First Trip

We quickly reached the mouth of Richardson creek and daddy had to swing wide to the right toward the middle of the creek to avoid the sandbar on the marshy point. Once clear of the bar we turned left into Turner's creek and continued our ride to the island.

As I recall, it was calm; no waves or chop on the water. Lots of life around, too. Wading birds like snowy egrets, po-joes (greater blue herons) and curlues could be seen on everywhere. Sometimes they would fly off as we approached only to return as soon as we passed to see what tasty creatures our waves had churned up for them. Mullet (a fish) could be seen jumping along the shore. Later, we'd castnet for them. They are excellent eating when fresh and one of my mother's favorites. She'd often cook up a mean breakfast of eggs, grits and fried mullet - mmm-mmm good! I can almost hear the sizzle and smell those fish frying in mother's cast iron skillet. Careful or you'll burn your fingers taking those hot fish from the patter!

The run down Turner's creek was short as its waters melted into Bull River. Looking to the right, we could see the the"steel bridge" as it was called that provided access to Tybee Island. In later years I'd drive across that narrow old landmark and dread having to cross paths with a semi. The steel bridge was built for model-T's and modern cars being much wider could barely pass each other without clipping side view mirrors, so meeting a semi truck was a hair-raising experience during daylight and a holy terror at night. Maybe that's where the term sweating bullets came from. I'm quite certain more than one motorist left paint on that old bridge and no driver in his right mind was sorry when that relic was replaced.

As we turned left into Bull Bull river, we left the old bride to rust into history as a flock of jack-daws (a black bird) flew ovehead with racus cries denoting our intrusion into their domain. The tide had started to flood (come in), so we kept close to shore to avoid the strong current that impeded our progress. Our wake, cresting in the shallow water and rolling up onto the muddy banks, would send finger mullet (juveniles) and mud minnows scurrying for deeper water. Often, a shrimp or two or even three or more would make several jumps across the water to avoid our motor's propeller and its backwash. Terripin turtles were abundant and would purch in bunches atop clumps of mud innundated with wormlike whitish-yellowish marsh roots. As we approached, the "terripins" would dive into the dark muddy water. Their heads would soon pop up like little thumbs only to vanish as quickly as they had appeared leaving only a swirl in the water as they hurried out of our way. (Sadly, we don't see many these days.) Blue crabs, too, were abundant and sometimes we would see one with his back out of the water slowy moving forward hugging the water with claws agape trying to capture a meal. FYI - they will also run up on a sandy bank, grab an unwary fiddler crab and dash back into the water with his prize. Crab-one; fiddler-zero.

A few turns later we met the Wilmington river and turned right toward South Channel. This was bigger water now and we were in the Intracoastal Waterway - interconncected inland waterways
stretching from Florida way up North and providing a natural path to Daufuskie from Savannah. Depending on the weather, the quarter mile run across South Channel through Elba Island Cut then across Savannah River (a major shipping channel) and into Fields Cut could be dangerous. And, with only six inches of freeboard between us and the murky salt water, I'm sure my dad was glad that it was calm and that there were no yachts, tugboats or ships to contend with.

To be continued ====>