Part 11- Waccamaw River Through Paddle Series: Friday 12/22/2023

        It is nearly 10:30pm and I started my day at about 9am that morning. I had been kayaking for nearly thirteen and a half hours. By the time I got to my hopeful campsite, there were no amount of “Goosfraba’s” to help me settle down from my fowl mood. I was exhausted and still coming down off the stress of getting stuck on the mud bank. All I wanted was my bed and sleep. I approached the island only to be stopped by the shallow slope of the shoreline. This only further tuned my “poor me” little violin. I was in a sort to say the least. Here I am, once again, “ski-poling”. Only this time it would be to get to shore and make camp. With each body lunge and pull on the paddle I would slide closer and closer to the shore. Finally! I made it to shore and it wasn’t outlined with pluff mud. The ground was hard enough to make it work. The dense cedar trees made the island pitch black. I turned on the headlamp to search for a suitable place to set up my tent. One pouty stomp of my foot after the other I walked around. I went right then went left. The whole shoreline was dense with cedar branches that stuck out like daggers. I couldn’t set up camp on the shore because I could tell that when the tide rises the entire shoreline would be underwater. I kept searching. On occasion, due to my impatience, I would try and force my body through some of the thick brush to look for any clearing. Each time I would have to retreat. I was about to admit defeat and throw myself to the ground in a full on toddler tantrum. 

         I walked left one more time. I went a little further down and there it was. My way onto the island. I found a small clearing doable enough to drag up my kayak and find a place to set up camp. I went back to the kayak grabbed the front toggle and started tugging and dragging the boat over to my decided camping spot. There was about a 2 foot step up through thick grass to get on the high ground safe from the high tide. I drug the kayak up and over the barrier and let it rest on top of the high water wash littered with countless pieces of trash and driftwood. Clearly the “alleged” Nor’ Easter that came through on Sunday flooded this section of the island. The wash of grass stalks, trash, and driftwood carpeted the ground like a mattress. As soft and inviting as it seemed this would be no place to set up my tent. I needed solid ground clear of anything that would damage my tent. I walked more. Every where I walked, it was just more of the same debris. I came back to the kayak to get my brighter light. When I bent down to grab my flashlight the light of my headlamp luminated what appeared to be a small tunnel through an area of thick brush and cedar branches. I crawled into the tunnel and found a high sandy spot that was just barely big enough for my tent. The dead low branches of a few cedars was the only thing impeding me from setting up my tent. I grabbed my bush axe while mumbling and grumbling to myself. I started swinging away to cut and sculpt the area into a dome shape with high enough clearance for my tent. After about 30 minutes of chopping and maybe a few cuss words my sculpture was carved out for what I needed. As quickly as possible my tent was erected. I didn’t even care that the thick humid air had completely saturated the rainfly during the night paddle. With cold wet fingers I spread out the rainfly, semi-aggressively, and attached it to the tent. My bed couldn’t be made fast enough. Nothing mattered more to me than crawling in for the night. I hadn’t even eaten anything but a couple handfuls of jerky since my Double Whopper. Didn’t care, I just wanted sleep. The bed was made and I called Laurie to say goodnight and let her know I wasn’t dead. She answered the phone with love and optimism. “Hi Honey!” My response did not reciprocate the same lovely tone. I simply said “I’m tired, I hate this island, my rainfly is soaked, no way will I stay here tomorrow night, everything sucks! I love you, I’m going to sleep.” Even as I write this it makes me chuckle. I was borderline full on toddler tantrum mode. I was out the minute my head laid down. 

         I certainly woke up much better than when I went to sleep. After a little self encouragement and convincing I decided to crawl out of the tent for my morning coffee. The light was barely breaking across the horizon. Once my coffee was steeped I thought I would walk around a little. Partly to explore, and partly to look for a better option for my tent. As I walked around and came out to the shore I looked east and saw the twilight of sunrise. It was beautiful and so was the island. I thought to myself what was so bad about this island. I realized how stupid and immature I was being last night. I was in a great spot and didn’t have to pack camp. I would be here all day and night. Two nights in the same place sounded fantastic to me. The result of my stubborn perseverance yesterday was paying off now and I was completely content. I settled in my chair in front of my tent and grabbed my phone to send a morning text to Laurie. I noticed it was at about 40% battery left. I grabbed my last power bank and plugged in the phone. Nothing. No charge. I pulled it out and plugged it in again. Still nothing. I have only done about a half a charge with this power bank. It should still have life left in it and there was nothing left for it to give. I can only  assume the cold nights over the last 4 days wasn’t good for its charge. I thought for sure I would have to pack up and paddle out. Less than half a charge was not going to survive over the next 36 hours I had left on my expedition. 

          I am one of “those” people. I hate asking for help; never-the-less, I had to accept my predicament and once again phone a friend. Before my journey I had a multitude of different friends reach out and tell me to let them know if they can do anything for me. I went through the list of those friends and/or acquaintances. One name stood out, because I thought he lived on the south end of Myrtle Beach. I didn’t even know him very well. We had only met maybe twice before. I knew he was a good paddler and loved kayaking. I reached out and sent him a message. With in a few minutes he responded. I told him of my short power supply, invited him to camp with me for the night and finish the last leg of the trip out to the ocean with me. He excitedly responded, “Absolutely!” Probably less than 15 minutes later he sends another message, “I’m on my way.” This guy, Michael, who I barely knew jumped at the opportunity to come to my assistance. He loaded his kayak, packed his camping supplies, and was out the door all in about 15 minutes. My new roll model… Since he was on his way I figured I better get moving and paddle over to the agreed upon meeting spot. We would meet at the South Island Ferry Landing. It took about 45 minutes for me to arrive worrying he would beat me there. I looked around when I got to the ramp for any sign of him or a vehicle with a kayak on it. I was pleased to not see him yet. I didn’t want him to bet me to the ramp. I moored my kayak to the dock and waited around at the top. The ramp was as busy as builder ants after a heavy rain. It was duck hunting season. Boat after boat, the hunters would come in. It was non-stop action the entire time. What really impressed me is that everyone of them were so patient and courteous to everyone around them. Friendly greeting and smiles were everywhere. They even included me into the head nods, and friendly conversations. Some were gathering around listening to me tell my story of putting in at Lake Waccamaw. They were fascinated by it. For as busy as the ramp was, it was one of my best experiences of random encounters. I never saw a single person be short or get huffy with another boater. Fisherman, please be more like duck hunters- they set a great example.

          About an hour would pass before Michael would arrive. I thought to myself traffic must have been horrible. I greeted him and we began getting his things together for launch. My phone was charging in his truck while we were getting his kayak loaded up. I asked where he lived. He lives in Little River! He just drove well over an hour to come meet me with a primary reason of bringing an extra power bank for my phone. A guy he barely knows and he didn’t have a second thought about the long drive to get here. That was very humbling for me. I need to be more like Michael. Selfless acts of kindness are the greatest gifts one can give or receive.

          Once we had everything in order we carried his kayak to the water. Saddled in and secured our spray skirts. It would be a pretty short paddle to camp and we made good time of it. By the time we got back to camp I was really feeling the hunger. Part of me was regretting not having dinner. While Michael was setting his tent up I broke out the ever faithful Spam. I sat by my tent in my small nearly private custom made cedar cove and fried up the whole can. Like a primitive caveman I started devouring every salty bite. I had a perfect view of the bay through the small open tunnel of my campsite. The water was calm and there was no boat traffic. Just an occasional cormorant diving for fish. I was slipping back into my happy tranquility and nearly forgot all about Michael being there. The subtle sound of footsteps would bring me out of my “nothing box” and back to consciousness. I crawled out of my tunnel to see if Michael needed any help. While I cooked and ate, he had already set up his tent and bedding and collected enough firewood for two or three days. I felt gratefully useless. I told him I would help get firewood and he said he was happy to do it. Practically ordering me to sit and relax. Michael- you are a rockstar!

         As evening would settle I selected my dinner of choice from what I had left. It would be freeze dried lasagna. Yum. We sat around the prebuilt, but unlit fire and began making our dinners. Anxiously awaiting for the sun to lower enough to light the fire. As the sky started to fade from blue to an assorted canvas of pastel color, it would finally be time. Michael sat with satisfaction of watching all of his hard work go up in smoke. I sat with gratitude over the idea that I was reaping the rewards of his hard work. It was certainly the biggest fire of my trip and you couldn’t even feel the bite of the cold air. We shared some wine (gifted to me by Marcus) and shared stories of kayak trips from the past. It turns out his daughter went to school with my son and they knew each other. Turns out, it really is a small world. After a few hours of watching the “bush T.V.” it was time to settle in for the night. I crawled in my tent and thought to myself. “This is the last night. Tomorrow I will be sleeping in my warm cozy bed next to my bride.” Tomorrows trip would be a short easy five and a half mile paddle to the Georgetown Lighthouse and then we would make our way back up the bay to the South Island Ferry. I snuggled into my sleeping bag and closed my eyes one last time for this expedition.