Live Oak Blues What happens.

After initial cleanup

Yesterday I attempted something I’ve wanted to do for 20 years: paddle to Cumberland Island in Georgia from St. Mary’s in Florida. I have spent many a day on Cumberland among the ruins, tourists, no-see-ums, and rattlesnakes, but I wanted to go without having to take the ferry. I knew it would be a vigorous paddle, but had no idea that the most dangerous leg of the journey would take place before I even hit water.

A quick drive along the shoreline in St. Mary’s revealed what looked to be a perfect launching spot next to a marina: parking (check), gradual decline from the sand to the water (check). So I took my boat toward what looked like sand and began to pull it toward the water. I immediately sank thigh deep into the thickest, blackest mud I’ve ever seen and lost both sandals. After retrieving them, I tossed them (useless to me) into the boat and tried it barefoot. My next step brought me chest deep and sinking…fast. Ah, so this is what quicksand is! Desperate now, my foot found purchase five feet down on submerged oyster beds that did what oyster beds do when you put your whole weight onto them: cut your feet to ribbons. Nevertheless, I had to push up against them to take my next step, which plunged me even deeper into the mud. Meanwhile, three fishermen from the marina were looking at me over their beers and safely from the patio hoping, I suppose, to see a death. With five inches to go until my mouth was under the mud, I decided now was the time to pull up on my kayak, which I did, bleeding and muddy beyond all imagining.

About a mile downriver, I found an oyster mound onshore and pulled off to wash up and reflect on just how close to drowning in mud I had been. No longer enthused about my original goal I paddled a while longer and headed back to the scene of my stupidity. The tide had mercifully come in and I was able to come ashore without touching the mud. I’ll try it again from somewhere else, I suppose, but damn that was scary. Lesson learned.