Isle of Hope / Savannah

[Hilde's log]

400 year old oak

A month in the Savannah area has seen winter finally grumble away and spring rush in with warm weather, the scent of Carolina and Confederate jasmine in the air, cool breezes, and morning saunters along the Skidaway River. When we first came in, the sun was shining, but the wind was still arctic. After we returned from Portland, balmy was the order of the day, and what a gorgeous change that has been!

View of the lovely Skidaway River.

Isle of Hope Marina is on the Skidaway River, one of a number of rivers that wind their way through this part of the world. The tides here are quite high at 9 feet, so the ramp to the shore can be almost level or almost vertical, depending on the time of day. It’s a lovely place to park, allowing boaters to wander along tree-lined boulevards and past elegant homes (and a few mansions) all decked out in their party best of white paint, Spanish moss, towering oak trees, and colorful flowers. The marina supplies free coffee, and a stroll down the river walk to one of several benches the locals have placed on the banks for tourists is a lovely way to spend the morning.

I do a lot of fantasizing about living in one of these homes. The grounds are just elegant.

The "river walk" by our marina, dripping with Spanish moss. Turns out Spanish moss is not moss, but an air plant distantly related to the pineapple. The tour guide insisted that the moss hosts chiggers, which I find an odd idea. What would they bite? Maybe it's a rumor to keep  tourists from taking it home.

Two of the homes along our walk offer benches for sightseers. Isn't that hospitable?

The marina has loaner cars, which are a godsend for errands, but we have splurged a couple of times for weekend special rental cars in order to see the sights. It’s a beautiful city, surrounded by unspoiled wetlands and barrier islands. We’ve met so many friendly people, which is amazing since this is high tourist season and the historic downtown is bursting at the seams with visitors. We’ve attended the oldest church in Georgia (established 1733), at which John Wesley was once the rector, and a “newer” church that didn’t get its start until 1832. Its “parish hall” is the Green House, once owned by a prominent Savannah resident who lent the home to Sherman and his occupying forces at the end of the Civil War, no doubt to keep it from being burned to the ground. 

Wormsloe Historic Site is the site of a plantation started at the time of the first founding of Georgia as a colony (1733 again). The entrance is familiar to anyone who watched “Forrest Gump” and the rest of the grounds host buildings that illustrate the place’s history and gorgeous jungle-like grounds where old cedar trees, oaks, Spanish moss, magnolias, and palm trees share the landscape.

A close up of "wattle and daub" construction. The houses were one room and tiny.

A twisted cedar lying along the marshes at the edge of Wormsloe.

The live oak drive made famous in "Forrest Gump."

Historic tours by bus, open coach, or carriage ride are available to provide visitors with an overview of the city, a pinch of history, a pitch for all the dining establishments, and a sampling of the Historic District’s 22 “squares” which are urban parks surrounded by beautiful townhouses. It’s a great way to see things without having to negotiate small streets in a rent car. 

Savannah is a port city, and big container ships routinely sail up the Savannah River past the old downtown district. The cobblestone streets and old quays of the city now teem with tourists and tourist shops, including souvenirs, candy, ice cream, bus tours, clothing, etc., housed in what were Savannah's huge cotton warehouses.

Downtown Savannah by the river.

One of the restaurants along the downtown river district.

One of our favorite visits was to the Bonaventure Cemetery, made famous in the book Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. The cemetery is enormous, quiet, and lush.

Family plots hold everything from mausoleums, to Celtic crosses, to monuments.

This section of the cemetery was home to beautiful markers engraved in Hebrew.

The grounds are peaceful and green.

Many markers have stones balancing on the top or scattered over the ground around the marker. I'm guessing it's a commemorative gesture of some sort, but no one could tell me about the custom.

If you take Highway 80 out of town, you can visit Fort Pulaski, built in the military build-up following the War of 1812 and used all the way through the end of the Civil War, and Tybee Island, the local beach mecca for all ages where you can enjoy some bracing sea air and goggle at the wide variety of folks who go there to swim, fly kites, build sand castles, chase toddlers, and eat sandy picnic lunches. Or there’s a restaurant where you can listen to live music in the open air. It’s not Great Guana Cay, but it’s a lot closer.

Tybee Island

Sunshine and Cold, Good Anchorages and Bad

[Hilde’s log]

We left St. Augustine after two nights, headed for the Georgia border, and suddenly the people, the buildings, most of the boats, and the cold weather all receded into the distance, and the world unfolded in all its beauty.

No houses!

From being hemmed in on all sides by development, suddenly we were in the marsh land or wetlands, with a horizon that stretched out and gave us room to breathe. The air turned balmy, the water flattened out, and I could enjoy steering from the helm chair instead of standing. A bit later on, the waterway narrowed again. On one side were modest homes, on the other a wilderness of pines, oaks, sawgrass, and palm trees, all in a jungle-jumble (see above). That pleasant state of affairs took us toward Jacksonville, although as we got closer, the houses turned into McMansions. The view was easy to fix – just sit on the side of the cockpit that shows the wilderness.

Just on the other side of the St. John’s River, we pulled up in a small anchorage at Sister’s Creek early in the afternoon. On one side of the waterway was a public park and some public docks, but on our side was flat water and marshes lined with a rim of trees. The next morning, the anchorage was absolutely still and quiet, except for squawking seagulls. I felt as though I weighed 300 pounds less.

Sister's Creek anchorage, from Google Earth.

Cap'n Dave comes back from inspecting the anchor at Sister's Creek. Note the bare feet!

The stillness was like nectar. Event the water was quiet (the fishing boats fixed that, about 15minutes after I took these photos).

First this...

...then this

Passing up the sand and brightly colored buildings at Fernandina Beach, we chose to press on to St. Mary’s, Georgia, a traditional cruisers’ hangout we hadn’t ever seen. It’s a fairly long trip up the St. Mary’s River to get there, with lots of winding u-turns. When we arrived, we could see from the damage that the waterfront had been dealt quite a blow by Hurricane Irma. Then we found out that all the stores and the laundry were 3-4 miles from the waterfront, which is way too far if you have no transportation. Yet another cold front was looming, so we cut our visit short and left early the next morning.

Our trail took us by the nuclear submarine base. Fortunately, no one was home, so we had clear passage. We did see the cage that houses the submarine (a degaussing facility, which means that’s where the magnetism is removed from the submarine...that bit of information from David, who understands these things), but it was empty. We admired the coastline of Cumberland Island, Jekyll Island, and St. Simon’s Island, but didn’t stop as we were on another trek through a small weather window and needed to get to a protected anchorage.

Another blessedly warm day saw us traveling with a few other sailboats through the winding track of the Georgia ICW. Cruisers will either throw up their hands in horror at this stretch of the inland waterway, or will just smile and go for it. The scenery is splendid and as boats drop away for the ocean inlets to go around Georgia by sea, pretty soon you have the place to yourself, which is extremely refreshing. Waterways branch off from the main channel in all directions and then the main channel opens into a number of large bays along the route, all beautiful sailing bays if you have built sailing into your travel schedule. Next time, I tell myself.

Raven chugged along, sometimes with the staysail out if the wind was in the right direction. We stopped twice in smaller creeks off the main route to spend the night, anchored in complete silence. Out on deck in the night, before the moon rose, the glories of the Milky Way are spread out over the heavens. In the morning, all we could hear was the chitter of blackbirds in the marsh, and the occasional plop of a pelican diving for breakfast. There are other people out there (we saw their lights in the distance at night) but during the day we felt like pioneers sailing along a watery prairie.

Marshland in the afternoon light. You can see the tide line. At high tide, no soil is visible.

Georgia ICW marshlands.

Cane Patch Creek - no more bare feet! COLD.

The weather continued to be unpredictable. We anchored for the two nights in Cane Patch Creek waiting on another cold front to blow by before the last leg of our trip through a very shallow section of the ICW called Hell’s Gate. It sounds worse than it is; the trick is to cross on a rising tide so you have enough depth. We got through with no trouble and arrived early at Isle of Hope (we didn’t know the tide table when we made the reservation), but the description of Turner’s Creek sounded nice. There was a grocery store in walking distance and the little marina there had facilities for use for a fee.

The first problem we encountered was the creek itself, which was narrow and had several boats already in residence, all taking the best spots to anchor. The second problem was the weather which went from chilly to cold and rainy and dark (no heat on the boat, remember?). The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I called the local marina and asked about showers only to be told that we could tie up our dinghy for $10, but that the facilities were no longer on offer to cruisers. Folks, we’d been out for a week with no bath. I could have stood the crummy anchorage and the cold weather with a nice hot shower and clean hair, but to be cold AND be stuck below for two days because of the non-stop rain AND to be grubby and stinky...we called Isle of Hope Marina and begged them for an early slot. Wonderfully, they had one that came available four days before our reservation! Another miracle was that the rain stopped and the sun came out and the wind died to nothing.

Isle of Hope Marina is located on the river that is the ICW here and docking is a bit of a trick. There are isles of boats and you maneuver your boat down a narrow lane to your spot, where, for want of a better term, you parallel park your boat. Fortunately the marina crew knew exactly what they were doing, and David is a fabulous skipper, so we got tied up with no problem and headed straight for the hot showers.

The river, seen from our morning walk. Isle of Hope Marina is in the background.

That's Raven on the right with the yellow diesel cans. David drove her right down that middle lane, with boats about 2 feet on either side of us. Needless to say, we went slowly and carefully. The marina crew were amazing.

You can't miss us - just look for the Texas flag!