It was quite the memorable visit with my friend Mike Steven’s folks Mike and Marilyn in St. James Plantation, NC.
After filling myself on burgers and chowder one day and a steak, chicken and apps party spread with the neighbors, I felt well fed and ready to tackle the ICW again. The hospitality shown to me was top notch and I cannot thank them enough for their kindness. While rounding up my gear from the garage, I realized my worn out old hat that I had washed was missing. Mike accidentally gave it to the landscaper yesterday thinking it was his. Lost in translation, he felt really bad about it and I thought back to all the sentimental memories it had, from my Mom giving it to me at the start of the journey and the many rain storms and sunburns it kept me safe from. On the way to the boat, we stopped at the Golf Shop and he found me a hat with the logo of their community on it. Styling with my new clean hat, I waved goodbye and thought about how I had a small piece of clothing to remember the Stevens by.
The Cape Fear River was placid and the tide helped carry me upstream all the way to Snow’s Cut by sunset. At Carolina Beach State Park, a picnic area and bathroom looked prime for camping as the sun set.Nobody bothered me and I was gone by first light out into the fog of the ICW. Many mornings here started with clear skies but as the sun came out, a dense fog would settle against the water. In the distance the roar of surf could be heard from the beach, never that far off. The relative comfort of the ICW was magnetic and as long as the current was favorable, I could reach 25 miles a day! After a hard day’s paddling, sometimes the view from the spoils island is worth it.
Spoils islands along the ICW meant it was usually easy to find a campsite by the end of the night with some shelter from the cedars and scrub oaks. This time of year the traffic is relatively light so most days I had the whole ICW to myself. Watching large traffic move up and down the ICW like this dredge was an interesting sight.
Last night, I knew a big storm was inbound. After sunset, the wind blew the chop on the water into a frothy whirling mass of white water. The scrub plants down along the frequently flooded shore wooshed and whirled in the turbulent and shifting winds. My tent was staked into the decking platform that washed up here and I just hoped that the tent would hold together as the gusts flattened it to my chest. After each big gust, it would pop back up with a splash of spray blowing under the edges. A 3 season tent in this 4th season isn’t ideal. Below me, a cricket chirped its happy song under the dry shelter of my tent and the decking while outside thunder crashed and lightning lit the water in a brilliance of silver. After midnight the winds finally blew out and I knew the bottom of my sleeping pad was soaked through but luckily my sleeping bag and myself were relatively dry. A short night but by 5:30, I was up and at-em again heading to Morehead City for groceries and the library for fresh Charts to the Alligator River.