Backwoods South Carolina

After we left Webb at his Hilton Head home the day slipped gradually but inexorably into muddle and chaos. We paused to find our way to a campsite Layne had found on the Harvest Host website. 

Apparently outside Kingstree South Carolina there is a farm and a farm store where you can buy local products and spend the night for free on the farm. Typical Harvest Host offerings give RVers the chance to spend a free night at a small business with the idea being you buy some of their products to pay them back for giving you a space to park overnight. We’ve done it dozens of times. Eventually the system had to fail us. 

I created a two part route to allow for a little I-95 to get us away from Hilton Head followed by two hours of cross country driving to enjoy the backroads. And naturally we dawdled. As we rolled along an empty road at fifty miles per hour I saw a sign to a monument. My first instinct which carried us a quarter mile past the turn was to press on. My second instinct was to find a u-turn and go back. Isn’t this why we take the backroads in the first place? 

Anderson Field is remembered in part for a group of Tuskegee Airmen, pioneer black pilots, who trained for combat in World War Two  here, after the initial group in Alabama proved their worth to some of their white critics.  

A 1995 movie of that name starring Lawrence Fishburne brought this story to life in 1995 and in 1997 by pure coincidence I’m sure, the city of Colleton, South Carolina permitted this monument. The main statue is missing from its plinth for reasons not stated but there is an informative billboard at the rather drab unloved site. 

Our journey across South Carolina left us a bit behind schedule as our pace slowed through small towns, wrecked immobile homes and heaps of roadside trash. I still thought to myself better we travel this slice of life than face the harrying freeway in a slow van. 

We had another slight problem in that I wanted to empty our loo. We weren’t critically full but I like to keep ahead of the head filling up. So when we saw a sign to a boat ramp or a trail head or similar I pulled off the highway and went searching. In many states such places have vault toilets perfect for responsible portapotty dumping. Not South Carolina. Not only are the highways made out of petrified rocky road ice cream, the state which hates fresh pavement is also reluctant to offer roadside picnic areas, rest stops, parks, trails or other public spaces. It’s on a par with Mississippi, the worst of all. I was missing Florida’s smooth roads and hundreds of public open spaces equipped with vault toilets. 

We paused for a dog walk or two, and of course the afternoon crept on though eventually we found Vicki’s country store just as dusk was settling over the land. Layne went in eager to peruse the produce and spices and jams that make up her van life shopping sprees. After I walked Rusty I joined her. Boy they still allow smoking in food stores in the Palmetto State?

Down to the crossroads they said and turn left. You’ll see the farm. Easy peasy. Too easy if you think about it. Layne found the farm  address on Google maps and with that the last of our cell service faded to dark. Like the light outside. We found a sign for the farm and a mailbox with their street number, 1284 Sam Browne Road, and when we turned in we met a large black dog playing through the fence with a lonely large black horse all by itself in a paddock. 

I stopped and went to knock on the door of the house. There was a collection of blankets on the porch as a form of dog bed and a pile of cigarette butts on the table and no answer from the lighted home within. Rusty was frantic to get out and meet the black dog and as much as I indulge his every whim this didn’t seem to be the time nor place. 

“Shall we press on?” I said pointing down the dirt track. 

“On private property?”my wife said, her tone clearly identifying the idiot in the family. Just then headlights came down the track. Saved! They will know…I edged GANNET2 to one side and the car… whooshed straight on by. We gave up. As you can see on the iOverlander map below Kingstree is in the middle of the abomination of desolation when it comes to overnight options represented by the various green discs on the map.

We actually handled it well. Luckily iOverlander works  offline, to some extent, and I figured a route to coastal Georgetown which got us online and back on Google maps. Walmart was not our first choice of overnight spots but in this case we were quite happy to park behind the garden center and fall asleep in total ambient silence. Morning brought rain of course: 

There was a time when not finding our planned spot might have made us sweat. This change of plan was easy especially as it gets dark at 5:20 around here and we had lots of time to regroup! We usually have a back up spot in mind if our hoped for sleeping spot doesn’t work out. This time we had to make it up on the fly and we did without losing our minds or our tempers. In a van there is no one else to blame and that can make close quarters living awkward.  

Up next: the plan is for a quiet night at Cracker Barrel in Wilmington North Carolina on our way to the Outer Banks and our rental house on Ocracoke. The Carolinas shock -horror-drama of no state parks or free dispersed wilderness camping may continue! 

Hilton Head

The thing about moochdocking is you get a glimpse into different lives, places you wouldn’t otherwise see. I suppose you could say that about van life in general. 

December in Hilton Head requires patience as traffic is surprisingly heavy on an island of 40,000 residents with, I am told two and a half million visitors. The numbers remind me of Key West. 

Hilton Head is a sandy island filled with vast live oaks throwing shade everywhere. 

Neon is banned and paying a visit to a grocery store has the feel of participating in a fairy tale reenactment down in the woods…

It is charming, low country swamps, winding tidal rivers and mansions masked by greenery. In the middle of all this we landed and spent a few days. I had a visitor’s pass to the largest gated community on the island and I was keenly aware of the privilege. A place of rare beauty.

The thought that goes through my head is that a million bucks goes a lot further here than it does in Key West. Complete buildings and basic facilities like parking and functioning utilities. No compromise construction. 

Walking Rusty is a solitary business here as the population seems weighted toward the older age groups. I could see Rapunzel-like figures sitting in windows looking out like urban house cats forbidden to take the fresh air. Perhaps they were elderly enough that walking may be a past art for them. 

Hilton Head has a history of occupation by planters and slaves going back to the 18th century. The biggest disruption to the genteel side of life, for slave owners, was the arrival of the unpleasantness between the states. The Union took over Hilton Head to use it as a base to blockade Savannah. They built, as soldiers are wont to, a fort and they put half a dozen canon in to control the waterways. 

There was one other couple wandering Fort Mitchell when I was there but they exuded no visible signs of personality so I tried to refrain from irritating them. We took our chances with alligators and stepped off the path to give the other couple room. 

I found the history explained on site and bring it here for you to study: 

But we had places to go…

…and construction to see. They are building more homes where the old Fort Pub used to serve excellent food. 

“Respect for History is the Soul of Citizenship,” that and I guess paying taxes! 

I sat at Von’s bench and had a splendid view indeed of Skull Creek. 

We walked the pier “at our own risk” and were rewarded with views down the creek. No one was harmed in this risky expedition.  

Back at Webb’s place we watched Argentina run rings around Croatia. 

I thought Argentina’s national anthem was rather mild and inconclusive but three goals concluded that in high style for them.  

With the sun out I could see myself under the live oaks. Narcissist…

The man responsible for getting me through the gate: 

And his boat: 

See you Webb, in a few years I hope. Thank you for everything. 

Traveling With Webb

That’s another check mark on the road to Mexico. Getting behind the wheel these days is a mixture of the usual sense of anticipation mixed with memories and nostalgia for past encounters with those people we see waving us on our way. In Hilton Head we said goodbye to Webb. The man whose sixth time around the world was in a 24 foot Moore ultralight racing sailboat seen below. He called her GANNET:

He is the first American to sail alone around Cape Horn, in 1975, and by his own estimation the first among a dozen or so people in the world who sailed that cape by themselves. He spent the days and nights bailing his leaking boat of freezing cold water and because he is an artist and a writer first and foremost, you can read his own description on paper or in Kindle in STORM PASSAGE. 

https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B004JHYMIG/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?ie=UTF8&qid=&sr=

I know I’d have failed miserably, cold wet and fearful of the unknown. I am  wondering how I shall cope in Patagonia in summer. On land. 

You can’t fault Webb. He prefers Rusty to me, most people do, and when he describes Rusty as a “noble creature,” Rusty just ignores him. Because I suppose Rusty really is the perfect dog. He missed me though when I took Webb shopping. 

Layne said he cried. For me I hope. We ate well enjoying cold oatmeal for breakfast and I never thought I’d hear Layne give her vote of approval for Webb’s signature dish, a staple of his sailing life. 

Uncooked oatmeal nuts and fruits (dried when at sea) protein powder and milk. I think of it as a Swiss muesli type of breakfast and it tastes better than it sounds. Quite good actually.

The other staple is Laphroaig single malt at sunset. Too strong for Layne, too strong really for most mere mortals but I have found I like it, and decidedly I do not aspire to demigod status or immortality or anything like that. I’m just a bloke happy to go for a drive. Cheers!

What I have learned from Webb is the value of mentoring. Webb made his own way in the world, raised by his grandmother but determined to go to sea. He aimed high. He sailed around the world in a small open boat, it would be an insult to describe a Drascombe Lugger as a rowboat but to the untrained eye that is what they would see. He passes the lessons learned on to me. 

He spent a couple of weeks drifting in the South Pacific after his open boat got filled with water and his sails got shredded. That uncaring ocean!  Six sips of water a day and a finger full of jam occasionally for a treat. He was skeletal by the time he washed ashore on an island that he swam for across the reef as Chidiock Tichbourne wallowed on by. These are ridiculously other worldly stories that you’d think would render a drive in a van utterly banal. And yet…

An interview made before the successful circumnavigation aboard GANNET. I should point out Webb notes that only amateurs seek adventures, professionals try to avoid them. 

https://www.sailingworld.com/sailboats/webb-chiles-way/#:~:text=Webb%20Chiles%20is%20an%20American,to%20solo%20around%20Cape%20Horn.

So here I am in a pansy van equipped with heating and cooling windshield wipers and recovery gear, a well stocked pantry and a fridge and the ability to drive against the wind at sixty miles an hour. And yet he asked me to name her after his boat, hence GANNET2. 

So how does that work? It comes from that most fundamentally important human trait, curiosity. Some people are curious, they want to know more, they like to learn that which they don’t know. Over dinner Webb reiterated he’s looking forward to reading about places he’s never been and things he’ll never see. That is one of the reasons Layne and I chose a van this time over the boat we used to travel from San Francisco to Key West in 1998-2000. The Panama Canal, Miraflores: 

We sailed the edges of Central America but this time we will bd in the middle of it all. Webb has seen Cape Horn, I want to camp on the Straits of Magellan. Webb has anchored in Rio, I want to drive across the Amazon. In that sense it is similar enough but completely different. The concept of dispersed camping is fascinating to him: park in a wood and stay for free, something he had never heard of previously. There is a peculiar freedom in a van that is equipped such that she does not need to be parked in a campground attached to electricity and water hoses, and he recognizes that as similar to anchoring out, away from marinas. 

GANNET is far more spartan but not so terribly different when it comes to the aims and goals of  travel. And to have Webb cheer me on makes journeying aboard a van that much more plausible, more real.  

I am encouraged to travel beyond the edge of human experience and to send back reports.

I shall do my best.