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.