Log Book: December 6th

Conditions: 70 degrees and sunny
Location: Bryan Creek

This morning Dad and I took a walk down the main road in Beaufort. We stumbled upon a beautiful park with swinging wooden benches. We swung back and forth for a few minutes for nostalgia. After taking it all in we moved on to have breakfast at a place called The Market. It was great and they had a wide selection of food to go as well. Dad brought a jar of gumbo back to the boat with us. We set sail in the early afternoon. Dad said he had gotten a glimpse of the hospital where he was born and that's all he really needed. Not long after leaving Beaufort I pointed a few military planes out to Dad, the sound of gun shots, and finally a large water tower with big black words printed on it. Dad calculated these facts together and concluded that we were passing Paris Island "where heroes come to train," he said. Paris Island meant absolutely nothing to me so Dad further explained that it is where the government trains the marines. My grandfather, my father's father, was a marine so Dad has a very strange attitude toward the lot of them. It is a mixture of both reverence and dislike, a feeling toward parents that I think all teenagers can understand. We then had a discussion about the frequency of military might that we have seen during our journey south. I asked Dad why there was such a military presence down here compared to New England. They have more land? Or fewer liberals? We had a great time making jokes along the lines of "hide it from the liberals?" Mine were funny I swear, and dad's were corny as always.
We originally planed our next stop to be Hilton Head. However the narrow gap between sandbars that led to the west side of Hilton Head was poorly plotted by our chartographers. Instead we made for Bryan Creek, less than a mile south. The creek received great reviews on one of our favorite websites, Active Captain. The reviews stressed the quiet scenery and active wildlife, so we weren't too disappointed that we would miss out on Hilton Head, which was supposedly a beautiful stop, maybe on the way back.
We crept slowly into the creek at low tide. The muddly shoal was stealthily inching further and further out into the water making it difficult to get into the creek. Once inside we found deep water, though it was very narrow, scarcely room enough for one boat. Dad was nervous that we would swing onto the bank during the night so we put out two anchors. After that we had a peaceful evening eating dinner in the cockpit and listening to the sounds of the salt marsh.

What we ate: chicken tacos