For example, here's an interesting place on the Georgia side of the Savannah River. I nosed Ms. Bettencourt up to the bank here because I wanted to look more closely at the cypress tree in the middle of the picture.
Loggers took most of the cypress trees from this area 75 years or so ago. Today's cypress trees must have just been saplings then.
Anyway, when I drifted up close to this tree, there were at least a few surprises: First, I thought that the Spanish moss, which I had not noticed from afar, was draped rather nicely. Then I saw the mostly-overgrown stone riprap on the bank. Where did this rock come from? (You can probably see it better if you click to enlarge the photos). The riprap has been there for a long time. The stone appears to be granite. In some places it is applied symmetrically, bringing to mind the ballast stones around River Street in Savannah. I have also seen stone applied like this between Front Street and the Mississippi River at Memphis.
Another surprise was the depth of the water so close to the bank. I was expecting to touch bottom, not drift through nearly 30 feet of slow-current fluid.
The bottom number on this instrument is the surface water temperature. The air temperature was in the 40s.
Another noteworthy sight from my afternoon meander included the beginnings of an accumulation of buzzards on this power line transmission tower.
By dark, this tower will be nearly black with birds. I wonder what attracts them to this roost? In other seasons I have seen them select a transmission tower directly opposite this one, on the South Carolina side of the river. There's a power plant over there...
...that would be hard to miss even if one were passing by in a hurry. Perhaps the birds find useful thermal air currents around the plant's smoke stacks.
Incidentally, this is a South Carolina Electric & Gas plant that converted from coal to natural gas a couple of years ago. It's about a mile downstream from my dock. I still get black soot deposits on Ms. Bettencourt's top and decks when the wind is from the south, though the accumulations are not as thick and gritty as they were when the plant was coal fired.
This railroad bridge is a few hundred feet upstream from the power plant. There is another just like it near the Augusta waterfront and several more cross the river between here and Savannah. This type is called a single leaf bascule bridge. The gray structure you can see rising above the bridge tender's cabin is a giant block of poured concrete. The concrete serves as a counterweight, allowing a very small engine to do the work of raising and lowering the span.
I am told these bridges are tested from time to time and that they still work, though their days of housing bridge tenders and opening for barge traffic are but a distant memory. The railroad may have run out of paint some time ago too. I imagine clouds of rust enveloping the bridge when a freight clatters through.
Meanwhile, Ms. Bettencourt continues her pokey progress, generally southward, through most of the afternoon. I have one of the side curtains rolled up to make it easier to shoot photos and to exhaust whatever carbon monoxide might be generated by my propane heater.
It was somewhat less than toasty warm in the cabin, but the little heater kept my feet warm enough.
I found myself wondering if this guy's feet were cold. Would he be longing to capture supper, then get back to the nest and sit on his feet? I think this is a juvenile little grey heron.
Eventually, Ms. Bettencourt comes to a place where she can go no farther: The Savannah Bluff Lock and Dam, which requires an appointment for opening.
Since we had no destination, no appointment had been made. Nothing to do, but turn around and go home.
This means there is now a destination. I suppose this also means destinations are concepts cruisers can only try to ignore.
Destinations may be inescapable. I must accept the idea of destination if I am to be home for supper.
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