Part 10- Waccamaw River Through Paddle Series: Thursday 12/21/2023

           It was late afternoon by the time I was approaching the canal to the Sandy Island landing. The water was as reflective as I have ever seen it. Looking down was practically the same as looking up. You couldn’t even see water, only the mirror reflection of the trees and the sky. The wind was dead calm and, given the layers I was wearing, the temperature was perfect. Hagley wouldn’t be too much farther and I was still feeling at the top of my game. I hugged the river left and paddled along the moss draped cypress trees that extend out into the water. I was lost in the fairy tale like magic of the sun slowly beginning to set. It was an endless panoramic view with the help of the reflection across the glassy water. It was silent, it was serene and I was fully absorbed in the magnificent canvas that was being created right in front of me. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a familiar sound. It was delightfully nostalgic and it echoed across the water in full surround sound. I looked for the source of such a welcomed break in the silence. There it was, about a mile ahead of me and barely visible from my position. A dark silhouette of a boat interrupted the colors of cascading orange and blue that shined from the water and the sky. As I got closer I saw that the boat (the origin of my nostalgia) was freely drifting which ever way the current would take it. On the bow, two young men sitting in camping chairs. The nostalgia that was vibrating out across the water? Pearl Jam – Black. I thought to myself, “Now that’s something you don’t see everyday.” Two young men, likely in their early 20’s, just escaping the race and taking a break. They were faced watching the sunset, no phones in their hands, no engine running, just living in the moment and breathing in life. I don’t know them from Adam’s Apple, but I felt proud of them. I wanted to come alongside and shake their hands. Instead, I enjoyed the tunes as I snuck by along the tree line and continued on to Hagley landing. 

              There was only about 5 miles left between the landing and I. I was still feeling fully spirited and motivated. My mind reflecting on the years past. Thanks, Pearl Jam. I am now probably reflecting more than the water. I was cycling through all of my years from my senior year of high school to present day. I was playing my own movie of memories. Thinking about the choices I’ve made, the good ones and the bad ones. I was thinking about the friends I made and the friends I lost. The love gained and the love lost. The career suicide choices and the career building choices. I thought a lot about a lot. I don’t even remember the next five miles I paddled to Hagley Landing. I was completely absorbed internally with my memories and thoughts. It seems that the social mantra is to live with “no regrets”. I would lie if I said I didn’t have regrets and remorse through some of my past. Its the same tragic and comical story of most anyone’s life. This was just my custom built story made for me and by me. My past are the hands that molded me into who I am today and will continue to shape me as my future continues to become my past. I am a perfectly imperfect person, but I have love, both incoming and outgoing. Regarding my sorrows, my regrets and remorse, the beauty of my belief is that it is promised to us that He (God) makes all things work together for good. I am my own personal proof of this divinity. Like a butterfly effect. change one thing in my past, and my present would be unrecognizable. Wow! Sorry, I don’t know how that transpired. Sorry if I got to deep for you. I promised this would be raw and unscripted; otherwise, I would delete that last paragraph. A little more personal than I usually care to get. 

         With my attention redirected to the approach of Hagley Landing my goals for the day were changing. This is where the Forrest Gump Marathon mentality would come into play. I figured since I had gone this far, I might as well just keep going. I had already paddled nearly 40 miles since the start of the day. It would only be another ten miles or so to make it to the middle of Winyah Bay. Why stop and set up camp here only to pack camp for a short ten mile trip the next day and reset camp. These are the thoughts running through my head as I begin to approach Hagley Landing. The sun had set sometime ago and the twilight faded into blackness. As I approached Hagley Landing I paddled in for a break. By this point I had already decided that I would not camp there I was committed to making it to Winyah Bay…tonight. I still needed to make a stop to top off my Camelbak and to reset for a night paddle. I needed to switch out for different layers, grab my spare headlamp for back up, and dig out my flashlight as a third back up. I took a short stretch grabbed a small protein snack and was preparing for the final stretch to Winyah Bay. Marshall and Merri had been watching and following me on a link where they were able to get live updates of my location. A few minutes after arriving at Hagley Merri sent a message: “Thank goodness. See you have stopped. Hopefully for the night. We are worried about you going further tonight.” A great and well received message. It was nice to know there were people watching out for me. I replied to let her know I am just changing gear and will be moving again soon. A short while later I was back in the water to make my last 10-15 mile stretch for the day. I knew from Hagley it would be about 9 miles to the Georgetown 17 Bridge. The torturous part was that, at night, you would see the bridge in clear view, pretty much, right out the gate after leaving Hagley and for the next couple hours it would never seem to get closer. 
           By this time Fatigue and exhaustion were starting to creep up behind me. About a mile or so of paddling there it was! The Georgetown Bridge. I see it, its right there! The “know better” side of my brain said relax, its till 7-8 miles away. It didn’t matter, it was in plain view and looked so close. My pace against my will began to pick up a little; however, it dropped about as fast as the ambient temperature as the fatigue set in. The temperature was falling quick and the air became thick with moisture. Ten minutes, 30 minutes, an hour goes by, the bridge didn’t seem any closer than when I first saw it. It felt like I was stuck in the infamous never-ending hallway from the movie ‘Poltergeist’. It seemed like every stroke forward was two strokes back. The current was with me and the winds were calm. It was perfect conditions but still, it seemed, progress was in short supply. Next thing I knew the silence in the air was once again broken by the sound of tires rolling across the hollow concrete of the bridge. Now I could hear it, not just see it. Another wave of excitement and energy came over me. First I could here the large semi-trucks downshifting as they summited the tall bridge and began the descent down the other side. Then I could hear the full size pick up trucks, then the SUV’s, and then the compact cars traversing the bridge. I was focused on one sense. My hearing. The sound of the bridge slowly raising its volume with each stroke forward. Finally, I was there. I was under the bridge and making my way into the delta of the Waccamaw River, the Great Pee Dee and the Black River. If you add in the tributary rivers of these major flows this would be the confluence of the entire northeastern South Carolina watershed and further. The Yadkin River, Lumber River, Little Pee Dee, Waccamaw River, Lynches River, Great Pee Dee, Black River, and others all join to become the delta named Winyah Bay. 

        I was there! I made it. Only a few miles to get to my target destination. So I thought. When all was said and done, it would be another 7 miles from the bridge to my campsite. I decided against making camp at Monroe Park because I wanted to be closer to the ocean. I thought a few more miles and I can make camp in the same place for two nights. I was exhausted by this point and starting to get a little cranky. It was dark and I only had the moonlight to guide me along with the made ready lights I have accessible on board. I followed the northern shore of Winyah Bay and kept about 150 yards of distance between myself and the shoreline. I knew Winyah Bay is notorious for shallow ground. With the tide still flowing out I knew that some areas maybe risky navigation. I opted to keep my distance from shore and stay more in the open water. About two and half mile after the bridge I got to my first island which served only as a landmark for navigation. I paddled between it and the mainland. The next Island would be a small grassy intertidal island- flooding every high tide. I decided to stay between it and the mainland once again. There was a navigation channel on the other side and although boat traffic was null, I figured it would be best to stay out of the channel at night. I had plenty of distance between me and either shore, so I thought. As I approached the small intertidal island my worst fear came sudden and without retreat. My paddle hit bottom. Then my kayak hit bottom. I went from smooth acceptable draft to almost nothing in an instant. I tested the bottom with my paddle. It was pluff mud and not traversable by foot. I pushed the kayak back words with my paddle. Still mud. I forced and wedged with every push to try and point my kayak straight out to the channel. It would move barely. At first I thought, just get 5 feet over this way and I will be off the mud bank. The kayak would glide over the mud but with strong resistance. It was barely moving forward and the tide was going out. I had to fight off the panic building inside. I was tired, I wanted my tent and sleep. I wanted dry ground. I knew I was trapped in the kayak, there was no getting out. I didn’t know how soft the mud would be, but I knew that it is not something you test out, especially when it is 10pm and your in the middle of Winyah Bay. For a moment, I seriously thought that I was going to have to sleep in the kayak beached on this pluff mud till the tide came back in. That thought was devastating and motivating. My adrenaline spiked and I kept pressing forward with my never failing “ski-pole” technique. A few inches at a time. Body lunging and pulling on the paddles was working so long as maximum effort was applied. Five feet, 10 feet, 20 feet, it was getting slightly better. I was certainly not out of the clear. After about 50 yards of direct path toward the channel the kayak began to let loose of the shallow mud and I felt a wave of relief, exhaustion, irritability come over me. I looked at satellite imagery to decide my next best move. Looking for the darker water in a low tide image to help me navigate the landmine of shallow mud banks that would still be ahead of me. I stuck mostly to the channel until I was coming to my chosen island for camp. 

        I was a mess and not in the mood for any self congratulatory sentiment. Hear about my (now silly) temper tantrum on the next post. I find it quite comical now.