Cumberland Island, GA — December 2002
On our quarter mile trek to the campsite I happened upon this little fellow. White Lip Tree Frog? Dunno; I need to look him up. Tiny guy… small enough to chill comfortably on my thumbnail.
Argh! Our campsite is already “ocupado”!
According to the literature on Cumberland Island, armadillos are latecomers, having “appeared” around 1974. POOF! Armadillo appears. Whatever.
Right! Set dem tents up, put all yer odiferous schizz in the ‘coon box, and book it out to da beach!
The beach was covered with the carcasses of horseshoe crabs of all sizes, most picked pretty clean.
Starfish, too.
Posse of gulls, displeased by the human interruption.
Do they look cold? They should. The wind at the beach cuts right through ya. Thank goodness for the tree cover inland.
Dunes. Stay off the dunes! Only the horses may pinch loaves on the dunes! No bipeds on the dunes!
The dunes butt up against the forest abruptly.
A scary trail. Jinkies!
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Cumberland Island, GA — December 2002
Gnarly trees, twiggety twisted from the winds.
Pretty strange lookin’ for oaks, but pretty nonetheless.
Stay off them dunes!
Mmmmm… the real Cumberland Island. Birds, beach, a little bit of refuse, and a big scary ass factory belching filth. Scary. But not as scary as…
This! AAUAUAUAGH! Chaka’s done been turned loose on the beach!
There’s a hermit crab in there, but he ain’t comin’ out for us. Nope.
Sunset on the beach. Hurry! We’re gwan miss it!
Mmmm… The beauty of the sun, setting over the smokestacks.
Stop following us, dammit! Yer creepin’ me out!
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Cumberland Island, GA — December 2002
Nice.
Lets move a little to the left. Away from the sun. Away from the factories.
It’s official… it’s fixin’ta get cold.
Chaka, having enjoyed the sunset, heads inland to forage for grubs.
So the night went well enough. E-Rawk turned everything black with Dave’s sputtery stove, we enjoyed a meal of quesadillers, fended off a coupla pernicious coons, chilled a bit (and I mean chilled), and bundled up in our rented zero bags for the night. The next morning was cold. Another pot was blackened in the process of heating water for instant coffee, and we all smelled vaguely of campfire and bodious odorus. Lets go!
Stumbled across this apelliated woodpecker on our jaunt to Dungeness. Twas shady in them thar trees, so pics done come out fuzzy.
I wish you could see him better. Sharp lookin burd, and big.
Welcome to dungeness. Ruins you’re not allowed to explore, ’cause they’re rife with all them snakes and stuff you’re so interested in coming across.
And this is the road leading up to the ruins. These peeps was livin’ fat.
Horsey! Horsey! Horsey! There’s about 200 wild horses on the island. They range from pretty to mangy lookin’. Most of em’s built kinda funny, causa all them diff’rent types o horses gettin’ they breed on (and some o that inbreedin’ methinks).
Okok. I don’t remember what this thingy’s supposed to be, but I thought it made for a neat pic. Interesting how they’re obviously replacing the timbers on this puppy while they let the mansion itself crumble to the ground. How do they determine what’s worth saving? Were it me, I’d let all this schizz deteriorate.
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Cumberland Island, GA — December 2002
Dungeness, from the side.
And from the back, wit a fountain.
Dungeness’ back yard, overlooking a salt marsh.
Obligatory arty shot.
Holy cripes, I’m officially being stalked!
Lets talk, you an’ me.
Talking does not typically involve trying to eat my shoe. And what’s with that punk rawk ear? All the armadillakids are doin’ it!
Wow. Two obligatory arty shots on one page.
What’s this? Hell.. Idunno.
But it, like so much else on the island, was made with seashells as a primary component.
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Cumberland Island, GA — December 2002
‘Nother horsey horse, and an old greenhouse, where the Carnegies once grew their KB. That’s my assumption, anyway.
Shot of the salt marsh, ruined by another goldam factory spewing happy juice.
Musta been an in-law suite or somethin’. Horsey head!
Is this arty? I just don’t know.
Trigger! Scout! Who?!
Look! Up inna treez! Another Chaka, stalking the wiley grub!
Has he found a tasty stash? Only Chaka knows.
Right. So that’s the end of the pics. Mander and I wandered about 6 or 7 miles down the beach, and then 6 or 7 back so’s she could utilize the facilities. Joe cussed and spitted his way into starting a smoky ass campfire to grill leanies and gardenburgers over. At one point I stepped off of our picnic table right onto our little armored cohort, but he seemed unfazed and went right back to rooting around for crumbs. E-Rawk and Kathryn wandered bejeebus-only-knows how far, and wound up back at the camp well after dark. the next morning we packed up our schizz and hit the ferry home at ten. The biggest disappointment? Not having the camera at the ready to capture pics of the dolphin that lazily coasted right by the ferry as we awaited departure.
It was cold, it was fun. It was nice to get home and wash a few layers of funk off. I look forward to doing it again, and exploring all the places we couldn’t this time around.