Lovely stay on Isle of Palms. About sunset, I opened the hatch to go on deck, and startled a huge heron just about to land on the dock about six feet from my face. It was about the size of a skinny ten-year old with Batman wings. It took off again, right over my head. Close encounters. Other birds, less dramatic - a gaggle of grackles, I think -- had their breakfast and processed it and left it on deck the next morning. I had to go around with a bucket and a scrubbie.

We did the grand tour of the island in the morning, walking the length and breadth of the place to find the grocery store. Just up the road from the marina, we asked a fella how far to the grocery store? He scratched his head, and said, why don't you take your car? We walked two or three miles to the store, and thought we might get a pile of groceries and take a cab back. No cabs on the island. We made minimal purchases and walked back. We saw one person on a bike, one jogger, the aforementioned retiree walking his dog, and a couple of people on the golf course. Everyone else was booting along in their vehicles. All on a beautiful sunny day, about 15 degrees. (At the risk of repeating myself, the mall-ification of small towns and cities is ubiquitous. The basic stuff -- groceries, gas, post office, library -- aren't available in the downtown and residential areas. Everything you need to do on a regular basis requires a vehicle. Downtown means bars, restaurants, coffee shops, fudge stores, souvenir stores, if it's a prosperous place. In smaller centres, the downtowns and waterfronts are literally empty. The mall, and the highway, that's where you've got to go. It's hell, or at least purgatory. Boycott the BLIP.)

All that reminds me that I really miss meeting my neighbours at the Stupor Store on Quinpool a couple of times a week. Having just dissed the location of the big stores here,I have to say, it's such a treat to be able to stock up on wine at the grocery stores (Black Opal Shiraz, 8 bucks, and this great stuff called Smoking Loon is about 8. The cork is printed round and round with "Whooh, Whooh, Whooh, Whooh, COUGH, Whooh, etc.). And all on Sunday, if you've a mind. As a matter of fact, there were a lot of church people at the neighbourhood Publix store last Sunday in Beaufort. Hats and dresses and suits, buying grits and Apple Jacks and Budweiser and Sunday joints. There was also a woman wearing a camouflage sweat suit. She bought the Apple Jacks.

Left Isle of Palms with another grand display of boat handling. Picture trying to rotate your car in your driveway when the gravel is flowing one way, and the street that you want to get to is flowing in another direction, and the wind is blowing in a third direction. Oh, and did I mention the megayachts parked all around you looking fragile and expensive? Captain didn't break a sweat, but there was a helpful guy on the dock who was sweating bullets. He kept dashing about offering suggestions. Randy just backed up, turned the boat, and we waved goodbye. Lordy, it's so satisfying to travel with a man with skills.

We didn't go far, having decided that we really did want to see some of Charleston, so we went through the bridge (you have to wait until it opens, or call them on the VHF and tell them to haul it on up for you - this is a regular feature most days), motored across the bay, anchored, lowered the dinghy, and had a great walk through Charleston. Lovely place, university town, lots of young people, lots happening downtown, beautiful buildings, beautiful things to buy (we didn't) lots of galleries, and a great post office, with character, and characters. It's so nice to talk to lovely people after days of enjoying lovely scenery all by ourselves.
By the time we got back to the boat it was just getting dark, and our butts were about to fall off after all the walking we'd done -- about 10 miles we figured. Slept well.

Charleston to Rock Creek (anchorage), 47 miles. One of many grassy, marshy, low country anchorages. There are brilliant sunsets, and while the sun is going down, the grass all around is alive with bird noise. It's as if you could hear dinner time and bedtime noises in hundreds of houses all at once. The skyline is a beautiful black silhouette of live oak trees.

Days are usually about eight hours of motoring through this low country grassland. There are fabulous stands of trees, all green: live oaks, long leaf pine and palmettos, and acres of tall yellow grass. We see porpoises all day every day now. Sometimes just their dorsal fins and tails, but once in a while they poke their heads out of the water and take a look at us. I love that.

Rock Creek to Beaufort, SC, 18 miles. The marina had a loaner car and we took a short drive to the Publix store (SUNDAY!) and stocked up big time, back in time to fetch laundry, and have a nice walk down the main street. Good secondhand bookstore, and the proprietor was full of southern welcome and charm. We had a beer and fried green tomatoes at Kathleen's Bar along with a bunch of guys smoking and watching some sort of sports thing. I think they call it football here.

Beaufort to Wilmington River, 51 miles. We anchored just out of the ICW and across from some large and nasty condo developments. Sitting in the cockpit with a drink, a little sailboat came by and the old fella on the bow hollered at us, "we got turned around - which way's the ICW?" Randy pointed back up the river and indicated which markers to look for, and then the gent faced the cockpit and shouted "turn 'er around Nannie!" We got to thinking we'd seen this boat with the older couple aboard aground earlier that afternoon, and aground back up in NC. In the morning, when we headed back up the ICW, we saw them anchored smack dab in the middle of the channel, with a tug and barge combo bearing down on them blasting its horn. Nasty way to wake up. Haven't seen them since then, but we imagine they'll have lots of adventures to share after their trip.

Wilmington River to Cresent River, 60 miles. On the way into the anchorage, a porpoise followed the boat, and Randy felt him give the rudder a nudge before surfacing beside the boat and giving a little blow. Woke me up from my nap. Another quiet anchorage, all alone, grasslands of Georgia. Bird noises. Grits and baked chicken.

Cresent River to Jekyll Island. Lots of skinny (shallow) water, but we managed not to go aground. Going ashore for food! Low country boil. Sounds disgusting, but smelled really good when we walked by. (for an idea, see http://www.kingofpeace.org/lowcountryboil.htm)

We'll park here until the 16th, waiting for rain and wind to clear, and then, south, south, south.
Tomorrow, December 15, is Tom's 18th birthday. Feel free to send him a message at tom_eidt@hotmail.com