Coastal Adventure

“If that north wind would just come a little farther south”, I thought to my self.

It’s the end of September. Autumn has officially begun, but no one here is buying any of it. The overnight temperatures are now plunging into the mid-70s instead of about 80 – oh joy. But it still heats up to at least 90 every day and it stays that hot for at least 6 hours.

And this oppressive humidity – well past 60% every day, will simply not relent. Our prevailing southerly wind grabs water from the Gulf of Mexico and dumps it on us day and night. I’ve been taking a sweat shower now for 5 months and I’ve had enough.

That is why I long for the north wind. When the season’s cold fronts get strong enough to hold the Gulf off shore, the humidity will drop 25% and it feels like inside when we are outside. It’s like I’ve been released from jail. Like a 1 year old dog that has been stuck in a crate all day. His excitement is uncontrollable. You open the front door and he runs at full speed immediately. He runs directionless, in circles maybe. He cares not where he is going. It doesn’t matter – his world right now is huge and wonderful and, at least in his mind, it’s all for him. Every smell, every sight, every plant or tree….it’s all for him.

Well, my “dog out of the cage” moment will have to wait just a bit longer, because the dog gone cold fronts are stalling about 150 miles short of me. They tease me and the weatherman doesn’t help much. He stands before that camera and lies through his teeth. “Cool weather coming next week, more after the break”, he belches and I sit through the commercials waiting patiently for the good news. And of course when “next week” gets here, the front has stalled and we get more sauna.

But I digress. I do like where I live, but every year at this time, I get antsy. Autumn will get here eventually, I suppose.

I woke up yesterday morning thinking about the same thing I think about every Saturday – riding my motorcycle. Riding has become my mental therapy. It gives me peace and relaxation. The truth is, I’ve been thinking about this all week. I’ve been focused on it like a hound dog hot on the trail. If you can tolerate yet another dog metaphor, I suppose my motorcycle has become the cookie in my own Pavlov’s Dog experiment. I start my proverbial drooling about Wednesday, thinking about possible adventures for the upcoming weekend. I do my household chores on my afternoon off Friday, making sure I have no obligations in my way for the weekend. Saturday has become my weekly Christmas. Yeah – presents!!! My toy is just outside in the shop and it’s time to go play!

Yesterday, I chose to play along the coast. I hope you enjoy the pics.


About 7:00am, I walked over to my shop in my shorts and slippers thinking about where to go. I checked out the tire pressures, and all fluids are good. As I stood up from looking at the bike, something caught my attention – my fishing poles. Eureka!!! I’ll ride down to the coast and go fishing!!!

I went back inside and checked my favorite tide prediction website. Fishing along the gulf coast is entirely dependent on tides. If the water isn’t moving, the bait isn’t moving. And if the bait isn’t moving, the predator fish don’t move either.

The day is rated from 1 to 10, with 1 being the poorest conditions for fishing. Hmmm….



Oh well, screw it – I’m going anyway. I pack a small cooler in my top box, along with some other essentials, and take off about 7:30. I figure by the time I get to the fishing hole, what little current is expected should start. At least I hope it will anyway.

I stopped at the grocery to pick up some shrimp to use for bait. Then I plug in my awesome MP3 player with 2500 of my favorite songs, and I start moving south with adventure on my mind. I’ve devised a method to bungee cord my fishing pole to my bike and it does not move.



Any time one is riding past Charlie’s, an obligatory stop for a few cracklins (meaty pork skins fried in hog lard) is mandatory.



The auto-focus on my camera didn’t work, the picture was illegible, and I’m proud to say that the evidence is long gone. So there is no food porn of the cracklins, my apologies.

Now heading further south toward Intracoastal City, I stopped at this lovely homestead that I have admired for years. It’s a modern plantation style home on a decent sized rice and crawfish farm. The huge front yard is always meticulously groomed and the morning sun shining on this property was just too beautiful to pass up.



You can’t see the house very well from this angle because a 300 year old live oak tree is shading it. If I was 40 years younger, I might try to climb that tree, if the property owner would allow it.



Still south on Hwy82, I stop just 10 miles further at another favorite of mine. This farmer, whom I have never met, keeps these two beautiful draft horses.



They are so friendly and over the years, I have gotten to know them.



I don’t know anything about horses, but these have no marks on them from a harness so I don’t think the farmer actually uses them. Maybe they are just pets for them.



Regardless, I share my snack with my buddies. I usually eat a little horse food mid morning anyway, and my buddies enjoyed their treat.



Back on the road, hwy 82 turns westerly as it follows the coast. Here comes the highest point in the land.



That would be the Intracoastal Canal Bridge. Down in these flat lands, one must get his elevation anyway he can.





Weather looks good, just a few clouds along the coast.



The road is pretty straight, except for the occasional high speed adjustment. However, the traffic is non-existent in these parts.



The locals call the man made canal paralleling the highway a “Bar Pit”. The correct term is Borrow Canal. Soil from the adjacent land is “borrowed” to build up the roadway, and ensure that it will be higher than the flood prone swampy coast. I guess over many generations, the slang of “borrow” became “Bar”.



The temperatures are tolerable and I’m enjoying the solitude. At times, the tall cane on either side of the highway creates an alley like feeling.



Occassionally I roll up to a truck pulling a small boat. I imagine they are either going fishing, or more likely, going on a recon mission to get ready for duck hunting season. At any rate, there are plenty opportunities for passing, and I hardly give them a notice.



I stroll into the community of Pecan Island. This was once a more populated place, before Hurricane Rita in 2005. But the storm devastated this town, and they never fully recovered. Now, it is more like an assembly of fishing and hunting camps. All structures are raised high in anticipation of the next storm.



Interesting name for a boat….



The old people call this a banana tree. I’ve seen these growing every where here, but I’ve never seen any banana fruit on them.

This looks like an old car dealership sign. At night, it’s pretty dark here, so I suppose this might help people find the camp. Or maybe this guy is a big Dodge fan. Who knows?



The water table is only a couple feet deep here, so people have to be buried above ground.



The only “crop” seen here is cattle. The grass must be very nutritious because the number of cows per acre is very high.



The breeze blowing on the water is nice.



While I don’t have to worry much about traffic, I do have to be concerned about road kill as it is very prevalent in these parts. I see every species I can imagine.



These are cat tails – a coastal prairie plant that can take brackish water. The “flower” that blooms in the Spring resembles the look and texture of a cat’s tail. Now they have all dried up, though.



I suppose this farmer has made hay while the sun shines!!



As I cross the Mermantau River, I see plenty of portable oil rigs, called Jack Up Rigs, docked on the bank. The oil field is down now, and that is noticeable in this region.



On the west bank of the river, I turn off the highway and ride a short distance to my first honey hole. Sometimes I wonder where street names come from.



I bought nice eating size shrimp for bait. I’ll cut this one up and make several individual baits from it. I figure if the fish don’t bite, I’ll just eat the bait later!!



I take my riding gear off, change into my sandals, and wet my line. This is a great place to fish from the bank. The breeze is nice and the wind blowing in the grass is soothing to me. I sit on the bank and meditate on my cork.



Unfortunately, the tide was slack and my website did not mislead me. I fished for about 30 minutes with no luck. I moved up the road to another spot just to see if things would change.



But it did not. I’m not interested in waiting the fish out as I fear they may not feed much at all today. So after about an hour, I give it up and pack my bike.

Now reversing my tracks late morning, I stop to look at a different type of gas station. This is a natural gas compressor station. That large building on the right is the compressor. Natural gas is routed though underground pipelines coming from off shore, where it is extracted from below the Gulf of Mexico. It is pressurized here and sent up the line to the Henry Hub near Abbeville, Louisiana. If you are into commodities, you know that the Henry Hub provides the spot price by which most natural gas in the United States is valued. If your home uses natural gas, either from power generation or for heating, chances are it came from these parts.



That flame is referred to as a “flare off”. I don’t fully understand why they have these, but I know that they are far less prevalent than they were when I was a kid.



It seems a bit early for these critters to be this far south.



I turn East on Hwy 82 basically going home the same was I got here. There is only 1 coastal highway and it certainly makes route planning very easy.

Not too much action at this popular boat landing. The fish just aren’t biting today.



I pull back into Pecan Island about 11:30. The next civilization is an hour away and my stomach is growling now, so I will call it an early lunch.



I grabbed a Tasso sandwich, which is made with seasoned smoked pork. I see these sometimes served on a hard crusty pistolete bun, but I prefer the soft “hot dog bun” style of bread this store has.



I ate my lunch next to my bike in the shade of the parking lot. A few fishermen came up to me and we talked while we ate our lunch. No one that I talked to had any luck today on the water. I suppose that is why they call it “fishing” and not “catching”.

After lunch, the temperature reading on the bike was 91, and as expected, it’s getting kind of sticky. So I wet my t-shirt, and rode the last 60 miles straight home, arriving about 1 pm. I stowed my fishing gear and my riding gear, and peeled my fishing bait. I’ll cook those puppies tomorrow with my family lunch. I threw a bucket of soap on my bike and shut down the shop.

I spent the rest of the day in my lazy boy recliner watching college football, and occasionally closing my eyes, dreaming about my coastal adventure.

Stay thirsty, my friends…..

Great write up, as usual.

The most oppressively hot and humid place I ever set foot in was Baton Rouge, LA. It was the middle of September, 1993. It was miserable. And this is coming from someone who, up until that point, had spent his entire life in Georgia and Alabama. I was supposedly accustomed to heat and humidity, but little did I know.....

Tiger - you get it. Many people I talk to from elsewhere think they live in oppressive heat. Then they come down here in mid-August and see for themselves.

Thankfully, it's not THAT bad here now.

I've been feeling bad that the hot weather has been back again around here for the last few days--high 90's. But the humidity is a LOT lower, and it almost always cools down at night, at least here in Sac. It's midnight, and 67o right now. We also have hills and curves. Oughta try this coast for a while. Guess you will next June, at least.

Another good RR, by the way.

I always like your reports HP.

Funny living in South Florida, LA is so similar in many ways and so different in many ways. We have some very similar features like canals and dikes, etc.

Crops are similar. Landscape in a few places is very similar.

You guys have food influenced by the Cajuns, our is more inspired by the Islands.

Thanks for taking us along.

Another great RR, Pants.

The pictures, the words, the images in which I am picturing in my head as you describe the ride.... phenomenal.

Keep up the good riding- better luck with the fishing.

Great pics and prose 'pants, thanks for sharing the trip! In a prior life, I burned a LOT of natural gas purchased through Henry Hub. Know that biz too well!

You didn't eat that WHOLE sandwich...didja?

--G

Can't wait to meet up and share some (s)miles and pics for Yosemite... I'm definitely thirsty! B)