INTO THE CITY

Price Creek, SC 32º54.119N | 75º40.277W

Sunrise over Price Creek, SC.

Today is a day I had been looking forward to -- for a very long time. Our plod south has taken us through charming little Carolina town after charming little Carolina town. Having spent the last 6 months in Manteo, perhaps the most charming of all, I was about up to here in, well, don't make me say it again.

But today, we head to a proper city, and I love me some proper city life, walking down crowded streets sipping decorative coffee, gawking through window at things I don't want and can't afford, brushing by people whose roots stretch to faraway lands, hearing the varied and melodic potpourri of accents wafting by, being completely surrounded by people, none of whom want to talk to me. Yes.

We left our anchorage behind yesterday's saviors aboard N. Aimless, who radioed back to us to get our camera ready.

Creeping out of the anchorage, determined not to run aground, we inched past the two bald eagles N. Aimless radioed about, perched at the entrance to see us off to the big city.

Price Creek council.

Thanks to our long, grueling day yesterday, it was a short and glorious 3-hour hop to Charleston with nothing to report along the way (glorious, yes?). As we motored across the Cooper River, we could see Charleston Maritime Center, our destination, just behind an enormo cruising ship and between two tall-ship schooners.

The dockmaster radioed to warn us of the heavy current we would be crossing, a current that would push us directly at the equally enormo bowsprit of one of the schooners we had to skirt to get into the marina. Yesterday a sailboat judged wrong and impaled itself on that bowsprit. Gulp.

Chip, at the helm, headed well above the schooner and its impaler, throttled up to keep steerage, and as he headed toward the marina, the current was so swift, we looked like we were pointing past the marina, but we were flying right into it at a 30-degree angle that felt like we were going completely sideways. Crazy. He executed it perfectly, well clear of the schooner.

We pulled in at 11:00 a.m., just before the cruise ship started backing out across the marina entrance.

Cruise ship with small fishing boat for scale and
large schooner with impaler sticking into marina entrance.

We hosed off Cara Mia (my new favorite chore) and hit the streets of Charleston, still in our many layers of unwashed fleece and sporting our decidedly un-citylike foul weather jackets and boat shoes, wandering into designer clothing stores under the glare of clerks who somehow knew I was wearing yoga tights under my pants.

But not for men and women who live on boats.

Stately buildings, towering palms, pulsing yet quiet energy, people in dead sexy leather boots. Ah, Charleston, it's so, so good to meet you -- or is it y'all?

Charleston, SC 32º47.344N | 79º55.75W

Our first provisions since Manteo.
Chip was worried we would get scurvy.