Saturday, 29 November 39.4 SM
After all these mile and hours and days, there on the horizon—what IS that it’s—a bridge, smokestacks, factories, highways. Wow! Civilization. What a stunning, and not unwelcomed, contrast. If for no other reason than to break the monotony of marshland. And from this distance, “civilization” is okay. The contrast, though, is not unnoticed. The distance from New Teakettle Creek to Jekyll Island is measured in more than miles.
When bodies first began to stir aboard Steadfast this morning, the sun was just rising on the horizon, the temperature in the mid-30s. Each breath taken filled the still air with a puff of steam. The tide was out, meaning Steadfast sat nearly 10’ lower than she had on arrival last evening. There was nothing—that is to say, nothing—to be seen but the dim sky above, muddy water below and miles of reeds of marshes in all directions around her.
This meant a good time to be underway toward Little Mud River, some seven miles south, where shoals are such an issue the prudent mariner transits only on a rising tide. Once through Little Mud, the rest of the day would be a walk in the park. Cake. You know, by comparison.
Weeekend fishermen chase their catch mong the maze of marshes.
Boosting spirits is the sun, warming sun. Wonderful. What a difference, wearing four or five layers rather than feeling cold under seven. Sixty degrees and light wind astern is so remarkably more comfortable than fifty with fifteen on the nose. Ouch.
As for the run down Little Mud, it had its moments, the bottom in places just seven or so feet below. But moments only. Enough, though, that a note was made for the trip back home in the spring – rising tide only.
On through the marshes she motored all but alone. Fishermen in camo coveralls might buzz by in a skiff now and then but that’s about it. A shrimper maybe. Snowbirds, where are you?
A fair current for a stretch, foul for a few miles after. That’s how it goes down here. Past Duplin River, across Doboy Sound, down the North River, then up Altamaha Sound, alongside St. Simon’s Island and, finally, St. Simon’s Island Sound and Jekyll Creek. Glad she got there at high tide. Not much in the way of depth in Jekyll Creek, readings dropping to single digits raising anxiety for a few moments. The deeper water again.
A shrimper steams through the anchorage after a long day.
A highrise bridge spans the creek from mainland to island. Just across the Sound, there’s a handsome new highrise at Brunswick, another to St. Simon’s. Cars and trucks race the roads to wherever. Plumes of vapor curl skyward from factories.
Jekyll celebrates the season lighting a big tree then setting fireworks skyward in the night. Yep, nothing says Christmas like booming explosives and flashing lights.
Meantime, all is quiet aboard Steadfast, not unlike the marshes many miles back.
Steadfast out.
At Sea with Steadfast 
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