Silver Lake Primitive Camp Site
What separates us from the Atlantic Ocean is a thin strip of land. At night, in camp, we can hear the sound of the waves crashing on the Atlantic shore. Sounds pretty violent. We’re glad we aren’t in the caldron of sea water over there.
Just hearing the breaking waves makes us flashback to Keywaydin Island when Jim snapped his paddle landing in the surf. Bad memories.
Condensation covered our rainfly’s this morning. It makes the job of packing up the tents messy since sand sticks to anything wet. We do our best to brush off the excess before stuffing them into the hatches.
Off we go. Another spectacular morning. The water is very shallow in spots and brackish. We can see the swirls of fish all around our boats and of course the dolphins are out in force.
A large tugboat approaches us and is putting out a giant wake. Normal since their bow is flat instead of flared out. The water from the wake sprays over our decks and we manage not to flip. Gotta love them tugs….
Silver Lake Spoil Island is home tonight. We gather plenty of firewood as soon as we land. Our ritual is to get a campfire started right after dinner (dark) then sit around and relax before hitting the hay. Nothing like the smell of smoke permeated clothes. Gonna miss that.
Jim and Marc