A calm run north, shorts and tee shirts weather, it is balmy. The island is in sight. The anchorage is peaceful and shared with many others.
Launching the dinghy, the first time in two months. The motor has been overhauled, the clamps reattached, the davit motor replaced, as were all the lines.
We rode to shore and shared the darkening path with a beautiful doe, a raspy armadillo and lots of dung.
It is dusk in Cumberland Island Georgia, fifty miles of maritime forest trails, undeveloped beaches, wide marshes and 150 wild horses that have survived here since the Spanish set them free.