Well, we're back

Last evening a rusty, rugged little boat called Dynasty came up Awendaw Creek where we were anchored. The crew of five seemed to come out of the distant unknown yonder since the water and marshes stretched as far as the eye could see all around us. These visitors passed our boat with a wave as if in a dream, and thus began the last 24 hours of our voyage.

After pulling up the anchor at about 6:20 a.m. today, we were soon met by rain that would follow us on and off well into the afternoon. Thunder and lightning came too close for comfort at times, but other than that the rain was welcome because it gave the boat a good rinse down and kept those exasperating swamp flies away.

We traveled over 1650 miles through swamps, sounds, oceans, rivers and channels. We went through seaside metropolises, empires of marsh, jungles of mangroves, and neighborhoods of mansions fit for royalty; but I believe my favorite part of the Intracoastal Waterway is but a few miles from where we started. In the central part of South Carolina, the Waccamaw River meanders through the pristine forests of the state's Low Country. Fresh water creeks empty into it from far away places known by few people. We came to the river about midday. I dozed off in the love seat on the sun deck while still in the South Carolina marshes, and when I awoke I found myself surrounded by this endless landscape of graceful trees gently rising from the banks and  hanging their branches over the river.

Waccamaw River

In the middle of this forest we passed the Socastee Bridge, the first bridge we needed opened since central Florida. From there was the home stretch. We passed a dock along the waterway that had a random McDonalds sign on it, and the fact that it made our mouths water was proof that we'd been away from civilization for too long. We passed the Grand Dunes and all its wealthy homes one last time, and recalled how the development was the end point of our five-mile test runs before starting the long haul down the coast.

We tied up to Barefoot Marina around 4:30 p.m. and shed all our worries of going aground in shallow water, capsizing on the open ocean, crashing into other boats or becoming stranded in the middle of a wide open sound. We survived without having to endure any serious turmoil. We were a bit shaken by the waves, and maybe a little less accustomed to the ways of civilized man, but we've also seen much proof of other mariners who fared much worse. Like this poor guy.

 Boat aground at Jeremy Creek, SC. Captain Ken photos.

Upper Rock Creek anchorage, SC. 

Upper Rock Creek.

Trip stats.

To those who have followed this blog, thank you. You journeyed with us the whole way. I hope you shared each moment with enjoyment. We plan to spend the next few days tidying up the boat, and then we'll drive up to New Jersey, which will always be home sweet home. 

One long day from journey's end

I'm sure Charleston is a wonderful city; in fact it has been voted the number one U.S. city, whatever that means. Forgive me though, for I must dwell on the city's shortcomings for two reasons. Number one, we didn't have the privilege of debarking in Charleston on this voyage, so to find some contentment in just passing by the Holy City, I've decided to pretend it's not a very marvelous city at all. And I'm sure it's not. Number two, the harbor is treacherous beyond reason. We planned on anchoring there today, but competitive winds swung us all around the designated anchorage across from the marina and almost pushed us into surrounding boats. After struggling to get the anchor up and find a more favorable spot, we decided to leave Charleston altogether.

Alas, on our voyage down the coast, as we left Charleston after staying in the marina for the night, I felt a nostalgia come over me in bidding farewell to the Southern gem. I remember Edwin McCain's song ringing in my head, "In the Holy City, I heard the spirits in the steeple singing 'You'll be back again.'" And for sure I thought we would be back, and see more than the city marina. I thought we'd see the churches and carriages, the Southern architecture that comes into its own in that cherished setting. But it was not so. Charleston Harbor blocked the city from us like St. Peter guards the gate of heaven from those who haven't finished their purgation.

But I haven't stayed true to my promise. Charleston is after all a wretched city. It is no good for a northerner like me. Its residents would probably see me as a nuisance, and all the parks and churches would all be closed to me. There is nothing in Charleston for me to see. 

So on we went from that wretched place (I already forget its name), and afterwards headed northward along South Carolina's calm, straight and very pleasant portion of the ICW. When I was steering the boat along these stretches, I barely had to touch the wheel. Avalon stayed her course from marker to marker with the help of the gentle current. 

I haven't spoken much about the every day routine Captain Ken and I have on the boat. It's quite simple actually. When we're on the move, we get up early -- often around 6 a.m. -- pull up the anchor if we're anchored, untie the mooring if we're tied to one, or untie from the dock if we're at a marina. Then we take turns driving while the other either navigates or relaxes. Most days are much more pleasant than stressful, but every now and then we have trouble with the anchor or run into inclement weather. Then, after reading the GPS, charts and guide, we decide the best place to stop for the night. We usually anchor out since it's free. Today, for instance, we anchored in a place called Awandaw Creek just south of McClelanville, SC. There's a small town in the distance to the south called Andersonville, but other than that the spot is surrounded by wide vistas of Southern marshes. We can see forever. 

Tomorrow we plan to get up early and see if we can get to Barefoot Marina, North Myrtle Beach, where we began our trip. It's about 80 miles away now. Today we traveled 80 miles from Upper Rock Creek.