We awoke the next morning to sunlight beaming through our plantation shutters and the scent of pastries and freshly brewed coffee wafting upstairs. I was a little disappointed that there were no bluebirds or mice in little vests about to help me dress, but I didn't dwell.
We dressed quickly, gathered our gear and walked across the street to the ferry office. Once we had our tickets in hand, we grabbed a quick but hearty breakfast at the
Riverside Cafe. Very good food but strange-assed artwork. All of the cafe's walls were decorated with creepy Suessified painted masks. They listened in on our conversation, they read the menu over our shoulders and I swear I heard the green one ask, "you gonna eat that?" I raised my butter knife in a threatening manner towards The Grinch That Stole My Omelet.
Shortly thereafter, we boarded the ferry for the 45 minute trip over to Cumberland Island. We staked out the best seats, donned our sunglasses, and got our cameras at the ready as the ferry set sail. Three minutes later we're two shivering, frozen masses huddled on the bench, vigorously rubbing two beef jerky sticks together in an effort to start a fire. Who knew that an early morning boat ride in November would be so freakin' cold?!
Once we discussed which passengers we'd eat if the ferry were to... say... hit an iceberg, therefore, leaving us all stranded on the freezing waters of the St.Marys; we docked. I still contend that chubby toddler in the red windbreaker would have been much better eating than the chick with the saddlebag thighs.
Anyways, we start off on the path that leads to the
Dungeness ruins. It is on this path that we encounter our first pair of wild horses. Beautiful.
We continue on to Dungeness - which is where Paula took this photo of me:
There were signs posted everywhere asking us not to stand or sit on the brick wall
(Hello! The Dungeness "ruins"!), and since I live to follow rules, I popped a squat. My doing so allowed hundreds of thorny sand spurs the opportunity to attach themselves to my backside. Weeks later I'm still feeling the wrath of those lil' buggers! You ask me, they'd be better off posting signs about the the dangers of
ass spurs.
Carefully avoiding a steaming pile of horse dung (see pic above), we took a short trek down to the Dungeness cemetery to where
General Light House Harry Lee was once buried. His grave site now bears a marker explaining that his remains were moved to the Lee family crypt in Lexington, Virginia in 1913. From the cemetery, we traveled the Nightingale Trail towards the dunes and beach. Along the way we encountered a herd of stampeding turkeys. Gaggle? Flock? A bit of googling informs me that a group of turkeys is actually called a 'rafter'. What the... ?! Herd is much better. The Turkey Herd:
We're half way through the dunes when we realized that I'd inadvertently left my water canister sitting on the Dungeness wall. It's important to mention that there's nowhere on the island to purchase food or water. Visitors are instructed to carry any provisions and supplies they may require during their stay. Paula's reaction to my water situation:
~cue ominous music~
(to be continued)
I resolve to only give fur Mohawks to my kitties on days which end in "Y".
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