Finally, the weather lifted enough to head down “Mud River,” as Jekyll Creek is affectionately known. It was a gray, dreary, choppy water day with NE winds and temps in the 50’s. But it was not raining! We left our slip at 7:16 a.m., thinking we could make up for lost time.
I put together pot roast in the slow cooker so we’d have a hot meal in 50 or so miles. We had to pay very close attention, especially on the “Little Mud River.” We were in marshland all day, a snaky labyrinth of rivers. 
But it was not our day. We got lost coming out of the Jekyll River and made a left turn where we should have gone right. So we ended up in a place not on our charts. Whoops. We got the big chart out, turned it every which way and tried to figure out our problem. We looked back at the bridge we had passed under and retraced our steps. We needed to find the Mackay River, but we were headed to Brunswick. So we got squared away and headed toward to the confluence of the three rivers when we ran hard aground at G “249” A. I was all for dropping an anchor when we couldn’t back off right away, and waiting a while for the water to rise. We called Boat US but he couldn’t hear us and we couldn’t hear him. The nearby Golden Isles Marina harbormaster acted as intermediary, advising us to “always keep the green on our right and to wait a little while for the tide to come up from 4 feet to 5 when we would float off.”Totally chagrined, that’s what we did. So two booboos in the first three or four hours out of Jekyll Island. We couldn’t wait to see how we would manage the Little Mud River at 660-650. We had a couple of signs from heaven though that signaled a change in luck. First, a nice fisherman pulled alongside for a chat and offered us a couple of lovely soft shelled crabs. And second, a sailboat from Savannah passed us and said they knew the way through the “Little Mud” and a good place to anchor for the night, New Teakettle Creek.
It got very cold. Glen wore his offshore jacket over a turtleneck, sweat shirt, socks, jeans and his wetsuit pants, along with his ski gloves and wool hat. I stayed in the cabin. The pot roast aroma wafted through the cockpit. The Little Mud River turned out to be a piece of cake. And at 5:50 Teakettle had lots of water. It was the most remote, end-of-the-earth place we’ve anchored—nothing but tidal marsh for miles around. The anchor set well in 25 feet of water. We slept that night.Oh, by the way, we released the crabs as an offering to the river gods.
Tuesday, March 29, was a tough day, too. We set off at 7:35 in a rainy mist. We had two sounds to cross. Sapelo Sound is next to Sapelo Island, once owned by R.J. Reynolds, the tobacco tycoon. Now it belongs to the prestigious University of Georgia Marine Institute. We also have to make St. Catherine Sound at mile post 618 during slack water.
In spite of its being a long cold day, Cap’n Glen kept at it so I wouldn’t have to turn my face and ears into the wind. The curling rivers slithered back and forth through S-curved marshy banks. It was tough navigating because of lots of crab pots, poor visibility and a big tidal range. It was very chilly at the wheel as well.
By 4:10 we had traveled a mere 39 NM, but we decided to put in at Isle of Hope Marina. We didn’t want to try and make it to Thunderbolt, another 10 miles up the ICW. It was a good decision. The marina provided courteous, helpful service, and offered us a third night free. We knew a big blow was coming with the thunderstorms, so we thought we might stay awhile.Still 740 miles from home.
Miss y’all,
Maureen and Glen
Isle of Hope, GA
March 28, 2011
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