| Travels of Dursmirg Vol. 1 Chapter 9 |
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Chapter 9 SAVANNAH LAYOVER AND ON TO FLORIDA 1972
A brief review of events leading up to November 1972:
Jane and I had completed our “five year plan”, which included designing, building, launching and departing on our
46-foot motor sailing vessel named Dursmirg.
Leaving our hometown of Superior, Wisconsin, August 18th of that year after liquidating our home, automobiles and
all of our personal belongings that would not go aboard, our seagoing adventure began.
After crossing the Great Lakes, the Erie Canal with its 38 locks, we went down the Hudson River to New York City.
Then we followed the east coast of the US to South Carolina where this segment of our trip took an unexpected twist
of fate.
*
November 23rd, 1972 was a cool and blustery autumn day as we cranked our 353 Detroit diesel engine and
powered along the Intercoastal Waterway heading to a warmer place to pass the coming winter.
We had entered the area of palm trees, porpoises and really big tides. Our day’s travels were averaging about 60
nautical or 67 statute miles per day traveling from sunrise to sunset. Considering the wait for poky bridge tenders to
wake up and do their job, which is to open the bridge…they weren’t paid to keep them closed, we averaged 6.2
knots of speed.
At Hilton Head Island, South Carolina we had to wait an hour and a half and decided to pull into a local fish camp to
buy something to drink. Well, we don’t drink beer until the anchor is down but this night we would forego the
pleasure because of the “sticker shock”. We got a taste of Carolina “Bible Belt” beer prices.
We were first told that the bridge wasn’t going to open that day. Then we were told that a commercial push boat and
barge were on their way and that the bridge would open for them. We would be able to pass through with the barge.
We cranked the engine, cast off the dock lines and next witnessed a very strange sight. A big open bed truck with
flashing lights pulled onto the center span of this rickety old swing bridge and stopped. Four men then jumped from
the truck to the bridge and proceeded to unload a huge key that they laboriously placed in the center of the bridge
roadway. Next they assumed positions and methodically began to walk around in a circle while all pushing heavily on
this relic of a key from the past.
Almost imperceptibly the bridge began to eke open as the stopped road traffic now lined up and marine traffic
maneuvered in the narrow channel with its swift current running down to the bridge.
Just as the bridge opened full and the red light turned to green signaling a go for boat traffic the huge push boat
and barge appeared and a mad dash for the open bridge began.
Leaving Hilton Head Island and heading south we were entering the “big sound country” of the famous “Sea Islands”
as we went down Calibogue River and entered Calibogue Sound.
Our next island we would come to know intimately in the years to come.
It was now late on this fall afternoon as we came to the south end of Daufuskie Island and decided to drop the
“hook” or “anchor up” for the night at a wide spot in the river there.
No sooner did we get the anchor set and shut down all systems than a man came speeding out from the island in his
outboard boat to inform us that at the spot we had chosen to anchor we were highly likely to be rammed by a
passing barge in the night. The man seemed very concerned and gave us some helpful hints on a lovely, tranquil
and quiet spot to spend the night. It turned out to be extremely quiet and very isolated indeed.
That night Jane routed through our provisions and managed to put together an elegant Thanksgiving dinner. A
whole canned chicken was the only bird on board and my ingenious and creative wife had a scrumptious and
delectable meal before us in no time and considering that she was cooking on our diesel fuel fired galley range her
feat seems even more fantastic. Though I have witnessed her prepare a complete pizza over an open fire on the
beach her wondrous culinary talents never cease to amaze me.
Friday the 24th of November we upped the anchor and bid farewell to South Carolina. We were not only in the
“big sound country”, but also in the land of super-sized tides. With a 9 to 12 foot range of tides the ebb tides on the
Savannah River are a thrill to watch as they have strength enough to pull the marker buoys under and only leave a
swirling boil of water like a raging rapids pouring over boulders.
My comment on these strong ebb tides is that “the water ran so fast that you could actually water ski behind an
anchored boat”.
At low tide the sensation was of being down in some deep valley, but the copious “Sea Island” oyster beds and the
ten foot tall marsh grass baffled any perception of their true size. The channel markers that at low tide loomed
precariously high to the point of appearing to have been placed there by a vender of poles with an open-ended
government contract to sell them by the foot. By contrast at high tide those same excessively long poles that
protruded skyward were now awash with the high tide waters and the ten-foot tall marsh grass below the surface,
thus giving the appearance of now being out upon a huge expanse…a world of water.
Back to our travels;
We crossed the Savannah River near low tide and entered the State of Georgia. Though we were some 10 to 15
miles from downtown Savannah at that point its odiferous smoke stacks spewing mostly a tainted gray discharge
irritated our eyes and caught in our throats. We had the misfortune of being on the downwind side of the paper
plants of Union Camp Company. Dixie Crystals sugar and Hercules Powder added to the aromas. Our first
impression of Savannah wasn’t one that beckoned our return and that is strange because we, through a twist of
fate, came to love the place fondly and have made life long friends there. So, that is a good example of how first
impressions and preconceived notions can stifle many adventures and pleasures of life.
With the tide near low, the effect of the tidal currents were minimal as we signaled the two bridges we would have to
open this lovely bright 70 degree southern fall morning.
Passing our second bridge the scenery in the vicinity known as Thunderbolt became very beautiful and beckoning
with ancient oak trees twisted and gnarled with age and hung heavy with mystical plumes of Spanish moss. I had
glimpsed the chart and found that we were now entering the Wilmington River, a big wide expanse of water and we
would not be encountering any obstacles for some time. This would be the perfect time to have Jane take over the
helm so that I could then go below to the bilge to check our leaking transmission that we had just had rebuilt.
Though the day was beautifully pleasant out upon the water it was cool going and both Jane and I had on our heavy
“Stern’s” marine floatation coats that were both excellent for warmth and as life preservers.
It is said that 95% of the people that go overboard are unconscious so the flotation at least gives the sailor half a
chance.
I would be gone to the bilge only a few seconds to check the transmission oil level and add the appropriate amount
of oil. This is done with the engine running and under load. My routine was very automatic, as this had become a
routine procedure.
At the base of our companionway was located the removable hatch covers that exposed the entire engine and
transmission leaving ample room to maneuver. The area is well lighted and there are plenty of handholds for rough
sea conditions. So in a flash I jumped down the four feet, unbolted the fill/inspection plug and reached for the five-
gallon lube oil container. Like a bolt of lightning struck me in a split instant I had no idea where I was or what had
happened.
As I collected my thoughts I recognized first that I was in extreme pain and that the boat was now handling strangely.
Jane couldn’t control the boat and it was discovered that it was now running at full throttle in reverse.
I told Jane that I had a very bad accident and she idled down the engine and put it into neutral.
It quickly became apparent that my left shoulder was dislocated but there seemed to be more damage as my
complexion was turning chalky white and I began to slip into shock.
Jane dropped the anchor and immediately called the Coast Guard for assistance.
In a few minutes that seemed like an eternity the Georgia State Marine Patrol came along side to take me to the
hospital.
As anyone that has ever experienced this level of pain that brings on a state of shock can recall the sensation of
being out of touch with reality is one of the most predominant effects.
All I recall was boarding the Marine Patrol boat, entering the Coast Guard mans car and ultimately waiting what
seemed like an eternity to get some medical attention. X-rays, injections, two doctors pulling and twisting and I finally
collapsed.
I was back on board our boat the Dursmirg, which was now tied dockside at the Savannah Yacht Club, a very posh
and elegant place, before dark that night.
The pain just didn’t go away and it would be a full year before I once again had full use of my arm and shoulder.
Well, that night Jane was able to relate to me the chain of events that unfolded that very long day.
Jane’s docking ordeal and what she had to say about it:
After I was spirited off to the hospital Jane was left alone with this 46 foot, 20 ton boat that had a smashed shift
mechanism and was now anchored in these swift running currents. The Marine Patrol didn’t want to take any
responsibility at this point, but asked if Jane could dock the boat at a nearby dock.
Jane asked for someone to assist by pulling the anchor and also to have the dock cleared of other boats.
Here is what Jane managed totally by herself;
She cranked the engine, had the assistant pull in the anchor line after she went down to the bilge to kick the broken
shift lever into gear. Then next she ran to the helm, throttled up and maneuvered the boat to break the anchor
loose. Again ran to the bilge to kick the shift into neutral and again ran to the foredeck to stow the anchor and its
anchor rode. Then back to the bilge to once again kick the shift into gear and then up topside to the helm to
maneuver the boat through those swift currents to the dock where she then maneuvered the boat for docking. Again
back to the bilge to kick the shift and then quickly topsides to throw the dock lines. With the dock lines in place she
then had to return one more time to power up to take the slack out and set the spring lines, a necessary maneuver
here in these swift currents for tying dockside. In these strong currents with a boat of this size and weight, the
engine is imperative for all maneuvering.
I always used to say about the Dursmirg you don’t just put your foot out to stop it at the dock”.
Jane wasn’t too happy with my comment upon returning from the hospital that night. I said, “The spring lines weren’t
tied right”.
Oh, by the way!
It turns out that the flap of my heavy flotation jacket entangled the whirling propeller shaft, thus flinging me into the
revved up machinery…my dislocated shoulder and broken arm then smashed into the shift mechanism and threw
the engine into reverse which then flung me away and ultimately saved not only my arm but my life. Someone was
trying real hard to tell me to slow down. Well, now with one painful arm in a sling it was imperative. If something bad
was going to happen to me it couldn’t possibly have happened at a nicer place. The people at the Yacht Club went
out of their way to be friendly, courteous and very helpful. Mr. Palmer, the manager, saw to our every need and
there was never any kind of a bill presented.
So, Jane and I thank y’all again from the bottom of our hearts and will never forget you fine folks.
The next day I got my bicycle ashore and began practicing riding. It was a tremendous challenge because not only
did I have a balance problem but also the slightest lurch or flinch sent shocks of pain shooting through my torn
muscles and ligaments as I saw stars flash through my head…but I persisted.
By the end of our first day at the Yacht Club I had become sufficiently proficient to attempt the three-mile ride into
the little town of Wilmington Isle for some shopping, and we made it!
Jane bought fresh shrimp which she breaded and fried, “Yankee Style”. Well, we were all surprised when we began
to eat them. Jane had never seen fresh shrimp before and didn’t realize that they needed peeling first. We all had a
good laugh at that one.
Oh, by the way!
The big surprise was that in the upcoming years Jane and I went from making our own shrimp cast net to owning and
operating our very own commercial shrimp fishing boat. This is another one of our adventure stories named: “Life of
the Secotan”.
Back to Savannah;
With our first bicycle trip a success we decided to strike out for the city of Savannah next.
This trip was 10 or 12 miles riding the side of a busy highway. Well when we arrived at the outskirts in the suburb of
Thunderbolt we were definitely enticed to ride on. The area was incredibly beautiful with stately old southern
antebellum homes carefully landscaped. As we ventured down Victory Drive we were again treated to a classic view
of a magnificent palm tree lined boulevard landscaped with azaleas and other flowering shrubs.
We passed park after park that were situated so that the downtown Bull Street traffic diverted and passed around
them. The passing drivers had to slow to make the necessary jogs and were then almost forced to behold those
parks unique beauty.
At the Yacht Club we were told we must visit “Mrs. Wilkes Boarding House” in down- town Savannah on Jones Street,
a residential neighborhood with no other businesses. Well, we took their advice and our eating experience was more
than memorable.
A long line of patrons had already formed as we approached just before noon, their opening hour. There were no
signs and it was just local knowledge that brought these eager eaters. We parked our bikes and chained them
together and I still remember a man there waiting in line being incredulous saying that in New York City you couldn’t
just leave bicycles chained together…well we did and it was OK here.
The system at Mrs.Wilkes Boarding house went like this; when they were ready to open for business someone
opened the door and admitted the exact amount of people to fill every chair in the place, and then the rest of the
patrons would wait for the next round.
Once inside you sat down at one of three large dining room tables and the action began at once. Huge bowls of
food would be placed in the center of each table and it was up to the patrons to then pass the food around. It was all
y’all could eat. Quart sized glasses of ice tea for everyone. This was the best of the best of real southern cooking
and at it’s finest…an eating extravaganza from the “Heart of Dixie”. Black eyed peas, rice, collard greens, sweet
potatoes, “Irish potatoes” (white potatoes), butter beans (lima beans), grits and grunts and southern fried
chicken…finger licken’ good. When the bowl got low it was refilled. Dessert was the same; pecan pie, peach cake,
custards and ice creams…a gluttons dream come true.
You didn’t have to leave with the group at your table but the gluttonous volume of the world’s finest food in unlimited
supply certainly made this place a must for a return visit. Jane and I never go to Savannah or anywhere close to it
without a visit to Mrs. Wilkes.
Upon leaving it is always interesting to see the expressions of the hungry and waiting crowd outside as the
contented, smiling and smug exit.
Jane with our bicycles in front of Mrs. Wilkes on Jones Street in Savannah
Oh by the way!
Excerpt from obituary of Mrs. Wilkes
Oct 31, 2002
A Savannah legend dies.
Holly Hungerford
A Savannah legend has passed away. Sema Morris Wilkes, better known as Mrs. Wilkes died this morning after
complications from a stroke she suffered just two weeks ago. Mrs. Wilkes was famous for her "boarding house"
restaurant on Jones Street in downtown Savannah. It's a place where she served family style southern cooking to
millions of people all over the country for 60 years.
But it hasn't always been great food that drew crowds. "She was the main draw for a lot of people," great grandson
Ryon Thompson says. "The people who didn't know her, when they got here, met her--the main thing they
remember from coming here." He also says her charisma was her secret recipe. "Everyone always knew who she
was. Everyone always looked at her like she was someone special and she was."
Back to sightseeing in Savannah;
Next we headed to the Savannah Welcome Center. It turned out to be a congenial spot that depicted the history,
commerce and culture in a brief movie clip. My lasting memory of the movie was a portion that related to this:
“If you travel to Charleston you are likely to be asked:
What y’alls grand pappies name?
If you travel to Macon you are likely to be asked:
What y’alls religion?
But, when you come to Savannah you are likely to be asked what do y’all want to drink?”
That said it all about this town that just lives to celebrate.
If some day you may have the chance and good fortune to take in the “Saint Patrick’s Day” celebration in Savannah,
which is second only to New York City in size I can promise you a festival second to none. To quote a friend of ours
named “Bubba”, “It’s an alcoholic’s dream come true”.
Our trip to the Welcome Center inspired us to visit more of the historic sights.
Factor’s Walk was a section of town situated on the banks of the mighty Savannah River with its boiling ebb tide
currents. It was a collection of old cotton warehouses that dated back to the days of sailing ships and slavery. The
roadways and approaches were all paved with rounded ballast stones that had arrived more than a century before
in sailing ships inbound from distant ports. Countless seagoing freighters over the years had discarded their ballast
stones and made this a huge hodge-podge and rare accumulation of geologic curiosity.
Savannah River at Factor’s Walk looking north with two of Sam Steven’s boats.
And this is the story that Billie Burns, a friend of ours from Daufuskie Island, South Carolina, related to us: She told
us of the young girl that became known as the “Waving Girl”. As we recall the story, the young lady, whose parents
were the light keepers, had a love affair with a sea going sailor who promised to return to his love. Everyday this
lady would go out to the lighthouse station and wave to all incoming ships in the hope that her lover would be
returning as promised. She passed her life in hope and faithfully met each ship with a wave, looking for her lover
who never returned. Over the years, the ships came to expect the lady’s wave as they passed. After the death of
the “Waving Girl”, the wife of the new light keeper kept the tradition of the “Waving Girl” alive by waving at each
passing ship in the Savannah River. Billie Burn and her husband Lancy were substitute light keepers that
maintained the lights on the Savannah River and also along the Intracoastal Waterway. So, when Billie and Lancy
were on duty, Billie took the place of the “Waving Girl” and waved at each ship as it passed.
The Waving Girl statue is a popular monument for visitors to the River Street area of Savannah, Georgia
The statue immortalizes a Savannahian named Florence Martus, who lived near the entrance to Savannah Harbor
and supposedly waved to each ship that came and went -- for 44 years!
The bronze statue of Florence Martus (1869 - 1943), known as "Savannah's Waving Girl" because of her practice of
waving to ships entering and leaving Savannah's harbor is located on the bluff overlooking the Savannah River at
the south end of downtown
This story is well known and the Waving Girl” was also the name of a riverboat owned by Sam Stevens that docked
downtown in the historic district. Jane and I in the following years got to know “Captain Sam” and his boat when we
along with many of the residents of Daufuskie Island, South Carolina took the once a month trip to Savannah
shopping aboard “Captain Sam’s” boat “The Waving Girl”. I write more about this story later on in Volume 2 of
Travels of Dursmirg, “Summers at Daufuskie and The Sea Islands”.
Everything at the Yacht Club was a delight to both Jane and I. The dock was specially lighted for night fishing and
we got to know several of the regular anglers that nightly landed a lot of sea trout.
In this area of high tides the dock was ingeniously designed to cope with the 9 to 12 foot tidal range and the large
wakes that were produced by passing vessels. The shrimp boats and barge traffic tended to be the most courteous
with their wakes but some of the big “pleasure yachts” seemed to adjust their speed for maximum wake as though to
tell the world to go to hell.
Oh, by the way!
Here is how the dock worked: starting from shore the cement dock on cement pilings extended out into the river
and to channels edge where it formed a wide platform. This section was at the height of the riverbank. An adjustable
ramp with railings was attached to the cement platform by a hinge and then extended down to water level where it
rested on rollers upon a floating dock that ran parallel to the current. The floating dock consisted of many sections
that were hinged together and allowed to flex with the wave action. The entire floating portion was held in place by a
series of pilings that had retainers with rollers attached to the floating sections. So, this section was free to ride up
and down with the rising and falling tides and also could flex when struck by waves. Boats would be tied to both
sides. Walking on one of these floating docks was like walking around on a bouncing, bobbing little boat that jerked
and lurched…it took some getting used to.
There was plenty of fist shaking and cursing at some of the passing offenders leaving big destructive wakes that
many times pitched those floating sections clean of anything not tied down.
An incident that took place at Daufuskie Island, South Carolina to our friend Bob Burn when one of these “pleasure
yachts” came mindlessly speeding past his parents private dock there leaving an enormous and destructive wake
almost destroying their dock and doing a fair amount of damage went like this: Huge signs on shore alerted the
passing boats to slow down to “no wake speed” because of the docks there. But, these excessively large vessels
obviously owned by people that were judgment proof because they could afford to buy all of the justice they wanted
seemed to be above any laws or responsibility as they laid waste to everything in sight and in broad daylight with the
world watching.
Well, one fall afternoon as one of these monstrous vessels on its way from its New England home port to south
Florida for a winter in the sun and cocktails on the back deck at some prominent address there passed Daufuskie
Island. Our friend Bob had all he could take and set out in his outboard shrimp fishing boat to at least give the
operator of that yacht a piece of his mind and let them know of the destruction that had been done. Bob overtook
the big yacht and hailed them down. Bob told the operator of the destructive yacht what had just taken place and
the response of the yacht operator was this; “If I have done any damage you can report me to the proper
authorities”. Well that was the last straw for Bob and he lost his “cool”. He snatched up a large wooden oar and
commenced smashing it to pieces on the side of that big luxurious yacht. When he had finished venting his wrath
and only had a short portion of the oar remaining he informed the operator of the yacht, “Now if I have done any
damage you can report me to the proper authorities”. Well that sounds like a small measure of justice and to people
that have been wronged by insensitive and mindless people I believe it is. At a later time Bob had a similar incident
and went out to tell the offender of the damages done and was confronted by a man with a machine gun…so much
for justice!
Back to the night fishermen, their trout and our conversations:
Jane and I were soon on the dock fishing with the helpful advice of the regular anglers. With spinning rods and the
preferred lure a red headed with white tail “Salty Dog”, Jane and I landed our own trout. This was a real challenge
for me using only one arm.
From that point on we ate the freshest seafood the sea had to offer for the many years we lived aboard the
Dursmirg.
We were looking for a sailor to come along with us on our upcoming trip to Florida and asked everyone we met that
looked like a prospect.
It turned out that a young fishing enthusiast who was a regular at night fishing at the Yacht Club became seriously
interested. Jim Muller was 18 years old and had just started college where he had set his sights on a degree in
marine biology.
Jim was definitely an avid and dedicated fisherman that was meticulous and mythological in everything he did. His
long hair was a political statement and his big brimming smile his badge of delight when he landed yet another sea
trout.
Jane and I both liked Jim from the start and we were happy that he was eager to make the sea journey as deck hand
and without too much prodding or pitch on our part.
The next weekend Jane and I were the guests of Mr. and Mrs. Joe Muller, Jim’s parents at the Yacht Club for dinner
and I am sure an interview. It was very reassuring to Jane and I that Jim had truly concerned parents and that they
were sincerely concerned about their son.
Jim was one of seven children. His father was a no-nonsense businessman that had built his real estate and
insurance business into Savannah’s biggest and best through long hours and diligent dedication. A German who
was tough and straight laced. His son Jim’s long hair and free spirit definitely tested Mr. Joe Miller’s indulgence.
However, Mr. Muller was perfectly willing to see his son Jim take off on an adventure even with “Yankees” so long as
they measured up to his standards. Jane and I must have passed the test because Mr. Muller gave Jim his blessings
to sail away with us.
Jim’s mother, besides having seven children, was Irish and took the large family in her stride. Her children were all
polite and well mannered, dressed well and reflected their mother’s pleasant disposition that included quick wit.
The Savannah newspaper reporter Latham Davis heard of our unusual boat and long voyage and came to inquire
about doing a feature story about us. He brought his wife and child along and took notes for his story that same day.
We enjoyed telling our story to Latham and he must have liked our story and us because he took Jane and I on a
Savannah tour that included the Victorian era town house that he was in the process of doing a full renovation of. It
was located directly within the stately downtown district that in the previous century was the classiest address in
town. The area was definitely in the process of being rediscovered. We witnessed that old section of town and its
amazing turn around over the years. Though most of the homes were of the same basic style, no two were alike. All
had walk up entryways and high ceilings.
Article by Latham Davis published in the Savannah Newspaper in November, 1972
Article by Latham Davis published in the Savannah Newspaper in November, 1972
One day a short time after that feature story was published in the Savannah paper the
manager of the Gitchee Sailing Club on Turners Creek paid us a visit. He arrived at our boat in his boat. I think this
was our first visitor to arrive by boat. We would soon have more as we soon discovered a new life living at anchor
and the only way to “drop-in” then was by boat. Well, he had read our story in the newspaper and was anxious to
meet us. We invited him aboard and shared conversation. He then invited us to visit their next meeting where they
would have a guest speaker that had just sailed in the trans-Atlantic single handed sailboat race and come in
second in his class as the guest speaker along with his slide presentation. It sounded fascinating and we were even
offered transportation, he would pick us up and return us by boat. We couldn’t resist that generous offer. Sure
enough at the appointed time the outboard speedboat showed up to whisk us away at high speed to the Gitchee
Sailing Club about four miles down river at night.
There was a large turn out of mostly young people and middle-aged sailors in attendance. The speaker, Bob
“Lancy” Burn was just great and his presentation kept the crowds undivided attention as Bob had a natural talent to
interject a humorous side to his entire presentation.
I was asked to tell of our background and our plans plus what brought us to Savannah.
After the meeting the speaker, Bob “Lancy” Burn, came over to introduce himself and inform us that he knew us.
Jane and I were totally amazed and speechless because we never imagined we would have any acquaintances in
this far flung part of the country. This was our first time here.
Bob, with a big grin, related the story to us of anchoring our boat up in South Carolina near Daufuskie Island a week
and a half earlier. Well, wouldn’t you know it Bob was the very same man that came out in his outboard speedboat to
direct us to a safe anchorage. Yes, it was him! This was just too much of a coincidence to be believable but it was
true.
Jane and I invited Bob and the manager of the sailing club to our boat for beer and conversation after the meeting.
We all had a fun time drinking our tap beer that was delivered to our galley spigot from a keg in the bilge under
regulated pressure from the systems own CO2 cylinder.
The party didn’t break up until the keg was empty at 4 AM.
Bob Lancy Burn had invited Jane and I to visit him and his family at Daufuskie Island any time.
Well, we did the following summer and that turned out to be a completely new chapter in the
Adventures of Dursmirg
.
Dursmirg at the dock of the Savannah Yacht Club, Nov. 1972
This is a letter Jane wrote to her brother Jim;
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA NOVEMBER 30, 1972
Dear Penny and Jim,
It was sure nice to get your letter. We picked up our mail about two weeks ago at Coinjock, NC.
We have really had some experiences on the Inter-coastal Waterway. Mom probably already told you how we lost
our dinghy and anchor in a storm. We never did recover the dinghy. After that we collided with a 100-foot tug
pushing a barge. We were doing seven knots when we hit. We did no structural damage to the hull, but the impact
moved the bulkhead in the head (the wooden one), over about an inch. We have it repaired however. I guess we
really tested Ferro-cement. Last Friday Bing got his arm caught in the propeller shaft of the engine and broke it and
dislocated his shoulder. It will be another two weeks before he can use it. We had to call the Coast Guard for help to
get him to the hospital; at first they thought it would require surgery. Luckily they called Savannah’s best bone
specialist. We are tied up at the Savannah Yacht Club that is really plush and no charge. It’s really a lay out, 2
swimming pools, tennis courts, almost everything. We’ve taken our bikes all over Savannah (we are ten miles from
downtown). It’s quite a trick for Bing to ride with one arm but he manages. It’s his left arm that’s broke and he is left-
handed.
The climate here is nice. Usually about 65 and it hasn’t snowed in five years. We are trying to get a crewmember so
we can get to Florida but no real rush. The Savannah paper did a big story on us. Everyone is real nice and helpful.
Did you have a nice Thanksgiving? Remember one year ago about this time? What an exciting Thanksgiving it was.
We spent Thanksgiving Day traveling and anchored that night on the Wright River. We had canned roast chicken,
potatoes and gravy, green beans and beer. Not quite as good as a big turkey.
We don’t know where we will spend Christmas but hope to be somewhere in Florida.
You can’t believe the price of beer in Georgia. $1.59 a six-pack is the cheapest you can get and it’s $30.00 a keg.
We drink a lot of tea and coffee, as our keg is dry. We’ll get it filled in Florida.
Despite everything we are having a great time. We are going to try some fishing today. People have been really
catching a lot of speckled trout- big ones! Shrimp is really cheap here. I cooked some two nights ago and we couldn’
t eat them all. The first few I cooked didn’t turn out so good because I didn’t take the shells off first. Luckily Bing
came along and noticed. I had never cooked fresh shrimp before.
I sure hope you two come south this winter. I bet if you got away from that snow just once, you’ll come south every
winter. The country is beautiful and there seems to be employment for everyone with some skill. Construction goes
on year round. I know that there are many phones to be installed.
Hope to see you this winter
Love Jane and Bing
This is a letter Jane wrote to her mother, father and little brother Joel;
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA DECEMBER 10, 1972
Dear Mom, Dad and Joel;
We are still in Savannah, we have been here for a little over two weeks. Bing still can’t use his arm but we found a
collage boy to come along as crew so we are leaving to head further south tomorrow, weather permitting. This sure
is beautiful country and warm weather. It’s 75 degrees right now and hasn’t snowed in five or six years. We’ve met a
lot of people here that have been really good to us. We’ve put a hundred miles on our bicycles since we got here.
The Yacht Club we are staying at is really nice and no charge for docking which makes it even nicer. We like it here
so much we kind of hate to leave but I’m sure we will find Florida just as nice. We’ve been fishing quite a bit.
Catching yellowtails and speckled trout. We’ve even been having fish for breakfast; we’ve caught so many. Shrimp is
real cheap to buy so we’ve eaten a lot of that. Despite all of our good eating Bing and I have lost a lot of weight.
About 20 pounds apiece. I think we get more exercise now than we did building the boat.
I better close. I’ve got to get to the grocery store to stock up for our next trip.
Hope everyone is okay. I suppose you are busy preparing for Christmas.
Love, Jane and Bing
December 11th the Dursmirg took departure from the Savannah Yacht Club on the Wilmington River at 8:30 AM.
Jane and I had our new crewmember aboard and we were now going to get to know a very special character who
would become a very dear life long friend. Jim Muller, our new crewmember arrived a few minutes before our
departure time with a supply of provisions that looked like he had fitted out for going on some extended safari
expedition. We joked about his huge duffel bags filled to overflowing and all of his fishing equipment.
Before we could leave the dock, Jim pulled out his neatly arranged inventory and checked to make sure that he
hadn’t left anything behind. We were impressed. Before Jim departed we were even more impressed because in the
end he had a use for all he had packed along.
Jim on this trip and over the years on other trips with us would teach Jane and me a wealth of fishing tricks and
techniques that would make our lives and travels much better and more rewarding.
Our trip south was going to take us through the famous “Sea Islands”. Jane and I came to really love this part of the
world for several reasons. First and foremost was the abundance of seafood that our friend Jim was presently going
to teach us how to harvest. Another thing that appealed to us about this part of the country was its vast expanses of
unpopulated and isolated islands and waterways.
Over the years we walked every beach from Charleston to south Florida and boated all of the rivers, canals,
waterways and sounds in between.
At the little town called “Isle of Hope” we left the last signs of civilization we were to see for the rest of this day.
We crossed “Moon River” made famous in the song of the same name written by Johnny Mercer and went on to a
place marked on our chart as “Hell Gate”. It was apparent that at the right tide this place would definitely live up to its
name. Two big rivers were connected by a short natural link where rip currents were certain to have a field day with
the unsuspecting boater when the tides were right.
As we passed Saint Catherine’s Island that afternoon at1:30 PM, we had another first for the trip. We ran aground
solidly. After crossing the Great Lakes, the Erie Barge Canal, The Hudson River and the entire eastern seaboard of
the US all the way to South Georgia without running aground, we were amazed to say the least.
We made several navigational triangulations on nearby markers to determine our exact position before we
attempted to extricate ourselves from the bar. It was determined that we were squarely within the channel and that
perhaps a push boat had run aground nearby and dredged up a sand bar with his propeller wash. This is a distinct
possibility and our only explanation for a sand bar suddenly appearing at mid-channel. This was our first grounding
on our entire trip but it wasn’t by any means our first boating experience with grounding. Previously we had had this
experience with boats less than one tenth the weight of Dursmirg. The principals are the same for getting off. First
we would attempt to back off. With the helm tied down securely to prevent damage and the engine revved up in
reverse we would attempt to rock the boat. The three of us went topsides to our main deck and leaned as far
outboard at mid-ship as we could. Sure enough the boat heeled perceptibly. Then we quickly ran to the opposite
side for the same treatment, again the boat heeled perceptibly in the opposite direction. This procedure was
repeated several times and I could feel a slight movement. So, next while Jane and Jim continued their side to side
rocking of the boat, I went all the way to the bow and proceeded to jump up and down slowly but rhythmically feeling
the movement of the boat as each grain of sand under our keel began to roll and move. Putting the engine in
reverse pushed a wall of water under the boat and actually makes the water deeper where the hull rests thus adding
to the buoyancy. It worked…but it had to because we no longer had a dinghy to carry out an anchor and kedge off.
Onward and southward we continued and found a nice spot at 4:20 PM to anchor just off the waterway in the
Crescent River just south of the Sapalo Sound and west of Sapalo Island. The logbook shows that we were in fifteen
feet of water and we didn’t expect any boat traffic because we were well off the waterway. The day was just splendid
and it was so quiet and tranquil. That night after dinner we all went to just lie on our backs on the deck and look at
the beautiful display of stars. Until you get away from city lights and really have a chance to observe the stars in
their full brightness and maximum magnitude, it is hard to believe that they can be so bright and prolific. We saw
satellites go gliding across the heavens, meteorites streaking and counted numerous constellations that Jane and I
had just studied about in our celestial navigation classes.
Jane and I finally went off to bed but Jim just couldn’t bring himself to quit his star gazing. Long after Jane and I had
gone off to bed we would hear Jim let out with many an exclamation; “wow”, “ooh” and “ah” each time another
shooting star would streak across the heavens. Jim definitely liked the same things we did.
December 12th was going to be a rest day no matter what. We got up to see that we actually couldn’t see
anything. We were totally fogged in and would be for the entire day.
This would be a day to read, write and just enjoy the little projects around the boat that needed attention.
Oh, by the way!
A note about the fall fog in this part of the country; this fog has no apparent pattern and may appear or disappear in
a matter of seconds. As a consequence of this action there are many colossal highway pile-ups on the bridges of
highway 17 and 95 that follow the coast and cross all of the sounds and rivers there.
***
It was very nice and when the day was done we all agreed that the time to relax was good therapy not just for our
bodies but also for our minds.
That morning we did have one surprise when we looked out our porthole into the dense fog. There going by was a
red Volkswagen beetle. We were amazed and baffled at first, but when we all ran out on deck to survey the situation
further we were presently surprised to find that the red Volkswagen was on the back of an all white shrimp boat that
was passing us in the heavy fog. At first glance only the Volkswagen was visible. The baffling mystery was solved!
December 13th The fog lifted at 11:45 and we got under way for a short days travel and had our anchor back
down again by 4:15 PM in the Mackey River.
December 14th our next county would be Glenn County made famous by the poems of Sidney Lanier. “The
Marshes of Glenn” pay beautiful tribute to this beautiful place. The rivers, islands and big sounds together with the
expansive fields of marsh grasses interspersed by lovely little savannahs covered with southern red cedars have a
magical attraction.
This morning we would be passing Brunswick, Georgia the home to a multitude of forest product processing plants.
There is even a plant that processes old pine stumps and extracts various resins. Charcoal and paper are just a few
of the other products coming out of Brunswick.
This is a busy deep-water seaport where the big ships come in plus push boats; rail service and lots of trucks keep
this industrial city humming with activity.
Looking across the marshes we could see the Sidney Lanier Bridge. This is a high bridge that most boat traffic can
pass with out opening that links the mainland with Jekyll Island.
On the Brunswick River, the highway 17 bridge, which the big ships use to access the Port of Brunswick harbor, was
a devastating sight, especially when we had just heard this sad story. Only a short time earlier on November 7th, the
ship, S.S. African Neptune had collided with the then open bridge and brought it down.
We had heard of this tragic story made even sadder by the young men that were waiting to cross the bridge when
they witnessed the impending tragedy unfolding. They frantically went to all of the other cars parked and waiting for
the open bridge and pounded on their cars and screamed warnings pointing at the oncoming ship. All of the people
in the waiting cars just rolled up their windows and ignored these Samaritans, and many soon died in the crash. The
sight of the toppled bridge and its tragic story haunted us.
Oh, by the way!
Here is an interesting piece of history connected to this part of coastal Georgia; The Spanish led by De Soto
displaced the native Cherokee Indians starting in 1540, the English then displaced the Spanish when James
Oglethorpe set up his colonial settlement in 1736 on these “Sea Islands”. Oglethorpe was given debtors released
from English jails and religious refugees from the European continent to populate his new settlement where rum and
slavery were prohibited. Poverty soon drove them to change those original restrictions. Georgia was one of the
original 13 colonies but they didn’t have unanimous support to join the Union and many loyalists left when the Union
was formed.
In our wonderings through these Sea Islands, Jane and I over the years have seen remnants of the Indian presence.
Walking the beaches at low tide we have found arrowheads and pottery made by them. We have even stumbled
across old Spanish fortifications in the Sea Island woods. The early English presence is well documented also by
the restoration of Oglethorpe’s original settlement on Saint Simons Island at Fort Frederica, which is now a national
monument and well worth the visit.
Back to our travels;
This very afternoon we would arrive in the state of Florida…”The Sinkhole State”. Our mental preconception of
entering Florida was soon to be completely shattered.
Our approach to the state line formed by the Saint Mary’s River that drained down from the famous Okefenokee
Swamp was so polluted that our bow wake formed a putrid yellowish color and just remained on top the water and
resembled frothy foam on a beer.
As we passed the downtown section of Fernandina, Florida with its three large forest product processing plants the
air became so foul that Jane and Jim took cover to protect their eyes and noses from the stench. I also noticed that
all of our bronze winches turned a silvery black color from exposure to those noxious gases.
Oh, by the way!
The following year a big effort to clean up the town was put on and one solution to clean up the harbor was a 30-
inch diameter stainless steel pipe that would take those putrid plant discharges offshore into the Atlantic Ocean.
Hurrah for them?
It isn’t fair to put all the blame for the pollution on Fernandina. Across the river in Georgia in the town of Saint Mary’s
was located a paper plant equally responsible and the next town of Woodbine had a chemical plant. Woodbine’s
story is even more sinister. The Union Carbide plant at Woodbine was a sister plant to the one in Bhopal, India
making the same chemicals. (We were in the “Bermuda Triangle of chemical plants.)
The Union Carbide Catastrophe
In the early morning hours of December 3, 1984, at a Union Carbide pesticide factory in Bhopal, India, water entered
a chemical storage tank through leaking valves, triggering a runaway chemical reaction. As the reaction progressed,
the temperature and pressure in the tank rose until 40 tons of toxic gases, including highly toxic methyl isocyanate
(MIC) and hydrogen cyanide, escaped from the tank. Because the gases were heavier than the air, a toxic cloud
formed and hung close to the ground. The toxic cloud, aided by a gentle northerly wind, moved across the city of
Bhopal, spreading like a poisonous blanket over sleeping inhabitants. People awoke gasping for breath, their eyes
burning. Seeking safety, thousands took to the streets, running, many carrying children. The toxic gases caused
fluid to fill people's lungs, literally drowning many, who fell choking and dying in the streets.
That night, over 500,000 people were exposed to dangerous toxic fumes. At least 2,000 people died, and another
300,000 suffered injuries. Fifteen years later, victims continue to suffer and die from long-term effects. By 1990, the
death toll was estimated at over 8,000 and a 1997 estimate put the figure at 16,000. Thousands of survivors
experience menstrual irregularities, spontaneous abortions, still births, infant mortality, and other health problems at
rates dramatically higher than elsewhere in India.
Back to our travels;
We were still in an area of fast currents and high tides, though as we headed further away from the Savannah area
the tidal range diminished.
The town of Fernandina is situated on Amelia Island and part of its claim to fame was the fact that it had been a
pirate strong hold in days gone by. We still would read of local residents digging up buried treasure in their back
yards on Amelia Island.
As we went west around the Island we had to open two bridges adjacent to each other. One was a railroad bridge
and the other a highway bridge. The ebb tide current is vicious and it is made even worse by the restriction put on it
by the current flow through the bridges. If a train is coming the railroad bridge may close with out notice or not open
at all. So, unsuspecting boaters that signal for the bridge and receive the green light to proceed many get a big
surprise when only one of the bridges opens and the boater is then in the compromising position of being dragged
along by the swift current. That is what happened to us. We were fortunate that the current was against us so
stopping was no problem. When we finally had both bridges open, we were surprised that our hull speed was hardly
sufficient to get through the bridge. A year later that bridge was replaced with a high one that didn’t need
opening…the end of that problem.
We were really ready to quit for the day and at 4:25 PM when we dropped anchor in a little bight in Nassau Sound.
(A “bight” is an indentation in the shoreline forming a small bay.) We found that we slept better away from the
channel and out of the strong current so this private spot would be great. On this end of the island there was no
development and we had another very quiet place to spend the night and it was our first night in Florida!
Friday December 15th our trip this day would be through mostly rural areas even though we would be going
through Jacksonville, Florida, touted to be the nation’s largest city in land area. The reason Jacksonville was so big
was that the tax people couldn’t stand anyone working in town and living in the countryside. What they did was make
the entire county into the city...“Gotcha”!
Jacksonville had its share of odiferous factories and we have heard it said about the place that a person could get
around town with a “scratch and sniff” map.
The Saint John’s River, which is the largest river in Florida flows through Jacksonville on its way to the Atlantic
Ocean, which is twenty miles away from the downtown.
When we got south of Jacksonville, the scenery from Ponte Vedra and Palm Valley to Saint Augustine was incredibly
beautiful and rich in wild life including more birds than we had seen at anyplace on our entire trip so far.
We had two bridges to open this afternoon and the first one, the Vilano Beach Bridge was an old lift bridge of the
same style as many others in Georgia and South Carolina. Well, we signaled for the bridge for forty-five minutes and
finally it opened.
We all were very impressed by the silhouette of Saint Augustine as we approached. You could see the Old Spanish
fort and countless church towers, spires, domes and cupolas interspersed with palm trees.
Our next bridge was the famous “Bridge of Lions” that opened promptly when signaled but the racket made by the
ancient grinding and clanking gears gave us reservations about venturing through.
At 3:30 PM we were at the Saint Augustine Yacht Pier where we tied to the fuel dock. Jane went the three blocks by
foot to the post office to get our “general delivery” mail and Jim and I stayed aboard filling our fuel and waiting.
I inquired about dockage and was informed that the place was full and that there were no dockage facilities available
in town.
The dock attendant, Mike Kennedy was insistent that we leave the dock at once even though there were no other
boats waiting to use the fuel dock. I was getting my first real taste of “Southern Hospitality” “Redneck Style”.
The reason I needed dockage was because we no longer had our dinghy as we had lost it in a storm up in the
Carolinas. Losing a dinghy is like having your horse stolen in the desert. The other reason for dockage was that I
was still physically impaired with my arm in a sling.
When Jane got back from the post office with our mail the big rush to get us to move was no longer mentioned.
Jane said that she was very impressed with the little town and thought we needed to check it out further.
The first friendly person that we met was a man named Dr. Jensen. He told us that he too was a sail boater and that
we were going to like Saint Augustine. He had a recommendation that we must meet one of the other boaters
anchored out in the harbor named “Bubba Schill” on the sailboat, “Jaeger”. We looked out at the old Nova Scotia
sailing schooner with its raked masts and salty sea looking hull and knew that anyone living on such a vessel had to
be an eccentric and someone we would enjoy meeting.
We thanked the good Dr. Jensen for his information and cranked our engine and left the dock to take our place at
anchor in the harbor.
Once anchored, our first visitors were Bubba and Linda from the Nova Scotia Sailing schooner “Jaeger”. Bubba told
us that he bought his boat on the bottom for three hundred dollars. He pumped it out at low tide and floated it, fixed
it up and made it into his home.
We invited them aboard and poured them a beer from our tap situated in the galley. Bubba and Linda were the first
visitors to sign our guest book in Florida and Bubba’s comment to us was that our beer was too warm…that didn’t
hinder his consumption. Linda’s comment was; “I make the living, but Bubba makes life worth living”.
Before this beautiful evening was over we must have had ten dinghies tied behind our boat. All of our visitors were
interesting and very friendly and made Jane and I look like real conservatives compared to this motley and eccentric
group.
Linda and Bubba aboard their boat Jaeger
Back in Superior, Wisconsin Jane and I had been among the most eccentric people in town but here in Saint
Augustine we appeared to be archconservatives. It is all relative to the environment!
Bubba said that there was good news and bad news; the bad news was that Saint Augustine was an open-air insane
asylum, but the good news was that we had been accepted!
Bubba also gave us some advice that we didn’t need and that was that we needed to anchor fore and aft which we
did.
Saturday December 16th all hell broke loose this morning as an arctic blast came pounding down on St. Augustine
with a windstorm that was truly destructive. My first look out of our porthole revealed the force of the wind as I
witnessed that all of the palm fronds were tightly frapping on one side of the trees, a sign of very high winds.
Our anchor line was creaking and groaning under the tremendous strains and that stern anchor that our new friend
Bubba talked us into putting out was actually acting against us. This wind was so strong that it completely
overpowered any action the current might have had.
That blusterous morning, two local 75-foot shrimp trawlers that were attempting to return to the safety of the port
were smashed into matchwood on the hard beach by this storm. One reason for the boat mishaps was the fact that
the harbor entrance had shoaled in and in order to make it through the boats had to ride beam to the sea inside the
breaking surf for over a mile. That makeshift channel was almost unmarked with lots of unforgiving shoals. The
bottom is rock hard and a boat only gets one bump in those heavy seas and that is the end of the vessel. Later that
morning when we went to the city dock we heard these terrible stories. Someone had found a small piece of wood
from one of the boats that washed ashore and he said that this was the biggest piece of either boat remaining.
We brought our boat into the City Yacht Pier and tied it in one of their rental slips. We were surprised that our bow
anchor with a 35-pound plow anchor would not come up. We tried all of the tricks we knew and decided that we
would just leave our anchor buoy fastened to it so that we could come back to retrieve it when the weather was more
cooperative.
At the dock we inquired about dockage for a longer term and discovered that there were no other marinas in town
but we were given the names of a couple of places to try our luck. We also called an old high school friend of mine
from Superior, Wisconsin, Dan Kossoff and his wife Dinah. Dan Kossoff’s sister, Sharon Marcovich had written a
couple of articles about our boat before we left Superior and she told us that whatever we did we must look up her
brother in Jacksonville when we got to Florida. Sharon’s husband was also our lawyer. Well, we called and Dan was
expecting us and came right down to Saint Augustine to rendezvous with us the next day.
December 17th, Sunday we were all off to Jacksonville. Jane, Jim, and I plus Dan and Dinah and their two children
all packed into their Volkswagen Karmenn Ghia. It was close and friendly and we had a wonderful time with these
fine people. Dan made arrangements and even lent us his car so we could go to his place of work. Dan was the
director of the Jacksonville PBS television station. Dan also made arrangements for me to be interviewed on a live
program with a local sports personality named Monroe Campbell. I was interviewed, some pictures of our travels
and adventures were shown and then there was a call in portion of the show.
Dan was also involved in directing a documentary that he also wrote called, “Come to Florida before it is gone”. He
gave us a private showing and we were very impressed with his abilities. One scene showed a high-rise apartment in
south Florida that was supposed to have an ocean view. It looked directly at another high-rise and the owner picked
up the phone and called an apartment in the next high-rise building and had them draw open the curtains…then
there was the ocean view. In another scene he used a model house sitting on sand and showed it slipping into a
sinkhole. It was so realistic I still couldn’t believe Dan had used a model…very good work.
On our return to St. Augustine after the show on Monday night, we had Dan help us get a new keg of beer to
replenish the one that vanished our first night in town. We went to the local gin mill called the, “Trade Winds”, got
the keg and then Dan carried it to our boat and installed it in our bilge…a very nice gesture. I still couldn’t handle
any heavy exertion with my arm in a sling.
Our priority was to get a dockage spot for several months so that we could do some of the pressing things that
needed to be done to the boat. We could see from our boating experiences so far that we would be spending almost
all of our time at anchor because we loved exploring the out of the way places and also the privacy that came by
having a fort with a moat around it. Well, to anchor out we needed a better anchoring system that would require the
installation of a double anchor chute with rollers (an anchor chute is a device that guides the anchor rode and also
stores the anchor when not in use).
Another vital thing that we would need was a dinghy, which I had already drawn up plans for and would build.
Jane and I, on our bicycles, plus Jim Muller on a borrowed bike struck out to explore our possibilities of a monthly
dockage spot. The first place we looked was over the Bridge of Lions on Anastasia Island but we found nothing
suitable there.
Next, we were off across town to Xynides Boat Yard on the San Sebastian River. We had called prior to going over
to see the place so we had an idea of the dockage rate and it was acceptable to us. This was not in the better part
of town and the entire river area was all commercial boat building, fish boat docks, marine supplies and an ice plant.
The boat yard was on Riberia Street that led off the main street, King Street, and went through a real down and out
end of town. A bar called the “Blue Goose” that catered exclusively to blacks had a big sign out front that
proclaimed, “Home of the Blue Goose Lovers!” Across the street was a little grocery store unpainted and weathered
with age standing precariously on stacks of bricks and looked like it was part of a movie set from the movie
“Tobacco Road”.
Our first impression of Xynides Boat Yard as we pulled into the drive was that it was a no frills work boat yard but we
were surprised to see that the owner had crammed his dock full of rentals. We were about to meet Harry Xynides.
Harry had a big smile and a jovial personality and immediately put his hand out to shake hands and introduce
himself. He said, “Just call me Uncle Harry”. Uncle Harry spoke with a thick Greek accent in broken English. He
walked us out on his rickety old dock and pointed out the spot where we could tie between two other boats. On one
side was a 40-foot ketch rigged sailboat named Sabrina and on the other side was located a little old sport fishing
boat. We would tie with our bow to his dock and ride up and down with the tide, the boats next to us would cushion
us from the dock pilings.
Harry had two other boats at his dock, an old wooden cabin cruiser and a 35-foot flush decked classic “Crocker”
design sloop that belonged to our new friend Doctor Jensen who was the first person we had met our first day in
town.
Up on Uncle Harry’s marine railway was a shrimp boat. It had just had its bottom painted and was ready to be
launched on the next high tide.
Uncle Harry wanted to show his benevolence and pointed out that we were welcome to all the water we wanted at no
extra charge. Harry had an artesian flowing well that delivered a gushing quantity of water with no pump. Uncle Harry
told us that it was the “Fountain of Youth” and then he drank some to prove that it was good. It had a strong sulfur
smell that would disappear overnight if you let it stand in an open container. The only thing about it was that
anything made of silver instantly turned black from the sulfur; it took a little longer on aluminum. Its saving grace was
that it did make excellent coffee.
Now that we were all happy Uncle Harry took me to his office to pay. No women were allowed inside and Jane had to
wait outside while we men did business. Well, when I stepped into Uncle Harry’s office I could see why Uncle Harry
didn’t want any women in there because of all of the “pin-up girl” calendars he had hanging on his walls. He might
have had some fear of being sized up as an old lecher… we were soon to find out.
I paid for a month and Uncle Harry counted on his calendar the days. We were to receive 30 days and that was
all…on months with 31 days we were going to lose by one day. Uncle Harry scrutinized each and every penny.
Across the San Sebastian River from Harry Xynides Boat Yard. Desco Marine, home of the famous
“Desco Trawler”. Jane and I would deliver many of these vessels from Desco Marine and also from
another company named Saint Augustine Trawlers to places as far away as Texas and Mexico in the
coming years.
December 19th, Jim Muller helped Jane and I bring our boat around to Xynides Boat Yard on the San Sebastian
River. We planned a party aboard for the next night, which would be our 3rd wedding anniversary. We invited many
people that we had just met since our arrival in Saint Augustine.
Anniversary party aboard “Dursmirg” on December 20th 1972; Captain Robert White singing and telling
jokes.
Jim Muller toasting to our anniversary and also a successful trip to Florida
Inside Dursmirg; the anniversary party being entertained by live music
Jane and I opening our Champagne from Superior, Wisconsin; to celebrate our 3rd wedding anniversary
and also our arrival in Florida
A toast to our success!
A postcard Jane wrote to her parents
ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA, DECEMBER 20, 1972
We finally made it to Florida – We will be staying in St. Augustine for at least a month. We have our boat docked at
Harry Xynides Boatyard (Phone 904-824-3446). Our address is General Delivery, St. Augustine, Fla. 32084. We
are really looking forward to this month of rest after 4 months of traveling. Today is our anniversary and we are
taking our bikes to the beach. Its really nice today – 80 degrees. This is a beautiful place. Hard to believe no
snow! Our crew caught some fish last night so we had fresh fish for supper. Hope you have a nice Christmas. I
know we’ll have a warm one. Sure is great to be here. Love, Jane & Bing
Dursmirg tied at Xynides Boat Yard and Jim Muller fishing for supper
From Jim Muller’s notes;
Without looking at my notes I have a lot of memories at St. Augustine -the Dursmirg's popularity at the anchorage
when everyone discovered you had a keg of beer on board (and were willing to share and refill it),
the storm that blew up and showed that not everyone knows how to anchor a boat, boats dragging and catching on
the submerged cable, Bubba, beer at the Tradewinds, scraping barnacles on the pilings at the marina to
chum for sheep head...
Jim Muller’s Journal from Travels on the Dursmirg
Text in brackets [] represent comments and information added during
Transcription from the handwritten notes. [1972] Fri. Dec. 15
Departed from South Amelia R anchorage at 0835. Only trouble was with several bridges and the horn. The St.
Augustine Bridge was especially bad, we had to wait for some minutes, and it wasn’t in a restricte3d
time period. After we passed thru the bridge we stopped at the city Pier and filled up, but had to anchor out
because there were no berths left. I got a ride in a little later with Schill from another sailboat, phoned home, walked
around a bit, came back to the pier and talked w/ Woody, who was from N England and had met John and Jane in
Swansboro, NC. He went to get something to eat and offered the use of his Avon. I sat and read and Bob, who we
had seen earlier while fueling, came along. George had seen John and Jane at Chesapeake City. He offered to
ride me out in the dinghy from “Duet,” the boat he was crewing on, so we went on out to the Dursmirg. When we got
here, Schill and Linda and George and his wife [were on board]. We sat around and talked and drank beer for quite
a while. The keg was empty shortly after everyone except Bob left. Bob stayed and ate and then left after a while.
The wind was still from the south when we turned in. We had a plow for a bow anchor and a kedge for a stern
anchor. The boat was faced into the wind.
Sat. Dec 16 The wind changed to a northerly direction with increased velocity. Jane was up all night checking the
anchors. With the wind change the boat was broadside to the wind and we dragged our kedge a good ways. Gusts
were up to thirty-five knots and didn’t drop below 20 knots. Almost all the boats had dragged anchor and Dave’s
boat, the “African Queen,” which had smashed the Dursmirg about 15 times in a big storm in Swansboro,once again
was loose and smashed into Bubba’s boat, the “Jaeger”. A little later Bubba and his wife Linda came by in their
dinghy, and Jane went in with them to check on a slip in the City Pier. A while later Jane got a ride back to the
Dursmirg with Bob, Gary and Debbie from the Duet. The City Pier had a slip open so we proceeded to pull up
anchors. We had to pull up the kedge in the stern first because you have to get right over the plow before you can
possibly pick it up. Four of us grabbed the kedge line and pulled, but we couldn’t budge it because we were still
broadside to the wind. We then tied some line to the anchor rope, Bob and Gary got into the 13 ft. Whaler and John
and I managed to get enough slack to slip the rope off the Samson post and Gary had the line attached to the
anchor rope. We then could pull the Dursmirg over the plow and pulled it up. The wind was still gusting up
to 35 knots and the current was coming in fast, so we had the wind and water against us. Bob Currie and Gary were
trying to get the kedge into the dinghy and waves were breaking over the bow and some were coming
over the stern. With the engine in forward and idling, the Dursmirg could make no headway against the water and
wind working together. We added more throttle and slowly advanced toward the slip. As we started
to enter the slip we reduced speed, and then threw lines to the dock men. Bob and Gary were still trying to pull the
kedge up. By the time we had tied up, Bob and Gary had given up on the anchor and
had tied two boat cushions to the line and came in. A little later we took the anchor buoy out and tied it to the
anchor rope.
We then proceeded to Capt. Jack’s Restaurant with 3 of the crew of the Duet, and ate lunch. After lunch I went back
to take a shower and John and Jane did a little sightseeing and went to the Visitors Info Center. Jane was very tired
from watch the night before and took a nap about 1900. I went over to the Duet and talked with Gary, Debbie, and
Bob until 2300 and then went back to the Dursmirg. Woody and Debbie from the “Freyja” were there and also
another couple who had just docked late that afternoon, Don and Sally Merchant from Spruce Head, Maine on the
schooner “PanEveryone was gone by 0100 and we were in bed.
Sun. Dec. 17 We ate breakfast and I borrowed the bicycle from the Duet and we rode around town looking for a
dinghy and other supplies. We had no luck and went to A&P where we bought some food. We went back to the
boat and ate some lunch. John had phone Dan Kossoff, of Channel 7 WJCT, Jacksonville, who was the brother of
the wife of John’s attorney in Superior, Wisc. Dan and his wife, Dinah and their 2 kids came at about
1330 and took a few pictures and looked around. About 2 minutes after being on board Jay, 5, started feeling
seasick. We talked for quite a while longer and they invited us to dinner back at their house so all 5 adults and 2
kids piled into Dan’s Karmann Ghia and proceeded to their house. We arrived in about 25 minutes and I couldn’t
walk because my left leg below my knee had no feeling. After about 5 minutes I managed
to walk by lifting my leg with my hands and placing it in front of me. It was ok about 2 minutes later. We went in and
talked and John and Dan found out that they had gone to school together in Superior. There was much reminiscing
about all the old times and friends. We had supper and then talked some more. Dan had asked John to be on
“Feedback” a nightly talk show where interesting guests were invited and the viewers could call in and ask
questions. John was to be on at 7 o’clock Mon. night, so Dan let us use his car to drive back to St. Augustine and to
go to the station on Monday. We got back safely and hit the sack.
Mon. Dec. 18 Today we had to find a berth to stay at for about a month. The City Pier dock master said we couldn’t
stay any longer and had to leave at noon because transients were allowed to stay only two nights, and we had
come in Sat. afternoon. We explained our plight to him and he agreed to let us stay another night. Since we had
Dan’s car, we decided that it would be an ideal time to look for a slip, a dinghy, and a keg of beer
[not necessarily in order of priority]. We were tapped dry Fri. night and had no luck finding a keg Sat. However, a
slip was our major concern because if anchored out, John could not get in and out of the dinghy with his broken
arm, and there was much work to be done on the Dursmirg which required an electrical hookup for the power tools.
James William Muller
Bing carved this pipe using only his right hand, which was quite a feat as he is left-handed and his left
arm was in a sling!
next chapter
A brief review of events leading up to November 1972:
Jane and I had completed our “five year plan”, which included designing, building, launching and departing on our
46-foot motor sailing vessel named Dursmirg.
Leaving our hometown of Superior, Wisconsin, August 18th of that year after liquidating our home, automobiles and
all of our personal belongings that would not go aboard, our seagoing adventure began.
After crossing the Great Lakes, the Erie Canal with its 38 locks, we went down the Hudson River to New York City.
Then we followed the east coast of the US to South Carolina where this segment of our trip took an unexpected twist
of fate.
*
November 23rd, 1972 was a cool and blustery autumn day as we cranked our 353 Detroit diesel engine and
powered along the Intercoastal Waterway heading to a warmer place to pass the coming winter.
We had entered the area of palm trees, porpoises and really big tides. Our day’s travels were averaging about 60
nautical or 67 statute miles per day traveling from sunrise to sunset. Considering the wait for poky bridge tenders to
wake up and do their job, which is to open the bridge…they weren’t paid to keep them closed, we averaged 6.2
knots of speed.
At Hilton Head Island, South Carolina we had to wait an hour and a half and decided to pull into a local fish camp to
buy something to drink. Well, we don’t drink beer until the anchor is down but this night we would forego the
pleasure because of the “sticker shock”. We got a taste of Carolina “Bible Belt” beer prices.
We were first told that the bridge wasn’t going to open that day. Then we were told that a commercial push boat and
barge were on their way and that the bridge would open for them. We would be able to pass through with the barge.
We cranked the engine, cast off the dock lines and next witnessed a very strange sight. A big open bed truck with
flashing lights pulled onto the center span of this rickety old swing bridge and stopped. Four men then jumped from
the truck to the bridge and proceeded to unload a huge key that they laboriously placed in the center of the bridge
roadway. Next they assumed positions and methodically began to walk around in a circle while all pushing heavily on
this relic of a key from the past.
Almost imperceptibly the bridge began to eke open as the stopped road traffic now lined up and marine traffic
maneuvered in the narrow channel with its swift current running down to the bridge.
Just as the bridge opened full and the red light turned to green signaling a go for boat traffic the huge push boat
and barge appeared and a mad dash for the open bridge began.
Leaving Hilton Head Island and heading south we were entering the “big sound country” of the famous “Sea Islands”
as we went down Calibogue River and entered Calibogue Sound.
Our next island we would come to know intimately in the years to come.
It was now late on this fall afternoon as we came to the south end of Daufuskie Island and decided to drop the
“hook” or “anchor up” for the night at a wide spot in the river there.
No sooner did we get the anchor set and shut down all systems than a man came speeding out from the island in his
outboard boat to inform us that at the spot we had chosen to anchor we were highly likely to be rammed by a
passing barge in the night. The man seemed very concerned and gave us some helpful hints on a lovely, tranquil
and quiet spot to spend the night. It turned out to be extremely quiet and very isolated indeed.
That night Jane routed through our provisions and managed to put together an elegant Thanksgiving dinner. A
whole canned chicken was the only bird on board and my ingenious and creative wife had a scrumptious and
delectable meal before us in no time and considering that she was cooking on our diesel fuel fired galley range her
feat seems even more fantastic. Though I have witnessed her prepare a complete pizza over an open fire on the
beach her wondrous culinary talents never cease to amaze me.
Friday the 24th of November we upped the anchor and bid farewell to South Carolina. We were not only in the
“big sound country”, but also in the land of super-sized tides. With a 9 to 12 foot range of tides the ebb tides on the
Savannah River are a thrill to watch as they have strength enough to pull the marker buoys under and only leave a
swirling boil of water like a raging rapids pouring over boulders.
My comment on these strong ebb tides is that “the water ran so fast that you could actually water ski behind an
anchored boat”.
At low tide the sensation was of being down in some deep valley, but the copious “Sea Island” oyster beds and the
ten foot tall marsh grass baffled any perception of their true size. The channel markers that at low tide loomed
precariously high to the point of appearing to have been placed there by a vender of poles with an open-ended
government contract to sell them by the foot. By contrast at high tide those same excessively long poles that
protruded skyward were now awash with the high tide waters and the ten-foot tall marsh grass below the surface,
thus giving the appearance of now being out upon a huge expanse…a world of water.
Back to our travels;
We crossed the Savannah River near low tide and entered the State of Georgia. Though we were some 10 to 15
miles from downtown Savannah at that point its odiferous smoke stacks spewing mostly a tainted gray discharge
irritated our eyes and caught in our throats. We had the misfortune of being on the downwind side of the paper
plants of Union Camp Company. Dixie Crystals sugar and Hercules Powder added to the aromas. Our first
impression of Savannah wasn’t one that beckoned our return and that is strange because we, through a twist of
fate, came to love the place fondly and have made life long friends there. So, that is a good example of how first
impressions and preconceived notions can stifle many adventures and pleasures of life.
With the tide near low, the effect of the tidal currents were minimal as we signaled the two bridges we would have to
open this lovely bright 70 degree southern fall morning.
Passing our second bridge the scenery in the vicinity known as Thunderbolt became very beautiful and beckoning
with ancient oak trees twisted and gnarled with age and hung heavy with mystical plumes of Spanish moss. I had
glimpsed the chart and found that we were now entering the Wilmington River, a big wide expanse of water and we
would not be encountering any obstacles for some time. This would be the perfect time to have Jane take over the
helm so that I could then go below to the bilge to check our leaking transmission that we had just had rebuilt.
Though the day was beautifully pleasant out upon the water it was cool going and both Jane and I had on our heavy
“Stern’s” marine floatation coats that were both excellent for warmth and as life preservers.
It is said that 95% of the people that go overboard are unconscious so the flotation at least gives the sailor half a
chance.
I would be gone to the bilge only a few seconds to check the transmission oil level and add the appropriate amount
of oil. This is done with the engine running and under load. My routine was very automatic, as this had become a
routine procedure.
At the base of our companionway was located the removable hatch covers that exposed the entire engine and
transmission leaving ample room to maneuver. The area is well lighted and there are plenty of handholds for rough
sea conditions. So in a flash I jumped down the four feet, unbolted the fill/inspection plug and reached for the five-
gallon lube oil container. Like a bolt of lightning struck me in a split instant I had no idea where I was or what had
happened.
As I collected my thoughts I recognized first that I was in extreme pain and that the boat was now handling strangely.
Jane couldn’t control the boat and it was discovered that it was now running at full throttle in reverse.
I told Jane that I had a very bad accident and she idled down the engine and put it into neutral.
It quickly became apparent that my left shoulder was dislocated but there seemed to be more damage as my
complexion was turning chalky white and I began to slip into shock.
Jane dropped the anchor and immediately called the Coast Guard for assistance.
In a few minutes that seemed like an eternity the Georgia State Marine Patrol came along side to take me to the
hospital.
As anyone that has ever experienced this level of pain that brings on a state of shock can recall the sensation of
being out of touch with reality is one of the most predominant effects.
All I recall was boarding the Marine Patrol boat, entering the Coast Guard mans car and ultimately waiting what
seemed like an eternity to get some medical attention. X-rays, injections, two doctors pulling and twisting and I finally
collapsed.
I was back on board our boat the Dursmirg, which was now tied dockside at the Savannah Yacht Club, a very posh
and elegant place, before dark that night.
The pain just didn’t go away and it would be a full year before I once again had full use of my arm and shoulder.
Well, that night Jane was able to relate to me the chain of events that unfolded that very long day.
Jane’s docking ordeal and what she had to say about it:
After I was spirited off to the hospital Jane was left alone with this 46 foot, 20 ton boat that had a smashed shift
mechanism and was now anchored in these swift running currents. The Marine Patrol didn’t want to take any
responsibility at this point, but asked if Jane could dock the boat at a nearby dock.
Jane asked for someone to assist by pulling the anchor and also to have the dock cleared of other boats.
Here is what Jane managed totally by herself;
She cranked the engine, had the assistant pull in the anchor line after she went down to the bilge to kick the broken
shift lever into gear. Then next she ran to the helm, throttled up and maneuvered the boat to break the anchor
loose. Again ran to the bilge to kick the shift into neutral and again ran to the foredeck to stow the anchor and its
anchor rode. Then back to the bilge to once again kick the shift into gear and then up topside to the helm to
maneuver the boat through those swift currents to the dock where she then maneuvered the boat for docking. Again
back to the bilge to kick the shift and then quickly topsides to throw the dock lines. With the dock lines in place she
then had to return one more time to power up to take the slack out and set the spring lines, a necessary maneuver
here in these swift currents for tying dockside. In these strong currents with a boat of this size and weight, the
engine is imperative for all maneuvering.
I always used to say about the Dursmirg you don’t just put your foot out to stop it at the dock”.
Jane wasn’t too happy with my comment upon returning from the hospital that night. I said, “The spring lines weren’t
tied right”.
Oh, by the way!
It turns out that the flap of my heavy flotation jacket entangled the whirling propeller shaft, thus flinging me into the
revved up machinery…my dislocated shoulder and broken arm then smashed into the shift mechanism and threw
the engine into reverse which then flung me away and ultimately saved not only my arm but my life. Someone was
trying real hard to tell me to slow down. Well, now with one painful arm in a sling it was imperative. If something bad
was going to happen to me it couldn’t possibly have happened at a nicer place. The people at the Yacht Club went
out of their way to be friendly, courteous and very helpful. Mr. Palmer, the manager, saw to our every need and
there was never any kind of a bill presented.
So, Jane and I thank y’all again from the bottom of our hearts and will never forget you fine folks.
The next day I got my bicycle ashore and began practicing riding. It was a tremendous challenge because not only
did I have a balance problem but also the slightest lurch or flinch sent shocks of pain shooting through my torn
muscles and ligaments as I saw stars flash through my head…but I persisted.
By the end of our first day at the Yacht Club I had become sufficiently proficient to attempt the three-mile ride into
the little town of Wilmington Isle for some shopping, and we made it!
Jane bought fresh shrimp which she breaded and fried, “Yankee Style”. Well, we were all surprised when we began
to eat them. Jane had never seen fresh shrimp before and didn’t realize that they needed peeling first. We all had a
good laugh at that one.
Oh, by the way!
The big surprise was that in the upcoming years Jane and I went from making our own shrimp cast net to owning and
operating our very own commercial shrimp fishing boat. This is another one of our adventure stories named: “Life of
the Secotan”.
Back to Savannah;
With our first bicycle trip a success we decided to strike out for the city of Savannah next.
This trip was 10 or 12 miles riding the side of a busy highway. Well when we arrived at the outskirts in the suburb of
Thunderbolt we were definitely enticed to ride on. The area was incredibly beautiful with stately old southern
antebellum homes carefully landscaped. As we ventured down Victory Drive we were again treated to a classic view
of a magnificent palm tree lined boulevard landscaped with azaleas and other flowering shrubs.
We passed park after park that were situated so that the downtown Bull Street traffic diverted and passed around
them. The passing drivers had to slow to make the necessary jogs and were then almost forced to behold those
parks unique beauty.
At the Yacht Club we were told we must visit “Mrs. Wilkes Boarding House” in down- town Savannah on Jones Street,
a residential neighborhood with no other businesses. Well, we took their advice and our eating experience was more
than memorable.
A long line of patrons had already formed as we approached just before noon, their opening hour. There were no
signs and it was just local knowledge that brought these eager eaters. We parked our bikes and chained them
together and I still remember a man there waiting in line being incredulous saying that in New York City you couldn’t
just leave bicycles chained together…well we did and it was OK here.
The system at Mrs.Wilkes Boarding house went like this; when they were ready to open for business someone
opened the door and admitted the exact amount of people to fill every chair in the place, and then the rest of the
patrons would wait for the next round.
Once inside you sat down at one of three large dining room tables and the action began at once. Huge bowls of
food would be placed in the center of each table and it was up to the patrons to then pass the food around. It was all
y’all could eat. Quart sized glasses of ice tea for everyone. This was the best of the best of real southern cooking
and at it’s finest…an eating extravaganza from the “Heart of Dixie”. Black eyed peas, rice, collard greens, sweet
potatoes, “Irish potatoes” (white potatoes), butter beans (lima beans), grits and grunts and southern fried
chicken…finger licken’ good. When the bowl got low it was refilled. Dessert was the same; pecan pie, peach cake,
custards and ice creams…a gluttons dream come true.
You didn’t have to leave with the group at your table but the gluttonous volume of the world’s finest food in unlimited
supply certainly made this place a must for a return visit. Jane and I never go to Savannah or anywhere close to it
without a visit to Mrs. Wilkes.
Upon leaving it is always interesting to see the expressions of the hungry and waiting crowd outside as the
contented, smiling and smug exit.
Jane with our bicycles in front of Mrs. Wilkes on Jones Street in Savannah
Oh by the way!
Excerpt from obituary of Mrs. Wilkes
Oct 31, 2002
A Savannah legend dies.
Holly Hungerford
A Savannah legend has passed away. Sema Morris Wilkes, better known as Mrs. Wilkes died this morning after
complications from a stroke she suffered just two weeks ago. Mrs. Wilkes was famous for her "boarding house"
restaurant on Jones Street in downtown Savannah. It's a place where she served family style southern cooking to
millions of people all over the country for 60 years.
But it hasn't always been great food that drew crowds. "She was the main draw for a lot of people," great grandson
Ryon Thompson says. "The people who didn't know her, when they got here, met her--the main thing they
remember from coming here." He also says her charisma was her secret recipe. "Everyone always knew who she
was. Everyone always looked at her like she was someone special and she was."
Back to sightseeing in Savannah;
Next we headed to the Savannah Welcome Center. It turned out to be a congenial spot that depicted the history,
commerce and culture in a brief movie clip. My lasting memory of the movie was a portion that related to this:
“If you travel to Charleston you are likely to be asked:
What y’alls grand pappies name?
If you travel to Macon you are likely to be asked:
What y’alls religion?
But, when you come to Savannah you are likely to be asked what do y’all want to drink?”
That said it all about this town that just lives to celebrate.
If some day you may have the chance and good fortune to take in the “Saint Patrick’s Day” celebration in Savannah,
which is second only to New York City in size I can promise you a festival second to none. To quote a friend of ours
named “Bubba”, “It’s an alcoholic’s dream come true”.
Our trip to the Welcome Center inspired us to visit more of the historic sights.
Factor’s Walk was a section of town situated on the banks of the mighty Savannah River with its boiling ebb tide
currents. It was a collection of old cotton warehouses that dated back to the days of sailing ships and slavery. The
roadways and approaches were all paved with rounded ballast stones that had arrived more than a century before
in sailing ships inbound from distant ports. Countless seagoing freighters over the years had discarded their ballast
stones and made this a huge hodge-podge and rare accumulation of geologic curiosity.
Savannah River at Factor’s Walk looking north with two of Sam Steven’s boats.
And this is the story that Billie Burns, a friend of ours from Daufuskie Island, South Carolina, related to us: She told
us of the young girl that became known as the “Waving Girl”. As we recall the story, the young lady, whose parents
were the light keepers, had a love affair with a sea going sailor who promised to return to his love. Everyday this
lady would go out to the lighthouse station and wave to all incoming ships in the hope that her lover would be
returning as promised. She passed her life in hope and faithfully met each ship with a wave, looking for her lover
who never returned. Over the years, the ships came to expect the lady’s wave as they passed. After the death of
the “Waving Girl”, the wife of the new light keeper kept the tradition of the “Waving Girl” alive by waving at each
passing ship in the Savannah River. Billie Burn and her husband Lancy were substitute light keepers that
maintained the lights on the Savannah River and also along the Intracoastal Waterway. So, when Billie and Lancy
were on duty, Billie took the place of the “Waving Girl” and waved at each ship as it passed.
The Waving Girl statue is a popular monument for visitors to the River Street area of Savannah, Georgia
The statue immortalizes a Savannahian named Florence Martus, who lived near the entrance to Savannah Harbor
and supposedly waved to each ship that came and went -- for 44 years!
The bronze statue of Florence Martus (1869 - 1943), known as "Savannah's Waving Girl" because of her practice of
waving to ships entering and leaving Savannah's harbor is located on the bluff overlooking the Savannah River at
the south end of downtown
This story is well known and the Waving Girl” was also the name of a riverboat owned by Sam Stevens that docked
downtown in the historic district. Jane and I in the following years got to know “Captain Sam” and his boat when we
along with many of the residents of Daufuskie Island, South Carolina took the once a month trip to Savannah
shopping aboard “Captain Sam’s” boat “The Waving Girl”. I write more about this story later on in Volume 2 of
Travels of Dursmirg, “Summers at Daufuskie and The Sea Islands”.
Everything at the Yacht Club was a delight to both Jane and I. The dock was specially lighted for night fishing and
we got to know several of the regular anglers that nightly landed a lot of sea trout.
In this area of high tides the dock was ingeniously designed to cope with the 9 to 12 foot tidal range and the large
wakes that were produced by passing vessels. The shrimp boats and barge traffic tended to be the most courteous
with their wakes but some of the big “pleasure yachts” seemed to adjust their speed for maximum wake as though to
tell the world to go to hell.
Oh, by the way!
Here is how the dock worked: starting from shore the cement dock on cement pilings extended out into the river
and to channels edge where it formed a wide platform. This section was at the height of the riverbank. An adjustable
ramp with railings was attached to the cement platform by a hinge and then extended down to water level where it
rested on rollers upon a floating dock that ran parallel to the current. The floating dock consisted of many sections
that were hinged together and allowed to flex with the wave action. The entire floating portion was held in place by a
series of pilings that had retainers with rollers attached to the floating sections. So, this section was free to ride up
and down with the rising and falling tides and also could flex when struck by waves. Boats would be tied to both
sides. Walking on one of these floating docks was like walking around on a bouncing, bobbing little boat that jerked
and lurched…it took some getting used to.
There was plenty of fist shaking and cursing at some of the passing offenders leaving big destructive wakes that
many times pitched those floating sections clean of anything not tied down.
An incident that took place at Daufuskie Island, South Carolina to our friend Bob Burn when one of these “pleasure
yachts” came mindlessly speeding past his parents private dock there leaving an enormous and destructive wake
almost destroying their dock and doing a fair amount of damage went like this: Huge signs on shore alerted the
passing boats to slow down to “no wake speed” because of the docks there. But, these excessively large vessels
obviously owned by people that were judgment proof because they could afford to buy all of the justice they wanted
seemed to be above any laws or responsibility as they laid waste to everything in sight and in broad daylight with the
world watching.
Well, one fall afternoon as one of these monstrous vessels on its way from its New England home port to south
Florida for a winter in the sun and cocktails on the back deck at some prominent address there passed Daufuskie
Island. Our friend Bob had all he could take and set out in his outboard shrimp fishing boat to at least give the
operator of that yacht a piece of his mind and let them know of the destruction that had been done. Bob overtook
the big yacht and hailed them down. Bob told the operator of the destructive yacht what had just taken place and
the response of the yacht operator was this; “If I have done any damage you can report me to the proper
authorities”. Well that was the last straw for Bob and he lost his “cool”. He snatched up a large wooden oar and
commenced smashing it to pieces on the side of that big luxurious yacht. When he had finished venting his wrath
and only had a short portion of the oar remaining he informed the operator of the yacht, “Now if I have done any
damage you can report me to the proper authorities”. Well that sounds like a small measure of justice and to people
that have been wronged by insensitive and mindless people I believe it is. At a later time Bob had a similar incident
and went out to tell the offender of the damages done and was confronted by a man with a machine gun…so much
for justice!
Back to the night fishermen, their trout and our conversations:
Jane and I were soon on the dock fishing with the helpful advice of the regular anglers. With spinning rods and the
preferred lure a red headed with white tail “Salty Dog”, Jane and I landed our own trout. This was a real challenge
for me using only one arm.
From that point on we ate the freshest seafood the sea had to offer for the many years we lived aboard the
Dursmirg.
We were looking for a sailor to come along with us on our upcoming trip to Florida and asked everyone we met that
looked like a prospect.
It turned out that a young fishing enthusiast who was a regular at night fishing at the Yacht Club became seriously
interested. Jim Muller was 18 years old and had just started college where he had set his sights on a degree in
marine biology.
Jim was definitely an avid and dedicated fisherman that was meticulous and mythological in everything he did. His
long hair was a political statement and his big brimming smile his badge of delight when he landed yet another sea
trout.
Jane and I both liked Jim from the start and we were happy that he was eager to make the sea journey as deck hand
and without too much prodding or pitch on our part.
The next weekend Jane and I were the guests of Mr. and Mrs. Joe Muller, Jim’s parents at the Yacht Club for dinner
and I am sure an interview. It was very reassuring to Jane and I that Jim had truly concerned parents and that they
were sincerely concerned about their son.
Jim was one of seven children. His father was a no-nonsense businessman that had built his real estate and
insurance business into Savannah’s biggest and best through long hours and diligent dedication. A German who
was tough and straight laced. His son Jim’s long hair and free spirit definitely tested Mr. Joe Miller’s indulgence.
However, Mr. Muller was perfectly willing to see his son Jim take off on an adventure even with “Yankees” so long as
they measured up to his standards. Jane and I must have passed the test because Mr. Muller gave Jim his blessings
to sail away with us.
Jim’s mother, besides having seven children, was Irish and took the large family in her stride. Her children were all
polite and well mannered, dressed well and reflected their mother’s pleasant disposition that included quick wit.
The Savannah newspaper reporter Latham Davis heard of our unusual boat and long voyage and came to inquire
about doing a feature story about us. He brought his wife and child along and took notes for his story that same day.
We enjoyed telling our story to Latham and he must have liked our story and us because he took Jane and I on a
Savannah tour that included the Victorian era town house that he was in the process of doing a full renovation of. It
was located directly within the stately downtown district that in the previous century was the classiest address in
town. The area was definitely in the process of being rediscovered. We witnessed that old section of town and its
amazing turn around over the years. Though most of the homes were of the same basic style, no two were alike. All
had walk up entryways and high ceilings.
Article by Latham Davis published in the Savannah Newspaper in November, 1972
Article by Latham Davis published in the Savannah Newspaper in November, 1972
One day a short time after that feature story was published in the Savannah paper the
manager of the Gitchee Sailing Club on Turners Creek paid us a visit. He arrived at our boat in his boat. I think this
was our first visitor to arrive by boat. We would soon have more as we soon discovered a new life living at anchor
and the only way to “drop-in” then was by boat. Well, he had read our story in the newspaper and was anxious to
meet us. We invited him aboard and shared conversation. He then invited us to visit their next meeting where they
would have a guest speaker that had just sailed in the trans-Atlantic single handed sailboat race and come in
second in his class as the guest speaker along with his slide presentation. It sounded fascinating and we were even
offered transportation, he would pick us up and return us by boat. We couldn’t resist that generous offer. Sure
enough at the appointed time the outboard speedboat showed up to whisk us away at high speed to the Gitchee
Sailing Club about four miles down river at night.
There was a large turn out of mostly young people and middle-aged sailors in attendance. The speaker, Bob
“Lancy” Burn was just great and his presentation kept the crowds undivided attention as Bob had a natural talent to
interject a humorous side to his entire presentation.
I was asked to tell of our background and our plans plus what brought us to Savannah.
After the meeting the speaker, Bob “Lancy” Burn, came over to introduce himself and inform us that he knew us.
Jane and I were totally amazed and speechless because we never imagined we would have any acquaintances in
this far flung part of the country. This was our first time here.
Bob, with a big grin, related the story to us of anchoring our boat up in South Carolina near Daufuskie Island a week
and a half earlier. Well, wouldn’t you know it Bob was the very same man that came out in his outboard speedboat to
direct us to a safe anchorage. Yes, it was him! This was just too much of a coincidence to be believable but it was
true.
Jane and I invited Bob and the manager of the sailing club to our boat for beer and conversation after the meeting.
We all had a fun time drinking our tap beer that was delivered to our galley spigot from a keg in the bilge under
regulated pressure from the systems own CO2 cylinder.
The party didn’t break up until the keg was empty at 4 AM.
Bob Lancy Burn had invited Jane and I to visit him and his family at Daufuskie Island any time.
Well, we did the following summer and that turned out to be a completely new chapter in the
Adventures of Dursmirg
.
Dursmirg at the dock of the Savannah Yacht Club, Nov. 1972
This is a letter Jane wrote to her brother Jim;
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA NOVEMBER 30, 1972
Dear Penny and Jim,
It was sure nice to get your letter. We picked up our mail about two weeks ago at Coinjock, NC.
We have really had some experiences on the Inter-coastal Waterway. Mom probably already told you how we lost
our dinghy and anchor in a storm. We never did recover the dinghy. After that we collided with a 100-foot tug
pushing a barge. We were doing seven knots when we hit. We did no structural damage to the hull, but the impact
moved the bulkhead in the head (the wooden one), over about an inch. We have it repaired however. I guess we
really tested Ferro-cement. Last Friday Bing got his arm caught in the propeller shaft of the engine and broke it and
dislocated his shoulder. It will be another two weeks before he can use it. We had to call the Coast Guard for help to
get him to the hospital; at first they thought it would require surgery. Luckily they called Savannah’s best bone
specialist. We are tied up at the Savannah Yacht Club that is really plush and no charge. It’s really a lay out, 2
swimming pools, tennis courts, almost everything. We’ve taken our bikes all over Savannah (we are ten miles from
downtown). It’s quite a trick for Bing to ride with one arm but he manages. It’s his left arm that’s broke and he is left-
handed.
The climate here is nice. Usually about 65 and it hasn’t snowed in five years. We are trying to get a crewmember so
we can get to Florida but no real rush. The Savannah paper did a big story on us. Everyone is real nice and helpful.
Did you have a nice Thanksgiving? Remember one year ago about this time? What an exciting Thanksgiving it was.
We spent Thanksgiving Day traveling and anchored that night on the Wright River. We had canned roast chicken,
potatoes and gravy, green beans and beer. Not quite as good as a big turkey.
We don’t know where we will spend Christmas but hope to be somewhere in Florida.
You can’t believe the price of beer in Georgia. $1.59 a six-pack is the cheapest you can get and it’s $30.00 a keg.
We drink a lot of tea and coffee, as our keg is dry. We’ll get it filled in Florida.
Despite everything we are having a great time. We are going to try some fishing today. People have been really
catching a lot of speckled trout- big ones! Shrimp is really cheap here. I cooked some two nights ago and we couldn’
t eat them all. The first few I cooked didn’t turn out so good because I didn’t take the shells off first. Luckily Bing
came along and noticed. I had never cooked fresh shrimp before.
I sure hope you two come south this winter. I bet if you got away from that snow just once, you’ll come south every
winter. The country is beautiful and there seems to be employment for everyone with some skill. Construction goes
on year round. I know that there are many phones to be installed.
Hope to see you this winter
Love Jane and Bing
This is a letter Jane wrote to her mother, father and little brother Joel;
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA DECEMBER 10, 1972
Dear Mom, Dad and Joel;
We are still in Savannah, we have been here for a little over two weeks. Bing still can’t use his arm but we found a
collage boy to come along as crew so we are leaving to head further south tomorrow, weather permitting. This sure
is beautiful country and warm weather. It’s 75 degrees right now and hasn’t snowed in five or six years. We’ve met a
lot of people here that have been really good to us. We’ve put a hundred miles on our bicycles since we got here.
The Yacht Club we are staying at is really nice and no charge for docking which makes it even nicer. We like it here
so much we kind of hate to leave but I’m sure we will find Florida just as nice. We’ve been fishing quite a bit.
Catching yellowtails and speckled trout. We’ve even been having fish for breakfast; we’ve caught so many. Shrimp is
real cheap to buy so we’ve eaten a lot of that. Despite all of our good eating Bing and I have lost a lot of weight.
About 20 pounds apiece. I think we get more exercise now than we did building the boat.
I better close. I’ve got to get to the grocery store to stock up for our next trip.
Hope everyone is okay. I suppose you are busy preparing for Christmas.
Love, Jane and Bing
December 11th the Dursmirg took departure from the Savannah Yacht Club on the Wilmington River at 8:30 AM.
Jane and I had our new crewmember aboard and we were now going to get to know a very special character who
would become a very dear life long friend. Jim Muller, our new crewmember arrived a few minutes before our
departure time with a supply of provisions that looked like he had fitted out for going on some extended safari
expedition. We joked about his huge duffel bags filled to overflowing and all of his fishing equipment.
Before we could leave the dock, Jim pulled out his neatly arranged inventory and checked to make sure that he
hadn’t left anything behind. We were impressed. Before Jim departed we were even more impressed because in the
end he had a use for all he had packed along.
Jim on this trip and over the years on other trips with us would teach Jane and me a wealth of fishing tricks and
techniques that would make our lives and travels much better and more rewarding.
Our trip south was going to take us through the famous “Sea Islands”. Jane and I came to really love this part of the
world for several reasons. First and foremost was the abundance of seafood that our friend Jim was presently going
to teach us how to harvest. Another thing that appealed to us about this part of the country was its vast expanses of
unpopulated and isolated islands and waterways.
Over the years we walked every beach from Charleston to south Florida and boated all of the rivers, canals,
waterways and sounds in between.
At the little town called “Isle of Hope” we left the last signs of civilization we were to see for the rest of this day.
We crossed “Moon River” made famous in the song of the same name written by Johnny Mercer and went on to a
place marked on our chart as “Hell Gate”. It was apparent that at the right tide this place would definitely live up to its
name. Two big rivers were connected by a short natural link where rip currents were certain to have a field day with
the unsuspecting boater when the tides were right.
As we passed Saint Catherine’s Island that afternoon at1:30 PM, we had another first for the trip. We ran aground
solidly. After crossing the Great Lakes, the Erie Barge Canal, The Hudson River and the entire eastern seaboard of
the US all the way to South Georgia without running aground, we were amazed to say the least.
We made several navigational triangulations on nearby markers to determine our exact position before we
attempted to extricate ourselves from the bar. It was determined that we were squarely within the channel and that
perhaps a push boat had run aground nearby and dredged up a sand bar with his propeller wash. This is a distinct
possibility and our only explanation for a sand bar suddenly appearing at mid-channel. This was our first grounding
on our entire trip but it wasn’t by any means our first boating experience with grounding. Previously we had had this
experience with boats less than one tenth the weight of Dursmirg. The principals are the same for getting off. First
we would attempt to back off. With the helm tied down securely to prevent damage and the engine revved up in
reverse we would attempt to rock the boat. The three of us went topsides to our main deck and leaned as far
outboard at mid-ship as we could. Sure enough the boat heeled perceptibly. Then we quickly ran to the opposite
side for the same treatment, again the boat heeled perceptibly in the opposite direction. This procedure was
repeated several times and I could feel a slight movement. So, next while Jane and Jim continued their side to side
rocking of the boat, I went all the way to the bow and proceeded to jump up and down slowly but rhythmically feeling
the movement of the boat as each grain of sand under our keel began to roll and move. Putting the engine in
reverse pushed a wall of water under the boat and actually makes the water deeper where the hull rests thus adding
to the buoyancy. It worked…but it had to because we no longer had a dinghy to carry out an anchor and kedge off.
Onward and southward we continued and found a nice spot at 4:20 PM to anchor just off the waterway in the
Crescent River just south of the Sapalo Sound and west of Sapalo Island. The logbook shows that we were in fifteen
feet of water and we didn’t expect any boat traffic because we were well off the waterway. The day was just splendid
and it was so quiet and tranquil. That night after dinner we all went to just lie on our backs on the deck and look at
the beautiful display of stars. Until you get away from city lights and really have a chance to observe the stars in
their full brightness and maximum magnitude, it is hard to believe that they can be so bright and prolific. We saw
satellites go gliding across the heavens, meteorites streaking and counted numerous constellations that Jane and I
had just studied about in our celestial navigation classes.
Jane and I finally went off to bed but Jim just couldn’t bring himself to quit his star gazing. Long after Jane and I had
gone off to bed we would hear Jim let out with many an exclamation; “wow”, “ooh” and “ah” each time another
shooting star would streak across the heavens. Jim definitely liked the same things we did.
December 12th was going to be a rest day no matter what. We got up to see that we actually couldn’t see
anything. We were totally fogged in and would be for the entire day.
This would be a day to read, write and just enjoy the little projects around the boat that needed attention.
Oh, by the way!
A note about the fall fog in this part of the country; this fog has no apparent pattern and may appear or disappear in
a matter of seconds. As a consequence of this action there are many colossal highway pile-ups on the bridges of
highway 17 and 95 that follow the coast and cross all of the sounds and rivers there.
***
It was very nice and when the day was done we all agreed that the time to relax was good therapy not just for our
bodies but also for our minds.
That morning we did have one surprise when we looked out our porthole into the dense fog. There going by was a
red Volkswagen beetle. We were amazed and baffled at first, but when we all ran out on deck to survey the situation
further we were presently surprised to find that the red Volkswagen was on the back of an all white shrimp boat that
was passing us in the heavy fog. At first glance only the Volkswagen was visible. The baffling mystery was solved!
December 13th The fog lifted at 11:45 and we got under way for a short days travel and had our anchor back
down again by 4:15 PM in the Mackey River.
December 14th our next county would be Glenn County made famous by the poems of Sidney Lanier. “The
Marshes of Glenn” pay beautiful tribute to this beautiful place. The rivers, islands and big sounds together with the
expansive fields of marsh grasses interspersed by lovely little savannahs covered with southern red cedars have a
magical attraction.
This morning we would be passing Brunswick, Georgia the home to a multitude of forest product processing plants.
There is even a plant that processes old pine stumps and extracts various resins. Charcoal and paper are just a few
of the other products coming out of Brunswick.
This is a busy deep-water seaport where the big ships come in plus push boats; rail service and lots of trucks keep
this industrial city humming with activity.
Looking across the marshes we could see the Sidney Lanier Bridge. This is a high bridge that most boat traffic can
pass with out opening that links the mainland with Jekyll Island.
On the Brunswick River, the highway 17 bridge, which the big ships use to access the Port of Brunswick harbor, was
a devastating sight, especially when we had just heard this sad story. Only a short time earlier on November 7th, the
ship, S.S. African Neptune had collided with the then open bridge and brought it down.
We had heard of this tragic story made even sadder by the young men that were waiting to cross the bridge when
they witnessed the impending tragedy unfolding. They frantically went to all of the other cars parked and waiting for
the open bridge and pounded on their cars and screamed warnings pointing at the oncoming ship. All of the people
in the waiting cars just rolled up their windows and ignored these Samaritans, and many soon died in the crash. The
sight of the toppled bridge and its tragic story haunted us.
Oh, by the way!
Here is an interesting piece of history connected to this part of coastal Georgia; The Spanish led by De Soto
displaced the native Cherokee Indians starting in 1540, the English then displaced the Spanish when James
Oglethorpe set up his colonial settlement in 1736 on these “Sea Islands”. Oglethorpe was given debtors released
from English jails and religious refugees from the European continent to populate his new settlement where rum and
slavery were prohibited. Poverty soon drove them to change those original restrictions. Georgia was one of the
original 13 colonies but they didn’t have unanimous support to join the Union and many loyalists left when the Union
was formed.
In our wonderings through these Sea Islands, Jane and I over the years have seen remnants of the Indian presence.
Walking the beaches at low tide we have found arrowheads and pottery made by them. We have even stumbled
across old Spanish fortifications in the Sea Island woods. The early English presence is well documented also by
the restoration of Oglethorpe’s original settlement on Saint Simons Island at Fort Frederica, which is now a national
monument and well worth the visit.
Back to our travels;
This very afternoon we would arrive in the state of Florida…”The Sinkhole State”. Our mental preconception of
entering Florida was soon to be completely shattered.
Our approach to the state line formed by the Saint Mary’s River that drained down from the famous Okefenokee
Swamp was so polluted that our bow wake formed a putrid yellowish color and just remained on top the water and
resembled frothy foam on a beer.
As we passed the downtown section of Fernandina, Florida with its three large forest product processing plants the
air became so foul that Jane and Jim took cover to protect their eyes and noses from the stench. I also noticed that
all of our bronze winches turned a silvery black color from exposure to those noxious gases.
Oh, by the way!
The following year a big effort to clean up the town was put on and one solution to clean up the harbor was a 30-
inch diameter stainless steel pipe that would take those putrid plant discharges offshore into the Atlantic Ocean.
Hurrah for them?
It isn’t fair to put all the blame for the pollution on Fernandina. Across the river in Georgia in the town of Saint Mary’s
was located a paper plant equally responsible and the next town of Woodbine had a chemical plant. Woodbine’s
story is even more sinister. The Union Carbide plant at Woodbine was a sister plant to the one in Bhopal, India
making the same chemicals. (We were in the “Bermuda Triangle of chemical plants.)
The Union Carbide Catastrophe
In the early morning hours of December 3, 1984, at a Union Carbide pesticide factory in Bhopal, India, water entered
a chemical storage tank through leaking valves, triggering a runaway chemical reaction. As the reaction progressed,
the temperature and pressure in the tank rose until 40 tons of toxic gases, including highly toxic methyl isocyanate
(MIC) and hydrogen cyanide, escaped from the tank. Because the gases were heavier than the air, a toxic cloud
formed and hung close to the ground. The toxic cloud, aided by a gentle northerly wind, moved across the city of
Bhopal, spreading like a poisonous blanket over sleeping inhabitants. People awoke gasping for breath, their eyes
burning. Seeking safety, thousands took to the streets, running, many carrying children. The toxic gases caused
fluid to fill people's lungs, literally drowning many, who fell choking and dying in the streets.
That night, over 500,000 people were exposed to dangerous toxic fumes. At least 2,000 people died, and another
300,000 suffered injuries. Fifteen years later, victims continue to suffer and die from long-term effects. By 1990, the
death toll was estimated at over 8,000 and a 1997 estimate put the figure at 16,000. Thousands of survivors
experience menstrual irregularities, spontaneous abortions, still births, infant mortality, and other health problems at
rates dramatically higher than elsewhere in India.
Back to our travels;
We were still in an area of fast currents and high tides, though as we headed further away from the Savannah area
the tidal range diminished.
The town of Fernandina is situated on Amelia Island and part of its claim to fame was the fact that it had been a
pirate strong hold in days gone by. We still would read of local residents digging up buried treasure in their back
yards on Amelia Island.
As we went west around the Island we had to open two bridges adjacent to each other. One was a railroad bridge
and the other a highway bridge. The ebb tide current is vicious and it is made even worse by the restriction put on it
by the current flow through the bridges. If a train is coming the railroad bridge may close with out notice or not open
at all. So, unsuspecting boaters that signal for the bridge and receive the green light to proceed many get a big
surprise when only one of the bridges opens and the boater is then in the compromising position of being dragged
along by the swift current. That is what happened to us. We were fortunate that the current was against us so
stopping was no problem. When we finally had both bridges open, we were surprised that our hull speed was hardly
sufficient to get through the bridge. A year later that bridge was replaced with a high one that didn’t need
opening…the end of that problem.
We were really ready to quit for the day and at 4:25 PM when we dropped anchor in a little bight in Nassau Sound.
(A “bight” is an indentation in the shoreline forming a small bay.) We found that we slept better away from the
channel and out of the strong current so this private spot would be great. On this end of the island there was no
development and we had another very quiet place to spend the night and it was our first night in Florida!
Friday December 15th our trip this day would be through mostly rural areas even though we would be going
through Jacksonville, Florida, touted to be the nation’s largest city in land area. The reason Jacksonville was so big
was that the tax people couldn’t stand anyone working in town and living in the countryside. What they did was make
the entire county into the city...“Gotcha”!
Jacksonville had its share of odiferous factories and we have heard it said about the place that a person could get
around town with a “scratch and sniff” map.
The Saint John’s River, which is the largest river in Florida flows through Jacksonville on its way to the Atlantic
Ocean, which is twenty miles away from the downtown.
When we got south of Jacksonville, the scenery from Ponte Vedra and Palm Valley to Saint Augustine was incredibly
beautiful and rich in wild life including more birds than we had seen at anyplace on our entire trip so far.
We had two bridges to open this afternoon and the first one, the Vilano Beach Bridge was an old lift bridge of the
same style as many others in Georgia and South Carolina. Well, we signaled for the bridge for forty-five minutes and
finally it opened.
We all were very impressed by the silhouette of Saint Augustine as we approached. You could see the Old Spanish
fort and countless church towers, spires, domes and cupolas interspersed with palm trees.
Our next bridge was the famous “Bridge of Lions” that opened promptly when signaled but the racket made by the
ancient grinding and clanking gears gave us reservations about venturing through.
At 3:30 PM we were at the Saint Augustine Yacht Pier where we tied to the fuel dock. Jane went the three blocks by
foot to the post office to get our “general delivery” mail and Jim and I stayed aboard filling our fuel and waiting.
I inquired about dockage and was informed that the place was full and that there were no dockage facilities available
in town.
The dock attendant, Mike Kennedy was insistent that we leave the dock at once even though there were no other
boats waiting to use the fuel dock. I was getting my first real taste of “Southern Hospitality” “Redneck Style”.
The reason I needed dockage was because we no longer had our dinghy as we had lost it in a storm up in the
Carolinas. Losing a dinghy is like having your horse stolen in the desert. The other reason for dockage was that I
was still physically impaired with my arm in a sling.
When Jane got back from the post office with our mail the big rush to get us to move was no longer mentioned.
Jane said that she was very impressed with the little town and thought we needed to check it out further.
The first friendly person that we met was a man named Dr. Jensen. He told us that he too was a sail boater and that
we were going to like Saint Augustine. He had a recommendation that we must meet one of the other boaters
anchored out in the harbor named “Bubba Schill” on the sailboat, “Jaeger”. We looked out at the old Nova Scotia
sailing schooner with its raked masts and salty sea looking hull and knew that anyone living on such a vessel had to
be an eccentric and someone we would enjoy meeting.
We thanked the good Dr. Jensen for his information and cranked our engine and left the dock to take our place at
anchor in the harbor.
Once anchored, our first visitors were Bubba and Linda from the Nova Scotia Sailing schooner “Jaeger”. Bubba told
us that he bought his boat on the bottom for three hundred dollars. He pumped it out at low tide and floated it, fixed
it up and made it into his home.
We invited them aboard and poured them a beer from our tap situated in the galley. Bubba and Linda were the first
visitors to sign our guest book in Florida and Bubba’s comment to us was that our beer was too warm…that didn’t
hinder his consumption. Linda’s comment was; “I make the living, but Bubba makes life worth living”.
Before this beautiful evening was over we must have had ten dinghies tied behind our boat. All of our visitors were
interesting and very friendly and made Jane and I look like real conservatives compared to this motley and eccentric
group.
Linda and Bubba aboard their boat Jaeger
Back in Superior, Wisconsin Jane and I had been among the most eccentric people in town but here in Saint
Augustine we appeared to be archconservatives. It is all relative to the environment!
Bubba said that there was good news and bad news; the bad news was that Saint Augustine was an open-air insane
asylum, but the good news was that we had been accepted!
Bubba also gave us some advice that we didn’t need and that was that we needed to anchor fore and aft which we
did.
Saturday December 16th all hell broke loose this morning as an arctic blast came pounding down on St. Augustine
with a windstorm that was truly destructive. My first look out of our porthole revealed the force of the wind as I
witnessed that all of the palm fronds were tightly frapping on one side of the trees, a sign of very high winds.
Our anchor line was creaking and groaning under the tremendous strains and that stern anchor that our new friend
Bubba talked us into putting out was actually acting against us. This wind was so strong that it completely
overpowered any action the current might have had.
That blusterous morning, two local 75-foot shrimp trawlers that were attempting to return to the safety of the port
were smashed into matchwood on the hard beach by this storm. One reason for the boat mishaps was the fact that
the harbor entrance had shoaled in and in order to make it through the boats had to ride beam to the sea inside the
breaking surf for over a mile. That makeshift channel was almost unmarked with lots of unforgiving shoals. The
bottom is rock hard and a boat only gets one bump in those heavy seas and that is the end of the vessel. Later that
morning when we went to the city dock we heard these terrible stories. Someone had found a small piece of wood
from one of the boats that washed ashore and he said that this was the biggest piece of either boat remaining.
We brought our boat into the City Yacht Pier and tied it in one of their rental slips. We were surprised that our bow
anchor with a 35-pound plow anchor would not come up. We tried all of the tricks we knew and decided that we
would just leave our anchor buoy fastened to it so that we could come back to retrieve it when the weather was more
cooperative.
At the dock we inquired about dockage for a longer term and discovered that there were no other marinas in town
but we were given the names of a couple of places to try our luck. We also called an old high school friend of mine
from Superior, Wisconsin, Dan Kossoff and his wife Dinah. Dan Kossoff’s sister, Sharon Marcovich had written a
couple of articles about our boat before we left Superior and she told us that whatever we did we must look up her
brother in Jacksonville when we got to Florida. Sharon’s husband was also our lawyer. Well, we called and Dan was
expecting us and came right down to Saint Augustine to rendezvous with us the next day.
December 17th, Sunday we were all off to Jacksonville. Jane, Jim, and I plus Dan and Dinah and their two children
all packed into their Volkswagen Karmenn Ghia. It was close and friendly and we had a wonderful time with these
fine people. Dan made arrangements and even lent us his car so we could go to his place of work. Dan was the
director of the Jacksonville PBS television station. Dan also made arrangements for me to be interviewed on a live
program with a local sports personality named Monroe Campbell. I was interviewed, some pictures of our travels
and adventures were shown and then there was a call in portion of the show.
Dan was also involved in directing a documentary that he also wrote called, “Come to Florida before it is gone”. He
gave us a private showing and we were very impressed with his abilities. One scene showed a high-rise apartment in
south Florida that was supposed to have an ocean view. It looked directly at another high-rise and the owner picked
up the phone and called an apartment in the next high-rise building and had them draw open the curtains…then
there was the ocean view. In another scene he used a model house sitting on sand and showed it slipping into a
sinkhole. It was so realistic I still couldn’t believe Dan had used a model…very good work.
On our return to St. Augustine after the show on Monday night, we had Dan help us get a new keg of beer to
replenish the one that vanished our first night in town. We went to the local gin mill called the, “Trade Winds”, got
the keg and then Dan carried it to our boat and installed it in our bilge…a very nice gesture. I still couldn’t handle
any heavy exertion with my arm in a sling.
Our priority was to get a dockage spot for several months so that we could do some of the pressing things that
needed to be done to the boat. We could see from our boating experiences so far that we would be spending almost
all of our time at anchor because we loved exploring the out of the way places and also the privacy that came by
having a fort with a moat around it. Well, to anchor out we needed a better anchoring system that would require the
installation of a double anchor chute with rollers (an anchor chute is a device that guides the anchor rode and also
stores the anchor when not in use).
Another vital thing that we would need was a dinghy, which I had already drawn up plans for and would build.
Jane and I, on our bicycles, plus Jim Muller on a borrowed bike struck out to explore our possibilities of a monthly
dockage spot. The first place we looked was over the Bridge of Lions on Anastasia Island but we found nothing
suitable there.
Next, we were off across town to Xynides Boat Yard on the San Sebastian River. We had called prior to going over
to see the place so we had an idea of the dockage rate and it was acceptable to us. This was not in the better part
of town and the entire river area was all commercial boat building, fish boat docks, marine supplies and an ice plant.
The boat yard was on Riberia Street that led off the main street, King Street, and went through a real down and out
end of town. A bar called the “Blue Goose” that catered exclusively to blacks had a big sign out front that
proclaimed, “Home of the Blue Goose Lovers!” Across the street was a little grocery store unpainted and weathered
with age standing precariously on stacks of bricks and looked like it was part of a movie set from the movie
“Tobacco Road”.
Our first impression of Xynides Boat Yard as we pulled into the drive was that it was a no frills work boat yard but we
were surprised to see that the owner had crammed his dock full of rentals. We were about to meet Harry Xynides.
Harry had a big smile and a jovial personality and immediately put his hand out to shake hands and introduce
himself. He said, “Just call me Uncle Harry”. Uncle Harry spoke with a thick Greek accent in broken English. He
walked us out on his rickety old dock and pointed out the spot where we could tie between two other boats. On one
side was a 40-foot ketch rigged sailboat named Sabrina and on the other side was located a little old sport fishing
boat. We would tie with our bow to his dock and ride up and down with the tide, the boats next to us would cushion
us from the dock pilings.
Harry had two other boats at his dock, an old wooden cabin cruiser and a 35-foot flush decked classic “Crocker”
design sloop that belonged to our new friend Doctor Jensen who was the first person we had met our first day in
town.
Up on Uncle Harry’s marine railway was a shrimp boat. It had just had its bottom painted and was ready to be
launched on the next high tide.
Uncle Harry wanted to show his benevolence and pointed out that we were welcome to all the water we wanted at no
extra charge. Harry had an artesian flowing well that delivered a gushing quantity of water with no pump. Uncle Harry
told us that it was the “Fountain of Youth” and then he drank some to prove that it was good. It had a strong sulfur
smell that would disappear overnight if you let it stand in an open container. The only thing about it was that
anything made of silver instantly turned black from the sulfur; it took a little longer on aluminum. Its saving grace was
that it did make excellent coffee.
Now that we were all happy Uncle Harry took me to his office to pay. No women were allowed inside and Jane had to
wait outside while we men did business. Well, when I stepped into Uncle Harry’s office I could see why Uncle Harry
didn’t want any women in there because of all of the “pin-up girl” calendars he had hanging on his walls. He might
have had some fear of being sized up as an old lecher… we were soon to find out.
I paid for a month and Uncle Harry counted on his calendar the days. We were to receive 30 days and that was
all…on months with 31 days we were going to lose by one day. Uncle Harry scrutinized each and every penny.
Across the San Sebastian River from Harry Xynides Boat Yard. Desco Marine, home of the famous
“Desco Trawler”. Jane and I would deliver many of these vessels from Desco Marine and also from
another company named Saint Augustine Trawlers to places as far away as Texas and Mexico in the
coming years.
December 19th, Jim Muller helped Jane and I bring our boat around to Xynides Boat Yard on the San Sebastian
River. We planned a party aboard for the next night, which would be our 3rd wedding anniversary. We invited many
people that we had just met since our arrival in Saint Augustine.
Anniversary party aboard “Dursmirg” on December 20th 1972; Captain Robert White singing and telling
jokes.
Jim Muller toasting to our anniversary and also a successful trip to Florida
Inside Dursmirg; the anniversary party being entertained by live music
Jane and I opening our Champagne from Superior, Wisconsin; to celebrate our 3rd wedding anniversary
and also our arrival in Florida
A toast to our success!
A postcard Jane wrote to her parents
ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA, DECEMBER 20, 1972
We finally made it to Florida – We will be staying in St. Augustine for at least a month. We have our boat docked at
Harry Xynides Boatyard (Phone 904-824-3446). Our address is General Delivery, St. Augustine, Fla. 32084. We
are really looking forward to this month of rest after 4 months of traveling. Today is our anniversary and we are
taking our bikes to the beach. Its really nice today – 80 degrees. This is a beautiful place. Hard to believe no
snow! Our crew caught some fish last night so we had fresh fish for supper. Hope you have a nice Christmas. I
know we’ll have a warm one. Sure is great to be here. Love, Jane & Bing
Dursmirg tied at Xynides Boat Yard and Jim Muller fishing for supper
From Jim Muller’s notes;
Without looking at my notes I have a lot of memories at St. Augustine -the Dursmirg's popularity at the anchorage
when everyone discovered you had a keg of beer on board (and were willing to share and refill it),
the storm that blew up and showed that not everyone knows how to anchor a boat, boats dragging and catching on
the submerged cable, Bubba, beer at the Tradewinds, scraping barnacles on the pilings at the marina to
chum for sheep head...
Jim Muller’s Journal from Travels on the Dursmirg
Text in brackets [] represent comments and information added during
Transcription from the handwritten notes. [1972] Fri. Dec. 15
Departed from South Amelia R anchorage at 0835. Only trouble was with several bridges and the horn. The St.
Augustine Bridge was especially bad, we had to wait for some minutes, and it wasn’t in a restricte3d
time period. After we passed thru the bridge we stopped at the city Pier and filled up, but had to anchor out
because there were no berths left. I got a ride in a little later with Schill from another sailboat, phoned home, walked
around a bit, came back to the pier and talked w/ Woody, who was from N England and had met John and Jane in
Swansboro, NC. He went to get something to eat and offered the use of his Avon. I sat and read and Bob, who we
had seen earlier while fueling, came along. George had seen John and Jane at Chesapeake City. He offered to
ride me out in the dinghy from “Duet,” the boat he was crewing on, so we went on out to the Dursmirg. When we got
here, Schill and Linda and George and his wife [were on board]. We sat around and talked and drank beer for quite
a while. The keg was empty shortly after everyone except Bob left. Bob stayed and ate and then left after a while.
The wind was still from the south when we turned in. We had a plow for a bow anchor and a kedge for a stern
anchor. The boat was faced into the wind.
Sat. Dec 16 The wind changed to a northerly direction with increased velocity. Jane was up all night checking the
anchors. With the wind change the boat was broadside to the wind and we dragged our kedge a good ways. Gusts
were up to thirty-five knots and didn’t drop below 20 knots. Almost all the boats had dragged anchor and Dave’s
boat, the “African Queen,” which had smashed the Dursmirg about 15 times in a big storm in Swansboro,once again
was loose and smashed into Bubba’s boat, the “Jaeger”. A little later Bubba and his wife Linda came by in their
dinghy, and Jane went in with them to check on a slip in the City Pier. A while later Jane got a ride back to the
Dursmirg with Bob, Gary and Debbie from the Duet. The City Pier had a slip open so we proceeded to pull up
anchors. We had to pull up the kedge in the stern first because you have to get right over the plow before you can
possibly pick it up. Four of us grabbed the kedge line and pulled, but we couldn’t budge it because we were still
broadside to the wind. We then tied some line to the anchor rope, Bob and Gary got into the 13 ft. Whaler and John
and I managed to get enough slack to slip the rope off the Samson post and Gary had the line attached to the
anchor rope. We then could pull the Dursmirg over the plow and pulled it up. The wind was still gusting up
to 35 knots and the current was coming in fast, so we had the wind and water against us. Bob Currie and Gary were
trying to get the kedge into the dinghy and waves were breaking over the bow and some were coming
over the stern. With the engine in forward and idling, the Dursmirg could make no headway against the water and
wind working together. We added more throttle and slowly advanced toward the slip. As we started
to enter the slip we reduced speed, and then threw lines to the dock men. Bob and Gary were still trying to pull the
kedge up. By the time we had tied up, Bob and Gary had given up on the anchor and
had tied two boat cushions to the line and came in. A little later we took the anchor buoy out and tied it to the
anchor rope.
We then proceeded to Capt. Jack’s Restaurant with 3 of the crew of the Duet, and ate lunch. After lunch I went back
to take a shower and John and Jane did a little sightseeing and went to the Visitors Info Center. Jane was very tired
from watch the night before and took a nap about 1900. I went over to the Duet and talked with Gary, Debbie, and
Bob until 2300 and then went back to the Dursmirg. Woody and Debbie from the “Freyja” were there and also
another couple who had just docked late that afternoon, Don and Sally Merchant from Spruce Head, Maine on the
schooner “PanEveryone was gone by 0100 and we were in bed.
Sun. Dec. 17 We ate breakfast and I borrowed the bicycle from the Duet and we rode around town looking for a
dinghy and other supplies. We had no luck and went to A&P where we bought some food. We went back to the
boat and ate some lunch. John had phone Dan Kossoff, of Channel 7 WJCT, Jacksonville, who was the brother of
the wife of John’s attorney in Superior, Wisc. Dan and his wife, Dinah and their 2 kids came at about
1330 and took a few pictures and looked around. About 2 minutes after being on board Jay, 5, started feeling
seasick. We talked for quite a while longer and they invited us to dinner back at their house so all 5 adults and 2
kids piled into Dan’s Karmann Ghia and proceeded to their house. We arrived in about 25 minutes and I couldn’t
walk because my left leg below my knee had no feeling. After about 5 minutes I managed
to walk by lifting my leg with my hands and placing it in front of me. It was ok about 2 minutes later. We went in and
talked and John and Dan found out that they had gone to school together in Superior. There was much reminiscing
about all the old times and friends. We had supper and then talked some more. Dan had asked John to be on
“Feedback” a nightly talk show where interesting guests were invited and the viewers could call in and ask
questions. John was to be on at 7 o’clock Mon. night, so Dan let us use his car to drive back to St. Augustine and to
go to the station on Monday. We got back safely and hit the sack.
Mon. Dec. 18 Today we had to find a berth to stay at for about a month. The City Pier dock master said we couldn’t
stay any longer and had to leave at noon because transients were allowed to stay only two nights, and we had
come in Sat. afternoon. We explained our plight to him and he agreed to let us stay another night. Since we had
Dan’s car, we decided that it would be an ideal time to look for a slip, a dinghy, and a keg of beer
[not necessarily in order of priority]. We were tapped dry Fri. night and had no luck finding a keg Sat. However, a
slip was our major concern because if anchored out, John could not get in and out of the dinghy with his broken
arm, and there was much work to be done on the Dursmirg which required an electrical hookup for the power tools.
James William Muller
Bing carved this pipe using only his right hand, which was quite a feat as he is left-handed and his left
arm was in a sling!
next chapter
Oh, by the way!
This is no time to run aground because if you were lucky you
might only have a 12-hour wait until the next high tide or if you
had the misfortune to do your grounding on what is called the
spring tide you might have several weeks to ponder your escape.
(Shrimp boat aground photo at Daufuskie Island, South Carolina)
The photo on the left was taken at low tide and is of a shrimp
boat that ran aground at high tide on an oyster bar at Daufuskie
Island, South Carolina.
This is no time to run aground because if you were lucky you
might only have a 12-hour wait until the next high tide or if you
had the misfortune to do your grounding on what is called the
spring tide you might have several weeks to ponder your escape.
(Shrimp boat aground photo at Daufuskie Island, South Carolina)
The photo on the left was taken at low tide and is of a shrimp
boat that ran aground at high tide on an oyster bar at Daufuskie
Island, South Carolina.
At the eastern end of this old waterfront warehouse section is situated a
monument that relates one of the saddest stories I can remember. The
monument to the “Waving Girl” got to have more significance to us after being
told her story by someone who took her place.
monument that relates one of the saddest stories I can remember. The
monument to the “Waving Girl” got to have more significance to us after being
told her story by someone who took her place.
