CHAPTER FORTY NINE: WORK TIME, PLAY TIME, REAL TIME

CHAPTER FORTY NINE: WORK TIME, PLAY TIME, REAL TIME

Sometimes the Admiral appears to have ESP. He had been trying to get in touch with a former colleague, Kim, in recent days, and he reached out to a lot of other people he worked with to help find her. If you put out enough feelers, usually you get a response. And sure enough, Kim called and they had a great reunion. Oh, it was better than great. Turns out that Kim has work for the Admiral, the computer work that challenges his mind and brings in a little money to help with the Social Security. So the Admiral is happy, as he spends hours at his computer calculating rates for agents in Arkansas.

And I’m happy, because I get to go exploring. I went to St. Simon’s Island yesterday. It is a lot busier than Jekyll Island. There is a “village” on the Island near the Lighthouse, and the village is 2 or 3 blocks of stores, cafes, boutiques, T shirt and souvenir shops, and some higher class shops as well. It’s like Ocean Avenue in Carmel, California, if you’ve ever been there, but concentrated into three blocks. At the end of the stores, there is the St. Simon’s Pier and the beach. You can park for free, yes, I said “for free”. And from there you can walk to the Lighthouse and the museum store. The first lighthouse was built on St. Simon’s in 1810. Scottish plantation owner – I didn’t know there were any Scottish plantation owners – but anyway, Scottish plantation owner John Couper sold 4 acres of land to the U. S. Government in 1804 so they could build the lighthouse. The first lighthouse was built of “tabby”, a mixture of oyster shells, lime, sand and water. The lighthouse was first lit in 1811.

Then the Civil War happened. And in the summer of 1861 1500 Confederate troops were stationed at the Lighthouse site at Fort Brown. They destroyed the first lighthouse before evacuating St. Simon’s, so that the Union troops couldn’t use it as a navigational aid. The Union troops that took over St.  Simon’s were African American soldiers known as the First South Carolina Volunteers.

About those plantations, they cropped up in the late 1700’s on the Georgia sea islands, and the primary crop was “sea island cotton”. They also grew indigo (will somebody tell me what that is besides a color in the rainbow?) and rice. As you may recall the colony of Georgia had first outlawed slavery, but with the economic pressure from the slave-allowing colonies surrounding Georgia, this Utopia caved and made slavery legal in 1757. The plantations on the sea islands, including St. Simon’s, which was crawling with plantations, were only successful because of the hard work of the Africans kidnapped from West Africa and brought in chains to run the plantations. They were apparently experts at growing rice and cotton. But with the emancipation of the people who had been forced into slavery, the plantations were no longer profitable. Bye, bye, Plantation Era. There are still descendants of the West Africans on the sea islands, who are known as “Gullah” or “Geechee”.

What you see on St. Simon’s today are a lot of very large houses on the road to the village, another road that has Spanish moss dripping from live oak trees. You also see either gated communities or resorts. There does not appear to be any of the middle class housing which dominates all of Jekyll Island, save for the mansions in the Historic District.

One fact about St. Simon’s Island that I did not remember is that the G8 Summit was held on this island in 2004. This gathering of the heads of the world’s eight major industrial democracies (Russia is included! With Putin! Democracy? I think not.) is held in different locations. They started meeting in 1975. The 30^th summit was held on St. Simon’s Island. The leaders do something kinda cool for the place where they meet. They call it a “legacy project” to commemorate the summit and to thank the local community for providing them lodging and hospitality. So the leaders gave St. Simon’s money to build the A.W. Jones Heritage Center, which is right next to the Lighthouse and which has the most incredible gift shop I have ever seen for a relatively small tourist attraction. I can only guess that the eight leaders are still sending gifts from their countries to stock the shop. That would account for the cowboy hats and gear from Crawford, Texas – kidding!

Had enough history for one Blog? Okay, let’s stretch our legs a bit. As the Admiral still concentrated on the rates, I headed to the north end of Jekyll Island today, December 28 (my father’s birthday) to go horseback riding. They have a very nice set up with around 20 quite docile horses used to going on 1 and ½ hour trail rides for inexperienced riders through the wetlands and out to the waterway, then back through the Spanish moss-covered trees. I was given a big red stallion to ride named “Rebel”, who likes a very loose rein. Otherwise, he shakes his head up and down, pins his ears back and finally, just turns around and says, ala Mr. Ed: “Would you puh-lease loosen the reins?!” Yes, Sir, Mr. Rebel, Sir. Actually, we got along fine. He tried to eat the sea grass and I tried to keep him from eating it. He tried to get to the head of the line of horses, and I tried to keep him in fourth or fifth place. He had succeeded in passing three slower horses and riders. He had a great walking gait, and he seemed to thoroughly enjoy frolicking on the beach with me. Actually, we stayed in line and kept up a stately pace as we walked near the water’s edge.  When we got back to the corral, he ran to the water tank – it was kind of muggy and he worked up a sweat on his beautiful roan coat. I went over to the side of the corral and called his name, and he came right over. I guess we bonded after all. Or he expected some carrots for his hard work. Or both.

If you come to Jekyll Island, I recommend the horseback riding. Sure, you’ll want to bike all over the 20 miles of bike trails too, but travel by horse is still a great way to see the natural beauty around you.

What’s a Blog without a rundown on recent meals? Here’s the scoop, last night we had a fierce salad, made even fiercer by the ripest, tastiest avocado. And after the salad, we had, are you ready for this? Cheese fondue, made with Emmenthaler and Gruyere and German Riesling, by the Admiral, of course. Talk about your cholesterol count – I’d rather not after downing all those cheesy bread morsels. I don’t think I’ve had fondue since I went to the fondue restaurant at the ski resort at Lake Tahoe called Northstar. It is a wonderful après ski dinner. And, as we found out last night, it’s pretty good boat fare as well. Today, the Admiral has been preparing beef barley soup, when he takes his short breaks from “The Job”. I had made French toast with Italian sour dough bread and vanilla and cinnamon and the usual eggs and milk. So Slow Motion smelled like a vanilla/cinnamon candle when I left to go horseback riding. Alas, that smell was gone when I returned, replaced by the aroma of onions and beef bouillon. Not a bad exchange.

Since it is going to be unusually warm tonight, in the fifties, we decided to save the soup for the frigid temperatures we are supposed to get tomorrow night. And we went out to dinner at the Marsh Grill in Brunswick. They did have Brunswick stew on the menu, and I was tempted, because I have yet to savor that local specialty. But instead I went for the fish and chips, and the Admiral had succulent fresh oysters and shrimp --- fried, of course. This IS STILL the Deep Fried South. This place is incredibly popular, so if you decide to go, get there early or you’ll be waiting a while for a table.

Okay, this is just an observation, or a musing. Yesterday I connected with a college friend, whose Christmas letter I had just received. I emailed her to let her know I had received her card and filled her in on our latest exploits. She responded immediately from the ski slopes of Alta, Utah. And we had an exchange of emails and photos over a period of several hours. All the time Gretchen was skiing with her daughter and I was touring around St. Simon’s. It was cooler than a phone conversation, because we traded pictures too. (I’m not yet into Face Time or Skype.) And although we had not spoken since our reunion in early June at Wellesley, the communications we shared were so natural that it was just like we had been together the week before. This was email, not texting. I really do appreciate the immediacy and the intimacy of this form of communicating. With snail mail, you send out the letter and wait forever for an answer. By that time, you’ve moved on to so many different things than what you wrote about. But with email, you’re in the moment. It is very cool. I know I’m not the first to notice this, but my contacts with Gretchen yesterday really felt good, spanning the miles from sea to shining mountain top. Which leads me to this standing offer: If you email me, I will respond, and I will try to do so as quickly as possible, so that we can share some real time together. Let’s not get radical and move on to Face Time or Skype just yet. Let’s stick with email for a while and enjoy each other’s company for a few minutes or a few hours. Okay, sometimes one of us will just have to pick up the phone and call to finish the conversation. That’s okay too – that just means that the connection is really strong and/or our fingers are tired from striking the letters. These connections are a high point of the day for me, and I hope they are for you too.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT: CHRISTMAS ISLAND, GEORGIA 2012

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT: CHRISTMAS ISLAND, GEORGIA 2012

Several months ago as the Admiral and I were planning our cruise south from the Chesapeake, I searched for “Christmas Island” in Georgia. We knew we were going to stay somewhere north of Florida until January 1. So I thought with all the islands along the coast of Georgia, one is certainly named “Christmas”. Sure enough, my search produced “Christmas Island, Georgia”, better known on maps as Jekyll Island. Jekyll earned its seasonal moniker by making such a big deal about Christmas, with lots of open houses and teas in the Historic District and great light displays as well. We had stayed a night or two at Jekyll as we headed north, and I remembered biking through the Historic District and out along the beaches. The Historic District is a bunch of mansions that really, really wealthy people (robber barons) built a century ago, but still own and still use. These wealthy people also built a manor-like “Club” where they could get together if they got too lonely knocking around all the empty rooms in their own mansions. We’re talking Vanderbilt kind of wealth. Anyway, I figured they would know how to put on a good Christmas light show, and if they wanted to open their doors to me at Christmas time, more the better.

So far, Jekyll Island has not disappointed as the place to be for Christmas. Last night, Christmas Eve, I went to a candlelight service at the Methodist Church that was both short and sweet. We sang my two favorite Christmas hymns, “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and “Silent Night”. Everyone who wanted communion (that meant every one of the 40 parishioners but me and a crotchety looking older man) got it, and we were still through with the entire service, lighting our candles and everything, in half an hour. People came from all over the country to this service – Maine, the Midwest, the Deep South, Florida – the minister asked us to shout out our home states at the start of the service. And I was recognized for having traveled the farthest. But that wasn’t the high point of this church experience. The high point was when I started singing “O Little…”, and I actually felt the presence of my mother in her strong alto voice right next to me. We always went to the Christmas Eve candlelight service together, and we always sang the alto parts together. What a rush of memories! Mother died in 2009, and this is the closest I have felt to her since then. I was so elated that I almost cried, but I kept singing, so that I would keep the connection with her. It was very cool.

The Admiral turns into the Grinch at Christmas time. We had received presents from his daughters, which he said we could not open until Christmas Eve. After driving through the Christmas-y Historic District, upon leaving the church, I returned to Slow Motion to open our presents. But the Admiral was still in a Grinch mood, preferring the news on his Iphone to unwrapping a few presents. This is where we are clearly incompatible, since I adore Christmas and love opening presents. So while the Admiral read the news, I enjoyed the candlelight service in my own private reverie. Finally, when there was no more news, we opened our presents. Thank you so much, Sabina and Sandra, for the great books you chose for us. You know I love to read and the Admiral really enjoys a good spy novel. So bravo – good show!

The Admiral allowed as how Christmas Eve was not so bad after all, and we spent the rest of the evening blissfully unaware of world news. Around midnight Mrs. Claus was seen pushing a big cart of wrapped presents to her sailboat, where here three little children were dreaming of gingerbread nanopods. Slow Motion looked elegant in her Christmas lights. There was no snow, no rain – and amazingly no wind. The Admiral had made a hearty beef stroganoff from scratch for Christmas Eve dinner, so we went to sleep with our bellies full and our spirits soaring.

This Christmas morning, we were greeted by fog, then clouds, then a little bit of rain. But that did not deter us from exploring the northern shore of Jekyll Island. There is a fishing pier down a narrow road, past the horse corrals, beyond the oyster beds. And there is also the most beautiful beach full of huge pieces of driftwood, as well as fully uprooted trees that have weathered over time and stand or lie as the most intricate sculptures all over the beach. The Admiral learned about the right bait to use for pier fishing and what kinds of fish were being caught off the pier (different kinds of sharks and “whitings”). We walked among the driftwood monuments and then up a horse path into a bower of trees smothered in Spanish moss that is the thickest growth of Spanish moss I have seen anywhere in the South. As we headed back to our rentacar, the rain stopped and the sun appeared, drying and warming the air immediately. This was a very good omen for the Christmas potluck at the Jekyll Harbor Marina that we had signed up for.

My oh my, what a feast! And the people! It doesn’t seem like there are that many people on the boats that are tied up at the Jekyll Island Marina. But at least 40 folks showed up for the potluck at 2 pm, and they were loaded with great food and good cheer. Turns out that some of them are “land cruisers”, who just happen to think that Jekyll Island is the place to be for Christmas. Others keep their boats at the marina, but live elsewhere. However, on Christmas Day, they come to the marina for the potluck. These folks know how to cook. We had three smoked turkeys, a smoked ham, two different kinds of sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, gravy, green bean casserole, fresh green salad, fresh made cranberry sauce, lots of other bean dishes (this is the South) – handmade stuffing. The man who made it said he cut up the bread pieces himself (just like my sister does), and he even cut up a ciabatta. Did I mention that there was a dessert table? That’s where the Admiral and I added to the feast. We provided a variegated cheese cake (12 different slices) and fudgy, deep chocolate brownies. I knew the three sailboat kids would not be able to make it through the feast without chocolate. And I was right! At the end of the meal, I approached their mother and asked if she would mind taking the remaining brownies. “Would I mind? The ones with the fudge icing that my daughter says I have to learn to make? Why no, I wouldn’t mind taking a few.” By that time her daughter had edged over to the conversation, and she piped up: “We’ll take them all!” Done deal.

The fellow that smoked the turkeys, Scott, has apparently been at the Jekyll Harbor Marina for less than six months, but he is a really friendly guy and clearly aims to make this Marina a boater friendly place. He is succeeding, if this Christmas potluck is any indication. I read that they had had 70 for a Thanksgiving Feast just the month before. So keep up the good work, Scott, and you will have folks coming back year after year.

Sunset alert! We are having the most amazing red/gold/mauve/pink sunset. I had to stop to take some photos. The pictures are never as dramatic as the real thing. But my mind’s eye always can summon up the brilliant colors that have actually filled the sky. It’s 5:30 p.m. on Christmas Day, and we are bathed in beauty. I hope you are too wherever you are.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN: A MIGHTY WIND

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN: A MIGHTY WIND

Remember the concerns about Hell Gate (MM 601.4 to 602.4), that shallow, treacherous part of the ICW that crushes many cruisers, bruises many egos, and leaves lots of ships on the shoals? Piece of cake. We went through it at high tide, and the depth was just fine, nothing below 10 feet. Seems like a distant memory. The Admiral’s planning paid off. It’s the danger you know that you can plan for. But the dangers you don’t know, until you’re right upon them – they’re downright scary. Like the other day, the 19^th, going up the Medway River to the Sunbury Crab Marina, now that was some shallow water, when we had to enter the “blue” water on the chart. The blue water indicates very shallow areas, and you can’t avoid them to get to this marina. Fortunately, we did not run aground. However, when we got to the marina, we had to wonder whether the dangerous pathway that led to its docks was worth it. We called and called on the phone, then the radio, then the phone again, to reach someone to get help docking. Finally, we reached someone, and we were told we would be met at the dock. We arrived at the dock, and there was no one around – no one.

So we called and called, and after about ten minutes the Admiral sounded Slow Motion’s very loud horn. Then we called again, and someone finally walked – yes, walked – down the ramp and on to the docks, finally reaching us. He explained that he was the only one around, since his brother had abandoned him to go fishing. He helped us tie up, sort of, and invited us to have a complimentary drink at his restaurant when it opened at 5. It was about 1 p.m. when we arrived. I had called Sunbury Crab Marina and Restaurant a few months before and learned that they charged $1.75/ft, but gave AGLCA members a discount of $1.25/ft. So I was surprised when “Joe” charged me $1.50/ft. The Admiral said not to leave a tip that night at the restaurant. We left the dock for the restaurant a little after five, and on the way we heard what sounded like loud gunfire. Turns out it was a transformer fuse that blew, which took out all the electricity in the area, including the restaurant. The one good thing about no electricity was that the area to and from the restaurant, which appeared to be a dumping ground for anyone with something to get rid of, was not so prominent. There were a lot of bad things about no electricity. The restaurant hostess told us that they could feed us something, exactly what was not mentioned. We opted to return to Slow Motion, where there was, of course, no electricity. Suddenly, even $1.25 per foot was looking like too much for these accommodations.

Eventually the electricity came back on, but we stayed on Slow Motion, rather than try the restaurant again. There was a really unpleasant odor outside near the shore. Earlier it had looked like we were the only patrons of the restaurant. “Joe” had not materialized to offer us that complimentary drink on our first visit. All in all, the place was not inviting. So the next morning we pushed off, without any help (no one was in sight). It was around 8 a.m., so one would have expected a dock person to be around. Not at Sunbury Crab on December 20. As we navigated the Medway River to get back to the ICW, I emailed the Sunbury Crab Marina to ask about the price discrepancy. I received a friendly response from the owner, Elaine, who had been away for two days. She said that they did not publish a price of $1.25 per foot anywhere and wanted to know where I got that misinformation. I told her I got it from the person who answered the phone at her marina. She said that must have been the “young man” they had hired part time, who had no business answering the phone and giving out rates. The bottom line was that, even though the price had been quoted by a member of her staff, since it was a mistake, she did not offer a refund. She was very friendly throughout and invited us back. But I have to say that this was one of the worst marina experiences we have had. Even at $1.25 a foot, this is not a bargain, since you get no dock assistance. I have no idea where the restrooms and showers are – Joe did not give me any information on them – or what condition they are in. And the electricity is apparently unreliable on a fairly regular basis, according to the restaurant hostess. If anyone has had a good to great experience at this marina, I would love to hear about it.

We had another formidable challenge on the ICW on December 20, as we headed to Two Way Fish Camp, which is up the South Altamaha River about 5 miles off the ICW at Mile Marker 664. Before you get to the Altamaha River, you have to travel through Little Mud River, known for depths of 3 feet and less. Our draft is 4 feet. Again, the Admiral knew of this perilous area of the waterway beforehand and planned to take us through it at high tide. We went through the potentially shallow areas at high tide without any problems – without any shallow water. Planning isn’t everything – it’s the only thing that keeps you from going aground in these areas. Feeling relieved that the Mud River was also a “piece of cake”, we headed up the S. Altamaha to Two Way Fish Camp. You know what’s coming next – yep, it was extremely shallow in some areas – the depth reader went as low as 2.1 feet (indicating an actual depth of 4.1 feet, because of transducer offset) – it was a harrowing experience. And we had no recourse but to cross shallow areas, in order to get to the marina. Fortunately, we did not run aground, and we ended up at Two Way early in the afternoon.

There was someone at the Two Way Fish Camp dock to help us, but the mighty wind had risen, and it took more than the strength of one man – even a Two Way Fish Camp heman – to get Slow Motion near the dock. So two hemen worked on pulling us toward the dock. If they had known which lines go where, and what lines should not be tied too short, we would have docked in a few minutes. As it was, with the fierce wind and their inexperience, it took us about 10 minutes of struggling, with the Admiral jumping on to the dock to help out, to bring Slow Motion close to the dock. In the meantime, I had thrown the stern line three times to one of the guys, and on the third throw, he got it. The other two throws landed in the water. Now I accept responsibility for not putting the line directly in his hands, but the line reached the dock all three times. Oh well, there’s always room for improvement. The Admiral says I should aim for the dock hand’s shoulder,  something that I try to do when I’m close enough to the dock to do it. But Slow Motion’s stern was not coming near the dock – you get the picture. I screwed up, with an “assist” from the man on the dock.

Our first experience at Two Way Fish Camp was great! We were heading north and had just left Jekyll Harbor Island Marina. They told us that the restaurant at the Fish Camp had the best burgers in Georgia. We arrived at the Fish Camp and were greeted by “Cricket” – remember him from a previous blog? Everything was “rustic” and “country” and a little bit “swamp people”, but somehow charming too. This time, it could not have been more different. It was bitter cold. There was no Cricket in sight. The dock hands were non-communicative. I don’t even know if the restaurant was open, nor did I care at the time. I planned to shower at this marina, and I headed to find the showers. One of the men standing outside the store pointed to the showers. As I approached them and heard a man’s voice right next to the women’s shower, I went inside and saw filth everywhere – on the floors, in one of the toilet bowls, a lot of mud and dreck. The door to the bathroom did not close, let alone lock. There was still that male voice in the neighborhood. The shower looked like it had never been cleaned. It was very cold inside this dirty place. I hauled my backpack with shampoo and dry towel back down to Slow Motion and allowed as how I could wait one more day to shower at Jekyll Harbor Marina.

By this time, the winds were really strong, and we were on the outside of a face dock on a river with a pretty swift current. The next morning we asked for and got help leaving the dock – cheers for Two Way’s dock hands! And we were on our way, happy to be heading south. It kept getting windier and windier (and colder and colder) as we headed down the S. Altamaha into the St. Simon’s Sound. OMG, the Sound was angry that day (December 21), as the winds howled around us at 30 to 40 miles per hour. The Admiral said this was reminiscent of tropical storm Debbie, which sank our neighbor’s boat at the St. Augustine Municipal Marina last June. The wind was creating waves that were at least 3 feet high. Slow Motion was climbing up and down the waves, or rocking back and forth, depending which direction we were headed. I kept checking on things on the sundeck and in the salon to see if they were flying all over the place. However, it was hard to keep my balance and even get down the steps from the flying bridge to the sundeck. After a while, I just had to sit in the Flying Bridge and “enjoy” the bumpy ride. This would have been a great amusement park feature, if you weren’t worried about capsizing and keep Slow Motion afloat.

The wind never gave in for a minute. It was only when we finally got off the Sound and in to Jekyll Creek that we got any respite from the wind. But that was short-lived, as we approached the bridge right before the Jekyll Harbor Marina. The marina is immediately on the south side of the bridge, at which point the waterway widens into another Sound, Jekyll Sound – the mighty wind returned. We asked for help docking this time, knowing that the wind and the waves would try to crash us against the dock. So we were dealing with the reverse of the problem at Two Way – wind fiercely blowing us on to the dock, as opposed to stubbornly blowing us off the dock. We needed folks who could push Slow Motion away from the dock far enough to allow the fenders to fall into place. The dock at Jekyll Harbor marina does not have much rubber protection against crashing. There is a thin rubber strip, then plain wood below it. When your boat crashes into the wood, it’s not good. The dock master, Terri, came with another person to help us tie up. She was almost blown off the dock. She said this was the first time she had been down on the dock all day. The wind was fearsome. And it was making everyone wet too, as it blew the waves against the dock, and the waves crashed and spewed water all over anyone and anything on the dock. Later, as I headed to take a shower, I got thoroughly drenched by the waves crashing against the dock and me, so that I really did not want or need a shower at that point. I waited until the next day, December 22, when the wind had calmed down to a dull roar, to take the long walk along the dock to the showers on the second floor of a building which houses a closed restaurant.

Our docking took a long time, but Terri hung in there, and we were able to get all our fenders in place and get electricity, even cable. The wind continued shouting at us through the afternoon and into the evening, but sometime during the night, the gale force diminished to a “regular” wind of 10 to 15 miles per hour. Slow Motion stopped straining at her lines. And we stopped rocking in our cabin. During the docking, as I entered the salon to turn off the engines, I noticed that the spice cabinet over the sink in the galley had opened, and there were spice containers – bottles mostly – everywhere. I saw a dark puddle of liquid at the bottom of the stairs heading to the aft stateroom. I checked it out, and it was the Admiral’s precious tamarind sauce that had opened and spilled its liquid gold all over the carpet and floor. I picked up the bottle with its remains and put the other fallen bottles in a safe place, then went out to assist with the docking. It was hard to break the news to the Admiral about the tamarind sauce, a key ingredient of his stir fry meals. But he took it like the trouper he is, picked up the rugs, took them out to wash them, and we both cleaned up the sticky floors. When you think about the high seas we had survived, this was a relatively small price to pay to arrive at our destination with Slow Motion intact.

The last two nights it was supposed to go below freezing. The temperature in the salon dipped to 42 over night. But we are fortunate to have a good heater in the boat, as well as a portable heater we have added to make it through this unusually cold December in the deep South. Today was our first day without major winds – the water was almost calm around mid day. And the temperature must have reached 60 for an Atlanta second. Now it’s getting cold again, not like Chicago or Pocono Pines or Kansas City – I know we’re wimps to be mentioning this. But still, when you head south for the winter, you expect one of the perks to be WARMTH. Even Florida is uncommonly cold right now. I swear I will not complain about heat and humidity again – even when my hair is sticking to my scalp. Well, maybe when my hair is sticking to my scalp.

Last night we put our Christmas lights on the rails of Slow Motion – portside and starboard. She looks really pretty. Some of the bulbs didn’t light up, but hey, that’s the Wal Mart experience. With the wreath that Sonja picked out for us in Charleston handing inside in the salon and the multi-colored Christmas lights twinkling along both outside railings of SM, we’re in the holiday spirit. We’ve explored a little bit of Jekyll Island. We drove to the IGA grocery store. It’s in a trailer, as are all the stores in the “shopping center”. They’re right next to the shore, so if a hurricane comes, it will be easier to wash them all out to sea. Why else would they use trailers? Or maybe these are the replacements for buildings that have already been washed out to sea. There’s something pessimistic and temporary about shopping center shops in trailers – next to the ocean. However, the IGA is making the best of its situation, cramming the trailer with all kinds of goodies, defying you to complain that you can’t find something that would be stocked at Publix or Harris Teeter. They even have fresh corn ($1.99 for two ears). And they have a Meat Department. But alas, no bakery and no fresh baguettes.

As we approach Christmas, the Admiral and I wish you all the warmest, most loving times with your families and friends. Thanks you for the great cards and emails you have sent us. Chris and Ed and Gryffyn outdid themselves with JibJab this year. Feliz Navidad. You know what you did. I’m saving that “show” for whenever I need a good laugh. We wish we could be with you in Salinas, Pocono Pines, Tucson, Bend, Cincinnati, Columbus, Long Beach, Carmel, Solomons, Princeton, Corvallis, Hudson, Chicago, St Louis, DC, and Allentown – but believe me, you are in our hearts and minds. And when it gets warm again, which is supposed to be next year, come and visit, y’all. We promise no mighty winds – just zephyrs and breezes and a tall glass of iced tea.  

 

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: FOOD FOR THOUGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Back on Slow Motion on Monday, December 17, after an amazing time with my sister and her husband. We celebrated Christmas and New Year’s within the span of three days last week. First, Sue made a complete turkey dinner, with the Kathryn Hill family stuffing and with sweet potatoes (“not yams, “said Sue, “they’re too stringy”) and a tender, succulent free range turkey. Don’t forget the gravy with giblets. Rather non-traditional, but delicious, was Sue’s cheese pie with Graham cracker crust. Her husband Butch said their goal was to make me “pudgy” during my stay. That meal alone made me feel a little pudgy, but Sue and I walked every day, and we didn’t eat a turkey feast every night I was there. Oh no, we had a holupky feast before the turkey – the Ukrainian cabbage leaves stuffed with rice and ground round, cooked in a tomato sauce. And then for our New Year’s feast, we had filet mignon and lobster tails, with a side of Sue’s homemade pirogues (yes, both potato/cheese and cabbage). Is your mouth watering yet? It should be. This was one of the best weeks of my life for comfort food from my childhood in Bethlehem.

Before I write anything else, however, I must note that the Admiral makes incredibly delicious meals for us on Slow Motion. We have certain limitations, like the absence of a conventional oven, a grill and a slow cooker. Still, the Admiral makes the best stir fry this side of Asia. He makes soups chock full of savory ingredients – clam chowder (white and red), beef and barley, potato. He makes five alarm chili. He cooks the best omelets, a treat for breakfast or any time of the day. He’s a gumbo specialist. His spaghetti sauce is out of this world. Yes, you should be salivating right about now. I am.

So when I write that the meals at my sister’s were great, believe me, I know great food. I get to eat it practically every night on Slow Motion. Do you by any chance remember my description of the cooking extravaganza that the Admiral put on for our neighbors in Harper Canyon when we visited in November?  The pulled pork extraordinaire, the rib roast that was out of this world, the beef and pork meat loaves – yep, salivating again.  It’s close to dinner time, which explains some of my current fixation with oral gratification. But really, count me blessed to enjoy the cooking delights of both the Admiral and my sister.

We did other things besides work on making me “pudgy” in Vail, Arizona. Sue and I went to see “Lincoln”. Ever since the movie, “The Incredible Lightness of Being”, I have followed Daniel Day Lewis. In that movie, one of his oft repeated lines was “Take off your clothes. I’m a doctor.” He said this in a thick Czech accent. His lines in “Lincoln” were much loftier, for the most part, except when he had to get down and dirty with the democratic Congressmen to “persuade” them by any means necessary to vote for the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution. Day Lewis and Tommy Lee Jones made this movie. Jones was Thaddeus Stevens, the fiercest abolitionist in the House. He had great lines, probably drawn directly from the real speeches in Congress. Still, the delivery was all his. One of many interesting things about this film was the almost non-existent discussion about what the abolition of slavery would lead to, in terms of the rights to which freed Black citizens would be entitled. There was one reference by a Democrat during the House debate to the “Slippery Slope” which would lead from abolishing slavery to, God forbid, giving women more freedom and the right to vote. But the Black women in the movie appeared ecstatic with the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment. And the White women, like Mary Todd L. herself, made no mention of “Hey, while you’re at it, Mr. President, how about giving me more freedom under the law, including that precious right to vote?”

History tells us that leading Black women and White women worked long and hard for passage of the 13^th, 14^th and 15^th Amendments, and they were dismayed – nay, angered – that the men with whom they had fought to abolish slavery had little, if any, interest in changing the status  of women. And as we know, it took a lot of decades and another amendment to get women the right to vote. It hasn’t even been one hundred years since we won that right. Remember the Equal Rights Amendment? We got 35 out of the necessary 38 states to ratify it in the 1970’s, and that was it! No constitutional guarantee of equal rights for women and men. So those of you who are big States Righters, don’t talk to me about how this is a “state” decision. If you can’t agree on equal rights for women, and agree to put this guarantee in the U.S. Constitution, maybe you should secede from the Union. Bye Bye. You might enjoy an alliance with Saudi Arabia, where women will be permitted to drive in a few years. And along with the shameful treatment of women, you would get the additional benefit of energy independence. You States know who you are, the ones who refused to ratify the Equal Rights Amendment, but as a reminder for us all, here they are:

Alabama
Arizona
Arkansas
Florida
Georgia
Illinois
Louisiana
Mississippi
Missouri
Nevada
North Carolina
Oklahoma
South Carolina
Utah
Virginia

Yes, Illinois, so well-known for Abraham Lincoln and, uh, let’s see, of course, Barack Obama – joined the “Potty People”, who were aghast at the thought that women and men would have to share the same restrooms under the ERA. That never happens at home, does it? Or the folks who said that women were not genetically equipped for leadership or combat positions in war. That should have been a laugher then in the 1970’s. And now, post-Petraeus and every other big head/little head male leader, it appears that only women are qualified to be in charge in war zones. And yes, Virginia, it was time for gender equality in the 1970’s and it’s still the right thing to do.

So as we hear political commentators tell us that gay marriage is the last big civil rights issue for this country, please say: “Oh no. We have some unfinished business with the ERA. Let’s guarantee equality for women.”  Because even if you gain the right to marry as a gay woman, you’ll still earn just 72 cents for every dollar earned by a man, straight or gay. And you’ll still have “glass ceilings” and the “old boys network” to contend with. You’ll still be the brightest, most capable candidate for the Presidency and lose in your own party – even other women will choose the male candidate over you, especially if it means advancing the cause of African-Americans. After all, what could be more noble than to elect the first African-American President of the United States? Oh, I don’t know, at least equally noble would be electing the first woman President of the United States? There are a lot of women out there, my age and younger, who have held the dream of being the first woman President. I know I had that goal for years. My sister signed her fourth grade picture “To the First Woman President”. I treasured that validation within my own family. By the time I was finishing college, I had set my sights a little lower, being the first woman Governor of a relatively small state. And by the time I was in the legal profession for a decade, I aimed to be the first woman Superior Court judge in Monterey County. That “first” went to another woman, but I like to think that as more and more of us set our sights on being the “first”, as a group of uppity women we had enough force to break down the walls of sex discrimination in the corridors of power. So if you have a daughter, a niece, a granddaughter or a young girl that looks up to you, teach them the long, proud history of women’s struggle for equality and help them aim for their own “firsts” in positions previously denied them. There are still plenty left.

OMG, that was indeed a very long rant. Take a deep breath. Grab some coffee or tea. Maybe warm milk would be more soothing. Or vodka, straight up. About guns: They kill people very, very quickly, when they are assault weapons with obscenely large magazines. That is what they are designed for. Where is it written in the Constitution that every person should have a personal semi-automatic assault weapon and hundreds of lethal non-pass-through bullets for his or her very own? Time to roll over in your graves again, drafters of the Constitution. What “arms” were around at the time of the passage of the Second Amendment? Certainly not assault rifles like the Bushmaster used at the Newtown elementary school. And hey, if you can fit a nuclear device into a firearm, is it your God given right under the Second Amendment to own it? Imagine the massacres we would weep over then – and do nothing? Do nothing? Not an option. “If assault weapons are banned, only criminals will have assault weapons.” Well, duh, of course, because it would be illegal to own or possess assault weapons.

And it’s not the “criminals” who are going on the mass shooting sprees of innocents. It’s the “troubled young man” with no criminal record. So, Mamas and Papas, if you own or possess a “troubled young man”, it would be a very good idea NOT to own or possess any weapons, especially firearms. It would also be a good idea not to encourage this “troubled young man” to go to target practice and to learn how to shoot a weapon of mass destruction. This is simple common sense. Dianne Feinstein’s proposed legislation – which would revive the law introduced by her and enacted many years ago – is a good start at the national level. This country did not suffer during the years of her federal anti-assault weapons ban. Hunters continued to hunt. People continued to protect themselves and their homes. Everyone who wanted a gun could get one – just not one designed exclusively to kill other people. Heck, in Virginia you could buy a new gun every month. Are twelve guns a year enough to fully exercise your Second Amendment rights?  So please remember, not all guns are equal – there are guns we use to hunt animals for food and guns we use to protect ourselves, and then there are guns that are used solely to kill people – very fast. We need to outlaw the fast, people-killing guns. If you have been using those types of rapid fire assault weapons to go deer hunting, then you are clearly not a sportsman, as any sane person defines that word.  You are probably mentally deficient or downright deranged. Sorry, but someone had to tell you. Try a bow and arrow – make hunting the challenge it is supposed to be, if you must kill Bambi. Or try “shooting” Bambi with a digital camera. One picture of a beautiful, live dear is worth a thousand dead deer.

Now where were we? Oh yes, when I returned to Slow Motion at the Thunderbolt Marina, I was perhaps a little pudgy, as I ate my way across country. I had filled a small container with the baked goodies Sue and I made. Those Tollhouse cookies hit the spot for dinner on the run at the Atlanta Airport. But yesterday, Monday, the Admiral and I went to Fort Pulaski, where we walked around the outside perimeter of the entire fort, then entered it and walked around the inside perimeter. Fort Pulaski was taken by 150 Confederate soldiers from 2 Union soldiers near the start of the Civil War. In April, 1862, Union soldiers under Gen. David Hunter captured Fort Pulaski after 30 hours of bombarding the fort with “rifled” guns and cannons that effectively destroyed the thick brick walls of the fort. And the Confederate leader, a twenty five year old colonel (Olmstead) surrendered rather than have all of his men killed. So in the capture of Ft. Pulaski, one Union soldier lost his life and several Confederate soldiers were wounded. And that was a battle in a WAR. Human life was precious, and this wise beyond his years Colonel Olmstead placed the value of human life over a Pyrrhic victory or a massacre. Bravo!

The Union General, David Hunter, was no slouch either, when it came to humanitarian deeds. After capturing Fort Pulaski, he issued General Orders No. 7, which freed the slaves inside the fort and on Cockspur Island. Later, he extended No. 7 to emancipate all slaves to South Carolina, Florida and Georgia. Not one to be upstaged, President Lincoln (remember how noble he appears to be in all our history books and movies?) rescinded the order – it was premature, and besides, if anyone was going to free the slaves and take credit for it, the President was the one who wanted that to be his legacy, not General David Hunter’s. Historians say that General Hunter’s pre-emptive emancipation order probably “pushed” President Lincoln to issue his own Emancipation Proclamation sooner than he had planned. So hurray for General Hunter!

Fort Pulaski is a brick mason’s Taj Mahal. The brick work is wonderful to behold. There are shapely brick arches everywhere, and you wonder how the masons were able to fashion the bricks to fit those angles and make each arch a work of art. The outside walls still have the large craters made by the Union guns and cannons. General Robert E. Lee made the original design for the Fort, but he gave Col. Olmstead bad advice on where to place most of firepower inside the fort. The Union came at the fort from a different direction. Still, minimal loss of life and limb occurred, thanks to Col. Olmstead. The Confederate soldiers were transported to a military prison up north. Later in the war, some Confederate prisoners of war were “jailed” at Fort Pulaski, where the conditions were close to abominable and thirteen of the prisoners died in captivity. So while the Union guns didn’t harm many soldiers at the fort, the maltreatment in the fort’s prison camp took its toll.  The National Park Service cares for Fort Pulaski today, and they provide an informative 18 minute film, as well as guided tours of the fort throughout the day. It’s well worth a visit. For a Northerner, it’s still jarring to hear “Dixie” played at the end of the film, as though it were the national anthem, but otherwise a rewarding experience.

Near Fort Pulaski and Cockspur Island is Tybee Island, a summer resort for Georgians. Both Islands are on the Savannah River and very close to the City of Savannah. We visited Tybee Island’s beach, which looked abandoned. The sea gulls followed us like hawks, hoping for a handout. There were some shells high up on the beach left over from the high tides of Sandy. And then the rain came. So we scurried back to the car and drove in search of a barber for the Admiral. The last cut of his mane was done by the bald-headed Barber John in Prince Frederick Maryland in September. So the Admiral was looking pretty shaggy. As luck would have it, Tybee Island has THE BEST BARBER SHOP IN THE ENTIRE WESTERN WORLD. The shop is in a little house that is painted just like a barber pole, red white and blue. And there is a barber pole as well. Inside there are two chairs. One was occupied, and the other one beckoned the Admiral. The barber asked him what kind of a cut he wanted, and I interjected: “Just like the barber’s.” You could tell that this man was fastidious and he had the best haircut. He allowed that the Admiral had a lot more hair than he did, but he would make the Admiral “look respectable again.” And that he did. It was lovely to behold, as he carefully shaped, trimmed, shaved and wetted the Admiral’s unruly locks. Indeed, at the completion of this tour de force in barbering the Admiral looked “respectable”, according to his barber. Are you ready for the cost? Fifteen dollars. The Admiral nearly fell asleep during the 45 minutes he was in the chair, with the master barber making soothing cuts and massage-combing his hair. You can’t get anything else that feels that good for fifteen dollars.

So if you made it through the political rants, you have come to a much calmer place with me – the heavenly barber shop on Tybee Island, Georgia. I recommend it highly. Wonder if he cuts women’s hair? 

We’re leaving Thunderbolt Marina tomorrow and heading straight to Hell Gate. The next Blog should be about our hair-raising experiences on the waterway, which is interdenominational and can be enjoyed by all persons of all political persuasions. I must admit, however, I do feel better after expressing a few of my deeply felt opinions and beliefs.  And I’m sure these opinions come as no surprise to those of you who know me. Agree or disagree, but get involved. Support what you believe in – passionately.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE: THE FOG BLOG

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE: THE FOG BLOG

Yesterday morning the Admiral got up about 6:30 a.m. to check on the weather for travel from Hilton Head to Thunderbolt. We were docked right near a very tall and long bridge. But it wasn’t there when the Admiral looked at 6:30. Between Slow Motion and the bridge a dense fog had descended/arisen and wiped out all visibility, except what you could see and reach at arm’s length. We’ve never taken Slow Motion out on to a waterway in fog. We have radar, but do all the other boats? If you’ve ever driven on Route 5 in California and run into the “Tule” fog, you know that the only safe course is to pull over and wait until the sun burns it off. Fortunately, we only had about 25-30 miles to go from Hilton Head to Thunderbolt, so we could play the waiting game with the sun and the fog. Around 9:45 a.m. it was clear as far as we could see down Broad Creek heading into the Calibogue Sound. So at 10:00 a.m. we pushed off in what appeared to be bright sunshine.

But wait, this is the Fog Blog for a reason. You guessed it, as we got to the juncture of Broad Creek and the Calibogue Sound, the fog was lying in wait, and it ambushed us just as we entered the Sound.  Suddenly everything was gone – no coastlines, no skyline, no waterway – and it was very, very quiet. The radar did not show any boats around. But really, who would be crazy enough to be out in this dense fog? Oh yeah, we were that crazy. I went to the prow of the boat and scanned the horizon, such as it was, from right to left, left to right. The Admiral stayed in the flying bridge monitoring the radar and doing his own scanning. We saw the sun as an indistinct circle of white somewhere behind the gray/white fog that swirled around Slow Motion. We traveled at a very slow speed, so that there was barely any sound emanating from Slow Motion’s mighty diesel engines. It was like being in a glider, I suppose, but less noisy – no wind. We continued gliding through this foggy world straining to hear any sound of any engine within a half mile of us. We welcomed each day marker when we came upon them shrouded in their own foggy robes.  With the help of our chart plotter we stayed in the ICW channel, which was plenty deep (thank God). And we noticed incremental changes in the density of the fog, as the sun burned through some of the outer layers. That fog continued to surround us for at least a half hour more – it only seemed like an eternity.

Now, this is for you kids at home: DON’T GO CRUISING IN THE FOG! We were lucky. It was a Sunday morning and presumably everyone was in church. We will not venture out into the fog again. Repeat 10 times, take an Aleve and take a nap.

Once the fog lifted and the sun made its appearance, the Admiral increased our speed a little bit. We were trying to save our fuel, after pushing Slow Motion for 66 miles from Charleston to Beaufort. So fuel-saving speed is about 7 miles per hour. That’s an eight plus minute mile for the joggers/runners in the reading audience. The best I could ever do was nine minute miles, finishing most of the 10 K’s I ran in about 56 minutes. Once I ran a mile in 6 minutes 45 seconds, and it felt like I was flying. It was at the start of a 10 K, where all the runners were just glommed together at the starting line. I was standing next to my brother in law, who runs six minute miles, and I got caught up in the excitement of the start, the adrenaline was flowing, and I actually thought I could keep up with him. Not a chance, and as I recall, every mile after the first mile was very painful and took at least 9 minutes or more to run. But I’ll never forget the exhilarating feeling of running like the wind. Eat your heart out, Paul Ryan.

On Sunday, which actually turned out to be a “sun” day, we arrived at Thunderbolt Marina near Savannah. The Admiral took an immediate liking to this place. They have a huge boatyard right next to the Marina – lots of tools and manly things (hearing the sound of Tim Allen, the Tool Man, in the background). The bathrooms and showers are spotless and you can shower in privacy. The water is very hot. The pressure is good. I miss the amenities of Belhaven – the fluffy towels, the hair dryer, the shampoo dispenser, the warm shaggy mats – but that’s just fluff for the Admiral, who likes the bare tile just fine, doesn’t use shampoo and, God forbid, would never defile his hair with a hair dryer. So for the Admiral the bathrooms rate an A plus, for me a B plus. We’re tied up to a floating dock next to a wall covered with shellfish shells. We see them at low tide, but the tide change here is 7 feet, so much of the time they’re covered. We have the place pretty much to ourselves, except for the occasional yacht crew members who wander over to the bench near Slow Motion to smoke – yuck! But, when asked, they moved away. We’re sure they are not allowed to smoke on the 200 foot yachts that they crew. So they tried to find a place to smoke in the “low rent” part of the marina only to realize that smoke bothers everyone, whatever class, gender, ethnicity or religion.

The Admiral spent much of the day making Slow Motion look pretty again. He has found the perfect mix of lemon juice, lime juice and water that works like a charm cleaning off the “tea” stains at the water line of Slow Motion’s bow. Her light brown moustache is gone – she looks like a lady again. That mixture also worked wonders on the rust marks around the bolts on the swim board. There are lots and lots of cleaners sold at West Marine for exorbitant prices, but some of them say that they should not be released into the waters where we’re cruising. That is weird – a boat store sells boat cleaners that are too strong to be released into the water. At any rate, we love our pelicans and our porpoises and all the other wildlife we come across, so we’re trying to use the least stringent cleaners, but still get the job done. If you have any suggestions, let us know.

Speaking of pelicans and porpoises, we continue to witness great performances by both of these amazing animals. Yesterday, the porpoises led us through the fog to the sunshine, then cavorted in front of Slow Motion for most of the thirty miles. Today one white headed pelican entertained us by flying around Slow Motion and the nearby dock, then diving like a kamikaze pilot straight down into the water with enormous impact, upon spotting a desirable fish. I can’t imagine what kind of headache that “Peli” has at the end of the day, after dive bombing for hours on end. The Admiral says it’s either dive bomb for fish or die hungry. Pelicans apparently need to eat all day. What was that rhyme: “His bill can hold more than his belly can?” I don’t think so. He fishes the old fashioned way – one fish at a time.  We have yet to capture him on film, but we’re hoping in the next few days that the fish in our immediate area remain plentiful, so we can share the pelican’s amazing dives with you – better than the cliff divers in Acapulco, I swear.

I’m off the Arizona tomorrow for a visit with my sister and her husband. I’ll be making kiffels with Sue and whatever else she feels like baking for the holidays. Meanwhile, the Admiral has plenty of projects to complete on Slow Motion in Thunderbolt, and he gets to enjoy the daily shows of our pelican. We’re here until the 19^th, when we continue south through some of the most dangerous waters on the ICW. Stay tuned.  

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR: FROM THE BATH TUB TO THE BEACH

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR: FROM THE BATH TUB TO THE BEACH

We bade farewell to Beaufort, SC this morning, and with a little help from a British Columbian yacht broker cleared the dock neatly, as we headed south to Hiltonhead Island. We had passed Hiltonhead, when we headed north in the summer. It was a Sunday, and Calibogue Sound was chock full of recreational water vehicles, i.e., jet skis and similar scourges on the ICW. There were parasailors and paddle boarders, speed boaters galore, and even some kayakers trying to fit into the “mixed use” ménage that was Hiltonhead on a hot summer Sunday. We said “No thanks.” And we kept motoring north to Beaufort. But we had read about the extensive bike paths along the Island and the 12 miles of sandy beaches on the Atlantic, so we kind of regretted our decision. This time, heading south, we were going to make that stop – the jet skiers have gone into hibernation and all the major golf tournaments are done for the year. That means Hiltonhead should be a paradise for bikers in December. With that optimistic thought in mind, we embarked on the 35 mile trip from Beaufort to the Palmetto Marina at Palmetto Bay, Hiltonhead.

The water was so calm that the Admiral called it “bath water.” I noted that it was missing the bubbles I always have in bath water, but he was right – there was hardly a ripple on the surface. You could walk on the water, almost. If it were frozen, you could glide over it on ice skates. You get the picture. And this was not a narrow canal we were in – the Beaufort River widens as you head south and then you get into the Port Royal Sound and the Calibogue Sound, both big bodies of water. Jean Ribault, whoever that is, described the Port Royal Sound as “one of the greatest and fairest havens…where without danger all the ships in the world might be harbored.” At least that’s what the Dozier’s Waterway Guide, Atlantic ICW 2012, says at page 344. We passed through the Port Royal Sound without any fear of danger, only a concern that we would “break” the glassy surface of the water. This was another day without very many boats in our area. We passed a few sailboats and as we neared Palmetto Bay, we caught up with a catamaran and a trawler caught up with us, but other than that, there were one or two crab boats harvesting their crabs. And the only sound was that of our two Cummins diesel engines, except for the squawk of a pelican once in a while chasing one of the crab boats.  Slow Motion was practically steering herself much of the way (autopilot is wonderful). The cloudy sky gave way to some sunshine – it was almost as relaxing as taking a bubble bath.

We’re enjoying these days that provide no serious challenges on the waterway. The Admiral keeps looking ahead to Hell Gate and Mud River in Georgia, before we get to Jekyll Island. He reads the blogs of those who have passed through those sometimes treacherous waters in the past week. Today he got a tides chart for December for that area. Now he has plotted when we have to leave Thunderbolt Marina in Savannah, what date and what time in the morning, in order to reach Hell Gate at high tide, and the same for Mud River, the hazard that comes after Hell Gate. A lot is at stake if you do not plan ahead to motor through these danger zones at high tide – if you damage a propeller, you’re looking at thousands of dollars of repair work. So the Admiral is being necessarily cautious in planning this part of our journey.  Once he developed The Plan, after reviewing the tides book, he looked so relieved. And that relief “trickles down” (or over) to me, the navigator in training. This is not a great learning period for me – I can handle the lines when docking and undocking. I can put the fenders down and lift them up without any problems. I keep the information on the marinas we have reserved. I make all the entries into our Log Book. I read about the waterway we are going to travel the night before. But when it comes to dealing with the troublesome areas, like Hell Gate and Mud River, the Admiral still does all the heavy lifting in plotting our course.

There are still moments when the Admiral remarks that I don’t have “my head in the game.” It’s discouraging, but I’m counting on osmosis to pick up some of the things I need to know, and the rest I’ll have to learn from courses at a TrawlerFest or Trawler University, as well as from watching the Admiral and learning from my mistakes. It may come as a surprise to some of you, but none of my strong prosecutorial skills – not one – has helped me with this new endeavor. On the contrary, the Admiral hates to be “cross-examined” about what he’s doing and why he’s doing it – come to think of it, that’s true both on Slow Motion and in Harper Canyon. None of my arguments has “jury appeal”.  There is a lot of humor – the Admiral makes me laugh dozens of times a day (you wouldn’t believe the things he says) – but none of it is “gallows’ humor”. And there is no appeal from the Admiral’s command decisions. Hurray! I’m free! The stress levels are at a new low. Can you imagine a life without defense lawyers? It’s really possible – and it’s pretty great. Scott Erdbacher to the contrary notwithstanding, defense lawyers can make your life miserable. So when I screw up trying to tie a clove hitch or bowline knot, it’s still a good day, because no one is lying to me, or withholding discovery from me, or threatening a victim or witness, or just being a jerk.

And did I mention the porpoises we saw today? Huge ones, like they had found the fountain of largeness and were dining on big fish day and night. The Admiral came face to face with a curious porpoise on his way to the Dock master’s office. The porpoise had probably had very few chances to have a close encounter with an admiral, so after she/he swam past the Admiral, she/he came back for a second look – she/he came out of the water and stared at him -- right in the eye. Just like a scene from Flipper, only better – this was real and unscripted. The Admiral came back so excited – like the big kid he can be. When it comes to wildlife, there is no greater fan than the Admiral.

But there are some wild animals we both keep our distance from, and the most prevalent one in this area is the alligator. I rode my bike to the beach this afternoon, and along the bike path there are a number of very green, very slimy looking lagoons. The bike path builders have built bridges across them and placed big warning signs “Do Not Feed the Alligators” next to them. Are they nuts? I just don’t want the alligators to mistake me for food. You know that they can run faster than humans. I’m not a fast biker, but when I came to one of those bridges I imagined Lance Armstrong or Floyd Landis or any member of their team on testosterone and flew over the bridge. There is a really weird sculpture in one of the parks on the way to the beach – it’s of a man in a suit, hat and cane strolling along with an alligator – maybe three feet separates them. It’s lifelike and creepy. There must be a great backstory.

The beach – it was sunny, full of seagulls and human visitors. The waves were rolling in at high tide. I walked my bike right down to the Atlantic Ocean surf and snapped some photos. The ocean was just as bath-like as the sounds we had traversed. The beach stretched forever. The sound of the waves curling and folding (they were not crashing today) was hypnotic. I just stood there and took some deep breaths. Then I sent photos of the beach to my sister and my brother to let them know that I was having a good day in a beautiful natural setting. This is the time to visit Hiltonhead. There were no swimmers. There were a few paddle boarders. And there was no sign whatsoever of a jet ski. It was peaceful, serene and could have been mistaken for the Pacific Ocean today. Eventually I left the beach and stopped in at the Hiltonhead Candy Store, where they have every candy from childhood (remember that banana flavored taffy that breaks into pieces?). I returned with just a few morsels to Slow Motion. The Admiral had taken a well-deserved nap. Tomorrow we leave South Carolina for Georgia – saving the beach at Hiltonhead for last in this State was serendipitous. I can store the beach images in my memory bank and drawn on them any time I need to. But of course, tomorrow is another day – and the natural beauty of the ICW in Georgia is also a wonder to behold. Can’t wait.

 

CHAPTER FORTY THREE: HEADING SOUTH, STAYING WARM

CHAPTER FORTY THREE: HEADING SOUTH, STAYING WARM

It’s December 7, a day that went down in infamy, but this year, 2012, it’s a day that will be remembered for having shrimp and grits at Blackstone’s in Beaufort, SC with Dee, who treated us. Thank you, Kalah, for putting us in touch with your wonderful brother. Sorry we didn’t get to spend time with Cleo too, but naturally she sent along a lovely Christmas present, most likely handmade. Cleo, your presence was felt throughout the meal. Thank you. It’s overcast, feeling like rain, and chilly in Beaufort this morning, but I’m all warm inside from the time spent with our new/old friends. Just have to do something about those uncomfortable chairs at Blackstone’s. If the Admiral’s back didn’t start hurting from sitting on one of them, we would probably still be sitting across from Dee swapping more fish and steel stories. From economics grad student to interview coordinator for Big Steel to fly fishing instructor for Yankees making a southern pilgrimage, Dee has had some great experiences that he shared with us. He warmed us up, so that when we left Blackstone’s to face the chilly wind, it didn’t permeate us – both our stomachs and our souls were satisfied.

Yesterday we traveled 66 miles or so from Charleston to Beaufort under partly sunny skies. We saw exactly three boats on this excursion, one of which the Admiral had helped leave the dock at Ashley Marina about an hour ahead of us. Our departure from Ashley Marina at 7:35 a.m. was flawless. However, the buzzing sound for the alternator for the starboard engine started soon after we left the dock. We had just spent the last week attending to all of Slow Motion’s potential engine problems. Bill of the Charleston City Boatyard, an extremely knowledgeable boat repair person, had done a great job replacing all the old hoses, removing and cleaning the intercoolers, replacing the turbo oil drain lines, fixing the coolant systems for both engines, and figuring out why our depth sounder wasn’t communicating with our chart plotter – and getting the part to fix it. So, foolish new boat owners that we are, we expected no immediate problems with Slow Motion. In fact, we were excited to get her moving again with all of her new parts. Still, there is always in the back of our minds the truism that everything on a boat needs repair –you just don’t know it, yet. For us, it was the alternator on the starboard engine that cried out for repair as we tried to leave Charleston Harbor.

The Admiral made the command decision to contact Bill, who miraculously was at the Charleston City Marina, which was right next to the Ashley Marina. We had just gone under one bridge on our way south, and we turned around and headed back to tie up at the Charleston City Marina to meet Bill and find out if we needed to Break Out Another Thousand. Bill went right to work and – ouch! – burned his finger pretty good, but found the problem. A terminal stud, which we apparently don’t need to operate Slow Motion, was “sparking”. That’s all I can tell you, except that Bill took it off, and the alternator worked great, better than before. So did the alternator for the port engine. A quick fix – sure, we’ll have to deal with the alternator more seriously at our next long stop, but we were on our way in less than half an hour. Bill, you are amazing.  Will you join us on our travel to the Bahamas?  It just seems that if something big goes wrong with Slow Motion, it will happen when we are far away from a reputable boat yard and a skilled boat repair person like Bill. Not that I want to jinx us, but seriously, how many times does an appliance start working when the repair person shows up?

So there we were, alternators providing plenty of energy to the engine batteries, on our way south again. The marsh lands south of Charleston are full of birds and other unseen critters. The only sounds we heard were the purring of Slow Motion’s engines and some cacaphonous birds fighting over fishing rights. There are some houses along the Stono River, Wadmalaw River, Edisto River (North and South), Dawho River, and Beaufort River, but mostly there’s pristine marshland – I think the sea grasses are the ones used to make the baskets and roses in Charleston and Savannah. Rolling down the river in Slow Motion – there’s nothing better, especially when no lights are flashing on the panel or buzzers going off. That’s what we experienced for eight hours yesterday – with the Admiral watching the depth reader (working beautifully) and steering a course away from shoals and underwater obstructions and me reading, sleeping, and taking over the pilot’s seat when nature called the Admiral. Fortunately, nature calls the Admiral pretty frequently, so I get to sit in the captain’s chair and actually steer Slow Motion at least once an hour. Woohoo! I’m getting pretty good at staying on the magenta line (the ICW line on the chart plotter is magenta), but as the Admiral reminds me, I have to watch the waterway itself and account for the currents, the wind and the shoals as well. Still, my moments “in charge” are great – “ I am the captain of the sea, of the Royal Queen’s Navy” – or am I still “Little Butterfly”? Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore, the operetta, had a huge effect on me as a child.

Yes, I’m actually quite giddy about being on the move again. After our recent experience with planes (to and from California) and cars (up and down the Big Sur Coast), I find that boat travel, Slow Motion travel, is the best for total relaxation and overall pleasure. The scenery cannot be beat. The pace of the travel – 7 to 11 miles an hour – is perfect for sight seeing. The movement itself through the various river waters, channels, cuts and sounds, is calming. I used to think of boating as taking a water ski boat to Lake San Antonio for the weekend and ski boarding behind the boat up and down the lake. That was fun, but so noisy and often ruined by drunken ski boaters or jet skiers. Now boating is days of meandering down quiet waterways, bounded by the loveliest trees, bushes and marsh reeds, not seeing another boat for a day, and letting my mind wander, only to be drawn back to the moment by the antics of a porpoise or a pelican putting on a private show for the Admiral and me. It’s bliss, it’s nirvana, it’s peace, it’s just what the doctor ordered.

If you haven’t planned your trip to join us, sign up now. You will not regret it. Leave the rat race for even just a weekend and you will feel so much better. Our most recent visit, Art’s oldest daughter, Sonja, flew in from Chicago to Charleston. She slept as long as she wanted to and needed to. We walked around Charleston and visited the Farmer’s Market. She went to a power yoga studio. We had a great dinner at a restaurant on the water, The Charleston Crab Company. We had a delicious breakfast (pancakes with blueberries) and a super dinner (salmon) on Slow Motion. We talked, we read, we had time to enjoy each other’s company. And the weekend ended too soon.  You can plan your own schedule. No pressure, no stress. And wherever we are, we promise you that it will be warm and you will sleep well. So make your travel plans now. We would love to see you.