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.