Catamaran Delivery, Days 13 and 14: Hilton Head, SC to Isle of Hope, GA

The home stretch, I think, has begun.

We left Charleston at 5:30am, and intended to stop at Savannah Bend, SC, but due to some phone number mix-ups in Navionics, the marina we thought we had reservations for in fact did not. There are a few confusingly similarly named places in that area, and apparently as we steamed past one, they realized that — as is apparently common — we had booked at the wrong place.

Undeterred, we kept going, and made nearly 90nm in a single day. We pulled in, still in daylight, to Hilton Head Island. Our marina was the awesomely-named Safe Harbor Skull River, and the staff there — none of whom looked over than 25 years old — were professional, kind, and pleasant to work with. We tied up, and our captain and his wife retired after a long day. Lured by the promise of wood-fired pizza, I took a Lyft into town, and availed myself of exactly that.

We woke up relatively late, around 8:30am, and set sail for Savannah, GA. While state lines are arbitrary, crossing them feels like accomplishment, and we entered Georgia after navigating some tights turns under a new 65’ fixed bridge that replaced a bascule (opening) bridge — complete with a barge still pulling up the pilings for the old span.

In the afternoon, we passed Daufuskie Island, a beautiful retreat for the wealthy, but also a storied place. The Live Oaks that grow here were famously harvested for most of the original tall ships of the US Navy, including the USS Constitition, or as it’s better known, Old Ironsides. It’s also the home for many of the Gullah people, descendants of West African slaves ripped from their homes, who settled on the island after escaping or being emancipated by Union forces in the Civil War.

Due to its isolation, the Gullah culture and language were uniquely preserved here. Like much of the American South, unfathomable pain and suffering intermingled with preservation and history define this sea island.

We reached the Isle of Hope Marina in the early afternoon, and while it’s rustic (and outside of Savannah’s city limits), they offer both loaner cars and loaner bicycles, and I took the opportunity to go exploring by both. My bike ride was a solo expedition, and I rode to the historic location of what was Wormsloe Plantation, founded by one Noble Jones, who was a founder of Georgia itself.

While plantations bear troubled pasts, to say the least, the physical location was beautiful. I pedaled for a mile or so down a long dirt road lined with Georgia Live Oaks, imagining the world as it was nearly 300 years ago. These lands were worked by slaves and freeholders alike, and the history of exploitation, hope, and misery interweave the somber and striking parts of its history.

At the end of this little road is a tiny, clearly underfunded museum. Wormsloe itself has been divided up into private land, and the original house and slave homes cannot be seen, but the exhibits offer a look into not only this place, but the entire history of Georgia.

I admittedly knew little of the 13th colony’s past: a British proprietary colony that the landholders eventually ceded back to the King, under constant threat from Spanish Florida, the purview of idealists, oppressors, and oligarchs of throughout 17th and 18th centuries, Georgia originally banned both alcohol and slavery - and in doing so, created the economic ad social conditions that would result in it becoming the Revolutionary War leader it was, and the dismal civil rights example it would become.

In the evening, the three of us set off to explore Savannah as it is today, and spent roughly three hours wandering around the historic northern part of the city, along the Savannah River. The original cobblestone streets and steep “historic stairs” are still in evidence here, and a Christmas market was in full swing.

We meandered through the market, and stumbled upon an art-gallery-cum-Hyatt lobby, with art made of reclaimed metal, towering quartz and glittering amethyst stones, and fossils from throughout the region.

Towards the end of the evening, we also came upon Echo Square - a nondescript 10’x10’ brick plaza, with a concrete paver in the center. Stand in the middle and speak, and your voice will echo and resonate through your chest, seemingly amplified — but only for yourself, and anyone pressed against you in the very center. Apparently a mysterious quirk of acoustics, it was an odd, unexpected, and charming aspect of a city of which I could say that same.

We spent a lay day the following day, riding out strong N/NE winds (gusting into the 40kt range), and I woke early and rode a few miles to a coffee shop for a quiet breakfast alone. Getting exercise after two weeks aboard was wonderful, and while the temperatures are only in the 50s, it’s a pleasant change from the bitter cold we’ve experienced to date.

Tomorrow will be another early morning, as we’ll push hard for Brunswick, GA.