Do they dance the Charleston in Charleston anymore? A
question I am planning on answering tonight. Starting my quest with pre-prohibition
era hand crafted cocktails at Sips, a small plate comparison between two supper
clubs and rounding out the night with Jazz at High Cotton. After a long few
days getting here I stepped onto the dock and was greeted by an ebony colored
standard poodle. A good omen that once again proves I am in the right place at
the right time. I booked a week here but can see why one would fall in love
here, stay in love here, buy a house, have children and stay forever. Yesterday
afternoon I rode my bike down and got a haircut and a straight razor shave from
a real barber, bringing civilization back to my savage styled last 4 days, followed
by a strong Irish whisky at the oldest bar in town. I wonder if Rhett Butler
would have had a drink here, wiping his mouth on the curtains when he was done,
punching a man or two to defend his honor from shifty glances and taking at
least 3 ladies home after setting fire to the place. After all there is only
one Ms. Scarlett….and no one puts baby in the corner. You have to love his
Southern style, Rebel spirit and zeal for life. It’s not like I haven’t had a
run in with the local Sheriff already, who after spotting my Northern ways
stopped me as I was pulling in. Ever see
the beginning of First Blood. Opening
fire on my northern ship like Citadel cadets opening fire on the Union ship “Star
of the west” in an act of the Civil war, I was boarded. Found free and clear of
any contra band and once again making new friends I moved on into the City
Marina. I can’t blame them for stopping me, having run the boat high and hard the
day before and tired to the bone, I and the boat looked like we had been
flipped upside down, which we were.
I want to thank everyone who takes the time to read this and
support me. I am sorry if I have been slow with updates which are not due to a
lack of material but more do to so much going on. Life on the water is completely
unpredictable and new every day. Every morning when I wake up I get sucked
right into the current that moves these waters and now my life.
When I got to Wrightsville beach a week ago a friend said to
me “be careful these docks have Velcro, we stopped for 2 nights and 21 days
later we are leaving”. I said “one night
and I am on the road” 5 days later I left. On Saturday I caught up with an old friend
Chris, his family and my old Admin in Wilmington (the town next door), having
fun dinners, telling old stories, getting caught up on the new and exploring the
town, working hard to check off a list of “must see” given to me by another
buddy Brandon who use to live there and true to his word steered us through the
Barbary course of fun times and cool places. Although the most adventure we had
was a new Trader Joes that just opened in town (there aren’t any in the south) and
its reputation preceded it with traffic, manned by police, stretching around 6 blocks. After Chris dropped us off
and headed to Rite Aid to get a new Taylor Swift poster for his office ;) we
walked through the hostile parking lot of people who were taking getting their
holiday case of Two Buck Chuck as a life quest. (**side note, people south of
Maryland don’t care if you are a pedestrian or on a bike. If you are in a cross
walk and on foot it’s not their problem silly; get a car**) Once inside it was
fun showing Anne all the cool stuff that they have and stocking up on my
favorite dark chocolate bars which is the only sweet I carry on board. $150
bucks later I walked out with enough food for, once again, a mission to mars,
posing a new problem. How do I get this back to the car. Thank You to the TJ
associate who walked us out to the car that was 2 streets over. Cool thing
about TJ’s associates, you don’t need to tip them, just spend a min talking
about how cool their 300 tats and 12 piercings are. If you don’t know what I am
talking about….you have never been to TJ’s.
In the days that followed I met so many new friends in
Wrightsville. On Tuesday I went out onto the water for a perfect day. Fishing
over a wreck where we could see the bottom and the fish, we caught everything
from a puffer to sharks and a prize porgy. When we caught our fill headed to
Carolina Beach for a late lunch among the million dollar boats and 2 dollar
rednecks, catching my first up close glimpse
of the real thing. And this is where I call
people out. Tim Lind, Alicia, Sarah, Cheryl, JD and Dad….you are not real
rednecks. (Even you Dan D ….Rednecks don’t fly around in Gulf Streams and deal
with misbehaved third world politicians, you may have an accent and can
skin a buck in 20 min flat…but) For a while I was convinced that you were, but
now realizing that you embody the American spirit and action but no matter how
much you go to stage coach, country thunder or how big your boots are, you have
no idea what a true southern redneck is until you see one in the wild. That and you are all to pretty. I love
the North Carolina accent, its smooth, rolls and not snotty like South Carolina’s,
but found out that you can’t understand real rednecks! Coming in off the water in their boats covered
in branches and grass so thick that it really looks like a piece of land, rifles
a shot gun and a forty five sticking out from the side, usually with some sort
of kill under tarp, they are friendly, talkative, laugh a lot and you have no
idea what the heck they are saying. I just do what I always do with any indigenous
people: smile shaking my head up and down and follow Earnest Hemmingway’s
advice on dealing with Latin culture from For Whom the Bell Tolls : Offering the men Tobacco and leave the women
alone. While heading down the ICW I was startled by guns being shot on shore
100 yards from me, with 3 gun men and dogs chasing a dear, all along I was
thinking “hey guys…ummm I am here, right friggin next to you”, half ducking
half wanting to see.
Damn Yankees….no wonder it took you 4 of the 5 years of the Civil
War to take Charleston leaving it to men like Rhett to take. The waterways are
like a maze with beauty that lulls you into a false since of surreal living. If
the gators don’t get you, know that the tides rip stronger than anything I have
ever seen , and if all that doesn’t get you the sand bars will. Now back to
my grounding. After a night of sitting on anchor in a small creek among miles
of golden grass where once dark I screamed with excitement and a spot light as
gators jumped and made crazy sounds in a feeding frenzy all around, I got up
early to make my final 30 mile march on Charleston. In a misty morning I
snapped a few pics fired the engine and headed into the ICW. Within a mile I
was cruising mid channel and hit an unmarked shoal, unable to back off with the
tide dropping quickly, I knew I was stuck. Quickly I called back to Venture who
was just about to leave anchor and draws more water than me to stay put. After
sitting there for 45 min the boat was laying enough on its side that I could start
cleaning it form the dink and at a certain point I wanted to get into the now
one foot of water in order to do a better job. As I stepped on the rail of the
dink I noticed that I cut my foot somewhere in the chaos and watched the blood
run into the water, my survival skills kicking in as visions of gators from a
mile around hitting the water upon smelling my blood caused me to jump back
into the dink (And I never thought I learned anything from watching Croc Dundee.)
after an hour Vic and Susie showed up in there dink to help. We spend the next
5 hours stringing lines to keep the boat from being pushed further into shore
in the heavy winds and current potentially making it impossible to get off.
It was a hard day and I want to thank them for all their help…looking
back we actually had a lot of fun. That night I went down for the count by
sundown.
I love living a life that you can’t buy. And I only told you
¼ of the story.
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