In my last blog I promised to tell you about my visit to Sapelo Island.  Several years ago, as a long haul trucker, I’d visited the shrimping port of Darien, Georgia and been intrigued with what I’d heard regarding Sapelo.

A bit up the coast – and a ferry ride of another three miles or so through the tidewater marshes and channels along Doboy Sound – lay a pristine barrier island. Here, in 1802, Thomas Spalding, a Scotsman, had begun a successful plantation of sea cotton and sugar cane with the help of 400 African slaves. The descendants of these slaves still lived quietly on this island and were reputed to speak Gullah Geechee, their native tongue. I ached to experience a few hours in this setting, among a people who might still be living their lives in the last century.

Georgia State Information centers up and down Interstate I-95 had made arranging a visit to Sapelo Island seem like a breeze. So, one Sunday afternoon, I’d parked my long haul truck on solid ground six miles north of Darien and, on foot, followed signs out into the Meridian marshes…only to find the ferry dock deserted. A curt notice disclosed the missing ferry ran to Sapelo Island once a day and never on Sundays. So much for my initial try.

Returning from a trip to Florida this past June – no longer a trucker, my time my own, and driving my own car – I vowed I would visit Sapelo Island. My first step was to ask instructions of a friendly inhabitant of downtown Darien. His advice was to visit the Darien Chamber and Visitors Center out on I-95 (not to be confused with a Georgia State Information Center). The Chamber might properly answer my questions. The afternoon was getting on. Since I was already on Route 99, I drove out to Meridian where I’d first tried to board the ferry. The dock was now under construction in what looked like a different location – again, no ferry in sight. I located the nearby Sapelo Island Vistors’ center and mounted the stairs.

A mirthless woman greeted my questions with suspicion: Was I a guest of the State of Georgia? If not, was I prepared to attach myself to a forthcoming tour of such persons? – for that appeared to be the only way a person could gain boarding permission for the next ferry trip to the island. “And when would that be?” I asked. “Tomorrow morning, at eight,” she answered. “But you will not have time enough to arrange it with the State of Georgia.”  It was quickly apparent that I would need to stay overnight and start negotiations with the State of Georgia. Well, maybe the man downtown had given me the best advice. I hightailed it the nine miles to the Darien Chamber offices out on I-95.

There I spoke with a comely young woman by the name of Scottie Lingerfelt, who did indeed have information on visting Sapelo Island. Her take on the situation was that I needed to phone one Claudia Bailey, an inhabitant of the island who, tomorrow, might act as my personal tour guide, obviating all the nonsense involved in hooking up with the state. But Claudia would not be home until this evening. I would definitely need overnight acommodations while I set up the guided tour. Scottie booked me a room at the Sailfish Inn, but suggested I first return the nine miles back to the Sapelo Island Vistors’ Center before they closed at 4:30 p.m. The object was to obtain the names of any other tour guides, in case Claudia Bailey was already booked. The Sapelo Center had not seen fit to furnish any such list to the Chamber.

Just in time, I made it back to Meridian and up the stairs. The nice lady nodded at my tale of woe, reached in a drawer and pulled out a typed list of a half-dozen names and phone numbers, all authentic tour guide residents of Sapelo Island. Why in hell hadn’t she offered this list before? Who knows… Just happy I had it, I thanked her for the list and left.

That night, the calls to Ms. Bailey were of no use; I got only her voice mail. She was undoubtedly away, or else booked by others. I went down the list and got one acceptance – from a Fran Drayton. We settled a fair price for a full tour around the island. Ms. Drayton delivered what seemed like the keys to the kingdom: “Just tell the ferry Captain – ‘Fran’ – he’ll know what you mean.”

All that remained now was to turn in and get up in time to be on that ferry when it left next morning at 8:00 a.m. At last! I was on my way to Sapelo Island!

(Part II, next week)

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 6th, 2009 at 3:05 pm and is filed under $Buck-Banter$, Family Forum, Truckers' interests, Writers' Corner. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.