Dear Reader,
This morning we awoke to the buzz of mosquitoes in our thicket and quickly broke camp, slipping into the calm mist of the river, beaten only by one fishing boat.
Water like glass. Sky like calm water.
Sixteen and a half nautical miles of glorious paddling through the white of fog was our reward. We paddled all morning by compass to the charted mound of Rock Island.
I love paddling in the flat and silence of fog. Tilting the rudderless Miss Pink starboard, the compass heading nudged east, and tilting port it would nudge west. Thus we kept our heading, in a sometimes more and sometimes less zigzag fashion, at 127 degrees.
And there she lay, three hours later, materializing out of the dense fog. We got out, stretched and contemplated camping, but the sea conditions were too good to pass up paddling and the bugs were too thick to happily consider remaining.
And for a brilliant minute the sun broke through a patch of blue before being fogged over again.
From Rock Island, we continued paddling to Spring Warrior.
Another cold front is moving in, and the NOAA weather radio is forecasting an upcoming small craft advisory for several days.
We don’t want to be on the open ocean for a storm. Nor on a rock island.
Spring Warrior has a Fish Camp and Motel, which sounded like a very good place to hole up for a few stormy days.
The wind picked up slightly so we picked up our pace.
I have found that when I get tired or the wind picks up, or simultaneously both, my impulse is to push harder, to try to get to camp quicker. I won’t pause to drink or eat or to put on more sunscreen or clean the salt off my sunglasses. And then I pull up to camp wiped out.
So I’m trying to notice when I’ve switched into that hyperdrive, and to slow down, drink water, eat.
As we push the edges of our comfort zone, which we are doing every day, I remind myself to BE comfortable and to take care of myself. Sometimes I just have to put on the breaks when my instinct is to flee.
The high tide allowed us to hug in closer to shore, searching out inlets beyond the marsh headlands so we wouldn’t miss the river entrance to Spring Warrior. John found the opening and we headed in.
There’s a primitive camp upstream more, which we’d read about in the Trail Guide. But with a big storm coming in and expected to last for days, we had our hopes set on lodging and wifi and electricity and indoor plumbing.
Thank God it was Sunday afternoon and the weekend crowd had just departed.
Yes, we will take the fish camp motel prize behind Door #3. Which came with a loaner car to run into nearby Perry for supplies! Thank you Kevin!
So, one minute we’re in fog trying to find a river entrance in an endless sea of grass. And the next, we’re careening down a backwoods road at 50 mph. Who’d’a thunk it?
That’s Southern hospitality at its best!
Ok, Storm, bring it on! We’re indoors and ready for you!
We’re alive.
We’re healthy.
We’re adventurers.
Goodnight!
Cheers, Susana
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