Next up, South Carolina, or “Bring two bottles of Dom Pérignon to Cabana 1”

We had a nice easy trip up to Sunbury, although it started off a bit rough.  At 2 a.m.  When Oscar demanded to go use the restroom.  By “restroom” we mean grass, or dock, or deck, or anything handy.  And by “demanded” we mean he reminded us that if we didn’t jerk into immediate action—at 2 a.m.—he’d just let fly in our bed.  So we jumped up like the boat was on fire.  Cancer medicine surely stinks for the little guy, but it’s not that great for us either.

But hey, we made it to our reservation at the crab company and the shrimp nachos were awesome.

One of the many great things about traveling at eight knots is that we can explore lots of places that otherwise we’d never know existed.  When zooming down I-40, for example, the stones we unturn generally are limited to Pilot truck-stops with clean facilities, Funyuns, and Mountain Dew.

In the whole stop-and-smell-the-roses vein, it turns out that Sunbury, Georgia, is really cool.  For one thing, Sunbury was the home of many famous persons.  We now know this because there’s a sign.

It’s probably true, though, because this once was a seaport of significance even before the Revolutionary War, when cargo ships and warships from both sides came up the Medway River and docked right about where Tumbleweed spent Thursday night.

During that same Revolutionary War, Fort Morris was captured by the British, held for a time, and then essentially abandoned once the losers went home with their tails between their legs.

We walked the mile or so to check out the fort, but wound up going home with our tails down just like the other losers.

On the way home, however, we found ourselves strolling along the historic Sunbury Road, which in the 1700s was the main highway/carriage path into what then was the second-largest seaport on the lower Atlantic coast.  We probably walked right where many famous persons once walked, although there wasn’t a sign to confirm it.

Then on to the Sunbury Cemetery, where presumably many famous persons are buried.

If showing up in a Google search is a requirement for fame, however, Adam C. Dunham wasn’t one of the famous people who once populated Sunbury.  Perhaps that’s because—according to one of the saddest gravestones we’ve seen—he buried his many hopes rather than acting upon them.

Sunbury was so cool, in fact, that here’s another photo of Tumbleweed, bathed in the early morning glow, completely untouched by the mosquitos and biting flies that were supposed to be here but mercifully never materialized.

Like old Adam, we had hopes.  Friday’s hope was to make it to Delegal Creek and a joint that even has a place to play pickleball.   Another nice easy cruise.  The worst thing we saw was that the retro Shell sign at the entrance to Kilkenny Creek has fallen down since the time we stayed up in there despite being disappointed because the restaurant was closed.  Even Hell Gate—which terrified Loopers like us in years past—has been dredged.  No thrill at all as we rode Bob432’s recommended line and never saw less than about ten feet of water under us.

Okay, to be honest there was one scary part.  We’ve never been to this marina before, so even with a warning from Steve on Gypsies Palace we weren’t prepared for the jarring disconnect between what we saw out our windows and what we saw on our charts as we entered.  Not a single channel marker where Garmin and Navionics and Aquamaps agree they should be.

But we made it.  There we are, way down at the end of C Dock, across the marsh, looking quite tiny.

Great news greeted us on Friday about the time we pulled in.  Thanks to a brilliant idea from the girls’ Aunt Liz, we exchanged birthday presents that will expand our ability to explore new places efficiently.  Two scooters were delivered yesterday and are awaiting our arrival in Charleston.  Woooo!

Although Doug has coveted a SoloWheel Glide 3 ever since we left Fishtown, these bad boys are a solid compromise.  They’re gonna be game-changers.

Skidaway Island—which the immature one of us figures was named by a dude who manufactured underwear cleaning solutions—is home to The Landings.  The Landings essentially is a master-planned community with a bunch of private clubs and private restaurants.  Very swanky.  The nice marina folks gave us passes into all the private stuff that we don’t have proper clothing to enjoy, and a private golf cart to take us to all that private stuff.

Very swanky indeed.  And very helpful when we went to Publix and to play pickleball at the private courts.  Once the locals realized that our skill level is neither offensively good nor offensively bad, they welcomed us warmly.  Actually even more than warmly.  More like hot and humidly.  But great fun was had by all, as they say.

Even better than pickleball?  We docked across from Honey Queen, a Gold Looper boat that we likely passed without notice in Virginia two summers ago.  Wes and Amanda live right around the corner and invited us to dinner Saturday evening.

What a great treat to hang out with them and a few of their boating friends.  Loopers are the best.

Sunday the wind was a’howlin, so we mostly stayed aboard. Which was okay because both the Longhorns and the Volunteers made it to Omaha for the College World Series, with televised games.  Unfortunately, Doug single-handedly jinxed both our teams by prematurely thinking up zingers to use on Charlie after the anticipated Vol win and Bulldog loss, neither of which materialized.  Grrrrr.

Among the swanky amenities offered by The Landings are miles of gorgeous walking paths, which we thoroughly enjoyed.

Although when Oscar is along they’re not really walking paths. More like dawdling paths.

When we arrived at Delegal on Friday, the plan was to leave Monday.  But then the weather was horrible yesterday so we decided to leave Tuesday.  But then it looked a bit better this morning so we thought maybe we’d go on up to Thunderbolt.  But then Thunderbolt Marina somewhat predictably was struck by lightening last night so all their phones and internet were out so we couldn’t confirm that they had a spot we safely could claim in 25-knot gusts.  But then we reached them by VHF and they said come on, so we scurried around untying ourselves in the wind so we could catch the last of the creek water before it was carried out to sea.  Whew.  Because we now knew we’d be going across charted land it was marginally less scary this time through, but just by a smidge.

Here’s Moon River, made famous by Savannah’s own Johnny Mercer (although technically it’s more of an inlet that was renamed to take advantage of Johnny rather than the other way around.)

We apologize for recycling the reference, but frankly it’s impossible to pass Moon River without a nod to Irwin Fletcher. “Thank you Doc.  You ever serve time?”

After tying up and eating the obligatory lunch at Tubby’s we popped over to River Supply, because it’s also obligatory to pop over to every marine supply outfit within striking distance.

Unfortunately they were able to sell us exactly none of the things we need, so of course we bought two drink holders that’ll come in handy but weren’t on the list.  We’re staying here until Wednesday because of the wind, so we’ll probably go back tomorrow.

From here we’ll hit up either Hilton Head or Beaufort, depending on the weather and our mood.  Done with Georgia.

Your thoughts?