Floatin' The Creek

For several summers when the kids were elementary and middle school age, we vacationed at Pawley’s Island. We rented a house named the “Larboard” that was on the narrow part of the island where there was only one row of houses. It was just a couple doors north of the Pelican Inn. We loved that little house. It was an “ole timey” beach house, with pine floors and pine paneled walls. It had the smell of wood and old books, taking me back to my childhood when it was ok to come running off the beach into the house soaking wet with sand on your feet.

You could literally walk off the deck of that little house and step right on the beach. We “laid out” in the sun, walked the beach, rode boogie boards, played baseball, and swam in the surf looking for the next “big wave coming”. Our son John, when he was just a little fellow, would talk to the fishermen and surfers or whoever was on the beach. He never knew a stranger it seemed on the sand at Pawleys.

There was a crab dock across the street on the marsh that extended way out through the spartina grass and pluff mud to one of the dozens of small tributaries of the main creek. The crab dock was a favorite spot. Morning coffee, crabbing, fishing, throwing the cast net, enjoying a drink in the afternoon, watching the sunset, and soaking up the moonlight were just a few of the good times we had on the crab dock. It was such relaxing spot and we all felt so close to each other on that little dock.

The real highlight of the week for me, however, was always “floating the creek”. Our preferred means of flotation when enjoying this outing was the simplest, a life preserver. That’s right, just get in the water and float, with a “life jacket”; no boat, no float, just a personal floatation device. Sometimes folks did use these other means of floating but it really took away from ones connection with nature so we avoided them.

Now, this sounds simple enough, just put on a life jacket and get in the water, but as is the case with most great adventures there were numerous advance preparations required. Timing was of the utmost importance. This voyage was best accomplished when timed perfectly with the turning of the tide in the creek. We always set out just after the marsh was at high tide as the water was starting to make its way back into the sea. The creek needed to have lots of water in it and to be flowing in the right direction.

There were other advance preparations as well. One was packing some refreshments or a picnic lunch. The provisions could be as elaborate as desired, keeping in mind however, that whatever was brought along had to either float on its own or be placed on a float or an “inner tube” that drifted with us as we floated gently along. And finally, we had to place a car at the north end of the island so that when the trip was over we would have a ride back.

We always got in the creek at the north causeway bridge. There were usually some fishermen there, wondering what in the world two grown people and their children were doing, walking down through the granite rocks at the bridge, stepping in the mud, and getting into the creek with life jackets on. We just chatted with them, being friendly, asking if they were catching anything, commenting on the beautiful day and such.

Getting in the water and floating along was like heaven. Not a worry in the world........unless you were concerned about cutting yourself on oyster beds, getting nibbled on by crabs, fish or other underwater creatures, being snared by fishing lines running out from docks, or getting run over by a fishing boat. It didn’t make a bit of sense to me why our then very young daughter Margaret might be thinking about any of this. For reasons never understood by me, Margaret sometimes appeared to have mixed feelings about floating the creek. These concerns were usually brushed off as being overly paranoid and we proceeded on our way to a fantastic interaction with Mother Nature.

The sights, sounds, smells, and feel of the salt marsh are a sensual paradise when you are floating along in it. The warm sun, the cool salty water, and the breezes all titillated our senses. There were gulls and terns flying and sitting on the water, their occasional calls sailing over the creek, piercing the serenity of the moment. Fish would break the surface, sometimes jumping completely out of the water like miniature dolphins. And all along the way were the oyster beds, spartina grass, and pluff mud.

Sometimes we would drift to the shallow part of the creek and walk along on the bottom. We always wore old tennis shoes or “water shoes”, as we called them, to protect our feet from anything on the bottom that might be sharp or hurtful. Some spots in the creek had sandbars where we could stand up and get out of the water for a minute. There was always something to see, hear, smell, taste, or touch.

There were people along the way too, on docks and in boats. Some were fishing, others just riding, while some were grilling or having a drink on the crab docks. They were enjoying the bounty of nature and the beauty of the day just as we were. It was fun to chat with them. Some we met along the way seemed curious about our little band, floating gently down the stream. Others seemed to understand perfectly what we were about, as if they had done the same themselves at some point.

When we rounded the last curve in the creek there were the breakers and the ocean. What a magnificent sight. The current was really strong where the creek flowed into the inlet as it met the sea. It was an exillerating and often scary end to the voyage.

Sometimes we would get out on the Litchfield side of the inlet and walk up the beach and explore the dunes. Back in those days there was no development for a long, long way up the beach. It was beautiful pristine barrier island beach. If we were ready to call it a day we would get out on the Pawley’s side and make our way to the car we left earlier. We were tired, a little pink from the sun, wet, wrinkled and sticky from the salt water, but always fulfilled. The kids would be a kind of fussy on the walk to the car, moaning about how hot it was, but all knowing we had a great time.

Things are always changing, some for the better, some not. The kids are older now, both in college, that’s a good thing. The little house has been knocked down and replaced with a newer bigger one, that’s a bad thing. Although it’s been a while since we’ve been in the creek, I’m pretty sure it’s still there, having changed hardly at all. The creek is rising and falling with the turning of each tide, just waiting for you and me to come enjoy it. This summer just might be the right time to get the gang back together, go down to Pawley’s, revisit some memories, and float the creek again.

Feb/March 2008