Super Sunday: Unexpected Beauty

On Sundays I write about one of the joys of full-timing

In yesterday's post, Sean wrote about how we were looking for a place to stop for the night, and that we passed several RV parks, difficult to access beaches, and the full state park. What he didn't write was a bit of mounting anxiety as we kept driving.

This area was devastated by Hurricane Rita and has undergone great changes in the three years we've been visiting. Our famous library of camping resources is almost useless here. We knew the road was very narrow and bordered by wetlands, with limited places to turn Odyssey around. We worried that if we drove too long, it would be even harder to find a place to stop after dark.

So when we ended up here at the Cameron ferry dock, we were both relieved and a bit disappointed. I was relieved that it looked like boondocking was allowed. Sean had hoped to camp on the sand east of Holly Beach with a view of the open water, so he was a bit disappointed. After all, this is an unpaved boat ramp next to a low-budget ferry terminal on a shipping channel. But we were both ready to stop, and we both enjoy watching boats and industrial works zones, so this was going to be good enough for a night's rest.

What surprised both of us, however, was how unexpectedly lovely it turned out to be.

Within minutes of parking, we saw two dolphins swimming up the channel, their slick gray fins slicing through the chop. A great Blue Heron landed on a stump of old pier near us and stretched his plumy head. They are so elegant and deliberate; one of my favorite birds.

Huge towering cumulonimbus clouds piled up to the east. As the sun set behind us, those clouds slowly turned from white to yellow to orange to a fierce red, pink, then slowly faded to gray. They were magnificent! We sat in our big front window, sipped wine, and smiled.

When the clouds were orange and red, the dolphins returned down the channel, and several v-shaped flocks of sea birds sailed by overhead. Right after the light faded, the wind kicked up and blew the clouds into a foggy mass, but not until after we admired them for almost an hour.

This morning, the channel is back to its industrial self, with the rusted hulks of Rita-ravaged ships on the near shore and cranes and barges near the ferry terminal. Cars are lined up to take the ferry and fishing boat trailers are parked next to us. The trash barrels are overfull and the parking lot is weedy and muddy.

But last night we were privileged to see the secret evening soul of this out-of-the-way place, and I feel blessed.