To Charleston

Through South Carolina

After a week in Wilmington we left the dock at the Carolina Beach State Park to continue the waterway down through South Carolina. Our departure was not without fanfare. We’d spent the week visiting my brother and sister-in-law and the Commander’s sister and brother-in-law. They all showed up at the dock, mimosas in hand (Note, alcohol is strictly prohibited in North Carolina state parks) for a below-decks toast to Luna’s continuing voyage. They all, minus Lisa, the Commander’s sister, who signed on to the next segment of the journey, helped push Luna from the dock, and we were seabound once again.

Toasting to a safe continuation of Luna's voyage

We timed our departure to reach the Cape Fear inlet at slack tide falling, so we had a nice ride down the Cape Fear River on the outgoing current. At the inlet, we turned south to continue in the waterway, past Southport and on to our first destination, an anchorage at Calabash Creek.

We didn’t know anything about this anchorage, but it was a reasonable (40 mile) distance and received good reviews on our crowd-sourced navigation program, Active Captain. The reviews proved  justified, as the anchorage was peaceful, lovely, and, as Luna was alone here, quite remote. A couple shrimp boats came by at night, heading out to sea. Calabash is the home of Jimmy Durante’s Mrs. Calabash, who operated a seafood restaurant. Since the 1930’s Calabash has been known for a style of cooking that involves frying fresh seafood. The Commander and I tried some on a road trip a few years ago. We’ve tasted better.

However, in honor of Calabash, I cooked up the trigger fish filets we brought with us from our favorite seafood shop in Carolina Beach. Dredged in flour and a beaten egg, then coated with panko breadcrumbs and fried in oil and butter, they made a delicious meal, better than we remembered in Calabash.

Once you get down through the development along the waterway in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina is an absolute delight. We loved it last time we cruised through, and it continues to charm us. Here, the waterway enters the Waccamaw River. The river is named after the Waccamaw people who lived between it and the PeeDee River to the south. Here they grew cotton and tobacco. They were nearly totally wiped out by the Spanish and English during the colonial period. I must have missed the T shirt that said, “I welcomed the explorers, and all I got was this measly river.”

If the river is any indication, the Waccamaw must have been a beautiful people, fortunate in their choice of a home. The waterway winds through forests and coastal lowlands. Abandoned rice fields line its bank in places. Finally, there are few if any houses here. The Waccamaw flows through the most remote part of the route.

A thunderstorm passed, ushering in a cold front that would bring cooler temperatures and a brisk north wind for the next few days. We anchored in a winding creek off the main waterway. We were the only ones we saw on Prince Creek.

Morning at anchor in Prince Creek

The next day took us further into the remote lowlands. The muted colors of green and yellowing deciduous trees, tan and green grasslands, brown tangled branches of the swampland, and the tannin-colored brown water delighted our eyes in every direction. The north wind allowed us to hoist the genoa and sail for much of the route down to another remote anchorage at Duck Island, a few miles south of Georgetown.

The creeks along this section are affected by changing currents, often swift, as the tide changes. We used two anchors, one on the bow and one on the stern, to limit Luna’s tendency to swing and either move too close to shore or turn with the wind and trap the anchor line around her keel.

After three days on the relatively quiet waterway, we entered civilization again on the way to Charleston. More boats, now, are heading south. There are a few sailboats, but still most are power boats.

There is an etiquette on the waterway when a faster power boat passes a slower vessel. The slower vessels slows to an idle, and the faster vessel also slows to pass. This minimizes the wake that would rock the slower boat. Usually, when the faster boat approaches, he calls ahead on the radio to announce his presence and his intention: “Luna, this is Large Power Yacht, and I’d like to pass you on your port.” We appreciate this courtesy, and call the passing vessel after they are by to thank them for passing us slowly.  And, as this section of the waterway is affected by shoaling, we may ask them to alert us to any skinny water up ahead. This has been very helpful to us at times.

Of course, there was a time when a large power yacht roared by, barely slowing down as we did and throwing up an enormous wake. Boats move along three axes. When they rotate around their transverse axis, they pitch. When they move about their longitudinal axis, they roll. And when they sway along their vertical axis, they yaw. As this inconsiderate lout passed, Luna pitched, rolled, and yawed, somewhat violently. “We should call him up and tell him how it’s done,” the Commander said.

But I was lost in another thought. “How are we going to make America great again,” I asked, “if the stronger or faster continually press their advantage against those who may be slower or weaker, but perhaps offering of other advantages in other ways?” Yet isn’t this the essence of the new ethic? Full speed ahead, take all you can get, and never mind your wake. And isn’t this what is being offered as the best America can give to its own people and to the rest of the world?

I am reminded that the Commander has banished from Luna forever any reference to him who will not be named here, so that will be the end of this particular discussion.

There are houses along this stretch, but they are not at all like those on the North Carolina waterway. Here, the houses blend into the trees. When painted, their colors are muted and natural, shades of gray or green that seem to grow out of the forests themselves. Not at all like the showy monoliths that are packed shoulder to shoulder on treeless slabs of ground further north, these houses evince an understated elegance and grace. We appreciated this ethic greatly.

The Commander picks up shells on the beach at Bull Island

 We spent the fourth night in Price Creek, a favorite anchorage we discovered on our last trip. Here is an inlet to the ocean. The creek is 20 feet deep, so we let out 140 feet of anchor rode, but it’s wide enough that even when we swung around, there was enough room that we would not wander too close to the banks. We took the dinghy down and motored to the beach, a wildlife preserve called Bull Island, admired the ocean and collected whelk shells. We marveled at the dolphins in the waters, particularly a juvenile who enjoyed jumping with the exuberance of one who has just learned to swim and is trying out his fins for the first time. He was airborne above the surface of the water several times until his mother appeared and herded him away from our dinghy.

The final day was a short ride to Charleston, just 19 miles to the St. Johns Yacht Basin on the Stono River, a little south of the city. The marinas in town were filled for the weekend, as boats came through on their way south. On the way I saw several flags displaying a palm tree and what appeared to be a crescent moon. Turns out this is the South Carolina state flag, which is also on their license plates.

Now this is interesting. Rather than a snake that says, “Don’t tread on me,” here is a tree inviting a hug. I learned that both these images, the palmetto and the crescent, were images from the American Revolution, made into a flag by Colonel William Moultrie in 1775. It was the first revolutionary flag. The palmetto was of use to colonial soldiers. Covered with sand, the palmetto trunks provided the breastworks that repelled British cannon balls. And the crescent (pointedly, not a moon)  was a breastplate worn on the uniforms of South Carolina militia. The background blue color of the flag was the color of those uniforms.

The South Carolina flag appears on the license plates

South Carolina played an important part in the war. In Charleston, colonials confiscated British tea, selling it later to raise funds for the revolution. The loyalists here allied with the British who intended to squeeze General Washington’s troops from the south. They were helped by escaped slaves, who were promised freedom by Britain. However, irregular fighters in the lowlands and creeks stymied the British and the loyalists, culminating at last in the British evacuation of Charles Town on December 14, 1782. This day is officially designated as South Carolina Independence Day, and the city was renamed Charleston to sound less British.

The loyalists, of course, evacuated to the Bahamas to settle with their slaves in the Abacos, but that is a story for later.

The point of all this is that it makes one wonder: “Wouldn’t it be interesting, and much less divisive for this country, if South Carolina and her sisters in the South were to commemorate the American Revolution rather than the Civil War?” Savannah manages to erect monuments to Revolutionary War heroes in its public squares, but it is a city quite unique in this respect. Of course, Savannah managed to sit out the Civil War. When General Sherman approached, a delegation met him and surrendered the city asking him to spare it from the flames. It is not written what they offered him in return.

The north winds are abating somewhat and as the front passes finally, will moderate and clock around to the east. It is Thursday, and by Saturday conditions offshore should allow us to reach south to Florida. In the meantime, we’ll do some restocking and enjoy some of the restaurants in Charleston.

Luna's wake sparkles in the sun in the Carolina lowlands