A matter of time

Strong northeast winds energized the sail out to Bull Island following a late start after noon. The following days would find a turn of the winds to the southwest and southern warmth flowing into the Lowcountry. This day was found to be windier, colder, and wetter than anticipated. Once in the Bay, headed to the Northeast Point, I found myself in a thrash to windward, bashing through the waves, and at times overpowered by the breeze. One boat appeared ahead, probably a crabber running his crab pots, and the craft disappeared into the distance. I found myself alone, and felt the pull of the island. I also sensed the infiltration of water under my rain gear.  Committed to get on the island, I held course, finally pulled out the daggerboard, and sailed right up on the sand. As I prepared for a walk on the island, I discovered the cause of my wetness – the lacerated rear of my rain pants.
It was an exposed walk around the Northeast Point, the cool wind providing some drying as I moved to warm up. I cut across the dunes to seek refuge in the maritime forest via the entrance to the Jacks Creek dike. I abandoned my plan to make the circuit around Jacks Creek due to the time, and instead walked down the eastern dike before turning on to the beach for the return. The marsh between the beach and dike was transformed into a body of water, lapping at the edge of the raised earthen road I walked. The “beach” was flat and without dunes, providing no impediment to the highest tides rolling toward their destination, and inevitably threatening the integrity of the Jacks Creek impoundment. The inland waters of Jacks Creek were populated with black rafts of waterfowl at home in these conditions.
TIme flew with the wind, and I shortened again my turnaround to step down to the beach. The old dike was long ago breached, and the opening has continued to widen with the erosional forces.  While this area has seemed to me the place where sea level rise would enter the impoundment, the area just to the north also appeared a strong candidate. The beach contained many protruding remnant roots pointing to the existence of a past maritime forest.
Retracing the walk past the Northeast Point, I found Kingfisher to have a solitary presence on the strand. The wind continued to blow strong, and I suited up for the sail home. I was bouncing in waves right off the beach, and found my heading across the Bay to the opening of Andersonville Creek to be a perfect broad reach. I charged down the face of wave after wave, surfing across the Bay. This thrilling ride made up for the earlier long slog to windward against the waves, the flow extinguishing an earlier awareness of time. Crossing the imaginary line ending my time in the Bay, I checked my watch to see that the duration of this leg of the sail was just thirteen minutes. While I continued to plane through the creeks toward home, I reflected on the timeliness of the passage.