At 7:00 am, we walk down to the trestle and see the sunrise in all its splendor over the golden marshes.
On the way to the river, we stop at Old Sheldon Church where once I met Bill Campbell tending family graves. He told me that he had met his wife, a Scottish Macdonald in India during the 2nd World War, how she was also related to William Tecumseh Sherman. Laughingly, he related how the Macdonalds had invited the Campbells over for dinner and murdered them and how Sherman had burned down the old Sheldon church.
During the Revolution, the British had indeed burned down the church. It was rebuilt and some believe that it was burned by Sherman in the Civil War. More recently, some think that it was merely torn apart by the residents nearby who had no fuel to burn to keep them warm in the days during and after the war.
Now only the brick columns stand in the deep woods, like a Southern Stonehenge, a tribute to a spiritual past. Still, once a year on the Sunday after Easter, a service is held here.
Then, geared up in our life vests, gloves, hats, and sandals, we launched from the marina right into the Beaufort River. A barge and tug boat sailed nearby on its way out to sea. We paddled down river and under the bridge to Parris Island.
We were saluted by dolphins.
At Fort Fremont (a Spanish American War relic), we took out to look around. I caught my sandal in the kayak seat and fell backwards into the water's edge. Actually it felt good as the day had brightened and heated up. I laughed. Now I was truly baptized in the holy waters of the Beaufort River with the dolphins in attendance. And I am changed forever.
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