CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN: OSPREY AND THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN: OSPREY AND THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

How do I love Osprey Marina? Let me count the ways. I love the price of their diesel fuel, which is the best on the ICW. I love their docking help, which is led by Gene and a well-trained crew of two. I love their orange creamsicles for 75 cents. I love their bathrooms and showers. The Admiral and I love their working Wi-Fi, a rarity with marinas we have stayed at recently. I love their setting back down a channel surrounded by woods. I love their turtles coming right up to you – to beg for food, course – but still, turtles swimming around your boat – what’s not to like? I love their transient dockage price of one dollar per foot and five dollars for electricity, for a total overnight of $55. I love their “inside” person, Lynn, who is charming and efficient, an unusual combination. I am not the first boater to love Osprey Marina. They were recently voted the Number One Marina no the Intracoastal Waterway. I may come to this praise party a little late, but I have made up for that lateness with my ardor. Did I mention that they give you a “goody bag” with two breakfast pastries, crackers and pepper jelly? The Admiral took to the pepper jelly immediately. It’s probably gone. The marina is also very, very quiet at night, even though it was chock full of transient boaters. Lynn said they had the busiest day of their entire lives operating the marina. Still, we fell sound asleep with no disturbances by loud music, drunken yacht crew members (Charleston), or docktail parties. Kudos to Osprey Marina. You’re doing everything right, and you’re such good people.

Let’s see, we stayed at Osprey last night, and it seems like it was a week ago. That’s because today was filled with enough activity for several days. It’s Monday, May 13, and we left Osprey at 6:40 a.m. heading for Barefoot Marina in Myrtle Beach. If you read the blog about the CRRRASH at Myrtle Beach last fall, yes, it’s that marina, which suffered the visit of the obnoxious boater who didn’t know which way the wind was blowing and thus crashed into the port side and bow of Slow Motion, destroying his starboard cabin window and the anchor holder on our bow. Does the name Brian Orr ring a bell? What happened today at Barefoot Marina completely erased that bad experience. We intended to stop there, so that I could get my weekly lab work done. I had rented a car from Enterprise, which was supposed to pick me up at 2:30 p.m. We anticipated that we would not arrive until the afternoon. Well, with the early start from Osprey, our projected arrival at Barefoot was moved up to 9:30 a.m. And we actually arrived at 9:10 a.m. This started us thinking that we could go farther today, like to Southport, North Carolina, if I were able to get the rental car sooner and get my labs done in the morning. I made a call to Enterprise, and the best they could do was move me up to 11 a.m. There was also the issue of whether we would have to pay two different marinas for docking today, Barefoot and Southport. We thought that we would have to pay Barefoot something for the hours we were tied up there, and for the assistance they gave us in tying up. And we decided that if the dock master decided to charge us for a full day and night, we would stay at Barefoot and not move on until Tuesday morning.

The Admiral sent me off Slow Motion to talk with the dock master, George, to explain my situation and see whether he would charge a full day fee. It turns out that George is an angel, and he said that we would not have to pay at all for our hours at Barefoot today. I had told George about my problem with Enterprise, and he said: “Oh they’re so snooty. They always talk down to you in a condescending manner. Here’s a card I just got from Hertz. They’ve moved into this area and they say they will pick renters up at the marina. Give them a call.” George, what a sweetheart! I called right away, and within fifteen minutes, I was riding with the Hertz agent, Rick, back to the office a few miles away. I was at Labcorp at 10:40 a.m. and I was back at the boat before noon, blood drawn, quick stop at Burger King for a smoothie, return of the rental car and a ride back to the marina. Wow! This was only made possible by the kindness of George, the dock master, who is a real mensch, and the quick actions of Rick, the Hertz rep, who said he would pick me up in ten minutes – and he did! He also charged me a very good price for the use of a very nice car for a little more than an hour. These two guys are amazing. They made my day, and I am extremely grateful to both of them for going out of their way for a complete stranger. BTW, I called and cancelled the Enterprise reservation I had made, a full 45 minutes before they were going to meet me. Of course, my history with Enterprise has been one of mounting frustration waiting for the pickup that is routinely late, while making several calls to the office to find out if and when the driver has even left the office to pick me up. This has happened in every state along the Atlantic Coast. I rent a car once a week, and after a while, it wears on you. That’s not to say there haven’t been exceptions, like the folks at Enterprise in Key Largo – a shout out to Leeandra – but I didn’t ever have to wait for a pickup because I walked to the office, which was just a half mile from our marina. Still, it’s good to know that Enterprise is finally getting some competition from Hertz for rentals to boaters. It should make both companies better.

Back to the events of Monday, May 13. As we left the Osprey Marina, the dawn lighting was extraordinary. I took dozens of photos of the pre-sun sky and of the sun rising. This sunrise was pink and gold and pale blue and white. I can’t do it justice in words. Just wake up early enough tomorrow to look at your own sunrise, and you will probably be amazed at its beauty. I hope so. After oohing and aahing over the dawn and sunrise, I got back to the business of navigating. That meant being on the lookout for fast boaters and getting the numbers ready for the low bridge tenders. We knew from the accounts of other boaters that the bridge tender at Socastee Swing Bridge could be a little churlish, just a little. The Admiral called him the day before and the bridge tender opined that he would probably be able to give us an opening at 7 a.m., but not later because he had a lot of school kids in their school buses who relied on the bridge being open between 7:15 and 7:45 a.m. The “probably” part was troubling, and I doubt that the Admiral slept very well. As we approached the Socastee (Sock-as-tee – emphasis on Sock) Bridge, we called on the radio. No answer. We called again. No answer. Ominous. It was 6:53 a.m. when we called, and we were hoping he had remembered that he said he would probably open the bridge for us at 7 a.m. But apparently he wasn’t even on the bridge 7 minutes before. Or he was just messing with us. I think he was just messing with us, because we called on the phone (yes, bridges have their own phone numbers), and finally at 6:58 a.m., the bridge tender answered. We asked for a 7 a.m. opening, and he just said, grumpily: Come ahead and we’ll see. So we were supposed to move our 19 ton cruiser closer to the swing bridge, not knowing which way it swung open, before we could get a firm answer whether the tender would open the bridge.

Fortunately, there were two sailboats, Night Cap and New Wave, who were also looking for that mythical 7 a.m. opening at Socastee Bridge. They called the bridge tender on the radio too, and after about the 4^th call, he actually responded to New Wave that if the sailboat was actually at the bridge around 7 a.m., he might open it. So there we were, three boats in a row, all waiting for the autocratic bridge tender to decide whether to let us through or make us wait until all the school buses had crossed the bridge for the day. Today was our lucky day: Shortly after 7 a.m., and before 7:15 a.m., we saw the bridge traffic stop behind lowered railroad crossing type bars, and we saw the bridge slowly swing open – away from us. The first sailboat captain (Night Cap) graciously offered to let us go first, since he believed that we might be traveling at a faster speed. And we jumped at the opportunity and followed the swinging bridge as soon as it was open wide enough to let us pass. I stood on the deck and waved at Grumpy and gave him a thumbs up, and a “Namaste” (hands together in thankfulness). I don’t know if this will have any effect on his demeanor, but it always feels good to thank someone, even if they’re “only doing their job”.

As we glided through the open swing bridge, we saw more of the beauty of the Waccamaw River before us, cypress trees on both sides growing right out of the water, brown tea-colored water (leaves an indelible “moustache” on the bow of the boat), and porpoises appearing to lead us through this greenery. Our special greeters today were a series of bald eagles, who have nests along this river and sit majestically in their trees, most likely watching over their young’uns. Seeing these national treasures never grows old. The Admiral still gets an excited tone in his voice every time he points one out to me. He almost always does the spotting and pointing out. He would tell you it’s because I always have my head in a book, reading rather than enjoying all that nature has to offer us each day. That’s somewhat of an exaggeration. I don’t always have my head in a book – sometimes I’m playing a card game on my IPhone. Kidding! At any rate, whoever is the first “spotter” of the natural gems we see each day, it is still a high point of every day of cruising to see the wildlife enjoying the day as much as we are. And it gives us some hope that the waterway waters are not polluted to the point that they no longer can sustain the bird, mammal and fish species that entertain us daily. That indeed would be a very sad day, if we cruised the waterway amid thousands of dead fish and saw pock marked porpoises trying to survive and looked up into the trees and saw no nests and no bald eagles. Thank you, riverkeepers and waterkeepers, for all the work you do day in and day out to protect our rivers and the lands next to them.

It’s been a relatively bug-free journey north – knock on wood. Two days ago we were assaulted by huge black flies that really enjoy biting the Admiral’s legs. Who wouldn’t? We found out that we need an industrial strength fly swatter for them, and we had the equivalent of a gnat swatter. Still, once we closed the side isinglass window on the flying bridge, the fly armada was stymied, and we were left to pick off the ones which had already entered our space. The battle with the flies took up about an hour of our time as we traveled from the Estherville Minim Creek Canal ( I do not make these names up) into the Winyah Bay Channel south of Georgetown. Once past Georgetown, as we headed up our beloved Waccamaw River, it was a cruise without insect attacks. And remarkably, despite its location in the woods, Osprey, dear Osprey, was a bug-free zone. This is May, however, and things could probably turn during the hot, humid, wind-less days of the summer months – which all flying, creeping, crawling, biting, stinging creatures love.

To end the day that went on forever, Monday, May 13, we continued along our bugless way to the South Harbor Village Marina near Southport, North Carolina, the land of Linda’s ancestors. This is an historic village that I plan to visit one day, but not this time. We arrived at our marina at about 5:30 p.m. and, much to the Admiral’s surprise, we were not offered a place on the face dock, inside or out. Instead the dock master directed us to a slip. Yes, a narrow, way back inside the marina, slip, next to a wide catamaran – and the topper was that we had to back into it. Remember, Slow Motion has no bow thrusters. So the Admiral does something magical with the gears for each engine, playing reverse like a symphony, and Slow Motion slowly turns around. The dock master and I kept yelling “More Port! More Port!” (akin to SNL’s “More cowbell!”). There was one piling that hemmed in the slip to about 16 feet in width, which stuck out into the water on the starboard side. The Admiral missed this piling admirably and then eased Slo Mo back into the slip. The dock master was effusive with praise for his backing abilities. The Admiral now takes this praise with a certain equanimity, but each time his first response to “We’ll put you in a slip” is still one of dread mixed with the love of a challenge.

I realize that I haven’t regaled you with tales about my line handling, er, mis-handling. Funny about that. I have finally developed a certain confidence about the task of managing the lines as we approach the dock. One of the things I learned at my women boaters’ seminar in January is that you really don’t have to stand on your tiptoes on the edge of the boat, or on the back steps into the cockpit, and start throwing the lines from 20 feet away. You can actually wait until you are within a few feet of the dock and “hand” the lines to the waiting dock persons rather than heaving the lines at them and watching them fall into the drink. Life has become so much more pleasant with this revelation. The lines stay dry, and the dock persons tie them up to the cleats in record time. And I can run from one line to the next to secure both the stern and the bow of Slow Motion before the wind blows us off the dock. This is actually getting to be one of the funnest parts of my day. No more “fear and loathing” as I leave the flying bridge to “man” my station on the deck holding the first line I’m going to “hand” to a dock assistant. If you had told me nine months ago that I would ever feel comfortable doing this, I would have called you a false prophet. But, by Job, or somebody from the Old Testament, that prophecy has come true! I can hand off a line with the best of them, all dry all the time. Now, I know this boast will come back to bite me, but I have made major strides in this endeavor and feel safe reporting it here. Don’t worry, you’ll continue to read about my directionally challenged navigation woes – when will I ever remember that the ocean is to the East of us here? I can hear Vivian laughing, as she clearly recalls our first morning on the road heading west in 1967, when we found ourselves blinded by the sunrise. Some things change slowly, or maybe never change.

Slow forward to today, May 14. What a difference a change of state makes in the quality of bridge tenders! The South Carolina Socastee tender could not have been more off-putting. But here in North Carolina, we’re greeted with the warmest hospitality – genuine, sincere, good-natured, helpful advice from the bridge tender at Figure Eight Island Swing Bridge. He even opened the bridge on time, and then kept it open for straggling Elizabeth, the wayward sailboat, to chug on through. We helped Elizabeth too by being ahead of her and keeping the bridge open just long enough for her to move into her highest gear to make the opening. We didn’t need an opening, as the vertical clearance today was 22 and ½ feet. But we arrived just when Mr. Charm School was opening for Bobcat and Morning Glory, so we fell in behind them. He greeted each one of us with a “Howdy! How are you today?” And he waved each of us through with good wishes for our day and smooth waters for our journey. His accent was dripping with honey. I had forgotten the strength of the North Carolina accent. It was years ago, whenever Agnew was Vice President and my sister, Sue, thought he was wonderful, that she lived in Greensboro, North Carolina for a time. She came home to Bethlehem for a visit, and I didn’t recognize her voice. She had been totally overwhelmed by the North Carolina accent and could not say even one word without drawling. It was amazing to behold. I thought it was her – that she had a really absorbent ear. But it is also the strength of the accent itself that gets you hankerin’ to drop your g’s and stretch out your syllables. It’s such a friendly sounding accent – you just want to return warmth with warmth, as you find yourself adopting the inflections of the good citizens of North Carolina.

It is amazing how one act of kindness by a stranger can elevate your mood for a whole day, even longer sometimes. Many of you have probably seen the film “Pay it Forward”, Haley Osment’s last kid film, about how one act of kindness to you by a stranger leads to your own act of kindness to a stranger who crosses your path, and forward and forward and forward. I have seen this work time and again. Lots of people have bumper stickers that call for “random acts of kindness”, but I don’t think these acts of kindness are random. They are all part of the Kindness Spiral, which keeps moving along, around and upward, lifting us all to a better place. Thank you, all you strangers who have enriched my life and continue to show kindness to me and my loved ones, even though you have never met us before. You won’t even remember me, but I will always remember your kindness.