an infrequent repository of mostly new stuff
Bill watching the clouds build
I alluded to this story back in the summer, but was so busy then I couldn’t take time to tell it. Roger Rodibaugh recently reminded me that he and a few other folks have been waiting quite patiently to hear it. Actually, several adventures from last summer slipped by unaccounted for that I should revisit. Now, with it cold and snowy outside, seems a good time to get back to them.
Helen Marie
Beaufort is about halfway to Bradenton, Florida, land of Dave Lucas and his band of merry boat builders. So this trip offered a good opportunity to make a quick raid on “Sure It’s Wood” Forest to abscond with the new boat project (about which more presently). But doing it in a day meant leaving before daylight and returning long after dark, with only a brief visit in between.
Continue reading “Dave Lucas, Helen Marie, and the New Project”
A salt marsh savanna
The vast salt marshes of the Low Country gave a name to the city of Savannah. Seemingly endless expanses of salt grass stretch from horizon to horizon, dotted with distant hummocks – small islets of pine, live oak and palmetto. These spartina marshes range all along the Atlantic coast from Newfoundland to Florida, but there are more here than anywhere else – covering 600 square miles in South Carolina alone.
The day following the storm is eerily calm. Relentless wind of the day before left patterns scoured in the sand, but otherwise no other sign. The sea was flat and calm all the way to the horizon, gently lapping at the beach, quite unlike an ocean. The sky absolutely clear.
A sea change.
Galloping horses, blowing manes
The girls headed back north in a storm. It would dump rain, then sleet, then snow all along their route, eventually diverting Emily to stay with a friend in Harrisonburg. A day later she would follow it up through New England to Maine, through several feet of freshly plowed snow.
Here at the beach the wind blew hard all day. It tore the tops off a tormented sea. It drove sand in snaking tatters down the beach, piling it up in drifts, a gritty counterpart of the snow drifts up north.
Walking the beach on Christmas Day
Two small villages of less than 500 souls, on an island isolated from the rest of the world, consisting almost entirely of a volcano in constant eruption for over 2000 years. Yup, my kind of place.
I want to go here:
O mare from wecrosstheline on Vimeo.
(note new motor, uses oars instead)
Summons – Stromboli Island (5D MkII) from LowResFilms on Vimeo.