Dear Reader,
Last night right after I posted, we had our first night of being serenaded by frogs. Then this morning we had our first morning of needing to drag our boats out across the mudflats, due to low tide, before we could launch. So it should come as no surprise, on this day of firsts, that tonight we have our first night of being camped somewhere without cell phone reception such that I won’t be able to publish until tomorrow.
Today was our second longest day of paddling so far: 14.7 nm from Piney Point to Spoil Bank 1. We crossed the bulk of East Bay with the wind to our back. Big rolling waves underneath, and the first time I felt for a split second that I was about to flip. My bow became airborne, as Miss Pink’s cockpit and stern rode the top of a cresting wave beneath me, and then suddenly turned right spilling me off of the waves. For a second I thought “Here I go!” but nope, I was still afloat. Miss Pink is a dang good boat!
We passed a yard of cranes. John figures they build cranes. That makes more sense than my attempt at figuring out what could be so heavy they needed that many cranes to lift.
And then we turned the corner north, and headed right into the wind! “Do Ray Me Fa So La Te Do.” Paddle Paddle Paddle. Stretch, Dip, Pull. Repeat.
F-22s kept circling us. John figured they were trying to figure out what we were. There wasn’t any other boat traffic.
We knew once we entered the ICW (intracoastal waterway, aka the Ditch), the wind would be less, so we just kept grinding without any real stops. The first part of the ditch was a river. With current. Against us. But we worked the slacker water in the eddies and began to see a smattering of houses along the bank, a bit worse for wear.
And a bridge. (I wonder how many bridges we’ve gone under so far.) And a small, modest park with a boat ramp, picnic tables, garbage cans, a flush toilet and an outdoor shower (but only non-potable water).
A couple from Georgia pulled up and we got visiting while John and I tore into our lunch of smoked almonds, smoked sausages, mango slices and half an apple, and a Shrimp Boat passed by. They were the Taylors, retired, and on their annual three-month winter stay in the area. They looked at us a bit askance. I’m guessing we looked a bit dirty. As soon as they left John and I each stood under the cold outdoor shower, fully dressed in our paddling garb, just letting the fresh water rinse away the crusty salt. Then, frozen, we lay in pure bliss on the clean picnic table benches in the warm sun until my shivering forced us back in our boats and paddling to warm up.
There was no designated campsite. The trail guide just called for a scattering of possible campsites along the Spoil Bank (created by the spoils of dredging the waterway) a few miles beyond the bridge.
John is the ultimate campsite finder. And so voila, here we are. No rain. No wind. The Florida-usual car traffic in the background. And less bugs – in part because we gave in to the use of 100% DEET (thanks to Tim the Baker who swears he didn’t have any bug issues for his entire 1,515 mile paddle due to 100% DEET, and gave us the last of his bottle. But we still used our bug suits tonight.) And no internet.
We are alive.
We are healthy.
We are adventurers.
Goodnight!
Cheers, Susana