Pete laid out the options as we drank coffee this morning under gloomy, windy, rain-soaked skies. Head north to McClellanville, a rural wind-swept fishing town tucked between the Francis Marion National Forest and the beautiful but remote Cape Romain; we’d likely be stuck there in weather for two nights. Or make a longer run in wind and rain to Georgetown — ditto being pinned down by weather through Tuesday morning.
Or stay another night in Charleston.
I love Charleston. No contest. Up Katie and I went to the marina office, fingers crossed. Hannah the Dockmaster and her assistant immediately took to Katie, who wormed with excitement and gladly took their Milk Bone.
Yes, our slip was available another night. I relayed the info back to Pete on J Dock, then Katie and I went walking.
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We passed boys fishing in the marshes, wading birds, and tide-swollen grasses along Lockwood Drive before rounding onto Broad, Chisholm, then Tradd Streets. The Rice Mill looked abandoned, though Coast Guard Station Charleston is still housed there.
There is new construction along Murray Boulevard. I wonder if hurricanes – or time – finally took a toll on some of the beautiful old homes, The air was thick with the perfume of sweet tea olives climbing the old wrought iron fences.
The Riverwalk is under renovations along the Battery and in White Point Garden. Katie checked out squirrels. I checked out monuments.
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There are more and older monuments to Revolutionary War heroes although the most prominent one honors Confederate soldiers. The comparison reminded me that It’s easy to get short-sighted when looking back through history. To see the nearer past rather than its longer reach. To feel the impact of recent events over the importance of those buried more deeply in the past.
Two hundred fifty years ago, the thirteen colonies fought bitterly and hard to throw off an authoritarian king who saw America as his personal possession, useful for fattening his own coffers and extending his empire. North and South, those thirteen colonies decided they would be indivisible. They stood up against tyranny.
One monument mentions the Swamp Fox, local hero Francis Marion for whom the national forest is named. There, he and his guerrillas melted away after striking time and again, and viciously, against British Loyalists. He inspired his men, had an excellent intelligence network, and helped America shake off the king.
According to americanrevolution.org, George III declared it his duty to “stand fast against the Americans in ‘the battle of the legislature’ and ‘withstand every attempt to weaken or impair” his sovereign authority. To deny Congressional authority and do everything possible to extend his own greedy power.
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I reread another favorite monument, about the pirates Edward Teach (Blackbeard) and Stede Bonnet (The Gentleman Pirate), and their 39 crewmen who, after holding Charleston hostage in 1718, were finally defeated. Bonnet and others were hanged to death at a nearby gallows. Teach was later killed in a bloody battle near Ocracoke Island, NC.
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Katie and I moved on to Stoll’s Alley, called Pilot’s Alley until 1745, for the obvious reason in a port city. Then up Broad Street and around Colonial Lake.
By the time she and I returned to the marina, I’d managed 10,432 steps and was covered in sweat. Back at the boat, she immediately found her ball for Pete and me to throw – in an arc from the galley over the salon into the aft cabin, and return.
Pete made an excellent dinner of ratatouille and fresh bread while I typed. Tomorrow we head out early – for Georgetown, where Irish Hurricane was a Clemson-logo’d dockside condo for many years of her life, before we rescued her and set her free.
There’s something to be said for freedom. Just ask her. She knows.
Irish Hurricane 