Somewhere around mid-August 2022 Terry and I went on our second honeymoon. When we got married in February 2022 we were in the middle of selling a house in Wilkes County, NC; moving into an apartment in Johnson City, TN; putting Bob’s stuff in a storage building; buying a house in New Bern, NC; moving both our stuff to New Bern; and all the other projects connected to setting up a new house. Our original honeymoon was one night at a nice hotel in Johnson City. This time, we went to a bed-and-breakfast facing the estuary on Harkers Island, NC, near the Cape Lookout National Seashore Ranger Station.
This trip was my first time seeing Shackleford Banks. Camping there has been on my bucket list for decades. Now that I know the logistics to get there, I plan to go back soon with my overnight equipment.
Our main travel activities were taking a ferry to Cape Lookout with a picnic lunch; visiting downtown Beaufort to tour the waterfront and historical village; and going to the beach to collect shells. We had a wonderful time and expect to spend many more decades together.
On a long, summer weekend in mid-July 2022, Ranger Bob traversed from his new house in New Bern, NC, back to his home territory of the Blue Ridge Mountains, to visit his friend Eustace Conway and to help Turtle Island Preserve operate a camp for boys. There were many other volunteers there who assisted with teaching the outdoor skills programs and preparing the food. In general, I mostly hung around and enjoyed being there. My most glamorous job was hauling all the camp trash in the back of my Jeep to the county dump. Turtle Island recycles almost everything, so there is rarely trash to take. But occasionally, some kind of big plastic or metal device must be disposed. Because of so many campers, the Preserve was short on living space, so I stayed in my tent in the forest in front of the old office, beside the former covered bridge, at the east entrance to the Preserve.
For those of you who may not know Eustace, do a Google search. He has been featured in hundreds of magazine articles and television shows over several decades showing his outdoor philosophy and extraordinary wilderness and farming skills. He is a master horseman and set two world records for riding and driving a horse across the USA. He is one of the main characters on the Discovery Channel TV show Mountain Men. Some years ago, a famous author, Elizabeth Gilbert, who was an editor of Esquire Magazine, wrote a book about Eustace called The Last American Man. You may know Elizabeth as the author of the book Eat, Pray, Love, which was turned into a feature movie. Elizabeth also made a deal to turn Eustace’s biography into a movie, but the deal was squashed by Eustace’s brother who was featured in the book, and he declined to have his character displayed on the big screen.
In the accompanying photos, I’m sorry for the foggy, halo effect on the pictures. The problem was I used my iPhone for the camera, and I got some greasy fingerprints on the lens, which distorted the pictures. To solve this problem in the future, I have developed a system of carrying a small piece of chamois leather and a lens cleaner liquid bottle in my pocket.
Turtle Island is in transition. It has recently converted to a federally recognized, 501 (c) (3) charitable corporation. It has officers to help manage the business aspects. I have recently been appointed to the Board of Directors and I am in the process of being elected Treasurer. This framework will be a new way of operating that will require close coordination between all the people involved. I will keep you posted on the progress.
A few days ago I learned a lesson about down Eastern NC mudholes. They are different than good old, Blue Ridge Mountain mudholes. The western mudholes have certain defining characteristics. They are usually wider than they are deep. The sides slope downward at a gentle angle. The bottom has some kind of firm material - like rocks or dirt.
Since Terri and I moved to New Bern, I have been exploring the ponds, creeks, estuaries, forests, and swamps in the surrounding several counties. When I find a boat launch, campground, or trailhead I add it to the GPS app on my iPhone. One of the places I have explored most is the Croatan National Forest. The further you drive into the forest, the more remote it gets. I got to the center of the Forest, at Catfish Lake, which was desolate. There were no improvements or infrastructure, no trails, no campgrounds or boat docks. The only signs of civilization were the roads, which got progressively worse. In the center of the Forest, the vehicle paths became narrow, one-lane tracks full of mudholes. The forest areas surrounding the roads were actually swamps, with the trees growing in standing water.
I got to a place with a stomped-out area where I could launch a kayak into the Lake. There was one other vehicle there, an old, beat up, and completely rusted-out Ford Bronco. It was blocking the track. To one side were trees and on the other side was a big mudhole. I squeezed through between the truck and the mudhole with my mirror ticking the Bronco's mirror. After looking around, I got back in my Jeep to leave. The truck owner got out of his junk heap, and he was standing between his vehicle and the mudhole. He looked like he had trouble relating to society. He later told me he was an ex-Marine, had PTSD, had no income, and was bumming around the USA living at free Forest Service campgrounds. Rather than me waiting for him to move out of the way, I drove around him through the mudhole.
Big mistake. This mudhole was part of the swamp with no defined bottom. The sides were steep and slick. As soon as I started into the hole, my Jeep immediately slid sideways and downwards into the center of the hole. The only thing that kept the Jeep from sinking further is the foot rails under the doors hit something, and water came up to my door handles. I put the Jeep into 4-wheel, low, drive; but as soon as I gave it gas, the spinning wheels dug down deeper into the swamp. By now the Jeep was tipped over almost onto its side. The photograph accompanying this article is not of my Jeep, but it's similar to the way mine looked. I was too concerned about getting out to take pictures.
I climbed out of the uphill door and the weird guy asked if I wanted him to pull me out? I said yes. Then he volunteered that his tow strap was broken and he wondered if I had one? For several months, I had made room in the back of my Jeep to haul other items, and I had put the duffel bag with my strap in my garage. By extreme good luck, I had replaced the duffel bag that morning. I said yes, and climbed over two sets of seats to get my strap from the back. Then he admitted that his truck had a bad starter, and the only way to make it was to push it off using hand and foot power. We got it going twice, but both times, before we could hook up the tow ropes, it conked off. It never started again.
Then by more extreme good luck, a big, new Dodge Ram pickup truck came by with a nice young fellow driving. He only had the Ram for about a week, and wanted to test it out by giving me a tow. I said great! From that point on the adventure was over and I drove home. The lesson I learned is not to drive into an eastern mudhole without testing the sides first. I need to gingerly put in the first wheel. Then, if the Jeep does not slide down into the middle of the hole, I may be able to get through.
In late July 2022, Terry Rich with the Twin Rivers Paddle Club lead a kayak trip around the Oriental, NC, harbor and up one of the feed-in rivers. We put in at the NC Wildlife boat launch on the harbor shore. When we got upriver we explored a couple of small side creeks. The large group of about 15 paddlers was mostly familiar with each other and convivial. Many of the more experienced paddlers came up beside me and asked me about myself. There were lots of across-water conversations. The pace was nice and mostly casual but not lollygagging.
Our leader appeared to be the only paddler who had a spray skirt. He did a few Eskimo rolls for practice. I was immediately jealous. About 40 years before I had borrowed a friend's whitewater kayak and tried to learn to roll. I may have made it over once or twice. But I failed dozens of times. On my last try sprained my back so badly that it took me about 9 months to fully recuperate. I never tried again. Now, I am paranoid of turning over in the middle of a big waterway and having a devil of a time getting back in my boat, even with my paddle float; or having to swim a half mile to shore while towing a swamped boat. Since then I have signed up to take a roll class with the trip leader at the YMCA pool this winter.
This trip was my last one with my old roto-molded plastic kayak. It was inexpensive, not very good quality, did not fit my frame well, and was not sleek enough to go fast or to roll. The seat back brace was short and uncomfortable. Any paddle over 15 minutes gave me a backache. Fortunately, down here around New Bern, kayaking is the main sport, so there were lots of options for upgrading. I met a nice guy in the paddle club, Bill Webb, who buys used kayaks and professionally renovates them. The one we settled on is world-class quality, slender, long, and sleek: a 2013 Nigel Dennis Kayak Romany Excel. The hull and deck layup is proprietary fiberglass. It cost new about three times more than my old boat. To my relief, Bill was able to sell it to me used at a wonderful discount. And, I sold some other outdoor gear, including my old kayak, to help pay for it.
Before and after the trip we had breakfast and lunch in a cute little coffee and pastry shop called The Bean, right on the waterfront. A good time was had by all.
On a comfortable, sunny Friday in mid-September, 2022, my good buddy Peter Blackburn and his son William joined Ranger Bob on a planned kayak trip in the estuary around Cedar Point, just east of Swansboro. The water trail was from the Cedar Point campground boat launch in the southwest corner of Croatan National Forest, then into the White Oak River and upstream to the Tideland hiking trail.
Unfortunately, the wind was high, and the Coast Guard had issued a small boat advisory. The wind alone was worrisome and probably would have prevented me from leading the group onto the large, exposed body of water. But in addition, the advisory prevented our boat outfitter from renting Peter and his son their reserved boats. We went to the Barrier Island Kayaks outfitter store on the causeway just east of Swansboro only to find the shop closed. Peter's call to the owner educated us about the advisory. I had my canoe with me on my Jeep roof rack.
In the process of figuring out these changing situations, William proved his brilliance by frequently using his iPhone and Google prowess to find information and alternatives. Peter came up with our Plan B, which was to hike the Cedar Point Tideland Trail. So we did. It was scenic, educational and beautiful. On our way home we stopped at the Bojangles in the village of Cedar Point for a late breakfast / early lunch. Scrumptious!
On an early, cooler morning in September, 2022, Terri and Ranger Bob went to one of the beaches on Bogue Banks to collect miniature sea shells. It was after Labor Day so the credit card payment machines had been removed from the parking lot. The beach was nearly deserted. Terri has an unbelievable talent for spotting microscopically small shells from among all the sand, broken shells and detritus on the beach. Today was no exception. She found her normal quota of about 15 shells. We saved them and headed home fairly early. We stopped at the usual gas station to refill our coffee mugs and get some snacks to tide us over to lunch back at home.
On a blazing hot day in July 2022, Ranger Bob tested his kayak equipment and paddling skills in the down-east black-water of the several connected River Bend marinas, which creeks are a tributary of the Trent River, which is a tributary of the Neuse River, which feeds into the Pamlico Sound, which leads to the Atlantic Ocean. For the last several trips I have been having trouble keeping my balance getting into and out of the kayak. This time I fell into the river only while exiting. The fall was a good thing because I was pouring sweat. The cool water was refreshing, and I was just as wet either way.
At this point, I was still getting my “sea legs” and trying to re-acquaint myself with the kayak, since for the last few years most of my paddling had been in my Dagger solo canoe. The kayak seat back was only barely adjustable and was not tall enough or far enough forward to properly support my back, so I was getting a backache in the middle of every trip. The rudder foot pedals were also not long enough to accommodate my long legs, so my position was somewhat cramped.
Between this trip and publishing this article I have sold that kayak over Facebook Marketplace to a nice lady in Little Washington, NC. She is an example of the aphorism not to cuss somebody, because you may be talking to their kinfolk. This lady in a rental cottage on the Pamlico Sound and her landlord is Rosie Poore. Rosie’s older sister Lisa was the last girl I dated in Raleigh before I met my first wife Kimberly.
I will go back when I get my replacement boat. I am getting a Current Designs Solstice GT, which is a sleek, hard-hulled, fast, open ocean-going sea kayak. My Internet research shows that it is the most popular (most units sold) of any manufactured kayak in history. It is also full of cool features which make it expensive. A fellow Twin River Paddle Club member and a new friend who buys used boats and renovates them is selling it to me for 25% of the new price.
The trip was pleasant but fairly short. I went under several bridges and wandered through the waterways of several creeks and harbors throughout my River Bend community. Many of the neighborhoods have canals and docks behind the houses. It was a fairly solitary adventure since I passed only one other group of two teenaged boys in kayaks.
Ho, hum! Another day of beach life by retired Bob and Terri! Another day in paradise! On a pretty, sunny, warm day in mid-August, 2022, Terri and I went to Indian beach on Bogue Banks [called by the Chamber of Commerce types as Emerald Island]. Our last several trips to the beach have been hindered by blazing hot temperatures and high winds. Today was better, with less heat and wind.
Indian Beach has become our favorite one, so far, due to uncrowded parking, a short walk to the beach, clean bathrooms and an uncrowded beach. We have not yet tried Salter Path beach, but it may be the best since it has all the Indian beach attributes, plus free parking that is partly in the shade.
Terri has had good luck at each beach finding teeny, tiny, whole shells that look like conch, scallops, oysters, and other briny denizens. She collects these and at home displays them in nuatiucal-looking glass bottles and shadow box wood frames. Today her hunt went well.
The day ended unfortunately when Terri was knocked down by a wave in chest-deep water, she fell on her foot and broke a bone. We packed up camp and shuffled slowly home. Terri saw a doctor who said she can skip surgery and put her in a walking cast-like boot. We may not be going back to the beach until she heals.
On a cool, rainy, cloudy, windy day in June 2022, Terri and I rode the ferry from the docks in the harbor of Beaufort, NC, out into Taylors Creek toward Shackleford Banks, to Sand Dollar Island. This is a standard tourist run that takes a small boat load of people to Sand Dollar multiple times a day. The island is not much to look at - just a spit of sand with no plants. Its claim to fame is that many sand dollar creatures live in the area and leave their shells on the island. Of course, all the thousands of tourists over the years have picked the island pretty clean of shells, leaving mostly sand and salt water.
We had an enjoyable time searching for shells, including those left by other creatures. Today, Terri sharted her on-going hobby of collecting teeny, tiny shells of different sorts. Back at home, she puts them in shadow box frames and glass jars to display in our sunroom. We had a good time and may go back again.
On the beautiful sunny, but hot, Saturday morning of August 6, 2022, I accepted fellow tennis club member Jon Segal’s gracious invitation to paddle on the Trent River. We launched from a private grass and sand landing in River Bend and went up river to an historic area that now just looks like a swamp pond. But many years ago, boats came up from the ocean, through Pamlico Sound, up the Neuse River and then up the Trent River to pick up loads of rice, hence the name Rice Landing. On most trips I post a GPS location for the route, but am not doing so now to protect the privacy of our landing.
The trip was calm and in general uneventful. Jon set a friendly pace that was conducive to talking about geography, history and other items of local interest. We went a couple miles upstream, although I could not discern a current. Even though some parts of this river adjoin River Bend town, this area is too low lying and swampy to be developed. Hence, most of the route was between natural forests without any development in sight. Upon reaching Rice Landing pond, the entrance from the river was partially blocked by floating grass. Jon was able to glide over the grass without much trouble. My boat is designed more for the open ocean, so it had a deeper draft and sharper keel. I got hung up on the grass and had to use my paddle like a pole and push off from the bottom to move forward. After that struggle I was significantly tired out.
Jon then led us around the pond and into the swamp behind it. We saw a blue heron. We wound through the cypress trees, Spanish moss, grass and black water for a ways. The area in the swamp was calm and shady.
On our way back to the put-in we had to push through the same floating grass blockage. I hit it with considerably more momentum and powered through more quickly. Then we re-traced our route a couple miles down stream on the Trent River. A few times we had a mild problem with motor boats passing us going fairly fast, leaving a large wake which rocked our boats for a few seconds. I learned to take one of two tactics: (1) turn my kayak to face into the oncoming waves; or (2) put one end of my dual bladed paddle in the water in a low brace on the side of my boat away from the approaching waves. Both tactics worked fine.
On our return trip I developed another problem. My seat back was not positioned correctly; the bottom frame was not seated in the groove at the back of the butt seat, so it did not give me proper support. My body was too big, due to a thick life jacket and a big fat belly, for me to turn around and fix the seat. So, for the last mile or so I was in considerable pain from over-stressed back, stomach and arm muscles caused by pulling the paddle from a bad angle.
Back at the take-out sand and grass landing, I encountered my next-to-last problem. After running the nose of the kayak onto the landing, I tried to get up out of the cockpit, stand up and step out. My body fit so tightly (see above regarding thick life jacket and fat belly) that I could not get out. I used my arms braced on the back of the cockpit to do a backwards pushup, but my arms were so tired from paddling that I could come up far enough. After teetering on the edge of the cockpit and being out of balance for about a minute, I slowly rolled over and fell into the river.
The water was nice and cool, and only about knee deep, so there was no danger. Jon and I shared a good laugh. But when I tried to stand up on the river bottom, I ran into my last problem. My life jacket is designed with more floatation material in front. That makes a water accident victim float on their back, so their face is out of the water and able to breathe. Each time I tried to roll over onto my stomach so I could get my feet under me and stand up, the jacket pushed me back. After drifting out to deeper water, I finally stood up and pulled my boat out of the water.
All’s well that ends well. We had a good time. Thanks Jon.