Part 2

As I mentioned in Part 1, we are up against the storm clock but currently unaware. Our goal was to make it into the backcountry to our campsites before nightfall. We wanted to be off the trail and avoid setting up our shelters in the dark. The trail was visually stunning as our path was lined on either side with palmetto plants, dwarf palm trees, and sprawling Live Oak trees. My trail mode is laidback, usually keeping a midway point unless my focus is photography, then I'll cruise in the back. We engage in typical stranger talk as we move along. After about a mile, the gap between the front group and the rear groups is growing. No big deal except the lead group is eager to "pick 'em up and put 'em down," that is, to pick up the pace. Typically when hiking unfamiliar territory, the general rule is to stop and wait for the following group when you encounter decision points or intersections. We had made it to the first major crossroads, where not everyone was in sight. I politely asked the lead group to pause while I circle back to touch base with everyone else. I had seen my fair share of Survivor episodes and knew to ask politely and go with the flow or risk being the first one to get axed. I did not want to be voted off the Island in the first episode. My new island mates graciously promised to wait, with such innocent smiles.

I quickly turned back and hustled to meet the second group for a quick check-in and convey our next move, which was to keep straight at the next intersection. Everyone was cool so, I again turned and hustled back to the lead group. You can probably guess what I found. The Three Lead Mustangs, as I like to call them, had broken free from the stable. They were nowhere in sight. To this very day, I would love to know what conversation took place as I turned away and rounded the bend in the trail. I imagine it went something like this: "You see him? No! Let's go!". Short, sweet, and to the point. More on that group in a bit. I carry on as planned, but we are now in four distinct groups. The Mustangs, myself, Florida, and Georgia were traveling in that order. I would again hit that proverbial 'fork in the road,' but this time, I decided to take a different approach.

It's now much darker than expected for the time of day, and I can now see dark clouds in the distant background. The storm is still in second place behind us, but the race is about to start. This time at the intersection, I decided to scratch a huge arrow in the sand with the heel of my hiking boots so that those following would know my direction of travel. The state park island maps are a little off, so it's not crystal clear as to which way you should go to get to the campsites. I decided to go right, but I wasn't sure which way the mustangs had run. They were moving so fast they weren't even leaving footprints. Very quickly, I started to run into spider webs. The first was no big deal, but they started coming one after another. I then knew for sure that the first group had taken a different route and were on a separate path. Spiders will string webs across rarely traveled trails, and there was no way they were re-casting webs this quickly if the first group had passed this way.

I had to trust my decision and commit because the thunder is rolling and getting louder. The sky is going to fall. On the drive down to St. Mary's, I was listening to my 'driving' playlist, and a particular song came to mind. "Eastbound and down, loaded up and trucking, we're gonna to do what they say can't be done. We got a long way to go and a short time to get there...." I'm at a run-walk pace, spitting, and pulling spider webs out of my face while checking for hitchhikers, trying not to finish second. Once it pours, we are unlikely to get a campfire, and I don't want to get soaked or stop and put on rain gear. About a half-mile later, I started to see a few markers signaling arrival. Seemingly out of nowhere, Wandi, who must have been in a dead sprint to beat the rain, was right behind me. Unencumbered by the hundreds of spider-webs I had just cleared. The mustangs arrived about 10 minutes later, claiming to have intentionally taken the scenic route. Yeah, okay.

We had the entire campground to ourselves and our choice of about nine oak-shaded campsites. However, all eleven Outdoor Afro's settled at the first two campsites, which turned out to be the last two from the beach. Really! I can't make this stuff up. I eventually had to put on the rain jacket as the storm hit while helping some get setup but no harm, no foul. We had to retreat to our shelters and wait for the storm to pass. There would be no campfire, and meals were ramen noodles and mountain house, cooked over Jet Boil backpacking stoves.

As if we hadn't already done enough, a few of us decided to take one last hike to try to "find the ocean." Our entire hike was through a maritime forest, but we didn't see the beach or the sea. With rain gear and headlamps, we walked further down the trail we had hiked in on and eventually saw what looked like a 200-year-old sign that faintly read, 'Beach ->.' Leading us off the trail and into a brushy area. This was turning out to be the sketchiest night hike I had ever done. There was no light other than the headlamps, and the pitch-black beyond swallowed up that light quickly. We cleared the trees and found the beginnings of a beach, but still no ocean. Finally, when our master plan turned into 'we'll following our footsteps back into the forest', we knew it would be best to try again another day.

The next morning we would chase the sun and finally see why we had driven all those hours and hiked all those miles. Look out for Part 3 to find out what happens next…when we finally get to day two .