Cumberland Island, Georgia

     Magical! That's the only term I can think of to describe Cumberland Island. An uneventful cruise from Vero Beach brought us in to the safety of the Dungeness anchorage off Cumberland Island.  From a distance it first appeared like most of the islands we passed except, the foliage appeared....well, thicker. Why? We quickly got the anchor set, the dingy launched and Spencer into his life jacket, and motored around the few other anchored trawlers and sail boats to go explore the island before it got dark.  What was it that made this island look different from a distance, thicker woods with a hazy mist rising from the interior?  Even Spencer appeared more alert and curious as we got closer to the island. As we closed the distance to the dock we saw people lined up waiting to get on a boat to take them back to the mainland. They had carts full of coolers, tents and sleeping bags lined up as they patiently waited to board the trawler that served as the ferry to the island.

                                                                            

                                                                                    

     We tied up the dingy to the floating dock (6 ft tides to deal with now), got Spencer's life jacket off and his leash on and jumped up onto the dingy dock.  Spencer tugged at the leash as we walked up the dock towards the park rangers sea camp.  No one around. Even the park ranger takes the last ferry to the mainland so we started down the first path labelled "Beach".  All Beth talked about as we neared the anchorage was of getting pictures of the wild horses roaming free on Cumberland Island but she got much more.  We walked around a couple of trees and stopped in our tracks, our jaws dropped.  Before us lay a forest of 400 year old oak trees with low hanging thick knobbly branches and long spindly vines hanging from their limbs, dripping with Spanish moss that hung almost to the ground. No wonder the island appeared thick! This was timber that had never been harvested. This is what it must have looked like hundreds of years ago.

                                                                                                     

     A few dirt roads crossed the island and hiking trails labelled interior, beach, and ruins were clearly marked but it was getting late, so we headed toward the beach hoping that we would see the horses.  The deeper into the woods we walked, the more eerie was the scenery, with the low hanging limbs of the oak trees forming a canopy over the paths and dirt road blocking out the vestiges of a late afternoon sun.  It could have been a scene out of a Harry Potter movie.  At any time one could expect an elf or a unicorn to step out from behind an aged oak tree or palmetto palm bush.  There were campers but the sites were situated such that you could only see smoke arising from their camp fires and other than when we passed the bathroom and sun showers we could not hear them. 
     We got to a long wooden board walk that exited the forest and crossed over about a half mile of sand dunes.  A sign was placed "Do not walk on the sand dunes."  I laughed as I quipped. " Ya, tell the horses that!  Their hoof prints are all over the place."  The sand was the soft light sugar granules that was so dry it merely put a fine warm dust on our bare feet which we watched closely so as not to step in the horse manure occasionally deposited in the path to the beach.  Surprisingly there was no odour to the manure.  Beth (my resident horse expert) explained that because these horses are wild and aren't fed grain and antibiotics their manure is mostly odour free.

                                                                              

                                                                                 

                                                                                

     With effort we wound our way through the sand, our feet slipping a little as the sand gave away with each step.  We could hear it long before we could see it but there it was, the Atlantic ocean. We could see the white surf breaking on the beach behind which was a vista of blue ocean. The breeze was fresh and quickly started to fill in the foot prints we left in the sand dunes.  Miles to each side was the flat beach. No stones. No pebbles. No sea weed. Simply beach leading to the white mounded sand dunes leading to thick woods.  Simply beautiful.
     Beth almost immediately spotted a few dots on the sand dunes about a mile away and exclaimed. "There they are!"
 "There what are?" I questioned.
 "The horses. Over there. Lets go. " She yelled as she took off toward what I thought were a few bushes on the dunes.  Sure enough,as we got closer I could recognized three horses with their necks arched forward grazing on the sparse bushes that sprouted from the dunes.
 "Have you thought about the fact that they are wild and might attack us! What are you going to do if they chase you ? " I said to the back of her head. " Maybe we should just hold an apple in the air, here next to the water, so we can run into the water and get away if they come after us." A country boy I am not!
 Well she got her pictures and I got comfortable with the horses and actually approached a young stallion close enough for Beth to get a picture...that was until Spencer barked and the stallion started pounding his forefoot, which Beth said was an act of aggression so get back! The park warden later explained that the horses were not really aggressive and were probably curious about the little dog.
                                                                                 

                                                                          

        The island was so interesting that we stayed anchored here for three days. The park rangers gave walking tours and a naturalist lecture in the afternoon.  We heard that the island was owned by the famous Carnegie family who had two estates built.  One was set on fire.  They even had pictures of the fire.  Apparently, the gamekeeper on the island shot at a couple of poacher's who were taking deer off the island. He wounded one in the leg. Later, the wounded poacher's brothers got their revenge by not only setting fire to the mansion but also shooting holes in the Carnegie's boat as it sat at the dock!

                                                                                 

                                                                                        
     On the return to Doc's Holiday we stopped to talk to Sid the captain of Something Special (flying a Canadian Flag).  He was in his dingy talking to John on Feeling Lucky (from Portland, Me)...as soon as John's wife Debbie offered us a beer...it was on!  Great folks, all of them, so we invited them for cocktails back on our boat and spent an interesting evening talking about the adventures of cruising in general.  Something Special was on the way back to Ontario after having spent time in the Great Lakes, the Gulf Coast, the Florida Keys and the Bahamas.  All that travelling and Evelyn, Sids wife, looks like she just stepped out of a beauty salon whether it be 8 am or 10 pm. How does she do that?
Feeling Lucky was on their way back to New Jersey and then maybe Portland, Maine.  Their trials and tribulations very much resembled our own and John's thrill of feeling the sails fill and the rush when the boat jumps ahead under sail was infectious, almost converting me to sail instead of power.
We spent an evening enjoying the freedom and carefree boating life style and the feeling that we were part of a privileged few who had worked hard enough to enable us to engage this way of life.

                                                                                        

     There was more to see, like a tour of the refurbished estate on the north end of the island but after hiking the trails and exploring the ruins and walking the beach, it was time to go.  My vacation was in its final week and we wanted to get the boat where we knew it would be looked after until I could finish up work and return to continue the adventure to Maine.  Savannah, Georgia was beckoning.-
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