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Fernandina
Harbor |
GEORGIA Launch:
Town ramp in Fernandina, with easy parking. The tides here are 7-8 feet,
and the ramp is a long slimy thing at low tide, so wait for the high
to avoid spinning wheels. |
INTRACOASTAL WATERWAY
-----We
launched at the Fernandina town ramp and headed north to Georgia cruising past
the patrol boats outside the submarine base at King's Bay. They take their job
seriously, we found out. The "red right return" of the buoy markings
suddenly changes at the base into the standard ICW green to seaward. The huge
buildings of the base transfixed me and I was not watching the charts carefully
- after all, the channel was well marked. "The patrol boat is coming right
at us, hon," El casually remarked.
-----"Must
like the look of the C-Dory," I responded, only half in jest. We've had
boats come from afar to admire Halcyon. An eighteen-wheeler followed
us for miles on a freeway and into the rest area just to look her over closely.
Having a C-Dory, all owners know, attracts attention.
-----"You're
about to run aground, green pleasure boat," the VHF blared. The patrol
boat was plowing fast right at us, red light flashing. Needless to say, I pulled
the throttles to stop.
-----"Marks
change color, skipper - check your chart," said the Voice To Be Obeyed
over the radio as the patrol boat pulled in front of us blocking passage.
-----We
checked and quickly saw the problem. "Thanks for the save, sir," El
radioed.
-----The
patrol boat turned and with a smart salute the uniformed sailor said, "Have
a good trip, skipper."
-----The
US Navy protects more than the high seas - they keep 22' boats off the hard.
-----The
seven to eight-foot tides of this coast are impressive. The tidal currents are
strong and we're glad to have the twin 40-hp Hondas on the stern. Anchoring
has a special responsibility, since the tidal current can trip the anchor with
the tide turn. But, there is a marvelous compensation - the elevator ride!
-----If
you anchor with the high, you can see over the Spartina grass. The vista is
broad, including trees on the coast, towboats plying the ICW, and birds flying
overhead on fish patrols. Then the tide goes out. Slowly, inexorably, you sink
down into a mud-walled canyon. The grasses now rise high above you and your
vision is constrained to just a few feet on each side of the channel and a long
tubular view up and down the slough. Now you notice the little things - the
up-close stuff you didn't or couldn't see at the high tide. A myriad of snails
are leaving their wiggly trails in the mud. Oysters or mussels crowd for holding
room on every stray stick or rock. Shorebirds wander the mud, thrusting beaks
deep into the muck searching for worms. And the odor - ah, the delightful aromas
of low tide.
-----That
evening we hooked in Delaroche Creek, a backwater mud-banked slough off the
ICW, surrounded by the tall Spartina grass so characteristic of the Atlantic
coast. We were sitting in comfy chairs in the cockpit, sipping sundowners and
munching herring in wine sauce, watching the sun slowly set. After dark, eyes
reflect your flashlight beam - raccoons prowling the shore.
-----El
suddenly said, "Ponies! Cumberland Island has ponies! Tomorrow, let's go
find them." El had remembered reading in a guidebook about the wild ponies
of the island. They had been roaming the island ever since a cargo boat carrying
their ancestors went aground on the offshore shoals.
-----"We
have a quest," I answered. "Tomorrow the ponies." And, the next
day, we found them.
-
(4/01)