Low tide 5:30 PM. Predicted winds N 20-25 knots.
I am heading out of Awendaw on Sunday morning toward McClellanville, and calling my friend Chris Crolley to share my sail plan. He also is heading north as we speak, but on Island Cat to take a charter, the Myrtle Beach Shell Club, to Raccoon Key. My planned course is in the opposite direction from Chris’s track out Five Fathom Creek: I will be heading up the ICW north until Alligator Creek, then out to find the shell hammocks described to me by Bob Baldwin. I will also be leaving the landing prior to their arrival; we plan to touch base in the afternoon.
After arrival at the landing and preparing Kingfisher, I notice half a dozen cars parked at the landing, and they seem to be part of the shell club. I ask them if they are here for the charter, and when they confirm this, I deadpan that I can probably take about six out at one time, pointing to Kingfisher on the trailer. After a long pause, a smile crosses the mouth of one of the shellers, and we have a laugh. I chat with a couple of guys going out fishing, and one asks me if I wear a wetsuit. No, I just try to not make a habit of capsizing, especially when it is colder. After dropping in Kingfisher and walking to the dock after parking my van and trailer, I pass the group at the head of the dock and ask once again if they were sure they didn’t want to head out now. I am suited up on the cool windy morning with neoprene socks and sandals, bathing suit, thermal long sleeve shirt, and full rain gear, expecting to get wet in the strong northeast wind. An outboarder tells me that it is a solid 20 knots already. I raise sail, and the wind luffs the sail sharply. I secure the gooseneck down to flatten the sail, and in the process a strong gust fills the sail against me. Expecting the boat to turn sharply to luff the sail, I miscalculate and find the boat turning over right there. I also find myself in the water, but manage to avoid a complete capsize. I pull myself back into the cockpit, and taking stock realize that I am wet up to my chest under the rain gear. I continue on as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened, with the growing group from the shell club standing at the head of the dock. So humbled once again, I cast off for the sail out of Jeremy Creek around 10:30AM.
Once out in the ICW, we head up to closehauled and begin the beat to windward to the distant entrance to Alligator Creek. I earlier hoped for little tacking on the way to the northeast, but I find I must tack more than anticipated. After passing several southern-bound craft heading to warmer waters for the winter, I realize that part of my strategy on the windward sail will be working around the snowbirds. The tide is very high, but the last hour of incoming tide is in our favor with a strong push to the north. Tactically we stay to the east side of the waterway to keep away from the mainland wind shadow that slows us down and reduces maneuverability. Seeing an approaching yacht, I will often make several quick tacks before our meeting so we can sail by and keep out of the channel. I count two motor yachts for every one sailing yacht. There is some flotsam and jetsam floating in the narrow waterway, and I alert a passing sailing yacht to a floating log in their path.
The wind is not as strong as predicted, since the mainland disturbance is effecting the flow, but the incoming tide continues to help as we make good progress. We have passed the first entrance to Casino Creek, my passage on an earlier trip to Murphy Island. Another entrance to Casino Creek is ahead to starboard. A meeting of three vessels is imminent – Kingfisher, a snowbird heading south, and a small commercial fishing vessel coming up from astern. I duck into the Casino Creek entrance and let my sail luff for a minute as the two vessels close and pass. The snowbird is a beautiful classic – a wooden narrow-beamed cabin cruiser with brightwork and varnished transom, measuring over sixty feet. Back underway, we finally reach Alligator Creek about 12:15PM.
Right after bearing off into Alligator Creek, we jump up on to a fast plane reaching out to the southeast in this narrow waterway. The small head of a gator appears on the surface to starboard along the marsh edge, an appropriate sighting for the creek name. A couple of boats pass in either direction. Progress is rapid, and the change of tide is now also working in our favor. I don’t have exact directions about where these hammocks are located, so I scan ahead. For a while the dike along the southern side of Murphy Island parallels our course, though at some point it begins to separate away from Alligator Creek. The hammocks will be on the Murphy Island side, but I don’t know what to expect. Between the dike and the creek is salt marsh. After the first large bend in the creek to the southwest, the signs of salt-shrub vegetation are discernible. From this distance it is hard to say where they are, but we draw closer each minute. A second curve bends the waterway back to the southeast, and the first hammock sits back from the marsh here about thirty yards. There are no small creeks to the hammock, and access appears difficult.
We continue on until we reach the next big hammock, resolving into a group of several smaller hammocks. 
Sailing by I survey for access, with one small creeklet providing entrance to the marsh but no easy access to a hammock. Continuing on, no other good alternative presents itself, so after tacking we head upwind and buck the outgoing tide until reaching the creeklet. Heading up into the narrow entrance, just providing the width necessary for Kingfisher’s beam, I paddle a little straight upwind until dropping the sail. I resume paddling, and finally with the tide still up high in the Spartina marsh I paddle through the cordgrass until reaching the hammock shore.
The bank is solid oyster shell in a thick layer, as is the entire hammock. Pulling Kingfisher up, I tie onto a yaupon holly. 
The hammock is covered predominately with red cedars. I am on the lee side of the island, and am soon greeted with a pack of hungry mosquitoes. The rain gear and hat don’t provide much access besides my face – remarkably with my earlier soaking I have been very comfortable with the clothes worn. I grab the camera, and begin a walk around the small island in the marsh, certainly smaller than a quarter of an acre. Some cedars are uprooted around the edge, and I pick my way through. Other small hammocks are close by. The distance is about fifty yards to the southern dike on Murphy. A hole penetrates the top of the midden in a grove of cedars, as if it has been dug in the past for artifacts. 
After a walk around the little isle, I hustle to get Kingfisher off the bank and into the quickly retreating water in the marsh before being left high and dry. The water is getting quite shallow, and in places we are dragging bottom. After making the creeklet, still with relatively plenty of water for Kingfisher, I pull up into the grass on the edge for a quick lunch.
After eating a sandwich, I paddle out into Alligator Creek, and pull up into the marsh with bow pointed into the wind in order to raise sail. With the sail up and out of the marsh, we turn and continue the sail to the southeast in the creek toward Ramshorn Creek and Cape Romain Harbor. Soon passing the entrance to Ramshorn, we continue on to take a look out into the harbor. At the mouth of the creek a pontoon boat is anchored. I say hello, and comment on the strong falling tide before heading up and tacking for the return up the creek. The outgoing tide is really moving now, and without a good solid breeze it would be difficult to make progress. Along the way the pontoon boat passes, having given up on the fishing in this spot. At the entrance to Ramshorn Creek the tide is really bubbling at the confluence, and bearing off in this turbulence we again pick up onto a full plane. The tide is still up, so we are sailing high in the marsh populated with redwing blackbirds.
Several jibes prepare us for the entrance to the Eye of the Needle. It looks much different than my passage through in September since we sit much higher in the marsh. We fly through and into Mill Creek. Along the way where a smaller creek joins the larger waterway, an outboard is anchored with father and two sons. Rapidly we pass through before connecting with the larger Casino Creek system. Again turning to the west we are bucking the outgoing tide, but the wind continues brisk and occasionally we break surface tension onto a plane. When the creek forks and we take the bend to the southwest, the Congaree Boat Creek, we are running dead downwind and must take care in the chop to not put the bow under a wave. Unlike the September passage where we got close to the low tide, my higher position today allows for a view to the observation tower at the entrance to Muddy Bay.
We finally jibe into the narrow creek leading to the observation tower, and in the last turn I see a fisherman in a small outboard fishing along the marsh edge. I comment about his getting out of the wind, and he replies that unfortunately the fish aren’t here. He reports catching several out in the “big water”, but was getting beat up and is now trying here. Saying goodbye, I make Muddy Bay, and begin the close reach along the northeastern side of this shallow sound. Halfway across, several terns come up from astern, and one comes right overhead as if he is about to land on the masthead. Hovering directly over me and looking down, I look up and wonder about his intentions. He finally heads off as a cormorant beats by heading out toward “the big water”. The outgoing tide is diffuse here, and so progress is good until the turn to the north at the end of the bay, where the narrowing is creating a more substantial current that is opposed to our course along with the wind direction. Additionally the wind has moderated inexplicably, ignoring the marine forecast. So movement ahead is slow, and every tack brings Kingfisher to a halt and even a bit backwards. We slow even further, and a quick raise of the daggerboard jettisons dead marsh grass hitchhiking along. Clapper rails from both sides of the creek laugh away at my struggles tacking back and forth. We finally catch an eddy from the confluence with Skrine Creek, and head northwest into the creek toward Jeremy Island.
We are moving again with this sailing direction. Through the bends we reach Island Cut, and though finding the wind shadow of Jeremy Island we also find the reverse tide pushing us toward home. A kingfisher passes, rattling away. Past the island and in Clubhouse Creek we are moving along well with the wind and tide. The day has turned to gray from the earlier sun. Looking closer at the clouds, several overhead have the appearance of the scales of an enormous reptile. No barriers intrude on the cruise home until the turn to the north for the last section to the ICW. The wind has dropped off further, and this section of creek has a strong current created by water draining from the ICW. Around the point we are pulled strongly, and must also tack. The paddle comes out for this section, and it is continuous paddling back and forth across the creek. We move sideways and then backwards when tacking. The water is lower, and I can’t go right to the creek bank without running aground for further slowing. Getting close to the shell bank ahead in the middle of the entrance to the ICW, we pick up an eddy, and make it into the small channel to the ICW.
We have the tide now, and it is 3:30, so I am looking out for Island Cat, wondering if they have made it back before me. Getting close to the entrance to Jeremy Creek, I hear music, and wonder if a subcontractor working on Sunday is blasting his music around the waterfront. Once into the creek, I realize it is live music, and later see the gathering of people over by the gazebo. The voices of both a man and a woman fill the air with a country and bluegrass sound. I pass close by a workman laboring on a boatlift, and come up to the dock while dropping sail on the approach. I run into the fisherman seen earlier at the dock, and asked about their luck (not good). I tell him about jinxing myself with the talk of avoiding capsize.
I pull out Kingfisher, and prepare for trailing home when I see Island Cat coming out of Town Creek into the ICW. I meet them when they land at the dock. Chris soon asks how wet I am with a laugh – his party of shellers saw my fall into the water, describing to Chris that the sail knocked me overboard. They were amazed I went despite the dunking. I tell him that I just wanted to provide a little excitement. The group is laden with whelks as they disembark. The concert is still going on when I drop by to say hello to some friends before heading home.
