Cumberland Island National Seashore

Walking from the forest through dunes to shore

On our journey south in December, we were in a bit of a hurry, and so we bypassed the Cumberland Island National Seashore, a huge oversight!  I have visited lots of national parks and I have a long list of those that I hope yet to visit, but somehow this park had escaped my attention altogether before last fall coming down the ICW.  For the most part, Cumberland National Seashore is a marvelous national park and I’ll elaborate on that “most part” later.  

Northern Star is to the upper right part of photo.

Cumberland Island is one of the barrier islands in Georgia, in fact the very last one before the Florida border.  To get here, one must either ride on a park service ferry from the little town of St. Mary’s where the National Park Museum is located, or board a huge tourism boat from Fernandina Beach, FL, or come on one’s own boat and anchor in the river.  We opted for the last means of transportation, naturally.  

The decadence of one enormous live oak tree.  It MUST be climbed!

Campers may stay for up to one week on the island, in the midst of this live oak forest with palmetto forest floor.  Beautiful!  Many visitors come for the day, to walk the trails, beaches, salt marshes, or bicycle around the island.  There are no paved roads and only park service vehicles.

Bikes helped us cover a lot of ground.

The island’s history is long and rich.  The first known residents, the heavily tattooed Timucuan Indians were introduced reluctantly to white man’s religion via a Spanish garrison and Jesuit mission built here in 1569 but it did not go over well with the natives and so the Spanish abandoned the effort only three years later.  Later, Spain and England quarreled over ownership of the island for 100 years; there was a Spanish fort here and an English fort.  Land was gifted as a reward to Revolutionary War heroes. Cotton plantations were built with slave labor (Eli Whitney promoted his cotton gin from here, unsuccessfully). 

Spanish soldier's helmet

In 1900, Thomas Carnegie, brother of Andrew, bought a huge portion of the island.  On the island he built a family home which ultimately grew to be a 37,000 square foot house called Dungeness, complete with a large heated swimming pool, squash courts, steam room, a hunting lodge, and so on.   A remarkable place.  

Dungeness facing the water

To provide services and food for the Carnegie family of 9 children and the steady stream of upper crust visitors and statesmen visiting here, a workforce of 300 black and white servants and skilled laborers was required, which brought an entire village into existence. Huge dormitories were built to house them.   The village of course, was situated just out of sight of the main estate.

Dungeness facing the forest 

The Dungeness we see today, is a skeleton of the mansion which was destroyed by fire in 1978.  Only a few of the 40 other buildings that once comprised the Dungeness estate still stand, but foundations of many more are there.  

Tabby, uses shell, not gravel.

Structures are often made of tabby, a combination of limestone, shells and concrete.  I found the foundation of the Dungeness dairy which appeared to accommodate at least 28, maybe 32 milking cows.  (Yes, I am a dairy farmer’s daughter).  It is hard in these times to conceive of such wealth as is evident here.  The Carnegies’ polo grounds and kenneled hunting dogs could only be fully appreciated with their many affluent friends staying with them for a week or two, thus, I suppose, the “need” for the 37,000 square foot house.  (The upper crust folks probably don’t like to share bedrooms, even with other upper crust folks.)  

Dungeness pergola.  Beyond is the polo field.

Fast forward to late 1900’s; a developer bought up much of the island with plans to build a “Hilton Head South.”  The descendants of the Carnegies, in their own generous mansions scattered farther north on the island, got together to thwart that effort.  They all donated their lands for a national park, and the Hilton Head concept was squelched.  Thus, the entire island, save for a few palatial homes still occupied by the Carnegie descendants, is a national park with no town, and no services of any kind.  It is once again, a mostly natural maritime forest.  

Surprised to see how hairy he is underneath that shell.

I met my first armadillo here.  Quirky little fellows through no fault of their own.  I would have loved to see one roll himself into a ball to see whether Jax would play with it.  Wild hogs still occupy the island, and we did NOT see any of those, which was fine with me.  There are six wild hog hunts each year to knock back the population explosion of pork on the hoof.  

There are about 150 horses living on Cumberland Island

And, there are wild horses.  Unlike Assateague Island where the wild horse population is managed by rounding up a number of them each year to remove from the island, Cumberland Island NPS has to respect the intentions of the donors of the horses, the Carnegies, who simply turned them loose many, many years ago.  

Note Whitey's ribs.

Tourists enjoy seeing the horses.  I admit, I enjoy seeing horses whenever I can as well.  But these horses have been sharing the same gene pool for generations and a maritime forest floor is not an ideal place to find good foraging for a horse.  Only 20% of the colts survive, the lone park service volunteer told us.  The horses are indeed wild—and are treated as such.  They do what they will on the island; horses rip the grasses off close to the ground (which certainly makes it appear as though the grounds around the buildings have been mowed) and make trails through the forest, dunes and salt marshes to get to what little fresh water is available.  

Ill-tempered wild horses

I am not an animal rights activist or anything nearly so strident as that, but I did have horses growing up and these horses do not look well to me.  Their ribs are visible and their coats lack the lustre of good health.  In short, I found myself sad to find that they are here, abandoned to fend for themselves in a fairly hostile (to horses) environment.   Perhaps this environment lends itself to short-tempered horses, sharing a finite space with too many herbivores vying for the limited food.  Maybe female horses get into “cat fights” just like junior high girls do, maybe they get kicked in the head too many times which has gotta raise the likelihood of horse concussion and consequently, poor horse judgment.  

Truce?

Whatever the reason, the two females that we witnessed fighting reminded me of an Animal Planet episode.  And it did end with the white one getting a good strong kick to the head.  We could hear the “chukunk” of the hoof making contact with the skull from 30 yards away.   Whitey didn’t pester the brown horse after that.  Probably still seeing stars.

Salt marshes.

Yes, the horses are pretty (especially, from a distance, and I suppose if one doesn’t know what a healthy horse looks like) and it is novel and interesting to find them roaming wild here.  But they don’t belong here.  We (humans) domesticated them, and now I think we ought to care for them properly.  A horse oughta have enough in his belly that he can afford to stand around lazily in the shade and swish the flies away on a hot day—not walk around hungry, constantly looking for that elusive bit of green food.  And enough fresh water to drink, not salty brackish water.  There, I said it.  

Wherever grass grows, it has been overgrazed by the hungry horses. 

If the horses were gone, or at least the population significantly diminished, the Cumberland Island National Seashore would be an even more marvelous natural maritime forest for us all to enjoy.

The Dolphins' Dance: A Gulf Stream Crossing

Sailing across Little Bahama Bank

It was our intent to travel as far north up the U.S. East Coast as possible when we left the Bahamas.  That is, as far north as our weather window would allow, before landing on U.S. soil.  In preparation, we traveled to the north end of the Sea of Abaco and positioned ourselves off a tiny island called Great Sale Cay on the Little Bahama Bank.  It was a long day’s sail to reach that point but once there, we were ready for the good weather window as predicted.  

Leaving Great Sale Cay.  Only three boats left here out of ~30.

Thirty boats, give or take, were already at Great Sale Cay when we arrived there Monday evening.  By early next morning, the pack had started to thin.  The wind was good and the sailboats were heading north for the U.S. and Canada.  We needed just a bit of time to rest however.  

Little Bahama Bank is not little.   An area of approx. 160 square miles.

By the time we were ready to depart Tuesday afternoon, the winds had died significantly.  Sailing was “okay” for a while, but then we were obligated to resort to the “iron jenny”” once again—a sailor’s reference to running the engine because the sail (genoa, or “jenny”) was not adequate to make headway.  Carl had calculated that if we traveled at an average of 6 knots the entire way, we would make Charleston, S.C. in 63 hours.  Sixty three hours from Great Sale Cay, that is.  

Might as well make cookies on calm passage.

Sigh.  Apparently, our weather window was “too” good.  We had so little wind that we had to motor much of the way.  We kept our mains’l up which helped to stabilize the boat’s rocking, but often times, did not help us much for speed.  

Late afternoon with rain approaching.

Because we were using more fuel than wind to make it across the Gulf Stream, we decided to abandon the goal of Charleston, and instead headed toward landfall at Fernandina Beach, Florida.   We arrived today, a trip of 48 hours.  As luck would have it, just as we left the ocean and entered the channel leading to the St. Mary’s River at Fernandina Beach, the wind that we had so hoped for during our Gulf Stream crossing, arrived at last.  Aughhh.   

Approaching the Gulf Stream at sunset.  

Two other sailboats departed Great Sale Cay at about the same time we did.  As is common practice, the boats were in contact with one another during the passage.  The boats introduce themselves to one another by VHF radio, share our respective planned destinations and blatantly admit our appreciation for the presence of the others out there, three little boats on a big ocean, separated by a few miles of Atlantic.  At night, we could see two steaming lights on the horizon.  Four other people, just like us, out on the Atlantic, heading in the same direction.  There’s something reassuring about that.  

Clouds and moonlight on the ocean.

We set our course for the middle of the Gulf Stream, just where Chris Parker, our weather router had said it would be—at Lat 29 N, and Long 079.45 W, and once in it, had quite a ride.  We enjoyed speeds of 10 to 11 knots for several hours heading north mid-Gulf Stream.  That in spite of very little wind.  

Pair of dolphins with one directly below the other.

The most memorable part of the Crossing however, was the complimentary dolphin escorts both Tuesday and Wednesday evenings just before sunset.  

Two to four dolphins would lead just ahead of our bow.

On Tuesday evening, we were still on the Little Bahama Bank with water only 18 to 22 feet deep.  Suddenly, there were dolphins surrounding us, swimming parallel with the boat and seemingly eager to lead us onward.  They raced for the bow of the boat where they took turns being in the lead, one after another showing us the way forward, while the others of them feinted to the left and to the right, leaving another of their entourage to be the point man at the bow.  

Dolphins taking turns at the bow.  These two will go around to the stern and then return to the bow for another turn as lead.

They played in this manner with our sailboat for twenty minutes or more, as the sun closed the distance to the horizon.  And then they were gone.

These two are next "in line" to lead the vessel forward.

Wednesday late afternoon, mid Gulf Stream, thousands of feet of water beneath us, there they were again….not the same dolphins, of course, but a whole new squadron of them.  They surrounded the boat, while other newer recruits came flying and leaping through the water from behind to catch up.  

Three, four, five... up to six dolphins would join us at a time.

Another group came from the west, all of them eager to be part of the choreography.  Some sort of communication between them must provide them with the rules of the play—the prime directive, no doubt, being to escort our big, slow vessel toward the west while demonstrating the dolphins’ obvious superior skills.  

The dolphins really seem to enjoy the role of escorting Northern Star

Our boat was no competition for the dolphin’s ability to slice cleanly through the water, to leap and twist out of the water, and in synchronized fashion, to maneuver up, down and alongside their companions.  It was a well-rehearsed dance wherein each knew what the other’s next move would be.  

I began to recognize some of the dolphins as they took turns.

As if carefully choreographed, two or three dolphins would take the lead below our bow, then one by one peel off to the rear, so that another two or three could take their turn at the bow.  An egalitarian equal-opportunity set of rules which they played perfectly.   Good friends will play that role for you as well. 

Young dolphins playing in the water near one of our anchorages on the Sea of Abaco.

Sundowner's United

Sunset from cockpit of Northern Star.  Sunshade screens are down.

No, it’s not a club.  In my previous life as a medical social worker, “Sundowner's” was a term used to describe the decline of mental acuity late in the day in a patient with a diagnosis of dementia.   Not a happy connotation.  

The glow of Sundowner's time

In my new cruising life however, “Sundowner's” is the practice of sharing some beverages and light fare on someone’s boat (not necessarily your own) beginning somewhere around 4:30 until darkness falls.  It’s a lovely time of day when the world takes on an almost surreal golden glow.  It’s the time of day when I most often feel compelled to take out my camera to capture everything (including us) in the best light possible.   Sundowner's is a wonderful cruising tradition and I hope it continues on into perpetuity. 

Sundowner's can take place on a beach, or restaurant.  With or without dogs.  WITH dogs is best!

Sundowner's would be a very nice practice to maintain while living on land as well.  Imagine what the world would be like, if we all stopped rushing around, working frantically, at about 4:00, so that we could get together with our old and new buddies to enjoy a little breaking of the bread, a little story-telling, a little camaraderie amongst like-minded souls along about 4:30.  “Imagine all the people, living for today….woo—hoo-ooo.”

In the interest of promoting that practice, here’s how you do it.  You meet someone during the day that seems at least mildly interesting to you.  Stop waiting for that perfect friend candidate to appear.  You ask some rudimentary questions or make friendly comments such as, “How long have you been in the Bahamas?” (“How long have you lived here?) or “Nice boat….what kind is it?” (“Nice car—what kind of gas mileage you gettin’ on that?) and one thing leads to another, and before you know it, one of you is inviting the other to get together for Sundowner's at (insert the time) at (insert the place).  

"Here's how you get the snail out of the conch."  Next - how to prepare it.

Now, the best answer to the invitation is always, “That would be nice, thank you.” Or in the event that you have already accepted a prior invitation, “Oh, gee, we have plans for this evening, but let’s get together soon.  Would tomorrow work for you?”  Do not leave this conversation without some clarity as to whether this will or will not occur on another evening.  See how easy that was?

Lots of head scratching at Sundowner's.  Jax loves it!.  

The primary unwritten protocol for Sundowner's is that one should always bring along whatever beverage you desire for yourself for the evening.  Sundowner's should not become about who can provide the best drinks because 1) that makes the event expensive for the host, and 2) how are you supposed to know whether this person that you have only just met, likes red or white wine, beer, juice or cream soda. There are just too many options.  Keep it simple.  Bring your own and say no more about it.  

Wine, beer, run drinks, fruit juice, whatever you like....

The second unwritten protocol is that it is nice to bring a little something to share with your beverage.  Again, however, this is not a contest about who can bring the best treats.  In fact, there’s a lot to be said for putting one’s guests (or hosts) at ease by providing a very simple little snack from whatever you happen to have onboard (in your pantry).  

Save this fancy dessert for Christmas, not Sundowner's

A small plate of something, or small bowl of nuts is good.  This is not a meal!  Oh, there may be an occasion now and then where you feel compelled to make something special, but don’t make a habit of it.  It raises the bar too high—makes the casualness of the friendly little tete a tete into something with more pressure than it need have.  Keep it easy, friendly, no puttin' on airs.

You should be home by this time.

The third unwritten protocol is to come when you say you will, and to go home before it’s full dark.  If you are all laughing uproariously about something, okay, hang in there a little longer, but never, never stay beyond the hour when a host could reasonably be expected to want to have their evening meal.  Sundowner's is a little period of winding down, slowing down one’s breathing  It does not take the place of evening with your family or loved one(s).  

Hurrying to friend's home for Sundowner's? 

On a boat in an anchorage with other boats, one or more boats will blow a conch horn at the moment when the sun descends below the horizon—a perfect cue to consider one’s imminent departure.  On land, you may need to find some other cue as there are not many conchs being blown on land. 

Sundowner's is nice in cold climates, too.

The fourth and perhaps most important unwritten protocol for Sundowner’s is to listen to one another.   It is unlikely that you have been invited because you are the undiscovered second coming of Robin Williams (is it too soon to invoke his memory?) and that everyone will be disappointed if they do not hear your “routine.”  Those of you who crave the limelight….. seek out alternative opportunities to see your name in lights.  It will not happen at Sundowner’s.  

Sundowner's at an outdoor restaurant with larger group.  

No one’s boat (or life, or job, or family) is more interesting than anyone else’s.  Trust me on this.  Sundowner’s is a time to get to know other people beyond what you’ve been able to glean by waving from your dinghy (or your car).  They don’t wanna hear about your neighbor or your complaints about everything that’s wrong in the world.  What people really want is to hear about you.  

Sundowner's can be time to celebrate a birthday!

Cardinal rule of Sundowner’s:    Allow others to get to know you for who you really are.  And then, if you find they don’t like you (or you them) well, at least you know something that’s genuine. “Imagine all the people….living life in peace.  Woo-hoo-ooo.”  

Sundowner's, the golden hour of the day.

Nudists of Tilloo Cay

Several boats anchored off Tilloo Cay.  

There is no nudist colony on Tilloo Cay, however I suspect that the catamaran of nude people next to us are not the first ones to visit this beach.  Why do I think this?  A few reasons—first off, on the beach there are pieces of tent suspended purposefully from a couple of trees (providing shade) white plastic chairs (known as the least hot surface against bare skin) and a little further down the beach, there is a roughly built ribcage-high table. (I am no expert, but I am guessing that while nude, standing to eat may be the most sensible thing.  Even the tidiest of eaters end up with crumbs in a lap, that is if there is a lap.  Better to just let the crumbs fall where they will, I say).  

Ribcage high table and water jugs

Next to the table, several empty spring water jugs.  Why are empty water jugs suspicious for nude partiers you ask?  Stands to reason—anyone who hangs out on the beach for a long time is going to get thirsty and yet, there is a conspicuous lack of beer and liquor containers here.  Very odd in a country where rum is so cheap and isolated beautiful beaches so plentiful.  The most reasonable explanation I can think of, is that the trail of nude visitors passing through here have wisely avoided intoxication while on the beach.  Probably better to not call attention to a large group of people sporting their birthday suits, right? 

Tilloo Cay beach

The primary reason, though, that I suspect these are not the first nude visitors is because after their boat was anchored and they had a brief chat on deck, they headed directly to that spot on the beach, in two dinghy trips of 4 to 5 clothed persons each time—as if they knew exactly where to go.  And then immediately became unclothed.  I was glad that Carl noticed this fact before we landed on the beach next to them with Jax.  Jax could care less what humans do or do not wear but he would certainly have wanted to sniff out each of them individually, to see whether they would like to pet him, and were they carrying any treats for him. Might not have been appreciated in a group of bare butted folks.  

A sauna in the North Woods, actually Canadian soil

Other than northern Minnesotans I have known that will share a sauna (in the buff) and then race out into the snow to cool down (pretty bizarre behavior for otherwise subdued folks) I’ve never really known anyone personally who looks for opportunities to walk around naked.  So, let me just say this— I don’t get it.  What is it that fuels the desire to see and be seen by others all of them lacking even the tiniest fig leaf for cover?  Is it because clothing is uncomfortable?  Confining?  Is that it?  I’ve known some children with Asperger’s Syndrome who are so bothered by the feeling of clothing against their skin that their parents report it difficult to keep the child clothed.  I, myself, have experienced some scratchy, troublesome clothing tags, but in general, I really don’t have any quarrels with clothing.  I’d even go so far as to say that I LIKE wearing clothes.  

Looking over the Sea of Abaco from highest point on Tilloo Cay

But here’s what I’m trying to parse out—leasing a catamaran for a week in the Bahamas on a vacation with 7 of one’s closest friends, all of it orchestrated around the desire to get away from disagreeable clothing seems a little extreme to me.  It’s not as if we are dealing with stuffy Victorian attitudes about swimwear for heavens’ sake.  I mean, Speedos are so small already that very little of the human body is concealed.  But is even that too much coverage?  If so, it must be the principle of being clothed—the expectation that bodies should be concealed that is objectionable.

Jax belly-dipping at Tilloo Cay beach

So, if the goal is to experience the freedom to go out and about without adhering to "arbitrary" rules about clothing one’s body, then why I ask, are all but two of these nude vacationers so reluctant to walk the beach?  Most of them are clinging to the part of the beach with the tent shades and the stand-up-to-eat table.  I mean, I’m not staring or anything, but they do not seem to be enjoying the beach.   In fact, there are more people lurking back under the trees than near the water.  

Only one nude couple went walking the beach.  Hats are acceptable for nudists.

One nude couple, however, strolled down the beach, looking for all the world as if they were coming solely to have a chat with us.  What is proper etiquette for a clothed couple when they meet with a nude couple on the beach?  There seem to be so many ways in which ordinary chitchat could lead one down a rocky path.  For their part, the nude couple seemed to be focused on appearing totally “cool” with their own nudity. 

Live sponge found on Tilloo Cay and returned to water.

Their agenda may have been to warn us of their approach in case we would be uncomfortable, but they hailed us well in advance of their arrival. There is an appropriate distance from which people who do not know each other may call out a greeting.  I don’t know what that exact distance is, but I do know when it’s too far away, as this one was. 

Nonchalant nudists

Now, I agree that one really should not be in the habit of trying to second guess what others are up to, but I could’t help thinking that this couple was making a statement to the rest of their group.  ‘See how comfortable we are walking on the beach in plain sight for all to see.  Watch us and learn. You, too, can be comfortable in your own skin.”

Fossilized reefs undercut by the tide.  

Upon closing the gap between us, the cigar smoking gentleman immediately inquired as to whether we were “okay” with their nudity.  Well, what can one say to that question?  “Oh sure, we talk to nude people on the beach all the time.”  “No problem, I wouldn’t even be wearing clothing myself but for this huge bruise on my behind….”  “Oh, gosh, are you nudists? I hadn’t noticed.”  “Nice tans!”  “I’ve been dying to take off my pants.  Excuse me while I disrobe too.”  No, none of that.  I kept it simple.  I left Carl there alone to talk with them while I collected more shells. 

Tilloo Cay shell and sponge collection

When I joined them, they were trading boat information and all the usual things, “where did you come from?  How long are you here?”  “What is your workout routine—you look like you’re in good shape.”  (Just kidding about the last part).

Live critter at home in this shell

It seems to me that without clothing a person is in need of additional props.  The gentleman with his huge cigar, for example.  The woman who then joined me in looking for shells in the water.  It gave her something to do with her hands.  She spent the entire time bent over (backside facing the water) looking into a square yard of shallow water.  There weren’t THAT many shells!  She and I chatted like old friends while staring at the water.  Why did we both make a point of demonstrating how “okay” we were with her nudity?  I don’t know if she was trying to make eye contact with me, but my eyes were definitely glued to the water.   And all the time, what I really wanted to do was just ask, “What is it about being nude in public that you find appealing?  I just want to understand.  Seriously.”     

Jax is totally unimpressed with a nude beach.

There are vacations for all kinds of folks, aren’t there?