Tag Archives: travel

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Pre storm morning beach walk…

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Not wanting to waste any precious time on our week long vacation, day four threw a monkey wrench in my carefully planned trip.

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We woke to overcast skies, an egret in the pond and a forecast of what turned out to be a mini hurricane. Heavy rain, high winds and dangerous surf are not prime beach resort conditions.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, I burned breakfast. Again…. due to the stupid flat surface stove that had two burners in one.

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High level heat if you turned right, high level heat if you turned left. This proved too much for my under caffeinated morning brain to handle and henceforth, the husband was on his own when it came to eggs.

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But at least the dish sponge was happy.

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Not having walked the beach since we got there, I forced my spouse onto the sand before the storm arrived. That’s his arm to the right of the photo, pointing out which unit was ours. I’m not sure why as we had just exited it and I was unlikely to forget that quickly.

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My husband is not a beach guy, not an idle walker. He needs a destination and purpose…

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I told him pleasing his wife of 40 years should be motivation enough.

😉

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We had the beach to ourselves, but it was cool, dark, damp and hellaciously windy.

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As proved by my epic hairspray fail.

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On the far right side…

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The marina.

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In between?

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Lots of marvelous shore birds.

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Even my husband likes to watch those.

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It’s hard not to smile.

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Where we go to Hunting Island but don’t hunt.

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We’d heard quite a few locals mention Hunting Island lighthouse (which is the only lighthouse in South Carolina open to the public) and since we were in the area, we decided to check it out.

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Paying the unexpected entry fee at the gate, we drove down the twisting, turning road.

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It felt a bit like the forest primeval with dense vegetation and palms lining both sides.

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At the end there was a parking lot and our first glimpse of the lighthouse.

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The views of the Sea Islands were supposed to be great from the top and I was anxious to climb.

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We approached…

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Entered the gated area….

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Took the required wind blown selfie…

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And after climbing the entry steps to the door… read the sign saying it was closed.

Of course it was.

Thank you Mr. Gatekeeper for taking our money but not sharing that fact. Grr. 😡

Was it worth the $20? Sure.

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See there? That used to be the light keeper’s house.

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And my husband found a fascinating rail contraption used to move the lamp oil.

Totally worth it.

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🥴

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If you’ve never been gobsmacked when you walked into a restaurant, then you’ve never been to Johnson Creek Tavern.

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After our horse drawn carriage tour of Beaufort…(did you say Byoo-fert like I taught you?)

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We strolled along the harbor for a spell.

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Then headed over the bridge to explore the Sea Islands.

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Since the husband was hungry we stopped for a late lunch. Not much was open this time of year but we found a spot on the marsh called Johnson Creek Tavern.

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It was an unassuming little place, and while I don’t know exactly what I was expecting…

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It definitely wasn’t this.

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Every square inch of the place was covered in money.

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Yes, as in real U.S. currency. Ones, fives and tens. Most had names or funny sayings written on the face.

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One bad margarita….

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Some run of the mill hushpuppies with, oh the horror, margarine …

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And a terrible bowl of gumbo later, we decided we wouldn’t be eating lunch here… but we did marvel at the decor and inquire about its origins.

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It started at the bar decades ago as these things do. The first dollar spent, a big tip, a foreign bill brought back from faraway lands. But then it grew…

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And grew and grew.

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Now… they harvest the bounty every so often and donate it all to charity. Last year a veterans group was the happy recipient of over $11,000.

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And that’s money well spent.

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The flamingo agrees.

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Beautiful Beaufort.

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The Angus drawn carriage tour of Beaufort continued…

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Past Spanish moss and charming antebellum homes.

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You might recognize this tree if you’re a movie buff.

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It’s the live oak Robert Duvall sat under during The Great Santini. They filmed it in Beaufort as the author Pat Conroy is a native son.

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Beautiful homes, beautiful gardens…

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And some of the most amazing Angel Oaks I’ve ever seen.

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The Angel is the variety of live oak that droops it’s branches to the ground….

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And in Beaufort?

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The town is so enamored of their spreading glory it’s illegal to cut one down or even trim.

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Thank you Beaufort.

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I wholeheartedly agree.

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Our guided tour was a little over an hour of immersive history and I loved every cold, wrapped in a blanket, minute of it.

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There’s a strict building code near The Point that says new construction must blend with the old. I’m not sure lime green was a popular Civil War era color, but they’re charming all the same.

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I wish we’d had time to explore this museum.

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But when we disembarked the carriage a certain someone had to strike up a conversation with the guide.

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Hint- it wasn’t me.

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Though I did enjoy a little quality time with Angus.

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He was a wonderful chauffeur.

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And deserved his treat.

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Beaufort… the old fashioned way.

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As we headed down the road for our tour of Beaufort ( say it with me now… Byoo-fert. Byoo as in beautiful, fert as in fertile. Byoo-fert. ) SC, the husband wanted a second breakfast and chose this quaint little place in Port Royal.

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Cozy, and small …

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The Old Schoolhouse didn’t take themselves too seriously.

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I’m not a big breakfast person, but since it looked like this might be lunch as well, I looked forward to some true southern biscuits and gravy. Finding that dish in Maine is a rare occurrence so I was fully prepared to splurge.

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To say I was disappointed with this (yellow… WTH?) measly batch of gravy with very little sausage (not to mention flavor) is an understatement. I was in the south…

Y’all are supposed to do this right!

Unsatisfying breakfast/lunch over, we made it to Beaufort. (Did you say Byoo-fert in your head? Good. Let’s continue. )

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Where we had tickets for a horse drawn carriage tour around the city. That white horse was in training…

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So we had Angus.

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My husband rolled his eyes when I said I wanted to do this, but after a few minutes into the historic tour? He was hooked.

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Our tour centered on The Point. The old section of Beaufort filled with beautiful Civil War era homes.

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And some quirky art.

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At the beginning of the war the savvy residents of Beaufort took part in what is now known as the Great Skedaddle.

In the panic of The Great Skedaddle of 1861—the hasty escape of white residents from Beaufort, South Carolina, six months after the start of the Civil War—anything that could not be buried or carried was abandoned. Enslaved people were left behind along with all the wealth accumulated from nearby cotton plantations: expensive furniture, horses, and clothing. When the Union Army arrived, there was only one white man left in town and he was dead drunk, or so the legend goes.

As history would have it, what drove white Beaufortonians from their homes was ultimately what saved the town they left behind. Unlike burned and battle-scarred Charleston, 50 miles to the north, the Union Army claimed Beaufort without a fight. Setting up operations in the town’s stately mansions rescued them from destruction. To this day, Beaufort has more surviving antebellum architecture than almost anywhere else in the South.

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It’s a lovely area, literally lost in time and lovingly preserved.

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That stone out front? A step for women to board carriages without displaying their ankles. Only shameless hussies flashed those.

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This wall is called pigeon hole brick and is completely original.

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The grand old homes…

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The live oaks, the moss…

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The clomp of Angus’s hooves.

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It was like being transported back 160 years.

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I had to throw him a bone.

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After forcing my husband to endure hours of fabric selection, I offered him a reward for good behavior.

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And we headed northwest from Waterville to Bigelow Brewing in Skowhegan.

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Housed in a barn on the owner’s property ….

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The feel is down home rustic Maine.

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We’d never been here before, but as soon as I saw who was helping keep an eye on things….

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I felt right at home.

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We did an assorted flight…

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And my husband liked the Lying Bastard. Make of that what you will.

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The tasting room has live music on weekend nights…

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And table supports shaped like beer bottles.

The only food on offer is from a brick pizza oven out back.

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And while my crust was burnt, the garlicky chicken broccoli Alfredo pie was quite good.

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Upon leaving we noticed the Xmas decorations were still out.

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But the beer was good enough to bring home, so I’ll forgive them the transgression.

😉

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Botany Bay birds… and yes, a few trees.

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Living in Maine, we see our share of shorebirds. But one we don’t have up here in the north is the pelican.

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I don’t know why they fascinate us, but they do.

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So bear with me while I share our pelican watching at Botany Bay.

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The low country provides ideal habitat and fishing opportunities for these guys and they take full advantage of the bounty.

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Herons as well.

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Though they often show a flagrant disregard for the rules.

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I could honestly have stayed and watched them fish all day.

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But we had reservations for a tour in Beaufort and had to get back on the road.

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Not having nearly enough time to finish exploring, we vowed to return.

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And be careful of snakes.

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Saying goodbye to the glorious oaks…

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We made our way out.

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Down that marvelous canopied road.

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Botany Bay Plantation Heritage Preserve… are you ready for some trees?

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We woke up on day 3 of vacation with a lovely pink beach sunrise.

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I have to say it’s not a bad way to start the day.

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Our first adventure found us at Botany Bay Heritage Preserve. A 4,000 acre property, open everyday and free to the public. Originally two cotton and timber plantations, it’s now a haven for wildlife and a wonderful place to explore by car, on foot or horseback.

Upon entry, it’s all about the trees.

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A mile long dirt road of nothing but glorious live oaks dripping with Spanish moss.

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In spots they form a stunning canopy…

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And it feels like you’re stepping back in time.

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When I think of the south?

This is the image I see.

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They truly are magnificent things.

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Driving the loop trail through ruins and fields, we eventually found the water.

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Where oaks gave way to palms.

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And pelicans…

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The one where we run out of daylight because my husband won’t stop talking.

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Next to the cypress wetlands was the Port Royal museum. We love small local museums run by resident volunteers and always try to support them when we can.

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This local didn’t share any history with us, but he was all about a good neck scratch.

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Not St. Augustine, Florida.

Nope. That’s a common misconception. The Spanish actually settled Port Royal first, but it was abandoned a few years later due to lack of funds.

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This museum was tiny but filled with interesting things.

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Megalodon teeth… that you can apparently scavenge for on local beaches. Sign me up!

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15 million year old clam? That too.

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The docent had absolutely no idea what this was, but I’m there for it as well.

We’d had a busy day, and since I had one more waterfront walk on the schedule for the late afternoon I tried to hurry the husband along.

I think you can guess how that went.

Just when I almost had him out the door, the lovely lady who runs the museum suggested he might want to look at some military photo albums donated by a resident.

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Yes, they were interesting.

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Filled with heart warming pics…

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As well as the horrors of war.

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Most were taken during WWII and Korea. And while I appreciated her sharing them with us, I wasn’t as thrilled with the hour long conversation that followed.

Vacation time is limited!

Schedules must be kept.

As the sun was going down, I finally dragged him out of the building and we headed for the boardwalk.

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Tiptoeing through the seagulls we made our way forward.

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It’s a popular fishing spot next to the marshes and offers a long stretch of easy walking with a viewing tower.

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Of course it was getting dark and the wind had ratcheted up to a howl which made it less than comfortable.

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We only climbed to the first level of the three level tower…

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The higher you went… the stronger and colder the winds. One quick picture and I called it good.

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The sun was setting and we needed to get back on the road.

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As you can see, our giant rental beast dwarfed all the other vehicles in the parking area.

🥴

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Good bye Port Royal…. it was swell.

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The cypress wetlands.

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After that lovely meal we were ready to walk off some poundage and in the Port Royal area there’s nowhere better than the cypress wetlands.

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The entrance is literally right in the middle of town and the boardwalks put you right in the thick of it.

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I was excited to see a gator.

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And as we started our stroll, a local woman passed by assuring us wide eyed Yankees we would see some.

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Off we went through marsh and swamp and cypress… eyes peeled for alligators.

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Not quite.

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A third of the way through? A viewing platform.

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Which the husband took full advantage of, but left reptile bereft.

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Egrets and herons were abundant.

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Yeah, yeah… so you keep saying.

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As we hit the halfway mark the trees were draped with that lovely moss so evocative of the Deep South.

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I tried for a mossy selfie but my arms aren’t long enough to capture much background.

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There were some fabulously gnarly trees above and beside us …

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And at times it felt like the forest primeval.

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How cypress grows and roots in standing water always amazes me.

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There were signs everywhere saying “Don’t Touch The Trees!”

So of course…

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There’s my husband, touching a tree.

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On the home stretch, there was a boardwalk right through the wetlands.

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With a sign about alligators.

Which was actually spot on….

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Because we finally saw one lounging on the opposite bank with a bevy of turtle friends.

Score!

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As we were leaving I spotted an unusual stationary alligator.

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He was wire framed and filled with trash.

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An excellent visual on why you shouldn’t litter.

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Cypress wetlands, a great place to stroll.

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