While languidly cycling about Sea Pines today it occurred to me that one of the winning features of Hilton Head Island is its faintly discernible change of seasons. I was forced by municipal repair work to get off the bicycle path and wander around the local but unfamiliar residential neighbourhood before regaining my regular stride. Without exception the suburban properties are preserved to a fault. At this time of year however the lawns have that yellow/brown tinge peculiar to late season northern climates. I am always astonished by the contradiction of the dormant grass with the local Palmetto ferns and Sabal palms which I consider native to tropical climates. The first time on Hilton Head Island I set foot upon the beach adjacent our Marriott Grande Ocean condominium on S Forest Beach Rd I was introduced to the parochial winter.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Boxing Day on the Beach
At last! Twenty-four hours after arriving on Hilton Head Island (South Carolina) and having completed the prerequisites to getting settled in, I was able to make my way along the grey cedar boardwalk from the hotel to the broad band of beach on the chilling Atlantic Ocean. As soon as my shoes hit the sand I was reminded of the striking softness of beach colours, taupe wet sand, blue-grey water, white and grey seagulls, all under the massive dome of an endless sky. Either way I looked, to the left or to the right, the beach was interminable, rounding distant corners beyond which I could no longer see. The vastness of the beach invited me to travel ever further, as far as the large American flag flapping in the distance and still more.
It gave new meaning to “off-season” to be walking along the beach on Boxing Day with my Panama Jack hat turned backwards to avoid being blown off by the high, cold wind, trudging over the hard packed sand dressed in Sperry topsiders, thick white sport socks, khakis, windbreaker and silk scarf, bent into the driving snow showers. In fact the term “snow showers”, though seemingly colloquial, is far more apt an expression than our Canadian term “snow flurries” because here what you get when the temperature is only a fraction above freezing are small particles of iced rain which melt the moment they touch anything.
I was almost alone on the boundless beach, except for an enthusiastic runner and his black Labrador dog, and a wary woman who walked haltingly from the beach resort unsure about whether to continue in the face of the irreligious snow showers and perhaps intimidated by the emptiness of the landscape. The woman’s curiosity and likely preference for some needed post-Christmas exercise finally trumped her concerns, though she walked along the rim of the beach closest to the resort for security. I headed determinedly into the wind in the opposite direction, breathing deeply as I walked, sucking in the Ocean air in an effort to burn as many calories as possible and to reawaken my body and mind after three days of concentrated driving from Canada. There were remnant tracks of a bicycle along the sand. The daily constitutional – whether on foot or on bicycle – would become our routine, the accent to our home cooked meals and evening cocktails.
For us northern adventurers the change of seasons is a recurring theme. Aside from the obvious competition of tropical climate, there is nonetheless something inherently persuasive about the change of seasons. Even to the degree that winter, spring and fall are noticeable on Hilton Head Island I believe the transitions are empowering. There is a predictable change to look forward to. Humans respond favourably to alteration especially when characterized by natural passage. This inclination obviously has begun to consume me in this moderately shifting environment. Today for example I saw people swimming in the sea. A couple of days ago my hairdresser remarked that she is already busy – which of course captures the economic reverberation of change.
Change on Hilton Head Island is precipitous. We have visited here at the height of the summer season. It was around July 1st when we made the mistake of going to Florida thinking it would be quiet. The place here was crawling with people! We barely secured a hotel room here for one night before hightailing back to i95 northward bound! We have every reason to suspect that within the next four weeks as we approach the RBC PGA Heritage golf classic on April 14th – and as more and more families descend for so-called “March Break” – the Island will again be besieged by tourists. Already the bicycle racks are overburdened. I hesitate to contemplate what our personal situation will be considering we are staying immediately opposite the main golf club house and adjacent the yacht basin of the popular Harbour Town.
Given our preference for seclusion and exclusion these impending alterations present an element of anxiety. Indeed when we were last on the Island in early April five years ago we left sooner than planned just to escape the traffic on the roads and the congestion on the bicycle paths.
My morning excursion today took me to Tower Beach because the high tide was forecast for around noon. Although the beach is still passable by bicycle at high tide, the conditions are not ideal. I didn’t have the enthusiasm to go to Coligny Beach Park and attempt the return on the beach particularly as the path at high tide is narrow and now likely to be thronged. So instead I chose Tower Beach for a gander and a recline. I wasn’t in the least disappointed. Tower Beach is located at a relatively remote location on the Island. There was a sizeable off-shore wind which heightened the commotion of the waves, affording that desirable crashing sound and picture.
My reward for the alternative choice was an hour lying on the sand under the intense dry heat of the blazing sun. In my reverie I listened to children playing on the shore. There were other adults with folding beach chairs who positioned themselves along the edge of dunes as I had done with my bicycle. From the distance – being downwind – I could hear them prattle unintelligilbly. When on occasion I disturbed my somnolence to regard my surroundings it surprised me to discover how far removed the others were. I had trouble seeing their faces though I had heard their voices. I felt extraordinarily cavalier lying on the beach, reposed upon my boat shoes on my downed bicycle wheel, having discretely removed only my socks but still sporting white shorts and blue golf shirt. I fashion it entirely uninviting to see a 73 year old man in my condition pretending to engage in sunbathing otherwise – at least when not going in and out of the sea.
