Canoeing
on the Georgia Coast
Our camping expeditions started in seventh grade when I
was thirteen. My curly-haired friend, Frank, and I headed off with two canoes
each loaded to the top of the gunwales; they threatened to spill over. It was a
windy summer day and after paddling for a full ten minutes (to our thirteen-year-old
selves it seemed like an hour) we made beach fall – or I should say marsh fall.
We were camping on a little island a short paddle from the Isle of Hope Marina.
After convincing our mothers to let us go -- the joint guilting of mothers with
“his mom said it was okay” aided our efforts of persuasion -- and after securing
rides from our fathers, we loaded everything into the canoes, including the
kitchen sink, and paddled off.
Upon
arrival at the island, we unloaded our canoes and began practicing our woodsman
skills, which at this point in our camping career were not numerous. The tent
went up and promptly – with a rip through the bug net and rain fly – came right
back down. The fire was started but not without an ample helping of gasoline. The
sleeping bags were unpacked and found to be heavy winter bags, unsuitable for
the hot summer climate. In fact, the only thing that went well was the
shrimping and crabbing. Drifting through eight inches of water at low tide,
hidden from the world by the thick marsh grass, Frank cast the shrimp net with
youthful skill and brought bundles of squirming, bouncing, and lively shrimp
into the boat. Unfortunately, we neglected to bring the tools needed to prepare
and cook such a catch – so right back into the water they went. The crabs, on
the other hand, were not so lucky. Into the boat and, once back at our camp,
into the boiling water they promptly went, frothing at the mouth and snapping
wildly. The first day culminated at midnight with a canoe ride through the
marina. The paddle, a desperate measure to avoid the mosquitos that plagued
everywhere but the peaceful waters, was the highlight of the trip. We paddled
silently through the crystal clear water underneath a full, midnight moon and our
paddles dipped into the mirror surface of the water sending ripples spreading
entrancingly out. Despite all that went wrong on this first trip, the hardships
created from our lack of experience only served to strengthen the friendship
between Frank and me.
While
we returned from this first camping trip mosquito bitten, tired from a night in
the elements, sunburned, and with a lot of gear to clean, this first trip
turned into a high-school tradition and came to include three of my closest
friends: Michael and Josh in addition to Frank. While this first trip was in
the marsh, following trips took place on Little Tybee where the wind blows east
during the day and west at night and the constant swell of the ocean can be
felt and heard. Josh, quiet, dependable, and intelligent; Michael, direct,
rambunctious, and clever; Frank Tanner, mischievous but reliable; and myself
made up the group on these following trips to the barrier island Little Tybee. Even
though we all had our differences when engulfed in the landscape, the salt
water, the grass, and the scouring sand, our group grew closer.
One summer, a tropical storm kept us hunkered down in our
tents for hours. The next summer a thunderstorm sent us scurrying for cover. While
we became more organized with each expedition we still made slight oversights
every now and then. Once we forgot the sleeping bags and once we forgot the
food bags. As we grew older we also grew a little bolder. We carried the canoes
across the marsh or sand when needed and didn’t worry about venturing out when
the water was rough.
Frequently, we tipped the canoes or they became so filled
with water from the crashing waves that we were forced to bring them to shore
and empty them: land the canoe without tipping it in the surf, unpack all of
the gear, tip the canoe over, wait for it to drain, repack the gear, and launch
the canoe back into the surf without tipping or letting it fill up with water
again. This became a chore we were all familiar with. When launching, the
person sitting in the back would wade out past where the waves break, often
hip-height water, and right after a passing swell would shove the canoe forward
while jumping in. The person sitting in front then would paddle madly. In rough
water (it often was rough if the canoe had to be landed in the first place)
this was a challenge. If the canoe did not pick up speed fast enough when the
person holding it steady let go to jump in, the swells would push it sideways
and to the shore where waves would quickly either tip the canoe or fill it back
up with water. This is just one situation that forced us to work together in
tight coordination: others included setting up a tent in a downpour, packing up
camp in the midst of an unusually high incoming tide, and portaging the canoes.
Every
trip, while the landscape stayed mostly the same, the sand was always a little
different. River entrances shifted, bending, elongating, growing shallower and
growing deeper. On the beach, new dunes appeared and old ones washed away. The
mud flats changed, expanding or shrinking, sometimes even disappearing and
reappearing somewhere else along the beach. Returning weeks or months after,
getting turned around was easy.
Like the sand, the friendships I forged under the sun and
under the rain with Michael, Frank, and Josh are always there but constantly
changing as we age and the time since our last camping trip together is no
longer counted in weeks but in months. Josh has gone to college at University
of Washington, Frank and Michael have both forgone college in order to work for
a local manufacturing company, and I have started college at Armstrong. Despite
the distance created by our different paths in life, we still keep in touch and
instantly become familiar friends again when reunited in the canoe. Whether it
was sharing the only spoon and pot we had, trusting one another to keep the
canoe upright as the waves jerked us along, or being alone, hidden from the
rest of the world by the surrounding landscape, the experiences we shared
together created friendships that may change with the years but will always
exist.
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