Masonboro Mishap
Speaking of camping on Masonboro Island, a group of us went on Saturday night and had to abort!
I’m not sure if we misread the signs or if the large-ish storm coming from the west kicked up something early, but around 9:30 at night — when we’d settled into the campfire and wine, a mild evening out on the beach itself — we were caught off-guard by a big blow from the ocean, with gusts that (we later read) were over 30MPH and instantly took two of our three tents down, spumed the fire and started sending things down the beach. We ran to the tents and piled things into them in the dark to weight them down, throwing belongings and beer cans into bags and backpacks, best we could, yelling to one another.
Like refugees we huddled onto the little skiff we’d moored in the lagoon and motored our way with toy flashlights back through the dark spoil islands, into the Intracoastal, and finally home. Our three year old son was with us, cool as a cucumber, plus two big dogs — one of them was a 160 pound Great Dane! — plus five adults. Plus what gear we could carry. We’d made three trips on the way out! Nobody wanted to be part of the second trip home. The dogs were as eager as any of us to get on the boat and beat a hasty retreat.
Image from seaturtles.org
We went back last night to see if we could salvage anything, but our site was fairly smoothed over by Sunday’s storm and the torrential rains. Etched clean, you might say. We found some tongs, our grate for grilling on. We brought a garbage bag and filled it with some of our jetsam, plus other trash.
Good post! Crazy night! I do wonder at this point whether or not our fellow campers who were nestled in the dunes down the beach and behind us were safe from the winds. Any signs of there night when you went out to clean up?
Not a one (re: sign). In addition to tents, it looked like they had pavilions, which must have blown down along with a bunch of other stuff.
We acted quickly and got out of there, though, so who knows.
Hey, my Frisbee was a casualty too, but it’s just as well as I had already accidentally dropped it into the campfire. If anyone spots a partially charred ‘bee on MI, please flip it my way.
A few details to fill in about that fateful trip:
1. I’d guess that between 8 and 9pm at least four in our group felt inspired enough to mention how perfect everything was — the temps nearly ideal, the breeze just enough to keep bugs away, the wine flowing, the conversation increasingly animated.
2. When the big blow came shortly thereafter, there was about a 10-minute period of chaos during which we alternately buttressed our tents against the wind, called for dogs that had run off, and gathered lots of belongings. When it was decided the wind was not going to abate, we all turned into pack animals, carrying loads we normally would not for the five-minute walk back to the boat.
3. On our way to the boat, Ian hesitated ever so slightly in the dunes, saying: “It’s a little less windy here.” He was quickly disabused of this notion, possibly by my telekinetic powers.
4. In an overloaded boat Ian and Rachel remained calm and ably steered us to safety as the temperatures plummeted and the winds increased.
5. One by-product from the evening: I have small bruises in the most unlikely places.
6. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat but with bigger tents stakes.