s/v Rachel: Cumberland Island

Location: Brickhill River, Cumberland Island, GA

Position: N30 51.571 W081 28.055

We moved further down the Brickhill River to an anchorage across from Plum Orchard, a “cottage” built by a Carnegie matron for one of her children.

In the process of dropping the anchor, Julie tried to remove another finger using the electric anchor windlass, but got off with some bruising and a couple of cuts (Captain’s note – yeah, right - see if she gets to try dropping the anchor again!) (Navigator’s note – my plan worked). Thankfully, no real harm was done and a valuable lesson learned – always, repeat ALWAYS keep body parts, clothes, everything except the anchor chain clear of wildcat when operating the windlass!

That little potential disaster averted, we iced her hand, put on some Band-Aids, lowered the dinghy, and went ashore for a walk. This is a really beautiful island. It was privately owned until the 1970s when it was given to the National Park Service (http://www.nps.gov/cuis). The nation’s first black Baptist church is preserved here. It was a summer home to the Carnegie clan. It barely escaped being developed like all the rest of the barrier islands on the East coast and we (among many, many others, we’re sure,) are really thankful it did.

We went ashore at a dock we’d read about – it’s labeled “authorized craft only”, but the fellow who wrote one of our cruising guides called the park service and learned that it’s okay for visiting cruisers to tie up for a few hours. We didn’t see a soul. Other than some wild horses on the shore near us, we were alone. We dropped our $8 into the honor-system payment drop box. By this time we’d been on the boat for several days and a nice long walk sounded really good to us. We found a trail that led to the other (seaward) side of the island and started off.

The path was lined with gorgeous huge live oaks w/ Spanish moss dripping off them. Sunlight filtered through it all, and there was silence except for a low rumble we’d been assuming was industry of one sort or another from the submarine base across the Cumberland River. As we went deeper inland it got quieter. By now we really felt like the only people on the island.

The path was bordered by lots of saw palmetto. When you brush up against the leaves, they rattle pretty loudly. There are a lot of leaves on the forest floor, as well, but the path was mostly sandy w/ a light covering of long leaf pine needles and live oak acorns. We’d hear a rustle in the underbrush as we walked and look to see what wildlife we could see.

One of our books said to look for nine ringed armadillos there. We think they must be breeding, though, because there are a lot more than nine - we saw at least 15 or 20 of the things ! We also saw a snake, the aforementioned wild horses, and a tiny salamander. But still no alligator for Julie.

As we got closer to the other side, the “industry” sound we’d been hearing became louder – about then we realized it was the surf on the beach. Doh! A brief interlude of swamp on either side of the path, a sandy hill to clamber over, a bit more in the woods, a pile of bricks (the remains of the Duck House?) and we came to the dunes.

Spectacular. We scrambled up the back side and finally caught sight of the sea. We were met with a vision - a beautiful white sand beach and not a soul to be seen, not a structure, no trash, and, other than some footprints and old tire tracks along the beach, no sign of man as far as the eye could see in either direction. We can understand why the island’s owners were willing to gift their home to the National Park Service rather than see it developed.