The good news about rain is that temperatures rise. I think most people living in a van would rather have the cold crisp sunny winter days that usually arrive after the rain front passes.
I forget who it was but some wise person pointed out to me that snow is not a problem if you dress properly but rain stops play. I remain a mortal enemy of snow but rain is no friend of mine either. However I am not inclined to surrender my life to the elements now that I’m retired so I put on a poncho, took my weather resistant G95 Panasonic camera and took the dog for a walk.
The poncho by Frog Toggs is brilliant. I used to use the same brand of waterproofs on my motorcycle as they never made me sweat and the poncho was actually quite comfortable even when the rain stopped. I have that effect on the weather, I defy it and it calms down.
At first the beach access baffled me. We had already followed Google maps into a dead end before locating the street parking. Then I poked around and damn me if I couldn’t find the way to the beach. I felt, once again, like the family imbecile. I was too embarrassed to return to interrupt Layne busy with her physical therapy shoulder exercises only seconds after I had left.
I figured young Rusty might like to help me out of my embarrassment and go for a street walk instead, allowing me to return to the valiantly exercising wife only after a decent interval had passed. That was when I discovered the way forward.
It said beach access and I needed no more encouragement; I’m pretty swift when I need to be. The endless litany of rules and regulations I figured could wait for another day when I might be feeling less impatient. I knew leashed dogs are allowed so we were good to go; the rest of the stuff can be boiled down to use your common sense and if you screw up you’re on your own. We girded our loins and started on the hike to the far distant beach at our own risk.
It an impressive boardwalk, perfectly made and endlessly long. It even had passing places along the way. Maybe they were observation platforms but there wasn’t a great deal to observe. South Carolina’s state line cuts across the beach a couple of miles south of here:
A variation of love locks adorned a small wind blown pine. Charming or debris, you decide.
Eventually the boardwalk ran out in a long ramp. It was not, I should point out, a good day for a swim. The air was 65 degrees and very windy. The water looked frigid and unfriendly. Layne wasn’t missing anything.
I had read about a couple who used to own the land here who put a mailbox on the beach in about 1965 and left notebooks and pens for people to leave their thoughts as “kindred spirits” enjoying the wild lonely beach. I had a slight hope Rusty might care for a real walk but my hopes were dashed.
He took one look at the endless sand and said no thanks. He fig his paws in the sand and started staring at me real hard. That means no. I surrendered.
Despite the endless signs and rules and stuff I liked the beach and the wild windy atmosphere and perhaps the notices work because the place was spotless.
We trudged back and I was sorry to leave so quickly but Rusty is no fun to walk when he gets a motion in his head. Middle age makes him ornery.
Looking north behind the beach across the wild dunes:
These rental houses remind me of the “rent machines” towering over parts of Ocracoke Village. It’s odd how it’s a beach style only seen in North Carolina. Pilings all the way up to the rooftop widows’ walk and very often narrow buildings piled up apartment on top of apartment.
I took a chair out of the van and sat down to read overlooking the marsh. Rusty was ready to go home and he sat in the van also waiting for Layne to finish her physical therapy exercises.
Lunch was cooked oatmeal as rain lashed GANNET2 and the wind rocked the van and whistled round us.
Time to go to Wilmington.
