After a very busy Christmas week spent celebrating with our large family we finally left our home late in the afternoon with our boat tied on the top and our gear crammed in the back of our Honda Odyssey van. At a windy 5 degrees above zero any attempt to organize the packing was severely limited. After stops to say goodbye to two of our children who live nearby and tie up some loose ends with one of Heather's colleagues at Plymouth State University, we headed south. Already tired, we did not get very far but had made that important separation from our way of life at home to our next month or so of being "on the water". My longing to get back to this life for the third year in a row was energized by the commitment of making it out of state and over a hundred miles toward our starting point in Charleston, SC before pulling into a cheap hotel. We were on the way!

We had crashed into bed exhausted and without bringing in anything except our tooth brushes. So getting off in the morning was quick. At 6:30a.m. we had joined the line of megatrucks and others heading south on Interstate 91. Soon we were three states away in New York. As we crossed the bridge over the Hudson I commented that we would eventually be rowing under here. Heather observed that it better not be in January since the river was choked with ice! In fact the trip we were embarking on is the last we will be able to do in January since we will have covered the cold season part of the distance from Key West to Canada. We will need to plan our next leg later in the year.

We had slept well in a splendid bed in my niece Tina's basement. I awoke well before the creeking footsteps above told me that the coffee was ready. I had not smelled it as I usually do at home. So I concluded that the smell of coffee rises. To be awakened by the smell of coffee one must sleep upstairs. You also have to have an automatic pot with timer or a very kind person to get up and make it. I emphasize these truths because my nephew, Ron Schwarz not only made my coffee but he later rid my computer of all sorts of evils and showed me very simply how to update this website! Ron's company, Sunlight Software has created this very easy to use template for setting up and editing one's own website. Even I can login to it and add and edit things in seconds. So the morning (which ended at 2:00)spent working at learning how to do this was a great gift and Ron's instruction was easy to understand and very useful.

Ron

We left the Schwarzes at about 2:30p.m. and headed south toward Charlotte and Charleston. It was too late to drive all the way through and anyway we just had to pick up some new technological toys Ron had shown us at the very first computer store we passed! But we made it to Columbia, SC, checked in to a cheap hotel and Heather found that the all-in-one printer, scanner and copier we had purchased came with no power cord! So much for playing with our new toy.

Dreams of pulling away from shore on New Year's Eve with a few first strokes sent me off to sleep.

After stopping to return the all-in-one machine for a complete one, getting the salt washed off the car, eating breakfast, and other delays we completed the drive to Charleston. We explored the city and crisscrossed the bridges looking down at the Intracoastal Waterway which was flat and quiet with hardly a boat making wakes.  Tomorrow we will be on the water again.

I contemplate my readiness. Less than three months ago I was in the hospital having an aneurysm in my brain clipped. My head feels fine and the surgeon told me I could do anything I feel like doing. He meant that literally, I am sure, and I am really sure I feel like rowing.

Three weeks ago I jammed my thumb skiing in a training class at Loon Mt. I was very much afraid that it might keep me from rowing but I don't believe it will. I don't really use my thumb.

Arthritis pain has been bothering my knee and joints in my hands and then there is the neckache, my overdeveloped belly, and all the other signs of aging.

The tide started coming in early this morning and I wanted to ride it in on the first leg of our trip.  So we found the boat ramp at the Charleston City Marina and were ready to get in the water by 9:00. Our routine came back quickly as we knew exactly what had to go in the boat and there seemed to be little learning curve delay. A nice lady came by and helped us get a picture taken. 

That first stroke I've been looking forward to took us out into a maze of docks lined with big cruisers. It was not immediately obvious which was the channel to open water. I came out the end of the channel and looked across the river to the entrance to the ICW channel on the Stono River. Heather thought we needed to go further downstream but after another look agreed with me and we got across and into the current going up the Stono within a few minutes. I was paddling lightly and with the current's help we were doing almost 6 knots! I crave flat water like this like I crave deep light powder on the ski slope. My gentle swing was surely a sustainable pace and it never stopped until we arrived at the take out ramp near the new John Limehouse Bridge to John's Island. The quiz on all these place names will come at the end of our trip! If you are going to be following us on a map they might help but if you are a casual visitor reading this once in a while, try to ignore them.

I was not at all ready to stop and retrieve the car when we pulled in. We hadn't even had lunch. But I had persuaded Heather that the first day needed to be short because I needed to break in my hands slowly.  So I gave up my suggestions that this was just a lunch break and continued to get the boat out of the water. I had no prearranged ride to the car and would have to hitchhike or call a cab. Either would need some time. Besides, I have one little blister next to my wedding ring.

Limehouse Bridge boat ramp

The dispatcher at the first cab I called would not send me a cab unless I had a street address and a local phone number! This seemed to me a major glitch in their system. I guess the dispatcher’s job will be gone soon and you will be asked to dial in the address and the phone number.  The second cab’s dispatcher was a little more human but too much so. She decided she new which bridge I was at better than I so told her driver to go to a different bridge. When I called back after waiting for 45 minutes she said that the driver was waiting for a drawbridge.  There were no drawbridges on the way to my location! Another half hour later the cab arrived driven by a lady listening to loud rap music. After getting in the front seat I realized there was another lady in the rear seat who seemed to be a friend getting a free ride.  The rap continued for the half hour back to the Charleston City Marina with the two women having a screaming conversation about picking strawberries and the dispatcher blurting unintelligible orders on the two-way radio. I guess I have paid more than the $19 she charged me for entertainment but strawberry rap does so little for me.

I was back to pick up Heather within an hour.  The poor thing had been sitting by the boat near the two boat ramps. On one of the ramps lay a dead midsize dog near the water line. Drivers backing down with their trailers had to steer clear.  Within inches of her seat seemed to be the favorite place of other dogs to relieve themselves. The sun had come out and started to bake the odors out of the collection. I helped tie the boat on as quickly as possible and we were back at the hotel by 3:00 p.m. Heather’s endurance of such things to allow her husband to keep rowing is much appreciated!

Gunnar with the boat back on the car after the first day's row

Here is a map of our 1st day's 10.3 mile nonstop row!

 

Neat working sailboat we met along our way

Typical very long pier

At about 15 miles we needed to turn right off the West Edisto River to go upstream to the ramp at the Washington Bridge to Edisto Island.  This put me rowing against a strong tidal current for the last five miles. 

Not being able to contact any of the nice Habitat folks who usually have helped me get back to our car, I had agreed with a Keith, who advertised a ride service, to call him about an hour before getting there and he would meet us. He had agreed to do it for “about $30.00”! At the rate I was progressing against the tide I wasn’t sure when to call him but finally decided to do so about two miles from the bridge. He did not seem as willing as he had the night before. Then he questioned which bridge. Finally I got it across that it was on the road to Edisto Island, Rte 174.  I don’t think he had ever been outside of the city of Charleston.

The current got stronger and our land speed according to the Garmin GPS was practically zero when I rowed as hard as I could. Progress was very slow and we tried different sides of the river to see if it would be better. No difference.  I was working up a real sweat and my hands were wet. This always seems to accelerate the development of blisters that I was supposed to be avoiding by taking it easy. The bridge was in site but the ramp was around a corner and we could not see if there was anyone there waiting. Finally we struggled around the bend and saw the ramp a few long hundred yards ahead. The current hardly allowed us to land but we finally struggled ashore. I was exhausted and several blisters had snuck into view on my left hand.  We had been over 20 miles that felt like 30 and I think if I measured water surface distance, would have been. I had beaten my opponent, the tide, and felt some sense of pride. I should have felt shame for being so stupid to in this situation at all.

But there was no sign of Keith.  I called him again and found that he had some excuse about “having to go get the car” and would be here in about 20 minutes.  Meanwhile we started to witness a couple with a large powerboat trying to land and get their boat on a trailer with the strong current pushing them up against the dock.  I tried to help by holding it off while the husband drove it forward onto the trailer. Finally they got it on the trailer but when they started to drive up the steep ramp the tires spun against the pavement because the trailer had slipped off the ramp on the downstream side. We both tried jumping into the back of the truck to give more traction. No use. The put the boat back in the water and just at that point Keith arrived and I left Heather with them to struggle with it.

Keith had apparently gone to get his Lincoln Town Car thinking that I wanted a ride to a fancy party somewhere. Sweaty and hot I climbed into the back seat of the limo.  I fell asleep within minutes and woke up as we came to the parking area where I saw the car.

As we came to a stop Keith, a large and powerful guy one did not disagree with in a lonely off road setting, turned and politely said “That’ll be $55.00.”  I looked in my wallet to see two 20s.  “Uh oh” I said. “What’s that?” He said. Then one of the new 20s I’d taken from an ATM machine in the morning magically separated into two. I handed him the three 20s. I got out feeling abused. I think he sat there a minute waiting for a tip!

I was in my car with the doors locked before I could even have finished that thought.

 

We planned our launch time to be able to take advantage of the tide coming in for the first few miles and then being behind us as we followed the South Edisto River down to the gap at Fenwick Island where the ICW turned off.  This worked very well. I had vowed to make it a shorter, lighter day. We needed to camp this night because there were no road access points until we got to Sam’s point near Beaufort. It had been suggested that we follow the tide out to Otter Island, a sandy island near the coast at the mouth of St. Helena Sound to camp.  Instead we saw a sandy beach on the shore of  Fenwick Cut and decided to stop early and camp on the bluff just above.  I had tied the boat from three directions to some trees that leaned out across the water. We had all our bags up on the bluff and were setting up the tent when we heard some splashing across the cut. Two black dogs were running along the shore.  The swift current that had brought us in was flowing through the gap. The dogs went to the upstream end and then began to swim across to our side.  We were about to have company. 

They arrived within a few minutes all happy to see us and started sniffing around our campsite for food that they could grab and run off with. Heather got everything inside the tent and I took them for a walk along the shore.  The larger dog was a cocoa colored Labrador and the smaller seemed to be her puppy. It was black and full of puppy power. The two soaking wet, muddy  friends and I walked the beach while Heather explored around the campsite. Twenty feet away she found the scat of some large bovine creature that apparently also lived here. There were also numerous tracks that looked like deer tracks but they did not come to a point. 

After we were in the tent at 5:30 wondering how to make 13 hours pass before we could join the tide again, my mind started to suspect they were from wild pigs. I have never encountered wild boars but guessed this would be a likely place to meet them. But our two watchdogs had decided they had a better chance of getting fed by us than swimming back in the dark to the other side from where they had come. I also suspected that the noises that several dolphins made while fishing in the cut kept them from going back.  For several hours they ran around the tent occasionally stopping to push their wet noses against the thin mosquito netting on my side. I elbowed one of them and finally they decided to sit down and make themselves comfortable for a while. But during the night they had to get up and check out the surroundings, bark at the dolphins, crunch on an empty water bottle to tell us they were hungry and make other noises to get my mind wondering what they had found in the boat to chew up. 

I finally got up, took the flashlight and went to check on the boat. It seemed to be fine and untouched by the dogs. I returned to the tent and tried to make myself comfortable.  I had persuaded Heather that opening up our food and having dinner might just tempt our new friends to invade through the Mosquito netting boundary we had established. Oh well, I always say it is much healthier to go to sleep on an empty stomach.  Sleep?  That was not in my future for hours to come. I continued to wonder if the bull pastured on this island that left his calling card twenty feet away would come to stomp on us or the heard of wild boars that left those tracks would tear into us with there reputedly sharp tusks or the rabid raccoons would come down out of the trees to find our food and mess up our boat as they had once two years ago in Florida.  A mind such as mine sleeps little in a place where it is not familiar. 

The 13 hours in the tent went by one at a time. I marveled at Heather’s ability to sleep and wondered how this active mind next to her was failing to communicate any of its apprehension about our situation. Could she really be so confident in my company that she could be sleeping?  For a minute I felt a sense of pride that she trusted me that much but it soon turned into a sense of disgust with myself for being so foolish as to worry about all these things.  The night finally passed. The dogs slept by our side keeping the wild boars, raccoons and bulls away. I think they actually gave me the confidence to go asleep for a few intervals between checks of my watch. I felt watched out for by these two friends in spite of my feelings about them. It had been a two dog night after only an 11 mile day. 

Emma Dog and Chocolate Mama on the trail of the wild boars(?)

At about 6:30 a.m. I had managed to get out of the tent to check the boat fearing that I would find ever life jacket and boat cushion chewed up and distributed all over the place but was pleasantly surprised to find that the dogs had only found the foam “noodle” we use to roll the boat up on ramps or beaches. The boat had stayed in place and only a few muddy paw prints needed to be washing off.  The noodle was well chewed at one end but still could be used.  Heather had packed up the sleeping bags and air mattresses by the time I had the boat ready to go.  We loaded everything in and pulled it across the muddy beach to get in. Our canine friends wanted to come too.  Heather had to push one away as it tried to climb in. I pulled away from them slowly and they started swimming.  I was concerned that they would follow us instead of swimming to the other side of the cut where they had come from but soon they gave up on us and turned to the other shore.  A tug pushing a large barge came down to turn into the cut and I waved to its captain to show him the swimming dogs. There was no way the huge barge could slow down with such short notice! We waited a bit and saw that the dogs had made it to shore.  I must say I was actually sorry in a way to leave these two friends to an uncertain future. Whether they had a home we’ll never know.

I had anticipated getting the supper we had never eaten but somehow the thought of eating was forgotten.  The flat water and the swing of my strokes took us further and further from the cut and memories of the two-dog night.  We rode a favorable tide through two more cuts into the Coosaw River at the upper end of St. Helen Sound. This wide body of water was absolutely flat like a mirror as far as the eye could see.  We headed toward Sam’s Point; the first place there was a boat ramp to land on.  This was about 15 miles from our campsite at Fenwick Island.

Here we had agreed to meet David and Kim from Beaufort Kayak tours, a couple that had met our Beaufort Habitat for Humanity contact on a kayak trip. They had been told about us and had offered to take us in.  Shortly they both arrived and were extremely friendly and interested in our boat and all that we were doing. David pointed out that we had landed in a historic location. Forrest Gump had been filmed here and the boat house across from us had been Bubba Gump's boathouse. They offered to drive one of us back to our car, a long way away. (See Gifts of Kindness for more information on them.) Heather suggested that she go and I could continue rowing to the next landing at Brickyard point.

So after they left I pushed off alone for the first time on our trip. I have become so used to having Heather tell me where I should be heading I found it awkward to have to turn around every once in a while to check my course.  I managed to find the channel and made pretty good time to Brickyard point. The next landing was around a few turns in the river in Beaufort at Pigeon Point. I figured I could make it and save her some driving time so I rowed by the ramp at Brickyard Point and committed to another four miles. My cell phone rang and I was able to tell her where to meet me. Oh, the wonder of cell phones!

I was exhausted by the time I pulled in and very ready for a shower and a meal. We had agreed to meet Kim and Dave for dinner. Staying with them in my condition would have been a major imposition. We needed to do laundry, sort our stuff out and repack. So we went to the Outback Steakhouse in Beaufort and I made up for all the meals I had skipped.

It took little time to get to sleep when we got to our room at the Comfort Inn.  It had been a 23 mile day. 

It was a short, 8 mile day and we were glad that we had a second night to stay in the room we had unpacked into. We spent the evening planning how we were going to cross the broad river and Port Royal sound to reach Hilton Head. The forecast for the rest of the week sounds like a big change will take place and we may not have the flat water we have enjoyed much longer. 

Our plan was to start enough before low tide so that we would have the current with us until we got to the end of Parris Island and then we could have the incoming tide on our side rowing up to the entrance to Skull creek.  But when we got to the Sands boat ramp we met a woman walking her dog that was curious about what we were doing and turned out to be a clown. Cappy the clown told us all about herself and learned all about us. This took a bit longer than we had planned so we left a half hour late.  Our plan had been perfect because we started feeling the incoming tide about half an hour before we reached the end of Parris Island.  We got almost all the way across the sound before the wind came up. If we had been half an hour earlier we would have missed this wind also. We rowed into the Skull Creek Marina to see if there was a ramp but there was none and the dock master was less than helpful. So we rowed on another 3 miles to the Hilton Head Harbor boat ramp. 

Lolita Huckaby from the Carolina Morning News and a photographer met us.  They took pictures and Lolita offered to give Heather a ride back to Port Royal to get the car and interview her at the same time.  I stayed by the boat to keep the no-see-ums company and after spraying myself with repellent drifted off to sleep. Within an hour Heather had returned and we loaded the boat on the car. Pat Wirth, the Executive director of Habitat for Humanity of Hilton Head gave me directions to the house they used to house volunteers. We were there in ten minutes where we met Susan Sommer, a wonderful girl who was an Americorp volunteer working with Habitat.  She was also staying at this volunteer house but left to stay elsewhere leaving the house to us. Pat Wirth stopped to greet us.  Susan, Tuck Daniels, the construction manager, and Russ and Linda, a volunteer couple who were living in their motor home and we all went out for a delicious dinner which the habitat folks insisted on paying for. Russ and I shared experiences as Math teachers over dinner.  Soon after I was in bed and asleep.  I am not much company after 16.3 miles and a good meal in my belly.

The forecast had called for a cold front to come through with winds up to 17 miles an hour from the Southwest. That would be a headwind. My left hand had accumulated 6 blisters that started to bother me coming across the Port Royal Sound. I was tired. I had calls to make and email to answer. I had a house and good company. This added up to rationalizing a day off. So we slept until 7:30, had our coffee and then drove to the Squat and Gobble to eat a good breakfast. 

After breakfast we went to visit the office of Habitat and met with Pat Wirth after walking over to visit two houses under construction. I found that the houses being built were more spacious and nicer than some we saw in Florida but made of wood frames instead of concrete blocks. I noticed that three of the large pines next to one of homes under construction were dead and their tops looked like they might fall with the first heavy wind.  Their roots had been buried and they would soon have to come down as they were rotting quickly.  A nice long conversation with Pat Wirth confirmed what I feel about this organization that is so spirited and well managed.  We were introduced to several others in their office including Don Smith, a kindly gentleman who served as the chairman of the Board of Directors.  We were given hats and T-shirts and said our good byes.  Don Smith called me later to offer to loan us his copy of the Cruising Guide to SC and GA.  Before going to dinner we drove to his lovely home, met his wife and picked up his autographed copy.

It had been a busy day off the water. The wind had blown but the forecast for tomorrow  is for calm winds. I am rested and ready for the row to Daufuskie Island.

To see a copy of the article about us which was in the Carolina Morning News go to:

http://www.lowcountrynow.com/stories/010605/LOCpaddling.shtml

We left our two nights home in Bluffton at Habitat's volunteer house and drove through Macdonald's for a quick breakfast. The Haig ramp and launch area located across the river from where we had landed had a large parking area and no sign saying "no overnight parking" so we could leave the car there without calling to get permission from the sheriff’s office. We had agreed with Tuck Daniels and Susan Sommer to have them drive our car to Savannah on Saturday. We could not make Savannah in one day. Pat Wirth had called the Melrose Inn on Daufuskie Island to see if they might give us a complimentary room but they had declined. This meant we would need to camp. I called the Inn to see if we might stay there at a discounted rate and succeeded to get a room for $80.00.  I thought this still seemed high. But if it meant we did not need to carry all of the extra stuff to camp it seemed worth it.

We set out with the outgoing tide and reached the turn into the Cooper River just as the tide reached dead low. Turning up the river with the now incoming tide was planned perfectly. Sometimes planning ahead really pays off! I was satisfied that we had learned alot about planning around the tides.  So the 12.5 miles to Daufuskie landing went very quickly. My hands had been helped alot by the day off.

This was a leg with lots of wildlife entertainment. We watched a dolphin splashing a flock of pelicans that were waiting to share his fish. He deliberately splashed water on them to get them to go away. They seemed to play the game pretty well and were persistent in their efforts to snatch some of the fish he killed. There were lots of birds that we need to identify and list. Among the most common were our loons that seem to be wintering here. Their familiar voices were unmistakable.  But they use different calls in the summer to call themselves. They all seemed to be traveling alone fishing. 

At the boat ramp we unloaded on the dock and pulled the boat up a very slippery ramp to put it on a grassy spot near the top.  I called the Melrose Inn as requested to get them to send someone down to pick us up. We waited and waited.  I called again. A different voice said she would send someone right down. We waited and waited. A car drove in with three people who were surprised to find us there, started quizzing us about our rowing and couldn't believe what we were doing. A fourth man showed up neatly dressed with tie and a huge cigar in his hand. The driver said: "Are you taking donations?"  Heather immediately said "of course" and all of them started handing us bills.  We collected $55.00 on the spot!

A very friendly fellow named Greg came in driving a county pickup with a Dept. of Roads and Drainage seal on it. Greg sat down with us to chat. We chatted about life moving at a slower pace on the island. "Sure, this island will be developed more and become too busy some day", he said. "But then I'll move over there." as he pointed to Pine island across the river.  I guess we people that like peace and privacy will eventually be pushed to the Pine Islands of the world until they are all developed.

Finally a car drove in with the security person and another from the Melrose Inn. We loaded our dry bag and other things we did not want to leave in the boat and hopped in the middle seat. It was about 3 miles across the island to the Melrose Inn, a large and very tastefully designed golf resort situated on a famous golf course. At least that's what their literature said. Who am I to know! We entered the stately place looking like a couple traveling in a rowboat for a month.  Greeted by apologies about the late pick up, we were given our key and went to the room. With a view over the 18th hole and the Atlantic Ocean, every amenity one might conceive of including two queen size beds I began to think of the $80.00 a little differently. This was a $500.00 room in the high season.

Heather went down for a nap instantly and I showered and went to sleep soon after. After a half hour I awoke with pangs of hunger and a desire to see more of this place before dark. We ate the cheese Heather had packed for lunch with some crackers and headed out for a walk on the beach. Deer tracks were everywhere and dolphins were crowded near the shore. Lights came on to highlight all of the palms and box hedges that gave this place a splendor the likes of which is rare. I began to believe what their literature said.

Hungry as a starved oarsman after a long practice, I was ready for dinner. We proceeded to the second floor restaurant and found we were the first customers.  Our table by the window was in a quiet place until the second group came in. With a hundred other tables available, of course they were seated next to us. They were older homeowners on the resort and the two couples spent our whole meal talking loudly about their fancy houses and their memberships in this club and it seemed like every other. We ate a good meal in silence. I decided I did not need a home here. 

Awaking in the luxurious room at the Melrose Inn at the Daufuskie Island Resort was a far cry from awaking in the tent after our two-dog night on Fenwick Island. I lay there contemplating the contrast.  Sliding out of the huge featherbed I tiptoed over to push the button on the coffee maker which Heather had loaded the night before. I was thinking: “How I miss the automatic one at home that wakes me up with the smell! But, I suppose I can endure this place!”  We had our coffee and packed our few things and went down to the lobby to reserve a ride to the County Landing as they called it.  We had been expected to come in at the Melrose dock.  Of course, our boat is too small to land at its four-foot high dock. They expect people on large yachts.  I am comfortable in our small one.

We went to the dining room for breakfast. My bowl of oatmeal, a glass of orange juice and Heather’s bagel and smoothie came to $20.00, the price of roughing it.  There was no alternative so I swallowed hard and again thought of two-dog night.

While waiting for the ride to the landing in rowing clothes I must have greeted an older man who looked very managerial at least three or four times.  I suspected he was checking us out each time he walked by and was likely impatient with his people for not getting us away from there quicker. After all potential members might arrive and see the likes of us! I was very polite but wasn’t given time to tell him that the toilet in our room was an old five gallon model which was running every few minutes all night because its flapper leaked! I had probably flushed at least fifty gallons of water myself! Here on an island where fresh water was surely pumped from a well that would eventually deplete the aquifer and allow salt water to infiltrate, it would be especially important to be very careful with water use.  All of the wastewater from this development needed to be treated on the island also. This uses land and inevitably pollutes the surrounding waters by providing nutrients. Of course, I could have suggested that they use the treated wastewater to irrigate the golf course that might have made it even greener and healthier. I guess I need to write the gentleman my ideas so that he can read it in the privacy of his mahogany paneled office.

A full size bus took us to the landing.  During the high season a small restaurant near the landing known as Marshside Mamma’s is famous for its informal fare. Our friend Greg who kept us company waiting for our ride to the Inn the day before had told us about Ned, the 350-lb Vietnamese pot-bellied pig, who lived under the restaurant.  Ned was well known as a skilled beer drinker and could down a bottle of beer and set the bottle down without tipping it over. Ned could also recognize different kinds of beer!  I guess I understand how he got to 350 lbs. The rest of the story was that he was there to kill snakes that were unable to penetrate his hide. He was able to kill them, but he was safe from them.  I wonder if the health inspector approves.

We launched into a fast moving current that took us out to the Savannah River in short time.  We had wanted to get to the Savannah River just as the tide changed so that we could have its help from that point on. Being an hour or more early we landed on a nice sandy beach to wait for the change. There I met two nice men who were walking around searching the sand for fossils that had come down from the bank above the beach that had been piled there when they dug the channel.  One of the two showed me his handful of fossil shark’s teeth that he had found.  My curiosity started me looking for them also. When I caught up with Heather she started looking also and, of course, found many more than I did.We left the beach with a handful of black shark’s teeth!

Then the struggle began. We had waited so that we could row up the Wilmington River with the incoming tide.  But we soon discovered that the Wilmington was being fed from the other direction so we would have to row against the current instead.  Five miles to go to the take out at Thunderbolt and a strong headwind and current working against me! Nothing on these charts indicates this kind of information.  I could not stop for a rest or bite to eat until we made it.  So what was five miles felt more like eight and by the time I pulled us into the landing with a strong current flowing across it I had burned up every piece of marzipan Heather had reached to stick in my mouth while rowing and I hope a little of the fuel built into my waistline. Actually I did notice that I could tighten my belt two more holes!

Tuck and Susan had called just before we reached the ramp at Thunderbolt to tell us they were on the way to pick up our car and head down from Hilton Head.  I called them back to give better directions when I was on shore.  We had a two-hour wait together for a change.  Heather said she was hungry and suggested that I walk over to a restaurant nearby to see if I could get some thing to “tide us over” until we went out for supper with our friends.  I wondered what the origin of that expression was. I’d had enough of tides. Especially when they are against you!  I went. I peaked in the door only to smell smoke and see one man sitting at a bar watching TV. It did not appear to be open for food.

I walked around to a marina two blocks away but they had no food. On the way back I looked into Desposito’s again and found there was a waitress there and she loaned me a menu to show Heather.  We decided grilled cheese sandwiches would help us and I went back to get them. I also got a piece of Key Lime pie that turned out to be marvelous! I was still hungry for dinner.

Tuck and Susan arrived. We tied on the boat quickly and followed them to Tubby’s restaurant where we sat at a table in a tree house and ate a good meal.  These two have found a real welcome spot in our hearts and we hope to follow them in the future.  Perhaps they will visit us someday in New Hampshire and continue the conversations I feel we only started.  We said goodbye and went off to find a reasonable hotel in Savannah.  A 13.0 mile day but I’d like to add the distance that the tide traveled in the two hours I fought it! 

Waking this morning was difficult. It seemed that my energy was completely gone. The relatively long sleep I had had did not accomplish much if anything. I could not focus on the map or the plan for the day.  We needed to get going to check out in time.  I noticed the ache in my neck that I have had for months was quite strong.  The bottom line was that I did not feel like getting back in the boat today.  The struggle between my desire to keep going and add more mileage and get further down the coast and my physical signals telling me it wasn't a good idea was raging.  Finally, I broke down and told Heather I wanted to rest another day.  I think I worried Heather a bit. She immediately thought of my recent operation and the symptoms I'd had leading up to discovering the aneurysm in my brain.  I had had a neck ache then.  But I think my entire problem is a result of my battle with the tide on the Wilmington River.  Just over a week into this trip I was not ready for this and simply overdid.

Feeling rested is a good way to start a day.  I received a call from Diane Cantor, the executive director at the Savannah affiliate of Habitat, explaining that she was beginning her last week there and would be moving to Lowell, MA.  She was apologetic unnecessarily. Our pace had gotten us to Savannah earlier than expected and I had not called her last week when I should have.  She very kindly said she would contact one of their directors to see if she could have us met so I could get back to our car.  Shortly I got a call from Hap Boyd, a part time structural engineer and part time mathematics professor, who said he’d be happy to drive over to meet us at the bridge over the Skidaway river where we had decided to take out.  This landing appeared to be the last boat ramp on the waterway for the next 60-70 miles.  The coming section from there until St. Mary’s would require rowing several miles away from our course to find even a marina.  Heather read a warning to power boaters saying that they should be sure to fill up with fuel before beginning this stretch.

The row away from Thunderbolt and its marinas, a Hinckley service yard, and the swift current that had left an indelible mark in my memory, my back and my hands, from two days ago, was swift as this time I was rowing with the tide.  But we needed to leave the Wilmington River in about three miles and turn into the mouth of the Skidaway River.  From the chart I’d had no way of knowing which direction the outgoing tide might be going since the other end of the Skidaway also opened into a large body of water.  I maintain that this information, perhaps shown as an arrow vector whose length also indicated the maximum speed of the current and the direction that of the incoming tide, would be very useful information to boaters, especially those who care about currents that move almost as fast as they could! But, as I swung along at my natural pace it occurred to me that I was alone here.  The other boaters on this river could turn the throttle on their smoking, fossil fuel burning, wake building, noisy, floating palaces just a hair more and they would have compensated for this 2-3 mph current.  With their power such minor natural shifts in their environment were not relevant. 

Needless to tell you that the Skidaway was flowing the wrong direction.  We managed to find some slower moving water on the insides of the turns and gradually made progress. Heather tied one of her stern lines to a large mooring for a rest that gave me a break to eat lunch. Taking a break while rowing into a strong current is comparable to putting one’s hands down in a boxing match and just accepting the blows of one’s opponent.  I find it difficult to do this. We watched the bridge we were trying to get to gradually become closer and finally spotted the ramp.  I had called Hap as soon as first saw the bridge and he showed up soon after we had pulled our boat up over the noodles we used as rollers to protect it from the abrasive concrete.

Hap got me back to Thunderbolt quickly and Heather had only a short wait.  We packed up and headed for dinner with our maps and charts to study our options.  I was not ready to simply head into the void ahead not knowing that there would be a place to stop when I was too tired to go on. The marsh grass does not look friendly to set up a tent on. The only stopping points for the cruising boats appear to be four small marinas several miles off the ICW or anchorages on side streams that were shown on the charts. It seemed we had no choice but to drive around this section until we perhaps had an escort boat that could anchor and take us aboard to sleep on its decks at night. We would have to search for this and I did not want to spend time doing this and not rowing.  So we ate our dinner and headed for good old I-95.  The hour and a half it took to suddenly find us in Jacksonville went by in a wink. That is to say, Heather drove and I slept! We were leaving a gap in our journey we’d have to fill in later when I had gained more strength and when there were at least four days in a row we could be out of reach.

OK, I must admit to having been so tired I could not focus on writing during the past three days. 

We had driven further than we should have and decided we could get to the water back at Harriet’s Bluff about 18 miles north of St. Mary’s, GA.  Tide would be high there at noon and we could count on a following tidal current down to the mouth of the St. Mary’s river where we would turn upstream to get to the ramp at St. Mary’s.  Our plan was to get to the turn as the tide changed and be able to follow the tide upstream.  We had had a tip from a fisherman at Harriet’s Bluff that there was a stream that cut across a large piece of marsh that the river went around.  We found its mouth right across from where we put in and joined the rapid current carrying us through this shortcut saving us about two miles.  Then the tide helped us past the large King’s Bay submarine base just north of St. Mary’s.  I thought about our son, Sam, and son-in-law Terry riding their sub into this base. I doubt he ever did but the atmosphere of the place caused me to think of them. Frequent signs on the shore warned us not to land or trespass.  I saw a van of guards stopped on a road behind the security fencing on the bluff above the marshes.  They probably thought we might be terrorists.  I waved and rowed as well as I could to impress them.  I doubt they will send any contributions, however.  Needless to say the latter part of this plan failed.  Once again the times given for the tide change were at least an hour or two off.  So the last three miles into St. Mary’s were slow and laborious to say the least.

Pat Clink, from the Habitat affiliate in St. Mary’s was there to greet us as we pulled the boat up on its “noodle” and boat cushions on the town boat ramp.  She very kindly drove me back to Harriet’s Bluff and led me back again.  She recommended the Waterside Grill across the street from the ramp and we were able to eat right there after loading the boat. Tired, I did not want to drive far and we found our way to the cheapest motel in St. Mary’s. 

We had rowed very close to the ramp at the northern end of Fernandina Beach across the St. Mary’s River.  But to make it easier for Pat Clink to meet us it seemed better to go in to St. Mary’s.  The row back to Fernandina Beach would be a short back track and might leave some time for a side trip to Cumberland Island that we had past yesterday where we could get our bare feet into the sand for a while and make a leisurely crossing the final half mile afterward..  We had risen late and I’d eaten a hearty breakfast of maple syrup with a few pancakes mixed in, a heavy dose of carbohydrates.  When we got to the ramp back in St. Mary’s a fairly strong wind was coming at us from the Southeast. This would be a headwind and when the wind blows against the current it builds up more chop.  My head was feeling fuzzy and I lacked energy. I let my body tell me that the wind was too much and it would not be safe to try to row across the three miles or so to Fernandina.  We stopped to see Pat again at the Habitat office on the way out and tell her we had aborted our plans. She had offered to drive around to Fernandina beach to bring me back to the car.  Then we drove around to find pretty good conditions on the other end and I realized that the overload on maple syrup had given me a drowsy low. So I blame my inertia on the pancake breakfast!  We made up for the lack of our walk on Cumberland Island by visiting Fort Clinch State Park at the northernmost tip of Fernandina Beach.  This was a fantastic place. The old Fort was an impressive structure with huge cannons facing the channel that could have blown away any sailing ship trying to get through. Then we walked the entire length of the fishing pier that stretched for at least half a mile along the breakwater at the entrance to the river.  At the end we stood and watched a huge flock of several different kinds of shorebirds as they rested on the water’s edge of the beach below.  Black Skimmers were mixed with Terns and several different kinds of gulls. Occasionally a group would take off and circle around and land again. The  group behavior programmed into their chromosomes was fascinating to watch. 

We had been advised by our daughter Sarah’s friend, who had lived in Fernandina Beach that there was a special place we should not miss: Fernandina’s Fantastic Fudge! A friend of hers named Sarah, of course, worked there.  We did not need to look far to find the place. I am not one to pass up a homemade ice cream place under any conditions. So we met Sarah, watched her help pour the fudge onto a marble table and ate our ice cream.

Other advice we had been given was to eat at the Beach Street Grille. Heather had made reservations and we ate a nice two-for-one entrée but FFF beckoned for dessert! We returned for our second ice cream around 8:00 and sat outside to eat them.  The boat on our car attracted the attention of some people who pulled up chairs beside us and listened to all we had to say about our trip.  No donations resulted, however!  We gave them cards so perhaps they will mail them in after looking at the website!

It had been a good day in spite of our not rowing a mile. It had definitely been a too much sugar day.

Steve Colwell and Sarah pouring at Fernandina's Fantastic Fudge

We woke to palms bending in the wind.  The temperature was warm but when we reached the ramp at the Route 200 Bridge the whitecaps were building even with the wind following a strong current.  I had thought we might at least get to row the five miles or so from there up to the end of the island. I resolved that we were going to get something out of the day so we visited the ramp at the northern end and then went to look at the landing on Black Hammock Island.  We planned the rest of the stops on the way south to Daytona and, clearly being weather days for the next three or four days, we decided to try to find a hotel for two nights near the meeting I needed to be at for TOTO on the 15^th. 

The night had been noisy with thunder and pouring rain outside. We slept late and had cardamom cookies and coffee for breakfast in our room while working and making phone calls.  This was the third off day in a row and it doesn’t look good for tomorrow either.  But our laundry is washed, and folded!

Awoke early this morning after very little sleep. The waitress last night I am sure gave me coffee instead of decaf.  And to think I gave her a tip!

I took the bus over to the convention center and found my way to the International Homebuilder’s show where I attended a press meeting with the Environments for Living program committee members. I met several old friends in the water efficiency world and walked around the show for an hour seeing what TOTO’s competitors were up to.  Then I went back to the hotel and tried to catch up on the sleep I’d lost.  Then we packed up and headed back toward the coast. 

I could hear the wind howling again this morning as I awoke and as expected knew we were going to have yet another day off the water.  We got a slow start. Breakfast in a Hampton Inn is the epitome of waste. All of the ready to eat, processed food is wrapped in cellophane or paper, served on plastic foam plates or bowls and has the same flavor.  At least it is predictable because all Hampton Inns are pretty much the same.  But, trying to live a green life, breakfast is a guilt trip.

The trash bins were stuffed with the wrappers, containers, and uneaten left over tasteless food.

We decided to drive out and check out the put in and landing that we would use if we can get on the water tomorrow.  We found the WSEG boat ramp where we had launched on Dec. 31, 2003.  It looked much the same and had little hurricane evidence. On the way back out to the highway we stopped to pick some wild oranges and tangerines on the side of the road.  I don’t think they are ripe because they were pretty sour and dry.  When we got to the Menard Park where we will launch to fill in this gap we left last year, the shore was covered with birds.  Heather took over sixty pictures and I discovered they were very interested in food. I held up a piece of cashew nut and it was snapped from my hand immediately.  The most interesting of these birds were the black skimmers that lined up facing the wind and moving as if they were one body.  Several types of gulls surrounded them as well. A few crows and pigeons had crashed the party but didn’t seem to belong.  I think they were all clinging to dry land to avoid the high winds that churned up white caps on the water.

The wind and current were both going the same direction and it looked like we could have sailed with it down along the shore to the WSEG ramp in a few short hours.  But the rain persuaded me we had made the right choice.  Tomorrow is supposed to be windy too but there will be some sun.

The tide will be coming in again and the wind direction will be perfect.  Alas, I think we might be able to get back in our boat!  Then we will have three days of TOTO meetings in Palm Beach.

On our way back to the hotel we took an excursion into the Merit Island National Wildlife Refuge.  We visited a wonderful visitor center and then took a drive into the bird hunting area where a small grass covered road followed a built up dike through the marshes and around ponds covered with Coots, White Ibises, Glossy Ibises, Blue Herons, Tricolored Herons, Great Egrets, Ruddy Turnstones, Moor Hens, Roseate Spoonbills, Black Skimmers and more I have forgotten. The road meandered for miles hardly above the water surface on both sides and at many times I thought we were going to get stuck in mud or because we had straddled something too high for the clearance of the car.  It occurred to me that I must have inherited one of my father’s tendencies.  He had an insatiable desire to see if he couldn’t “get through” roads that had become trails.  We did get through but there were times I wondered how we would tell the tow truck where we were! Our excursion had been well worth the time.

At first glance out the hotel window the wind wasn’t moving the palms at all.  I was relieved and anticipated a rowing day for a change! I had my cup of coffee and looked again. The palms were waving back as if taunting me.  I had decided yesterday that we could row along the shore and be protected enough to fill in this gap between Edgewater and the WSEG boat ramp.  So we packed up, checked out and drove to Edgewater’s Menard Park.  As I parked to look at conditions I felt that the car being rocked by the gusts of wind.  It was worse than yesterday.  I examined the route along the shore and the whitecaps were breaking in the shallows.  The wind was from the Northeast now instead of Northwest so the shore gave no protection.  My spirit dimmed.  Rowing this stretch was not going to happen this week. 

We drove South stopping to drive through another seven-mile bird watching road and added many more birds to our list. Being a holiday it was crowded with cars and we took our place in line to watch each successive flock of Roseate Spoonbills, American Avocets, Pin tailed Ducks, Blue winged Teals, Grebes, Coots and on and on.  This was an ornithological paradise.

We had driven all the way to Daytona Beach before checking into a wonderful hotel right on the beach that was, remarkably, the cheapest hotel we have stayed in.  We were determined to close the gap that wind had prevented us from doing before we had to go to the Sales Meeting. When I looked out the window after waking up it appeared to be calm. We were packed and ready to roll quickly. On the way to the launch site we noticed the Thrift Store operated by the Habitat affiliate in New Smyrna beach so I turned in to see if their office was also located there. After walking around the store for a while I asked for Mary Pascavage whom I had talked to earlier.  I was directed to the office in the back where I found Mary as well as three others. They all wanted to come and see the boat and get some pictures taken. Bill Maul made notes for an article in the local papers. Matt offered to come to the WSEG boat ramp to pick Heather up when we got there.

We arrived at the now familiar Menard Park by 9:30.  The wind was light and from the Northwest. This meant we’d be protected by the shore. We were on the water again for the first time in over a week!  The light wind was behind us but there was a tidal current against us. It turned out that they seemed to be perfectly balanced.  Every mile that went by seemed to go a little faster as we proceeded down Mosquito Lagoon. Many dolphins and lots of loons entertained us. Heather has become an accomplished loon mimic and was able to carry on a conversation with them.  Who knows what lake in New England they would return to this summer.  We would pretend that we would see them again at the lake in Deering where we spend some weekends in the summer. Maybe they will recognize our boat!

After 16 miles we reached our starting point last year and the GPS faithfully led us right to it and the distance to go went to zero as we pulled in. Matt arrived shortly after and took Heather to get the car. As soon as they were gone two men drove in while I was waiting for Heather to get back. We were involved in discussions of all sorts of things when Heather returned. As we were packing up a large Armadillo appeared in the brush nearby. Heather jumped to get the camera but it was difficult to get a good picture. It ran under the car and out the other side making lots of noise in the Palmettos on the other side. I gave my visitors, whose names I am sorry I do not remember, cards so that they could follow our progress.  They left and we were soon packed and leaving the WSEG boat ramp for the last time. We had closed our gap!

The coffee smell at the Morales’s reached me as I woke and I was instantly at home. We arose and had a good breakfast, then drove to the Down Under restaurant under the bridge across to Amelia Island.  The current was flowing rapidly in the direction we intended to go.  What a treat!   The five miles to the boat ramp at the northernmost point in Florida went by several large ships and two enormous paper mills whose smelly smoke was blowing the opposite direction.  At over five knots we pulled in at about 11, just an hour after we left! 

I wanted to do another piece so, after an ice cream lunch at Fernandina’s Fantastic Fudge, we drove to the other end of Amelia Island to check out the tide and wind to see if we could row back up to the Down Under restaurant with the incoming tide.  Unfortunately the wind had built up to around 25 mph and whitecaps were building rapidly.  So we scouted out the landings further south and returned to our wonderful hosts. 

We decided to leave the Morales family and the Fernandina Beach to Jacksonville Beach stretch temporarily and try to find smoother water to the South and return when the winds had died.

We spent most of the day looking for a boat ramp that we had both seen on a $50.00 chart at a West Marine Store.  But after driving down every dead end road on both sides of a five-mile long canal that offered the only stretch of water protected from the wind, we finally decided that it did not exist.  With 25-30 mile per hour winds we could not get on the water so we drove down to St. Augustine and found a cheap hotel to use as a base camp for a few days. Good conditions were in the forecast. We had wasted enough gasoline driving around in vain. 

We did stop and walk on the beach on South Ponte Vedra Island in the chilly wind.  We watched a Willet, a bird whose career involved running down toward the water as the wave receded, pecking at a few creatures in the sand with his long beak and running back up the beach as the next wave broke and chased him.  It did this over and over again the whole time we were there and I concluded that we had just visited a small moment in its monotonous daily life.  But, I thought, here I am craving to get back on the water and continue my back and forth movement mile after mile.  I began to understand this new friend Willet.

As it usually happens the day after a bad day is a better day.  This was a much better day. We put in at the Isle of Palms boat ramp near the SR212 Bridge and followed the incoming tide for a ways in calm winds. Everything went well and I felt great getting back into the swing for what looked like it would be the longest day ever. Our intention to go all the way to St. Augustine fueled my morale as miles were ticking by in spite of rowing against a slight current. 

We entered the six-mile long canal we had tried unsuccessfully to get into yesterday at about 11:00 a.m. and found little, if any, tidal current.  This absolutely straight six miles, about 100 yards wide, was easy to navigate. My line of puddles went parallel to the shore on the starboard side and vanished as the mouth of the canal where we entered shrunk to a small opening on the horizon. Lavish homes on the port side with their unused but impressive docks stretched from the beginning of the canal to the other end. Not one of them seemed occupied! 

I again thought of all the people who needed housing.  If all of these unused palaces could be opened to them there would be more than enough housing for everyone including the tsunami victims.  These thoughts seemed similar to those I’d had last year as we rowed through the “Gold Coast” further south. I thought of all those displaced people living distraught lives without shelter and see them all being given a hug, a good meal, a hot shower and being tucked into the thousands of clean sheeted beds in the empty guest rooms of all of these mansions.  I am sure the hatred of America in those lands would go away if this dream could be only partly fulfilled.  These thoughts repeated themselves like my puddles and gradually faded away to the horizon in my mind.

By the time we reached the bridge at the end of the canal it was noon and to reach St. Augustine would be another 17 miles.  I had already rowed almost 13.  There was no ramp closer than our destination.  I was not ready to stop but I was not ready to row another 17 miles either.  We made the decision to call Verna Brown, our contact at Habitat in St. Augustine and have her drive up to give me a ride back to the car from here.  I was glad I did. She arrived in a brand new, two-seated, bright red Audi sports car. My ride to the car was in unprecedented style.

We were back where we interrupted our journey yesterday by 9:00.  We had intended to eat breakfast on the way but never found any place suitable.  I ate a “breakfast bar” while walking back from parking the car.  We pushed o