A twinge of fear rattled through me as I set off on the open water for the first time. There was a clear difference in the way the water knocked against my boat, and I knew if anyone was going to flip, it would likely be me. The creek had been calm and welcoming while the inlet posed a challenge. It dared me to paddle against the wind or turn to hear what someone said. It sensed my hesitation like the animals that lived within it, but I quickly found a way to overcome it. The heavy waves whispered that the trip would be long but the wind was vibrant and the smell fresh, and my mind wandered.
Seeking distractions led me to notice the difference in the wildlife that only a few miles had made. Oyster-catchers indicated that the water was clean because if there were oyster-catchers, there were oysters. The double-crested cormorant noticed me before I noticed him basking in the sun in an attempt not to become hypothermic without an oil gland on the tail like many other birds. These birds represented a clear distinction from the blue heron on the creek that had absolutely mesmerized me with their radiant color and gigantic wingspan. They also differed from the vultures that had spent some time hovering above us on Wambaw, inciting a few morbid jokes. Beside our kayaks, dolphins swam in families as their curiosity overcame them.
The salt water splashed onto my cheek as the fresh water had one and I licked it all the same. This time, the salt had also collected on my water bottle and on my fingers, so I was reminded of the taste every time I stopped to eat or drink.
One we arrived on Capers Island, I looked around – the land was bare of trees for miles, and I was surprised to feel refreshed by it. Though I had enjoyed my pretend Neverland, the trees and narrow waterways had felt claustrophobic, and the Island breeze moved easily through my lungs without them.
I felt a sense of calm there on the beach that I had not felt at the campsite. Although I was completely removed from restrooms, showers, and potential stops at the Sewee Outpost, I didn’t feel discomfort or nervous. Maybe that had been the key all along. The campsite had tied me to some of the amenities from home and I hadn’t allowed myself to fully shed the ‘things’ I typically deemed necessities.
The calm was only emboldened by the sunset that seemed to absorb all the stress in my body out and over the trees. The blood moon at the campsite was thrilling and edgy. It felt animalistic to sit under its red beams, fire burning on my back, and grass below my feet. But on Capers, the sunset fell directly from heaven and wrapped me in its maternal warmth. The sounds were no longer eerie and the bugs no longer threatened my bare skin. No one spoke or dared disturb the peace that came in with the tide on the sand.
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