The Grand Strand

We have not been to Myrtle Beach in a long time.  It used to be a place where we vacationed often 40 years ago, back before it exploded with development.  I remember that there was a single shopping mall in the late 70s, Myrtle Square.  And we have wonderful memories of once visiting Martha's Mamah and her Aunt Lizette when they were staying there at a gracious old hotel, The Chesterfield Inn, with its high ceilings and rocking chairs on the back porch.

But it slowly changed over the years, traffic grew heavier, motels one right after another on Ocean Boulevard, and we stopped going there.  

The exceptions, as I remember it, were in 2008 when I ran the half marathon there (see post of February 19), and then a few years later stopping for lunch on a trip from Beaufort, South Carolina to the Outer Banks.  And now we will be returning to this place from our past, leaving tomorrow morning for the race on Saturday.  This evening, we will be packing running clothes, race-morning food, and an overnight bag, and then we will come back here on Sunday. 

So we had a quiet, restful day, walking for a little bit on the beach this morning.  Martha had learned about an amazing sea monster created by Sand Sculptor artist Phil Singer of New York down at the circle in Atlantic Beach, and we went down to take a look.  What an amazing creature!

Now we are ready:  ready to push ourselves just a little, running a distance I have not run in two years, looking forward to the excitement of a big race once again.

Taper Week

We are in our final week of training for the Myrtle Beach Half Marathon, that period of time that we call the  "taper."  All of the long runs have been completed now, and the only runs left are easy ones.  For a marathon, I used to favor a good three-week taper, which is counter-intuitive to non-marathon runners but has proven successful in the 20 marathons I have run.  For a half-marathon, I like a two-week taper - the final long run two weeks out, then a six-mile long run one week out - "as many miles as the days left before the race," is the old rule of thumb.

Yesterday, Martha ran five miles and I ran three, and tomorrow we will both run three easy miles.  This is the difficult part - holding back, when we know that we can run longer, and faster - just putting all of that training in the bank to withdraw on race day.

We had a beautiful sunset last night, and warmer weather this week.

So this morning we decided to walk on the new trail they have been constructing at Fort Macon.  When we arrived at the trailhead, however, the trail was closed off and a small piece of equipment was at work back on the path, probably removing some debris in the small pond crossed by a bridge.  So we went on to Fort Macan and walked on the small loop trail behind the fort around a pond which we have walked before on bird-watching trips.

Coming around the first turn, what a splendid sight we saw!  The trees behind the pond were filled with a huge flock of ibises, like the ones we saw one morning last year.

They were roosting on the bare branches, so quiet that people visiting the park would not have even known they were there.  A man was walking a little white dog and we told him there was something special to see.  "Wow!" he said.  "I've never seen that many.  What are they? Sea gulls?"  We told him they were ibises, feeling like experts trained by Ranger Randy.

We circled back around to  the small path we knew about from previous bird-watching programs, and watched these birds in fascination.  A blue heron soared onto a tree across the pond, keeping his distance from the others, but I could not take a good photo.

We wandered out onto the beach and then back to the fort, feeling as if we had seen something special, wanting to go up to people in the parking lot and tell them about it.  

Out in the channel, a huge freighter - the "Federal Danube" - was going out to sea, moving much faster than we thought it was capable of sailing.  It blew its deep horn three times, so loudly we thought it might frighten the birds. we were watching.  We could see tiny people on deck, looking shore-ward, perhaps their last glimpse of shore for a long time as they steered their way out to the open sea.

This Brave New Decade

The first full day of being seventy did not feel different from being sixty-nine.  I awoke early as I normally do out here where the morning light taps insistently on the windows.  It was a mild morning, already almost 60 degrees a little after 7:00 a.m., and I fell into the usual morning routine of Tai Chi out on the deck by the ocean, breakfast back in the condo, and then my first cup of coffee back on the deck.

It was Sunday, and we drove across the causeway bridge to the Methodist Church in Morehead City again, where two adorable children were baptized and some of my favorite hymns were sung - "Faith of our Fathers" and "My Faith Looks Up to Thee."  We also heard some beautiful hand bells, and everybody sang Happy Birthday to a woman in the choir who had just turned 90.  That made me feel young!

The wind picked up after lunch; there was a gale warning, with winds out of the southwest 20 to 30 knots, and gusts up to 40 knots - that's 46 miles per hour for those of us who are not sailors.  Despite the warning, I bundled up in my Gore Tex against the wind and ventured out, determined to walk on the beach.  What a wild and exhilarating afternoon it was!  The wind had completely wiped away footprints and tire tracks and was sending rivulets of white over brown, rippling the dunes, and pushing up wide swaths of foam from the surf.  The foam would quiver madly in the wind, and then a few pieces would fly away like tumbleweeds in a dust-storm.

In the distance I could see a tiny figure walking, and on the way to the pier I finally passed him or her, bundled up like me, pants legs whipping wildly in the wind.  It was not cold, bundled against the wind and hands jammed tight in my pockets.  Every few minutes, a weak, milky-looking sun would try unsuccessfully to break through.  But I had the beach mostly to myself.

"I don't think you would have enjoyed it," I told Martha when I returned, cheeks red from the salt spray.  She understood that it was somehow important to me this day to push myself a little harder, to face the wild wind, now that I am in this brave new decade.

Birthday Wishing Light

We began the celebration of my 70th birthday auspiciously this morning with a six-mile run to Fort Macon and back.  It had been raining earlier and I had done my morning Tai Chi under cover of the condo, right below our balcony.  But by 10:00 a.m. or so it had stopped raining.  Conditions called for a long sleeved shirt, however, so I pulled out my 2011 Boston Marathon shirt, this being an appropriate day to remember my past accomplishments and to look forward to many more.

We returned to the condo for lunch - black bean burgers and kale salad - but we realized we did not have an avocado to make guacamole; I just had to have guacamole on my birthday!  So I decided to drive the short distance down the road to the Food Lion; on the way, the sky literally opened up, pouring heavy rain.  It is always especially nice to have completed a run just in the nick of time!

After lunch, I opened the gifts that had appeared on the counter yesterday.  All of the packages contained books, and thoughtful choices, too - Martha knows me well! - except for the last gift bag, in which I found a "Wishing Light," a paper lantern.  It proved to be hilarious!  Martha knows (as I said, she knows me well) how much I enjoy poorly-translated instructions from another language, and the instructions for assembling and releasing the Wishing Light were a classic, so much so that I posted them in full on Facebook along with my thanks for all the birthday greetings that had been posted:

Wishing light operating instructions

1:After the distribution of fuel to packaging equipment Kong Cross wire in the side of the field again deduction presses The fuel-pressure lock firmly.

2:A person wishing a light take up a Top; Another person fuel ignited the four angle.

3:Wait for that the heat enough light, lantern person lest loose A top, band changes grips under the light to encircle, Has when the lifting force may let go releases for flying.

4:Xu Yuan light rose slowly the sky, do not forget Wishing oh………

Notice item:

1:Should choose at the option open, calm environment released for flight. No fire ban in areas   the tall building the floor, and so on have covers under the thing to release for flight, must leave outside the airport 10 kilometers from flying.

2:Xu Yuan light can only be used for the distribution the special-purpose of fuel, prohibited by any burning Replace.

3:Xu Yuan light are on the rise, that of the flying, cannot the long time not put, and the Flight not to be append the foreign body.

4:Children must be under the custody of the adults use.

Declaration: Xu Yuan light for the fire flying, because of environmental ingredient such as improper use of security incidents caused by the release of the commitment.  Production enterprises, vendors, transport operation, without any responsibility. You use both, then you understand and accept on behalf of the declaration.

I especially love Operating Instruction No. 4, which sounds like a Haiku:

Xu Yuan light rose 

slowly the sky, do not forget 

Wishing oh………

Martha disclosed the hitherto secret restaurant where she will be taking me for dinner an hour from now - The Island Grill, here in Atlantic Beach.  Recommended to us by Martha's aunt, we have eaten there in past years and thoroughly enjoyed it.

So this has been a good birthday for me.  I only feel one day older than yesterday, after all!  The lyrics to that old Simon and Garfunkel song, "Old Friends," still meanders through my mind from time to time:

Can you imagine us years from today,
Sharing a park bench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy.

But Martha keeps insisting that I don't look like I'm seventy.  And I certainly don't feel like I'm seventy.  And I ran six miles this morning, after all, rather than sitting on a park bench.  So I am thankful for Martha's love and support, for the greetings from friends and family, and for this wonderful life.  And for the wishes that I will one day soon let rise into the sky, "Wishing Oh........."

Taste of Core Sound

One day before my 70^th birthday – you might call it Birthday Eve – an assortment of gift bags and birthday cards appeared on the counter between the dining room and the kitchen, and I was instructed not to handle any of them until tomorrow.

We had big Birthday Eve plans tonight.  “Taste of Core Sound,” the signature winter event of the Core Sound Museum and Heritage Center, is normally held at the Museum on Harkers Island, a considerable drive after dark.  But because the Museum is still not open due to damage from Hurricane Florence, it is being held this year at Southern Salt, just down the street from the Ruddy Duck in Morehead City.  So Martha snatched up two tickets before they were sold out.

The evening began at 6:00 p.m. with Southern Salt’s famous hot crab dip and Down East egg rolls, moved on to a bountiful buffet, and included a silent auction of decoys and a presentation about antique shorebird decoys.  The Down East buffet was delicious!  The menu:

Conch stew

Fried oysters

Baked scallops

Stewed duck and rutabaga

Fried Shrimp

Chicken and pastry

Winter collards

Sweet Potatoes

Homemade coleslaw

Light rolls

Albert’s famous lemon pie

I’m not sure who Albert was, but his pie was delicious, which must account for its fame; even after all that food we both enjoyed a slice.  We had stopped at the Core Sound Museum Store on Arendell Street earlier in the week to pick up our tickets, a big imposing two-story house with high ceilings that reminded Martha of her Mamah’s house, and a young man there had told us not to eat anything else today, and now we understand why.

Southern Salt was a restaurant we will return to again.  Located right on the water, next to the Ruddy Duck, it was a great venue for this event; it was sold out, and we hope they will decide to have it there next year instead of way out in the "boonies" on Harkers Island.

We sat with a couple from Marshallburg, home of the caviar farm we had visited on Valentine's Day, and they were very surprised to learn that we knew all about it.  But we were glad to not have that long drive home on this cold and rainy night.

Wandering Carolina Whale Skeletons

We returned to the N. C. Maritime Museum in Beaufort today for the third in a series of "Brown Bag Gams," this one presented by Museum Curator Ben Wunderly, who had presented the program on the "The Vanishing Crew of the Carroll A. Deering." (see post of January 30).  Ben presented the stories of three whale skeletons from North Carolina preserved in museums in this state and in Iowa, and in the process told us several interesting facts about the history of whaling.

Most of the whaling carried on here, especially form the Shackleford Banks, was shore whaling.  While the big ocean-going vessels from New Bedford were out in the open ocean in late winter and early spring, whalers in these parts would sight a whale from shore and row out in a small boat, harpoon it, and tow it to into Morehead City and other ports for processing.  "Whale sighted!" a sharp-eyed man would cry out (not the popular "Thar she blows!" of Hollywood films).  "Where away?" another would reply, and the boat would be launched.

These whales were huge creatures to be handled by small boats.  One Right Whale brought ashore, according to an old newspaper account, was 65 feet in length, with ribs eleven feet long, and produced 700 pounds of whale bone and 2000 gallons of whale oil.  Whale bone, flexible and strong, was used in everything from corsets to policemen's billy clubs.  Whale oil was used for a variety of purposes, including illumination until kerosene came into use.

This sperm whale was not harvested but instead washed ashore on Wrightsville Beach, and was one of those eventually skeletonized and displayed in a museum.

The whale on display in the Maritime Museum is that of a juvenile sperm whale that was also washed ashore at Cape Lookout in 2004.

So this turned out to be another interesting program, attended by about 20 people, including some now-familiar faces of those who are interested in maritime history.  "Where are you from?" a couple sitting up front asked.  We told them; clearly, we were "dit-dots!"  But it turns out they were dingbatters.

It had been raining when we awoke this morning, which continued all morning and during the drive across the big new bridge to Beaufort; but when we came out of the museum after the program, we were surprised to emerge into bright sunshine . . . and it was raining at the same time.  The sun and the rain flip-flopped back and forth for awhile, and now, late in the afternoon, both have disappeared, replaced by a thick fog which has settled on the beach, hiding any view of the ocean.  But we can still hear it, even with the patio door closed, crashing invisibly onto the beach.

Adjusting the Sails

I know I said in my previous post,"We will keep on training, mix in some speed-work, keep up the long runs, and focus on the next goal, which is the Flying Pirate Half Marathon on April 14."  But Martha and I both slept on that and thought about some other options.  After six weeks of training, we have both reached that hard-won place in a runner's life, being Race Ready.  After Sunday's long run, a two-week taper would have led us perfectly to the starting line on March 2.

One option would be to run a shorter race before we leave here, such as a 5-K or a 10-K.  But we are ready for more than that, especially Martha, and last night a short search on Google found that the Myrtle Beach Half Marathon will be held on the same date, and it is only a three-and-a-half hour drive from here.  I actually ran this race a long time ago, in 2008, and as with most races I remember the course vividly.  It starts out on the north side near Broadway at the Beach and then comes straight down Ocean Boulevard, the "Main Drag," with motels lining both sides of the street, before circling back toward the start.  I remember that it was flat and fast, and at 7:00 a.m. it was just barely daylight.  My time back in 2008, at the age of 59, was 2:01:11, a half-marathon time I do not expect to ever see again.

So we mulled it over this morning during our runs - three miles under overcast skies in the 40s, and a bitter wind out of the north; it even rained on us for a few minutes, cold scattered drops. What a change from yesterday!  Temperatures had been in the upper 60s, and the evidence of those warm temperatures was a snake Martha spotted on Fort Macon Road (I turned in at the Bath House before that point), flattened on the road and bright green in color.  I took a grisly photo of it after our run but this photo from the internet is much more flattering!

I identified it as a rough green snake - "rough" because its scales are not smooth and silky as they are on most snakes.  This little fellow lives near marshes and likes to climb trees.  It is the first snake we have seen out here other than a lazy black snake sunning on a log on a warm day near the Cape Lookout Lighthouse last year.

It took this morning's run for me to make a decision, although I think Martha had already decided (she even checked on hotel availability); I felt strong and fast (motivated by a warm condo at the end of the run), and nothing hurt.  I am Race Ready.  The Flying Pirate is still on the calendar for April, but we're setting our sails for Myrtle Beach eleven days from now.