A few weeks ago one of my friends invited me on a one night camping trip to Cumberland Island in Georgia. We would be going with one of her friends and roughing it out in the wild for a whole day and a half. Of course I was assured it wouldn't be too dangerous, there was a security guard, rangers, a lot of fellow vacationers, and it was highly unlikely that murderers were to be found in bulk there.
I said yes, packed lightly (I thought, I am a girl after all, but I really tried), and we arrived early afternoon on Sunday. It was then that I learned that we were going to be camping at Stafford, not at the nearest campground, Sea Camp. Stafford was 3 and 1/2 miles away, but my friends assured me that it wouldn't be very bad, and the park ranger told us it would take us an hour and a half to walk.
We started off in high spirits, but we ran into trouble because we had packed too many bags. We had four backpacks, a cooler, a small purselike object, a bookbag, and the huge duffel bag containing the tent. We could only go five to ten minutes at a stretch before we had to stop, rest, and eat something to lighten the load. I fell behind at first, at least three or four minutes behind my friends. As the day wore on the friend carrying the tent grew more and more fatigued until she fell behind and when me and my other friend stopped to rest it could be ten to twenty minutes before she found us again. I took over the tent after a while, and we lost each other so often that my friends and I began to communicate through wolf howls (as close to accurate as we could manage) and whistles to make sure we hadn't gotten too separated. It wasn't all bad of course, once when I was separated I got to see an armadillo bumble about in front of me and rip up a log, and another time I terrified the living daylights out of a baby bird (a cardinal I think). The island itself was very beautiful, with strange crooked trees growing everywhere.
We arrived at our 3 and 1/2 mile away campsite five hours after we started, rigged up the tent and hung up the food before fleeing to the showers to tear off the ticks in a frenzied panic. How long does it take for lyme disease to set in again? Cumberland Island is legendary for its tick problem, and I can see why, I have never seen so many ticks in my life. I threw them every which way, because I don't like to kill stuff, and pulled them out of my socks and brushed them off the camping gear. I am still covered in tick bite bumps several days later.
After the showers we struck out for the beach, which was the part of this trip I was most looking forward to. We got lost for half an hour first by following what turned out to be a wild horse trail. The actual trail was flooded and murky, and we took our shoes off and waded through very gingerly, Cottonmouths are apparently found on the island (we didn't find any, I didn't find any snakes, something that disappointed my Dad to no end). The beach itself was wonderful, it went off in each direction as far as the eye could see, and it was simply littered with shells that you only find in shops.
I was entranced by a whelk egg case dangly thing and carried it around with me until I decided to just take a picture of it.
We found a large ghost crab, the first one I'd ever seen, and I terrified the poor fellow half to death.
The beach sky was stormy, and occasionally we would hear rumbles of thunder, so I avoided going into the water. We stayed out on the beach until the sun began to set, and the storm clouds moved inland, looking angrier all the while. Something you should know about me: I'm am terrified beyond belief by tornadoes. It barely has to rain, it can be just be cloudy, and I'm worried about them. This probably stems from an episode at a friend's house when I was small when we all THOUGHT a tornado was coming and we huddled in a bathtub crying. The clouds at the beach looked very much as though they could produce a few tornadoes if they wished, and I insisted that we fairly run back to our campsite. Running through woods and water is a very strange and somewhat cool sensation, and we made it back with no trouble.
A ranger had arrived to check on all of us, and we decided to ask her about getting home. All three of us were worried that we would be incapable of getting back to the ranger station. Was there anything she could do, because otherwise they would be collecting our bodies the next day. No, she said, that was really too bad, but we had been warned, besides, the animals needed a few hikers to eat (that last bit was implied). We limped back to our tent, cursing rangers in the dead of night like a bunch of witches, and started up a fire to eat stuff.
We ate as much as we could manage, if we could consume a lot of food we wouldn't have to carry it. Our peaceful nighttime dinner thing was interrupted a few minutes after it started by the presence of an enormous swaggering raccoon, who kept creeping close to the fire with his eyes on our hot dogs. This is obviously why you shouldn't eat at night. We waved things at him and snarled hindu grace and managed to keep him at bay long enough to eat. Then we fell asleep around 11, or tried to, and stayed in our tent till morning. The scary inland storm that had been so visible on the beach never came through, and the night was quite peaceful except for a few running deer that freaked me the heck out and a longhorned beetle that squeaked improbably like a mouse.
The next morning we were up early, packing up stuff, eating more food we didn't want to carry, and breaking down the tent. We made a stop at the shower to splash water about, and tied the tent duffel to makeshift harnesses. Then, laden with bags and backpacks, strapped to the duffel bag like Clydesdale horses with our faces set in grim lines, we began to make our way back. We got about a half mile before we stopped because one of my friends legitimately looked like she was going to die. We stopped and she began sobbing convulsively from the pain in her shoulders, and scared us badly. We tied more backpacks to the duffel bag harness and worked out a way she could carry things without rubbing her shoulders more, and she recovered extremely well.
The way back took roughly as long as it did before. We took the main road because it was easier to drag the duffel bag along it, and we took breaks to lay full length along the road. We scared several people, either by pulling the husky harness or by resembling dead people. The ranger from the other night drove by and waved happily. While I was lying on the road I found several shark teeth which was nice. Finally, a car stopped and a lovely lady asked us if we were all right. One of my friends said yes, and I shot her a killing glare and said I didn't know if we were all right. She told us to wait there while she dropped people off at the beach, and she came back 20 minutes later and gave us a ride to the ranger station. She was beautiful. I told her that I would hug her if I wasn't so disgusting, and she immediately said oh that was alright please don't bother.
Our last few hours at Cumberland Island were spent relaxing, drinking water, and making a final unburdened expedition to the ruined Dungeness mansion so my goth loving friend could take pictures. The mansion was cool, it looked like an attraction made by Disney, I wanted to wander inside, but it was blocked off. There was a whole herd of wild horses with babies, and I spent time watching them and dozing on a park bench. We all piled onto the boat when it was time, and Dad met us at the opposite dock. I really quite adore my family, and the dogs were happy to see me. No place like home right?
I said yes, packed lightly (I thought, I am a girl after all, but I really tried), and we arrived early afternoon on Sunday. It was then that I learned that we were going to be camping at Stafford, not at the nearest campground, Sea Camp. Stafford was 3 and 1/2 miles away, but my friends assured me that it wouldn't be very bad, and the park ranger told us it would take us an hour and a half to walk.
We started off in high spirits, but we ran into trouble because we had packed too many bags. We had four backpacks, a cooler, a small purselike object, a bookbag, and the huge duffel bag containing the tent. We could only go five to ten minutes at a stretch before we had to stop, rest, and eat something to lighten the load. I fell behind at first, at least three or four minutes behind my friends. As the day wore on the friend carrying the tent grew more and more fatigued until she fell behind and when me and my other friend stopped to rest it could be ten to twenty minutes before she found us again. I took over the tent after a while, and we lost each other so often that my friends and I began to communicate through wolf howls (as close to accurate as we could manage) and whistles to make sure we hadn't gotten too separated. It wasn't all bad of course, once when I was separated I got to see an armadillo bumble about in front of me and rip up a log, and another time I terrified the living daylights out of a baby bird (a cardinal I think). The island itself was very beautiful, with strange crooked trees growing everywhere.
We arrived at our 3 and 1/2 mile away campsite five hours after we started, rigged up the tent and hung up the food before fleeing to the showers to tear off the ticks in a frenzied panic. How long does it take for lyme disease to set in again? Cumberland Island is legendary for its tick problem, and I can see why, I have never seen so many ticks in my life. I threw them every which way, because I don't like to kill stuff, and pulled them out of my socks and brushed them off the camping gear. I am still covered in tick bite bumps several days later.
After the showers we struck out for the beach, which was the part of this trip I was most looking forward to. We got lost for half an hour first by following what turned out to be a wild horse trail. The actual trail was flooded and murky, and we took our shoes off and waded through very gingerly, Cottonmouths are apparently found on the island (we didn't find any, I didn't find any snakes, something that disappointed my Dad to no end). The beach itself was wonderful, it went off in each direction as far as the eye could see, and it was simply littered with shells that you only find in shops.
We also found the holes to crab dens with adorable tiny crab tracks going in every direction.
A ranger had arrived to check on all of us, and we decided to ask her about getting home. All three of us were worried that we would be incapable of getting back to the ranger station. Was there anything she could do, because otherwise they would be collecting our bodies the next day. No, she said, that was really too bad, but we had been warned, besides, the animals needed a few hikers to eat (that last bit was implied). We limped back to our tent, cursing rangers in the dead of night like a bunch of witches, and started up a fire to eat stuff.
We ate as much as we could manage, if we could consume a lot of food we wouldn't have to carry it. Our peaceful nighttime dinner thing was interrupted a few minutes after it started by the presence of an enormous swaggering raccoon, who kept creeping close to the fire with his eyes on our hot dogs. This is obviously why you shouldn't eat at night. We waved things at him and snarled hindu grace and managed to keep him at bay long enough to eat. Then we fell asleep around 11, or tried to, and stayed in our tent till morning. The scary inland storm that had been so visible on the beach never came through, and the night was quite peaceful except for a few running deer that freaked me the heck out and a longhorned beetle that squeaked improbably like a mouse.
The next morning we were up early, packing up stuff, eating more food we didn't want to carry, and breaking down the tent. We made a stop at the shower to splash water about, and tied the tent duffel to makeshift harnesses. Then, laden with bags and backpacks, strapped to the duffel bag like Clydesdale horses with our faces set in grim lines, we began to make our way back. We got about a half mile before we stopped because one of my friends legitimately looked like she was going to die. We stopped and she began sobbing convulsively from the pain in her shoulders, and scared us badly. We tied more backpacks to the duffel bag harness and worked out a way she could carry things without rubbing her shoulders more, and she recovered extremely well.
The way back took roughly as long as it did before. We took the main road because it was easier to drag the duffel bag along it, and we took breaks to lay full length along the road. We scared several people, either by pulling the husky harness or by resembling dead people. The ranger from the other night drove by and waved happily. While I was lying on the road I found several shark teeth which was nice. Finally, a car stopped and a lovely lady asked us if we were all right. One of my friends said yes, and I shot her a killing glare and said I didn't know if we were all right. She told us to wait there while she dropped people off at the beach, and she came back 20 minutes later and gave us a ride to the ranger station. She was beautiful. I told her that I would hug her if I wasn't so disgusting, and she immediately said oh that was alright please don't bother.
Our last few hours at Cumberland Island were spent relaxing, drinking water, and making a final unburdened expedition to the ruined Dungeness mansion so my goth loving friend could take pictures. The mansion was cool, it looked like an attraction made by Disney, I wanted to wander inside, but it was blocked off. There was a whole herd of wild horses with babies, and I spent time watching them and dozing on a park bench. We all piled onto the boat when it was time, and Dad met us at the opposite dock. I really quite adore my family, and the dogs were happy to see me. No place like home right?
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