home is where the boat is: Cumberland, by land and by sea.

Monday, March 10 – Sunday, March 16

sunset in Georgia

Our last day in Florida was beautiful—sunny and clear—and we traveled along a lovely stretch of the ICW, including wandering the Northern end of the Indian River, a scenic trip through the Haulover Canal, and then following a narrow channel through the vast, open and shallow Mosquito Lagoon. We cautiously tucked ourselves into a lovely spot that night – the sun made it easier to sight shallows and work our way into a secluded nook. Nearby was a maze of mangroves, so we spent the evening rowing through the network of channels. Birds were everywhere, and the sunset lit through the green tangle of mangroves and illuminated their leaves and branches.

We left our peaceful anchorage in the morning, and exited the ICW through the Ponce de Leon Inlet. It was a cool day but sunny and clear, and the sailing was great. Eventually the wind died, so by midnight the engine was on to help get us to Cumberland Island ahead of the storms and wind that were predicted later that day. We beat the wind but not the rain; by five in the morning the once starlit sky had grown dark, and lightening decorated the horizon. Visibility decreased, and the rain came in heavy sheets that disturbed the ocean and made the radar screen quickly turn a solid green.

Lou at the helm.

Soon the frequency of the downpours lessened and we were able to see ahead once more—the lighted markers of the inlet came into view, and we began our trip down the long lane. Despite the thick rain clouds, the sun began to pierce through the overcast sky, and we arrived at Cumberland Island with the morning light. It was still a few hours later before we made it to our anchorage on the Brickhill River. We set anchor and napped, before taking a short walk to stretch our legs in the afternoon.

That night the predicted gale swept through, so we were happy for our naps because we spent much of the night awake. The worst of the weather was from 11:00 PM to 3:00 AM; it sounded like a freight train and brought 40 plus winds. The Brickhill River is narrow and winding and the current is swift, but along its center-line it is also relatively deep and calls for a long scope when anchoring—these factors, partnered with strong winds and gusts, make the banks feel uncomfortably close. If the anchor were to drag, there would be only moments until the boat was ashore. But the anchor held steady throughout the gale, which made us even more confident in the anchorage—so though the next day was still very windy and gusty by more normal standards and might cause us concern in most unfamiliar anchorages, it was much less than the night before, so we trusted Evelyn to her own devices for a long walk ashore.

Over the next two days we walked more than 33 miles at Cumberland, exploring the island from top to bottom. We spent most of our time in forested trails instead of along the breathtaking beaches, as we were excited to be in the woods once more. The live oaks were hung with Spanish moss and towered over palmettos lining the trails; they were stunning and the smell of sun-warmed pine needles was intoxicating. We walked further than we should have each day—a mile for every foot of deck length that we are usually confined to—and returned each evening to rest our tired and sore muscles. But it was wonderful and worth it.

Cumberland Island, Georgia

And Cumberland had undergone some noticeable change since we’d last seen the island in December—pollen covered Evelyn each morning, and buds and young leaves dotted the branches. The wildlife was more alive too—birds were everywhere, and their songs filled the forests. We saw many wild horses—including, I am fairly certain, the same small herd of two mares, a stallion, and a foal that we’d seen in December, with the foal now grown much larger. And we saw armadillos everywhere.

Neither Lou nor I had ever seen an armadillo in the wild, so these sightings were particularly exciting. Sadly though, armadillos were introduced to Cumberland, so the fact that we saw so many illustrates how quickly they have overtaken the Island. We would watch them until they wandered out of sight each time we spotted one, trying to learn through observation more about the behavior of these odd-looking little animals.

Then we had an armadillo encounter that convinced Lou that armadillos were not the innocent and adorable creatures we believed them to be.

About fifteen miles into our hike the first full day, with two or three miles left to go until we were home, and with our legs and feet tired and sore from the longest walk we’d enjoyed in a long time—we heard the rustle of an armadillo on the right side of the trail. We paused to watch it, as had become our habit, and soon a comparatively small armadillo emerged from the undergrowth. The little armadillo moved along, pushing its snout into the ground and hopping, paying barely any attention to us. Gradually the armadillo moved closer, until it was just a few feet away. Then, from the opposite side of the trail, we heard another rustling in the bush, and watched the branches sway as a second armadillo moved closer.

The three of us—Lou, me, and the little armadillo—stopped what we were doing and watched the arrival of the newcomer. The second armadillo was much larger. It paused at the edge of the brush, looked across the trail, and observed Lou, me, and the little armadillo as we three stared back.

Then occurred one of the most memorable events of our visit to Cumberland—the big armadillo looked at Lou, and without any warning, charged as fast as it could. Lou responded in comedic fashion—with sheer terror that is only funny when brought on by such a tiny, awkward creature. Lou let out a shrill, high-pitched squeal as the big armadillo ran at him, then took off running with his arms waving above his head like a cartoon character, leaping over the tiny armadillo as it crisscrossed across the path in front of him in confusion and alarm.

It seemed to happen in slow motion, and eventually the little armadillo picked a side and scurried into the forest on the left and out of sight. Lou, who had managed to dodge the big armadillo and avoid hurting the little one crisscrossing the path in front of him, disappeared around a bend in the trail, his arms still flailing overhead as he ran. I looked down to find the big armadillo looking up at me, so I quickly took my leave and jogged after Lou. I found Lou casually walking by a campsite as if nothing had happened, as the campsite’s occupants hung out their clothes to dry and stared in the direction of the scream. We nodded and waved, and we continued on our way laughing about the attack of the armadillo. Unfortunately, moments before the armadillo incident, I had pulled out my video camera to film the antics of the little armadillo, but Lou asked me to put the camera way and “just enjoy the moment”—which ended up turning into a moment I would have enjoyed very much to capture on video, and relive again and again! Lou was more wary of armadillos our last day at Cumberland, and we had no more noteworthy wildlife encounters, just great hiking. (But in all seriousness, we were afterwards told that apparently armadillos can carry leprosy, so it is actually important to watch out for angry armadillos!)

We left our anchorage at sunrise the next morning, continuing northward up the Brickhill River to hug the western side of Cumberland and enjoy its dramatic landscape from a different vantage point. By noon Cumberland Island was behind us and we were headed out the Simon’s Island Inlet, and twenty-four hours later we were anchored in Charleston.