Kilkenny Marina

11/27-28/07 Kilkenny Marina, Kilkenny Creek

Wednesday we planned to cross two sounds, St. Catherine and Sapelo, both with the ICW exposed to the ocean and its weather. Winds this morning were a steady 20 knots. NOAA was predicting 6’ ocean waves and had posted a small craft advisory. We would have been transiting the larger sound with the wind opposing the tide, creating a very uncomfortable ride, so we opted for Kilkenny Marina.

As we approached the marina, the winds were 20 knots with a 2 knot current. The marina responded to our VHF call with, “Prepare for a starboard tie up, fenders at the waterline, someone’ll be there to wave ya in.” We passed the marina, saw no one, and circled back. Our friends from “Second Spree” were already at the fuel dock with an older man, who turned out to be the owner. As we started to pull in behind them, they shouted, “Go forward. There’s a man up there.” I looked up and saw a middle aged man… hands in his pockets, head down, cigarette hanging from his lip. He was standing at the aft end of an old fishing boat. I waved to him; he may have nodded a response.

The winds were blowing us into the dock. The man didn’t move. I had the aft spring line ready to toss him. Hands still in his pockets, he didn’t budge. I got ready to jump to the dock, without moving he yelled, “Bring ‘er forward.” I relayed the message to Bob and yelled back, “Here’s the aft spring line.” Still not budging, he repeated, “Bring ‘er forward.” We were at a stand off! I jumped to the dock and secured the aft spring line to a 2” x 6” board. There were no cleats. As Bob was getting out of the cockpit to help me, he slowly began to walk toward me. He yelled to Bob twice, “Stay in there! Stay in there.” Bob ignored him, got off, and helped secure the boat. I looked at the dock and realized why he wanted us forward -- nails were protruding from the side of the dock along a 10 foot section. The whole experience reminded me of “Deliverance.” Our “dockhand,” we later learned, was one of two sons of the owner -- the one that hadn't had customer service training!

We are consuming our stock of Parmalat and almost out of bread. When we checked in at the office, I asked if there was a grocery store within walking or biking distance. The owner replied, “No ma’am. Nearest town is ten miles up the road. You wouldn’t want to ride there; it’s ten miles back too.”

Kilkenny is one of two marinas on a 77-mile stretch of Georgia marshland. Looking around, the marina’s main source of income seems to be from fuel and fishing. Bob asked the owner, whose name is also Bob, if the trailers behind the marina were permanent residences or weekend get-a-ways. He said, “Those aren’t trailers, they’re mobile homes! I own the land they’re on. Folks use ‘em on the weekends for fishin’ camps. Most of ‘em found good deals on those mobile homes – bought ‘em second hand.”

The amenities at Kilkenny are sparse. I finally located the rusty washer and dryer in a small metal utility shed. A plastic milk carton, cut in half, provided the step up from the dirt path into the “Laundromat.” My mother would have been mortified by the lack of cleanliness. For a split second, I considered taking the clothes back to the boat and wearing them dirty!

With the laundry done and having been cruising for the past four days, I needed to stretch my legs. Bob and I went for a walk and discovered a restaurant about a ½ mile from the marina, “Outrigger’s Grill at Kilkenny Creek.” It looked like a nice place; no one was around, so we walked up on the deck and peered in the windows. Very nice! As we were leaving, an SUV drove up and a man in his 30’s got out. He smiled, introduced himself as the manager. We told him we were at the marina next door and out for a walk, to which he replied, “If you get chilly and want a cup of coffee, come on in. I’ll make you a pot.”

We went back to the “Outrigger’s Grill” for dinner with Bob and Lynn. Another couple on our dock, John and Priscilla from a 36' Selene Trawler named “Sitzmark III,” came in shortly after we did and joined us for dinner. It was delicious!

During the meal we were talking about the military marinas we stayed at when John mentioned there was one in New London near where they keep their boat at Crocker’s Marina. Out of the blue, he started talking about a very interesting man he met at Crocker’s last April. As soon as he described him, we knew it was our friend from Maine - Will Blake! What a small world the boating community can be.

This morning, Bob of “DeLaMer” and Bob of “Second Spree” mentioned to “Kilkenny Bob” (the owner of the marina) that we had dinner next door last night. He responded, “I knew his daddy, but that was a long time ago. He’s a nice enough young fella. He went off on his own, became a chef. Now he’s bought that restaurant. He’s a chef all right, but in this neck of the woods, he needs to be a cook.”

I’ve come to like “Kilkenny Bob.” He’s quite a character and a hard working man. He advertises being open for bait and business 7AM to 7PM, 7 days a week. The marina looks like a “do-it-yourself” construction project. I asked if he had started the business. He said, “Yup. In 1960. Built it myself. Been here 47 years and startin’ another 47.”

Four plus decades have taken their toll. OSHA would have a field day here! The docks are in need of repair and could easily have been in the story I used to read my kids, “There was a crooked man, who had a crooked house.” The conduit carrying the electrical power to the docks is broken, exposing the cables to the elements. The rusted receptacles have no breakers or covers. A large piling next to our boat has a huge rotten hole at the waterline, as do many others.

Thursday we woke up to pea soup fog and zero visibility, which lasted all morning. As I sit here writing, the shrimp are having a feeding frenzy eating away on the bottom of the boat. Since we are in the heart of shrimp country and being curious about what they were eating, I thought “Kilkenny Bob” might know. I asked Bob to go up to the office and ask. Their conversation went like this…

“We’ve been told that shrimp eating on the bottom of our boat make the popping noise we hear inside. We’re curious, do you know what they’re eating?”

“Whoever told you that -- it’s a bunch of bull. That noise ain’t shrimp. Nobody knows what it really is. I got a theory I’m sure is right! What’s makin’ that noise is tides. You’re from Maine ain’t ya? You ain’t got tides up there. We’ve got big tides down here with lots of water flowin’. If you look at the bottom of your boat, it ain’t smooth. That noise is the tide flowin’ past the rough bottom makin’ eddies. Them eddies make a poppin’ sound like cavitation.”

Knowing that his theory was flawed, Bob continued, “But the noise is there even at high tide and low tide when there is no flow.”

“That don’t matter. There’s always water flowin’. It ain’t never still. It’s the flowin’ current that makes the poppin’ sound. So if anybody tells you it’s shrimp – don’t you believe em.”

Several books we've read describe the shrimp phenomena, so I think "Kilkenny Bob's" theory may not stand the test of time.

There’s a nice old house behind the marina office with a long straight road behind it lined with beautiful live oak trees on both sides. Spanish moss hangs down from the oaks. It looks like it may have been the entrance to a plantation at one time. I mentioned what a lovely house it was to “Kilkenny Bob.” He replied, “That’s my wife’s house. She lets me come in sometimes.” Further questions led him to tell me the land had been a grant from the King of England that no one claimed for over a hundred years. In the early 1800’s, a man named George, from Kilkenny, Ireland named the area after his home town and built a plantation and house. During the Civil War the house was hit by a number of cannon balls. Henry Ford owned huge tracts of land in Georgia, this being one of them. He repaired the Civil War damage and restored the plantation house and it's surrounding buildings.

Although this marina doesn’t have many amenities, it certainly has a lot of color!