Upon climbing into our sleeping bags, we had a good long talk about Scouting and it’s history in our family. It seemed a fitting topic since we likely wouldn’t be out backpacking except for the peppering of Scouting throughout our family history. We talked about how my dad and uncles were involved at different parts of their lives. We talked about my brothers’ mixed experiences. We talked about how Mr. Wells was going to give Brandon hell for leaving our water behind. We even got into a discussion about why Alex didn’t start Cub Scouts until 3rd grade. I shared how young avid-reader Alex had picked up one of Pawpaw’s adult Scouter magazines and read an article about the importance of taking scouts winter camping so they could conquer the difficulties of such an experience. Alex’s takeaway was that he didn’t want to “build his character”. In light of our current frigid December experience, this story was extra funny.
We then reminisced about all our adventures through Brandon’s scouting–first as a sibling then as an official Scout. In talking about camping and the funny (in hindsight) things that went sideways on each campout, we remarked how Mr. Gelder always helped us while also good-naturedly giving us grief. It made us a little sad, as Mr. Gelder left this planet too soon. Yet, we also had quite the laugh about what he’d have to say about our misadventures this time. We then got hysterical thinking that he might be up there in Heaven watching this play out like a TV show…or maybe he got God to send us this crazy weather. The laughter was exactly what we needed to warm us up just a little bit to settle into our sleeping bags for the night.
I knew camping this time of year would be colder than I wanted. Of course, that’s when I expected upper 40s and certainly not the 33 degrees we got that night. I had a 30-50 degree bag, but I obviously needed something better. I had prepared (or so I thought) for this and had gone on many long night walks leading up to our trip, often in the low 40s. On those walks I would unbundle myself, as the walking warmed me up. What I should have done to prepare was to sleep outside at home or at least lay still outside for awhile in the cold. That’s a whole different beast. That last night on Cumberland Island felt like the longest night of my life. Sleep didn’t last for long periods and was fitful. Deep in my bag wasn’t too cold and I even had a ski mask on, but the cold hitting my tiny bit of exposed face sent chills down my body. We both found ourselves moaning and groaning as we would wake up and try to get warm. Brandon put on my extra pants (that I thought I left at home), I had all my clothes (extra socks, underwear, shirts…everything) on, and we had several “hot hands” activated in our pockets and bags. I prayed for God to let that be the very moment that menopause would come to me so I could have one of those hot flashes I hear women complain about. That didn’t happen, so we alternated between sleep and watching the time tick by as the moon moved across our tent. It was our night of character building.
Once the sun came up, we climbed out of the tent. Actually, I crawled out of the tent and used the tree next to us to pull up. My old MCL/ACL injuries had come back to life overnight. There wasn’t time to focus on this though, because it was COLD. We jumped into action with water cooking and oatmeal. Brandon’s method of making it in the packet was brilliant, because it warmed our hands while we warmed our tummies.
As soon as we finished eating, we worked together to take down camp and pack our bags. Then we were back on the trail for our final day. We took the Willow Pond Trail again (the only trail we duplicated) and trekked through the swamp. It was still beautiful, but it was harder to enjoy because it was quite challenging with our backpacks on. The boardwalk felt more like a precarious tightrope as we navigated through the low hanging tree branches.
We ended at the main road again, but this time went south. The road had the benefit of being wider and taller, so no branch or downed tree maneuvering was required. But it was a little uneven, there was gravel mixed in with the sand (thus somewhat tougher to walk on), and there was the occasional car that would come by so you’d have to move over into the brush. It definitely felt like the tour road in Jurassic Park, so we stayed vigilant for any dinosaurs that might show up and entertained ourselves humming the JP theme and recounting the JP and JW movie storylines. While we didn’t see big creatures, we did see some big trees that dwarfed even my tall son!
Our travels took us past the Heron Pond, and not a single bird was in sight on this bitterly cold morning. We went past several private homes that still exist on the island, before having a break at the Stafford Cemetery. It was tucked away in the maritime forest and surrounded by tabby walls. You see lots of tabby (a mixture of sand, shells, and lime) on the buildings on Cumberland. Most of the graves were indecipherable, but we could make out most of the writing on Robert Stafford’s grave, born & died on Cumberland Island in the 1800s. It was cool to know that there is still part of the Stafford family living on the island today. As we came out of the cemetery, we spotted something that made me sad–bamboo was growing across the road. That stuff (while pretty) is an invasive abomination. It led to a lively environmental discussion that helped get us a little further down the road…
Shortly thereafter, the landscape made several rapid changes. We came up a big, flat, open field with an airplane on it (so obviously a landing strip). Then the field became more like a retired farmland, with little mounds in the landscape, a scattering of brush, and prairie grass. It’s there that we came upon a horse of a different color, as all other horses we spotted were black or brown. And then we were suddenly back in the live oaks, this time with a natural archway to walk under.
Pretty soon, we came to Stafford Beach Road. We paused a moment and considered going back to hopefully recover the lost water bottle. It would be a mile and a half round trip. There was not much hope it would still be there (as signs posted said anything left behind was cleared out at night). And we were starting to physically drag. As we stood at the literal crossroad, we noticed the most unusual plant thus far. It looked like a house plant or maybe a hosta, and definitely didn’t look like something that would grow naturally out in this wilderness. It looked so out of place and was the only one of its kind. These are the quirky little things you would never notice unless you were out in the wilderness on foot. We decided against the side journey and kept heading south.
After what seemed like forever, we saw the beginning of Pratts Trail. It then dawned on us that we still had two miles to go. I started having that defeated feeling again and our pace got slower and slower. Finally we had a rare treat on this main road: a nice big log on the side of the road. We pulled off our packs and sat for a long snack and water break. I didn’t want to leave and started wondering if one of the occasional vehicles would just take us down the road. But we persevered. We got back to walking and started encountering bikers who’d just gotten off the morning’s boat. We must have looked done for, because several folks yelled out that we were almost there. (Almost…if we were on bike, Brandon mumbled.) I went from lead hiker to next to Brandon to falling behind. I was starting to walk at a snail’s pace. I was wishing for another log but there was nothing but dense forest. And then suddenly we came across a glorious sign pointing to Sea Camp Dock. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.
We got to the Dock area and were promptly blasted by strong winds. We enjoyed the luxury of clean water and bathrooms and then had lunch at one of the picnic tables for our coldest & windiest meal yet. The downtime had rested our bodies a little bit, and it was clear that we didn’t want to stay in that spot for hours (it was just barely noon!), so we left our packs and headed to the south end of the island.
We took the River Trail down to the Dungeness Dock and explored the Ice House museum. Then we walked down the Dungeness trail to see the “main attraction” of Cumberland: the Dungeness Ruins. It was kind of funny that we saw this last, as day visitors often just see this (and then the beach). After seeing Plum Orchard, in all its restored glory, this fell a little short. It was still amazing to see what was once a majestic road up to the mansion. Although most of the mansion was destroyed by fire (and then the elements), it was still cool to see the bones of the structure. (My previous recollection was that you couldn’t get close to the mansion as it was covered by tangles of thick brush, but maybe I made that up in my mind?) We strolled around the historic houses surrounding it, saw the remnants of their magnificent gardens, and marveled at the mostly destroyed structure that was the recreation building. Oddly enough, you can still find bits of glass from the squash court and pieces of porcelain from the heated indoor pool It’s like little pieces of history just lying in the sand and marking a time gone by.
With the wind whipping us nonstop (and keeping us from being warmed by the sun), we decided to head back down the River Trail to our dock. The trail was quite pretty, as you could see out to the St Marys River a little, but there was just enough tree cover to block much of the wind. Being a touristy area/trail, there were benches every so often so we stopped at nearly every one and took in the nature around us one last time. We watched as hundreds (?) of birds flew overhead and landed in the tree above us, chirping and swaying in the windy branches before all taking off. We got still enough at one bench for an armadillo to come right toward us, jumping and scurrying away once he finally smelled us (I’m guessing). And we watched some horses come through the trees and cross the trail near us as we sat at our last stop. We marveled that we had walked our longest day yet–9 miles. These moments together in nature was what this trip was all about. The nights were bad, we were cold, our stomachs were frequently rumbling with hunger, we weren’t drinking enough water, every bone & joint hurt…yet all that mattered and all that stuck were these magical moments together.
We got back to our dock in time for water, restrooms, and a nature talk with the park service ranger. We discovered that there were more animals than we saw on this cold trip. In addition to the feral hogs we didn’t see, there are deer, alligators, bobcats (including one with a long tail that everyone thinks is a panther), and coyotes. Funny enough, it was a little bittersweet when it was time to board the ferry. The typically still water was super choppy, so I put on my motion sickness bands, took some Dramamine, and sat outside on the boat despite the cold. That last stretch of discomfort was blessed as we watched the sun get low, the marsh light up with the last of daylight, some dolphin frolic ahead of the boat, and then sunset. We looked at each other in disbelief that we had completed three days backpacking and walked 23 miles together. As the sun set on our adventure, I asked the question I was sure I wouldn’t ever ask…”When should we backpack again?”
Standing Strength 