Hilton Head Journal
Dolphins!
by Jerri
Ah, the peace of this place! On a warm Tuesday night in May, we take flashlights and walk down to the beach with our friends who have kindly invited us to join them at their oceanside villa. Stargazing accompanied by the soft roll of the surf soothes the soul like nothing else.
I sleep in until 10 the next morning!
Today is sunny and warm and my friend reports that she has seen dolphins. I quickly get ready and the four of us head for the beach. We walk for a bit and see a few fins, but soon we are rewarded with the sight of several dolphins surfacing and diving. A large fin appears with a smaller fin right beside it. These two continually dive in tandem, so we are convinced that it is a mother and a baby. Perhaps we are watching a whole dolphin family. The beach here is hard-packed and smooth, the greatest beach for walking. The ocean is calm, the sun is warm, the dolphins are graceful. Life is good.
Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, is the second largest barrier island on the U. S. east coast.
Touching the Tide
Thursday mid-morning and we are on the beach. At low tide on Hilton Head, the beach is a wide, flat expanse of packed sand, scattered with tidal pools as far as one can see. As we walk, we skirt the pools—some of them very large—with the ocean lapping the shore to our right. Thousands of tiny clam holes dot the wet sand. M and K are barefoot, so they wade in the shallow water from time to time. Soon I am carrying my sensible walking shoes, feeling the sand squish around my feet. Warm salt water splashes on my legs, soothing bites from the all too-friendly sand fleas. We walk on for at least a half an hour, sometimes at the edge of the shore, sometimes through the pools. As we turn around to head back, we suddenly notice that the tide has come in and the pools have quickly filled. We are standing in a few inches of water on a slight sand bar and there is nothing but water between us and the dry sand. Looking around for some shallow pools, we find none. For a moment I think we are going to have to swim back to the beach (fully clothed!), but we backtrack along our sandbar, finally find a low spot and wade back to the shore. We laugh at being caught by the tide. As we walk back I try to absorb the whole scene and somehow save it in my senses. How do I record the sound of that surf—the feel of sand massaging my feet—breeze, sun, sky—the spirits of dear friends?
Gator Hole
Today we are off to find the cache—often a small metal box—that other folks have hidden and then posted clues on an Internet site. These caches are everywhere.
This one is called “Gator Hole.” The name gives me pause. Larry has recently recounted two cases of women being killed by alligators in Florida, so it is with some trepidation that I follow the others on the dark path into the woods. Our young guide tells us that if an alligator comes toward us we should run in a zigzag pattern. I think, O.K., I’m good. I know what to do. (It is only later that I remember that I really can’t run at all!) We step over fallen branches and trees and untangle ourselves from creeping vines. We follow the edge of a large pond and I carefully watch the soggy ground for poison ivy, snakes, and other wild critters. Our guide leads the way with his hand-held GPS. As we walk, we pass a pair of socks, a discarded jacket, various empty bottles, a large candle, and varying amounts of ordinary trash. K. and I are holding up the rear as our guide calls out that we are getting closer.
Soon we encounter a large black bird with a long curved neck preening its wings on a branch over the pond. For a time, Larry thinks it is a loon, but eventually we decide that its coloring doesn’t quite match. Suddenly, we become aware that a bird as tall as I am is walking toward us and it keeps getting closer and closer. It is a Great Blue Heron, beautiful, awesome. Now this is a treasure, but just how close does one want to be to a creature with a beak like that! The heron clearly wants to be where we are, but it lumbers gracefully around us and picks up the path behind us. Larry and I are without our cameras and we try in vain to capture this image on our cell phones.
Meanwhile, sunset is almost upon us and we are still deep in the woods, yet getting closer to the hidden cache. Larry, and I elect to stay put as the others continue ahead. We think we are going to have to leave soon, but then come the shouts, “We found it!”
Soon the more adventurous members of our party come toward us with a metal box in hand and our noble guide announces that this is indeed a larger cache than usual. Inside are several items left by other explorers as well as items left by the person who originally placed the box. There is a cute stuffed spider with a tag listing a website that will track the travels of this little spider. Each of us then put something in the box. I leave a tiny pamphlet of prayers for non-violence. I don’t notice what any of the others leave, but some of us also sign the log. Oh, the note in the box also asks that we post any pictures we take of alligators while we are there. I don’t think I personally will be stopping for any photo ops. I will more than likely recover my ability to run!
Now I am truly eager to get back to the nice asphalt parking lot. I think to myself that my children and grandchildren will not believe that I was geo-caching along an alligator hole.