One year since we arrived in North Devon after our travelling adventures (please see all previous posts going back to October 2017!) we are now thoroughly underway – week 7!!! – with social distancing, Corona virus updates and trying to get any sense out of my Mum during Skype calls.
There is a thought that keeps popping into my head though.
One of the best things about Edisto Island is that the tap water tastes vile.
Salty, soft and slightly soapy its effect on a cup of English tea is to render it utterly undrinkable. And every time the town has a vote on improving the flavour of the water most people vote “no!”.
You see Edisto Island occupies a very desirable piece of South Carolina geography, just 40 minutes drive from the sophistication, wealth and burgeoning suburbs of historic Charleston.
Only a certain kind of person will put up with either installing a reverse osmosis water treatment plant in their home or collecting their 5 gallons of free “RO” treated water each day from the town hall taps. And this is certainly enough to deter property developers from risking large housing developments in such quirky conditions.
Tracking two hurricanes as they head across the ocean towards the South
East USA is an effective way to re-live some of the anxieties of your
former yachting life.
Our original sailing plan when we had a yacht (new readers please see previous boat/fire/disaster posts…) was to be well north of the hurricane zone in the critical time period of course…. in yacht insurance terms this zone ends at latitude30.5`N which is about where Florida turns into Georgia.
We had scooted the bus back down from Canada on the last day of September, to our “boon-docking” spot near Atlanta, Georgia (free camping in other words) on Rob and Angela’s driveway, to do some anxious/urgent/boring vehicle admin’. However, you can only spend so many hours in the day stressing about that and watching the weather so meantime I tasked myself with:-
“Oh Ca-na-da” as they sing…getting in was easy, getting out again not so much!
The Thousand Islands region is a beautiful and handy spot where the border between the United States and Canada runs East West-ish through the waters of the St Lawrence River, as it exits a corner of Lake Ontario.
You can peer down at picturesque riverside holiday homes dotted along the shore of New York State as you drive over the green painted metal toll-bridge and arrive in Ontario, Canada. It is so handy that many Canadians take a day trip in the other direction for a bit of duty-free shopping.
Definition of an island here? Two trees and at least 1 square foot of land above water all year. Many of the smaller rocky outcrops appear to have just enough room for the tiny wooden shed bolted onto them, some larger versions also feature docks and green gardens creating an enviable little rocky one-house universe in the midst of the river.
A confession. To me, the “countryside” of North America is frankly intimidating in comparison to quaint English woodlands and footpaths.
…how do you get out and enjoy these places without a machete, a compass, a bear gun, a tent and a wilderness guide?
Our first proper RV campsite, after setting off from our friends driveway in Georgia, was a little one with just 20 spots! Owned by the whiskery Patrick – who would wander each evening in his Frank Lloyd Wright T-shirt, glass of whisky in hand – the campsite followed a river bank in the small and homely Virginia town of Damascus.
The Blue Ridge Mountains are a wonderful and very popular part of the Appalachian Mountain chain, which runs along the eastern USA from as far south as Alabama and even pokes up into Newfoundland, Canada. It has been one of L’s ambitions to see these rolling blue-green ridges and ranges up close for many years, so now that we are no longer “at sea” it’s the perfect time to do that!
We sailed out of Edisto Island, South Carolina in early July with two things. A fridge rammed full of Kings’ Farmers Market veg. And a determination to make some proper progress north as planned. Actually three things! An Edisto Island Yacht Club burgee (small pointy flag) flying in our rigging.
We covered a lot of water over the following days and nights and had some good experiences and some not so good. I will summarise a little…
Partly I have been a bit side tracked…partly our world went up in flames. Hence the delay in making any new blog posts – apologies!
My last post in June 2018 left us on beautiful, wild Cumberland Island, Georgia preparing to sail to our old “happy holiday” spot of Edisto Beach, South Carolina. Which we did, attracting lots of attention as we sailed in with people waving from the beach and dodging our 39 foot catamaran through the flotillas of jay-walking kayaks very slowly. A spot that sees few sailing yachts it seems.
But I have jumped ahead. Our trip would be 26 hours of sailing at the stately speed of 5 -6 knots, so we had plenty of time to check our progress, snooze, raise sails, drop sails, drink tea etc.
That night, I realised that my “VHF radio voice” needed to drop an octave at least. And I’m not saying please anymore.
Somehow, no matter how much time you have to prepare, something on the night shift will always catch you unawares and this time it was the hornet’s nest that is the inlet to the Savannah River with its to and fro of massive commercial ships.
Some natural places are so unique and so distinctive, they are easily identified, especially by those that love them. The maritime forests and salt marshes of the southern Atlantic coast of the USA (the lower right hand edge in case you are struggling to visualise) are just such places.
Add to that mix wild horses, ruined mansions, a history involving some of Americas wealthiest families and access only by boat and it makes for a pretty special experience.