that go by the marina in their boats on the river – one of them made Art’s day yesterday. We had gone to Savannah to explore the historic district and upon returning, we stopped at our first Piggly Wiggly to get supplies. Art was carrying the groceries down to Slow Motion. And a boat full of people was passing by slowly – a woman in her sweet southern drawl said: “Would you look at that! Now that’s my kind of man! He went to the grocery store!” She was gone in an instant, but she left a long, happy grin on the Admiral’s face, which he gets back every time he thinks about her admiring exclamation.

Before “The Compliment”, we had toured a small part of Historic Savannah – Reynolds Square, Wright Square, Johnson Square, Oglethorpe Square, Factor’s Walk. Savannah on the 4^th of July in the morning between 9 and 10:30 was dead. This was great for us. There were a few horse and surrey tourist gigs. There was a Tom Wolfe/Tru Capote wannabe (white suit, broad white hat) holding forth to a group of turistas in one of the squares. But other than that, a few downtrodden derelicts and us. And the oh-so-welcome shade of the tall, old trees filling the squares and the streets around them. We saw two bachelors, both in the latest jogging shorts and shoes, bare chested. And I was reminded, of course, of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. I did not sit on the Forrest Gump bench – maybe next time. The Lucas Theater has been restored, mostly with support from Savannah citizens, but also with help from the cast and crew of Forrest Gump and Kevin Spacey and Clint Eastwood. The riverfront is in great shape. That’s where there was going to be a 4^th celebration later in the day. We saw the two sailboats that had been next to us in St. Augustine. This time they were docked on the Savannah River in front of the Hyatt. Same deal I guess, the owner sailors stay in the hotel and their crew of one young man and one young woman stay with the boats. So these folks pay $3 per foot per night for their boats and on top of that, a Hyatt room fee. Now that’s expensive. And they still have problems getting their boats out of their slips, so money doesn’t buy boating knowledge.

Piggly Wiggly is no Publix. Crowded aisles, small selections, high prices, and meager discounts. I am the proud new owner of a Piggly Wiggly discount card, but my savings yesterday were de minimis. However, the clerk was awful friendly. And when my blueberries exploded out of the grocery cart all over the PW floor, a young gent was there immediately, picking up each berry individually and putting it back in the container. He didn’t make me buy that container, but someone is eating blueberries that have touched the soles of many PW customers.

Last evening we dined on Slow Motion – Nathan’s hot dogs, red skinned potato salad, and fresh yellow and white sweet corn. No restaurant could have matched this meal. Afterwards, some folks on the river set off fireworks in front of the rising full moon. We watched to see if any would fall on Slow Motion or any of the boats in the marina. The fireworks were pretty, but a little too close. After dinner, the Admiral uploaded a lot of photos on to the Blog, so enjoy some of our most recent sights. We’re kicking ourselves that, in the middle of the potential disaster called Hell Gate, neither of us took any photos of the landlocked buoy or the encroaching mud flats. Maybe next time – yeah, sure.

As for today, July 5, I went back in time to 1833 at the Wormslow State Historic Park, just about a mile from the marina. This Park boasts the longest road (dirt road) of continuous live oaks on each side, providing a canopy for the entire drive to the historic museum. The live oaks are stuffed with Spanish moss. I couldn’t stop taking photos. We will upload some of them when we put up another set of photos on the Blog. In addition to the stately oaks, the Park offers a 15 minute film of the history of the Colony of Georgia and of the role that Noble Jones, the original builder/owner of Wormslow (or Wormsloe), played in helping the colony survive in its earliest years. Relatives of Noble Jones still live on this 500 acre plot of land on the Isle of Hope, so we don’t visit the house they live in. But we can take a walk through the pines to visit the remains of the tabby foundation for the original house built by Noble Jones in the 1830’s. The tabby foundation looks a lot like the coquina foundations in St. Augustine. Tabby is a building material that contains oyster shells and limestone and mud.

I did not know until today (thank you, American history teachers) that Georgia was a utopian settlement, which was established by a group of trustees, including Oglethorpe, who helped average poor and middle class English families move to the colony to start a new life. Noble Jones, despite his first name, was a carpenter, not rich at all. The rules for this utopia included a ban on slavery, a ban on alcohol, and a limitation of the size of “plantations” to 500 acres max. The ban on alcohol never caught on. The ban on slavery was lifted in 1752, but there was no plantation greater than 500 acres. Noble Jones remained a loyalist to the King until his death. But his son, Wimberley, joined the Continental Congress and did everything in his power to help the colonies free themselves from the yoke of King George III. And that’s our American history lesson for today, July 5, 2012.