Surfside Sojourn

LLLadies....

Back from spending a couple of relaxing days with some good friends in Surfside Beach, SC. There was geocaching, of course; other fun and games, my favorite being the ever-popular cornhole; numerous refreshing walks on the beach; excellent food and drink; and some reasonably painful sunburn. In fact, both Ms. Brugger and I came home with unique patterns imprinted on our skin due to uneven applications of sunscreen (I blame the lady). Sunday was our friend Doug's birthday, so we even had cake. The forecast for the weekend had looked anything but promising, but just to reinforce the idea that meteorologists are overpaid carnival fortunetellers, the weather turned out damn near perfect — mostly warm and sunny, with a few clouds and an almost constant light breeze. We did get rain for a spell late on Sunday afternoon, but it was while we were all inside anyway, so we barely noticed. On the way home, after picking up a geocache, I got pulled over by a South Carolina state trooper, as I had apparently rolled through a stop sign on my return to the main highway, but he was kind enough to give me a warning rather than a ticket. I'm sure you're thinking I have done far worse things, and you might be right, but we will not discuss those.

Heading down on Saturday morning, Ms. B. and I stopped for geocaches at a couple of fascinating locations. The first was "Great Falls Mill" (GC1RJ8P) in Rockingham, NC, which took us to the crumbling remains of a cotton mill built in 1869 atop the foundation of an earlier mill burned by General Sherman during the Civil War. The Great Falls Mill closed during the Great Depression and then burned in 1972. The structure has been steadily crumbling over the years and, for safety's sake, is best viewed from a distance. Photos taken just two years ago show considerably more of the structure intact.

My other big favorite was "Blenheim Mineral Springs" (GC20DQ9) in Blenheim, SC, the site of natural mineral springs from which Blenheim Ginger Ale is made. The springs were discovered in 1781 by James Spears, a Whig, who was attempting to elude Tory troops. As legend has it, Mr. Spears lost his shoe in a water hole. When he attempted to recover it, he sampled the water and discovered its potent mineral contents (and presumably the distinct bouquet of shoe leather). News of the spring circulated around the countryside and, before long, it became the center of a bustling hub of commerce. In the late 1800s, Dr. C. R. May counseled his patients with stomach troubles to drink the spring water, but his patients complained about the its iron-like taste. To make the water's flavor more appealing, Dr. May began supplementing it with Jamaican Ginger — and thus was born Blenheim Ginger Ale. In 1903, Dr. May and A. J. Matheson founded the Blenheim Bottling Company, and the remains of the old bottling works can be found near the spring, from which you can still drink. Ms. B. and I explored the site for some time and sampled the spring water, which did taste not unlike rust from an old iron pipe. I'm sure it was very healthy for me.

Just before arriving in Surfside, we stopped at a cache that's up in a tree, which I had to climb after. And that is how you top off an enjoyable road trip. I did manage a little caching around the beach area — and had a bit of a fright when I thought my phone had gone missing. After coming to the conclusion that someone must have stolen it, since at one point I had foolishly left it unattended in the unlocked car, I discovered it in my back pocket.

Apart from a nasty traffic jam on our egress from the beach that took over an hour to get through, things went pretty smoothly. Was notified of an issue with my mom that may take some sorting out, but that is a bridge to burn on another day.

The remains of Great Falls Mill

Ms. B. among the ruins of the old bottling works at Blenheim Mineral Springs

Inside the ruins

The view from "Fiddlin' in the Marsh" (GC491MA). Dammit, I forgot my fiddle.

A Random Tale?

Sure, why not. A couple of months back, I got to see Jaws at the Carolina theater—easily one of my all-time favorite films—and this has set me to occasionally ruminating on a particularly traumatic experience from back in the spring of 1975—the year Jaws was originally released. The main thing about the whole business is that I'm glad I saw Jaws after said trauma, not before, or I'd be shy an amusing little anecdote.

May, 1975. I was 16, and I'd gone with my church youth group on a beach trip to Garden City, SC, on a rickety old bus that didn't go any faster than 40 miles per hour. It was a long, hot trip from Martinsville, VA, and I recall driving a few of my compadres slightly batshit by repeatedly playing Godzilla soundtracks on the portable cassette player I'd brought with me (not that I was obnoxious, or anything). We stayed at the Garden City Motor Inn, which at the time was about the only commercial establishment on that stretch of beach. The inn still exists, but nowadways, it's all but smothered by the high-rise condos on either side of the property. Anyway, that first night, I recall watching Gargoyles, starring Cornell Wilde, Jennifer Salt, Bernie Casey, Scott Glenn, and Grayson Hall, on the network TV movie, and I was all kinds of excited about that (I recently picked up the DVD of this flick, as a matter of fact).

The next day, my buddy Raymond and I set out on our own down the nearly deserted beach. There were no lifeguards there in those days, and being the off-season, other tourists were few and far between. For reasons I've never quite fathomed, Raymond and I decided that we needed a long swim. A long swim. So, with little thought of personal safety or other such responsible things, we trucked on into the water and started paddling out beyond the breakers. I recall feeling quite exhilarated to be farther out in the ocean than I'd ever gone before. Yeah, I know. Dope. Well, we kept swimming, going farther and deeper, and after a while, I looked back toward the shore; lo and behold, the Motor Inn was this wee little boxy thing on the horizon, and I began to get the idea that returning to shallower water might be prudent. Raymond reluctantly agreed, and so we turned around to make our way back. Whoa. Wait. That's some current! We're swimming and swimming, and we're just not making any headway, and suddenly I'm not quite so exhilarated about my specific coordinates in time and space.

Now, about this time, I get a glimpse of Raymond's face, and it's whiter than a sheet, and his eyes are about to bug clean out of his head. I look in the direction he's looking, and...oh shit oh shit oh shit...there are fins popping up in the water, just about close enough to touch. I'm pretty sure my face is every bit as white as Raymond's, and that's when we start tearing through that water like a couple of scalded sea monkeys. Much to my relief, I see the Motor Inn gradually starting to loom a little larger on the shore. It's only now, halfway back, that I realize we had been surrounded by dolphins.

That's when it happens.

Something warm and prickly grabs my leg. Yes, that's me screaming my fool head off, and the next thing I know, I'm hauling ass up the beach, a pale white blur to anyone who might be around to witness all this. I don't know where Raymond is, I don't care, I'm just on solid ground, and I finally discover it was a mean old clump of seaweed that had grabbed me. After a while, Raymond's walking next to me, and when we get back to the Motor Inn, there's a game of touch football happening. Uncle Harry, one of our chaperones, asks us where we've been.

"Just taking a walk."

It was only a few days afterward that I saw Jaws for the first time, and I have to tell you, every heart-pounding moment of that movie took on a very deep, personal significance for me. To this day, the film's music, its dialogue, its atmosphere...all of it...takes me back to that way-too-deep water and the sheer panic of believing I was about to get et by a shark. It's not a sensation I particularly savor.

These days, I do still go in the ocean when I get the opportunity. I also respect it a hell of a lot more than I once did. One really ought to, you know.