Savannah, Georgia
Sarah's Guinness is nothing more than a froth covered pint glass when our waitress asks if we'd like another round. The musician for the evening was an elderly man with a guitar and terrific stage presence. His charisma was turning the few Sunday night bar goers into a rowdy bunch. He sang a number of Irish folk songs that were broke up with hilarious toasts for a room of raised glasses. We tried to sing along with the words he taught us but would end up laughing when he'd scold the room for messing up. As he took the stage again, wrapping up intermission, there was no question another beer was in order.
After the show, Sarah and I stumbled back up the cobblestone roads feeling drunker than two beers had ever made us. Our last night in town and we'd found a temporary getaway to Ireland from, of all places, Savannah, Georgia. Strolling along River Street to the buzz of street lights warming up, we were at the mercy of the night. We had just finished a wonderful dinner and were looking for a way to cap off our trip. The live music sign drew us into Kevin Barry's Irish Pub, only planning to stay for one beer, we wandered in for one final treat.
Our trip to Georgia had started two days earlier on Jekyll Island, one of four islands that make up the Golden Isles. Jekyll was a quiet island, feeling like a resort town that was never fully developed. The big draw was a stretch of fine white sand known as Driftwood Beach. What had once been a forest was now a graveyard as the beach was littered with weathered remnants of old trees. Some trees still held firm, stripped of all branches and bark but remaining upright with exposed root systems diving deep in the sand. Others had collapsed and were slowly being devoured by the beach.
The artist in me was ecstatic over the possibilities of the skeletons resting along the shore. As the light faded I was able to use longer exposures to blur the tide and used higher ISO's to add grain giving an old time look to a near colorless landscape. As night crept in however, I lost command of the camera. I was struggling to find focus and my exposures were not meeting my vision. I'd lost practice in my night work and that rust was costing me great shots. I walked back to the car feeling defeated, wishing I had been better prepared for the moment.
We returned to Jekyll Island the following morning in an attempt to settle my frustrations. A partly cloudy sky made for higher contrast than the clear sky and fleeting light the night before but low tide and a subtle breeze left the backgrounds smooth. I was able to capture some decent shots but the mood of the previous night was missing. I'd subdued a portion of my disappointment before we left for the second Golden Isle of the trip, Tybee Island.
Tybee was our beach break for the long weekend although it was not the relaxing beach Sarah prefers. Parking was a struggle to find while maneuvering through droves of college kids. It felt like the last day of spring break with the late flight holders victoriously marching to the beach for one last party. It had rained the night before, leaving the beach flat and packed as the sun worked to dry it out. We found the most secluded patch of sand and tried to relax through the mini sand storms of the windy afternoon. The clouds rolled in and the sun disappeared. Sarah developed an outbreak of goosebumps and it was time to journey on.
Before leaving Tybee Island we stopped in for a visit of Fort Pulaski. Fort Pulaski was a civil war era creation that received a healthy bombardment from the Union ships. The for withstood the attack and the once mangled bunker was now a museum. The majority of the fort had been recreated and deemed a national monument. Neither Sarah or I were too impressed as the fort had been mocked up to looking more like a replica with glass sealed rooms of props and tour guides dressed as confederate soldiers leading groups from room to room. The one interesting area was a tunnel system under the front lawn of the fort. A catacomb of tight hallways and dark rooms that turned us in circles.
Where Fort Pulaski had received some cosmetic touches, just off shore, Cockspur Island Light looked more its age. A short trail through a mosquito breeding ground brought us to a marsh as close to Cockspur as we could on land. The 46 foot lighthouse has developed some character over the years. As with the skeletal trees on Driftwood Beach, the Cockspur lighthouse was better captured in black and white. With the incoming tide splashing my feet, I did my best to capture the scene. The overcast sky helped make the stripped white paint of the lighthouse pop as a little chop in the water added texture to the foreground. I was limited on angles by the peninsula and opted for a low vantage point to bring some reeds into the frame.
The evening was creeping up and Sarah and I decided to see if we could wander around Savannah a bit before night descended. We just beat the sunset to Savannah as the last rays of golden light trickled through the Spanish moss covered trees. We put off checking into the hotel to explore the iconic Forsyth Park. The pristine Forsyth Fountain was luminescent as dusk arrived. It was a beautiful scene walking down a tunnel of moss covered oak trees that umbrella the path to the fountain. Our first glimpse of Savannah was a wonderful one, tomorrow would be more of the same.
The sun rose shortly before us on Sunday morning. Savannah was already roasting as we pulled into the parking lot of Wormsloe Historic Site. Artists flock to Wormsloe Plantaion for the mile long road that leads to the estate. Both sides of the gravel road are lined with giant oak trees. Their moss filled branches intertwine over the road creating a tunnel of green and brown. Sarah and I elected to hike it to the estate rather than drive. It was still early in the day and it already felt like a sauna. Even with the heat and the bugs determined to devour us, it was a good thing we walked. Every five feet revealed a new arrangement of branches and shadows and I couldn't stop taking pictures.
We had no clue the main road was as far as it was. The map we received started at a fence just a quarter mile from the museum and gift shop. It failed to mention how far the first stretch was. By the time we made it to the fence I was covered in sweat and exhausted from the heat. We made a quick loop around the Wormsloe ruins before hightailing it back to the air conditioned car.
Downtown Savannah was no cooler than Wormsloe had been. Even with the Savannah River running blocks away, the high sun was baking the town. Savannah, old as it is, is just as wise. Sarah and I stopped in at Wet Willie's, a place recommended to us, to sample a frozen daiquiri from their wall of flavors. Cold plastic cup in hand and through the streets we marched. A lovely treat, there are no rules against consuming alcohol along the streets of Savannah.
Cooling down with a delightful peach daiquiri, Sarah and I set about for a full walking tour of Savannah's historic district. The city had done well preserving the colonial feel. It was easy to picture horse drawn carriages circling the same parks the herds of trolley tours do today. We walked by enormous columned mansions, skyscraper like churches, and quiet wooded parks. The entire town was covered in foliage that seemed to know its purpose in the landscape. It was almost as if a Jumanji game was being played but the jungle remained respectful of the beautiful architecture.
Savannah is a wonder to experience right down to the details. Hand rails ended in shell like coils, vines clinging to the brick gap between stairs, elaborate door handles and window fixtures. The city oozed history, each building belonging at one time to a prominent figure immortalized in a park statue. The cobblestone roads that still lead down to River Street. There's even a bar, still in operation, that was once a popular pirate hangout.
Our final night came and went too quickly. A wonderful river side dinner at Vic's on the River started us on the walk that would end at Kevin Barry's. We never want our trips to end, with that last night, it never will. I can still hear my bashful Sarah screaming out her request for Galway Girl until the Steve Earle wish was granted. We sang along and drank like we were trying to stop a boat from sinking.
After the show, Sarah and I stumbled back up the cobblestone roads feeling drunker than two beers had ever made us. Our last night in town and we'd found a temporary getaway to Ireland from, of all places, Savannah, Georgia. Strolling along River Street to the buzz of street lights warming up, we were at the mercy of the night. We had just finished a wonderful dinner and were looking for a way to cap off our trip. The live music sign drew us into Kevin Barry's Irish Pub, only planning to stay for one beer, we wandered in for one final treat.
Our trip to Georgia had started two days earlier on Jekyll Island, one of four islands that make up the Golden Isles. Jekyll was a quiet island, feeling like a resort town that was never fully developed. The big draw was a stretch of fine white sand known as Driftwood Beach. What had once been a forest was now a graveyard as the beach was littered with weathered remnants of old trees. Some trees still held firm, stripped of all branches and bark but remaining upright with exposed root systems diving deep in the sand. Others had collapsed and were slowly being devoured by the beach.
We returned to Jekyll Island the following morning in an attempt to settle my frustrations. A partly cloudy sky made for higher contrast than the clear sky and fleeting light the night before but low tide and a subtle breeze left the backgrounds smooth. I was able to capture some decent shots but the mood of the previous night was missing. I'd subdued a portion of my disappointment before we left for the second Golden Isle of the trip, Tybee Island.Tybee was our beach break for the long weekend although it was not the relaxing beach Sarah prefers. Parking was a struggle to find while maneuvering through droves of college kids. It felt like the last day of spring break with the late flight holders victoriously marching to the beach for one last party. It had rained the night before, leaving the beach flat and packed as the sun worked to dry it out. We found the most secluded patch of sand and tried to relax through the mini sand storms of the windy afternoon. The clouds rolled in and the sun disappeared. Sarah developed an outbreak of goosebumps and it was time to journey on.
Before leaving Tybee Island we stopped in for a visit of Fort Pulaski. Fort Pulaski was a civil war era creation that received a healthy bombardment from the Union ships. The for withstood the attack and the once mangled bunker was now a museum. The majority of the fort had been recreated and deemed a national monument. Neither Sarah or I were too impressed as the fort had been mocked up to looking more like a replica with glass sealed rooms of props and tour guides dressed as confederate soldiers leading groups from room to room. The one interesting area was a tunnel system under the front lawn of the fort. A catacomb of tight hallways and dark rooms that turned us in circles.Where Fort Pulaski had received some cosmetic touches, just off shore, Cockspur Island Light looked more its age. A short trail through a mosquito breeding ground brought us to a marsh as close to Cockspur as we could on land. The 46 foot lighthouse has developed some character over the years. As with the skeletal trees on Driftwood Beach, the Cockspur lighthouse was better captured in black and white. With the incoming tide splashing my feet, I did my best to capture the scene. The overcast sky helped make the stripped white paint of the lighthouse pop as a little chop in the water added texture to the foreground. I was limited on angles by the peninsula and opted for a low vantage point to bring some reeds into the frame.
The evening was creeping up and Sarah and I decided to see if we could wander around Savannah a bit before night descended. We just beat the sunset to Savannah as the last rays of golden light trickled through the Spanish moss covered trees. We put off checking into the hotel to explore the iconic Forsyth Park. The pristine Forsyth Fountain was luminescent as dusk arrived. It was a beautiful scene walking down a tunnel of moss covered oak trees that umbrella the path to the fountain. Our first glimpse of Savannah was a wonderful one, tomorrow would be more of the same.The sun rose shortly before us on Sunday morning. Savannah was already roasting as we pulled into the parking lot of Wormsloe Historic Site. Artists flock to Wormsloe Plantaion for the mile long road that leads to the estate. Both sides of the gravel road are lined with giant oak trees. Their moss filled branches intertwine over the road creating a tunnel of green and brown. Sarah and I elected to hike it to the estate rather than drive. It was still early in the day and it already felt like a sauna. Even with the heat and the bugs determined to devour us, it was a good thing we walked. Every five feet revealed a new arrangement of branches and shadows and I couldn't stop taking pictures.
We had no clue the main road was as far as it was. The map we received started at a fence just a quarter mile from the museum and gift shop. It failed to mention how far the first stretch was. By the time we made it to the fence I was covered in sweat and exhausted from the heat. We made a quick loop around the Wormsloe ruins before hightailing it back to the air conditioned car.Downtown Savannah was no cooler than Wormsloe had been. Even with the Savannah River running blocks away, the high sun was baking the town. Savannah, old as it is, is just as wise. Sarah and I stopped in at Wet Willie's, a place recommended to us, to sample a frozen daiquiri from their wall of flavors. Cold plastic cup in hand and through the streets we marched. A lovely treat, there are no rules against consuming alcohol along the streets of Savannah.
Cooling down with a delightful peach daiquiri, Sarah and I set about for a full walking tour of Savannah's historic district. The city had done well preserving the colonial feel. It was easy to picture horse drawn carriages circling the same parks the herds of trolley tours do today. We walked by enormous columned mansions, skyscraper like churches, and quiet wooded parks. The entire town was covered in foliage that seemed to know its purpose in the landscape. It was almost as if a Jumanji game was being played but the jungle remained respectful of the beautiful architecture.
Savannah is a wonder to experience right down to the details. Hand rails ended in shell like coils, vines clinging to the brick gap between stairs, elaborate door handles and window fixtures. The city oozed history, each building belonging at one time to a prominent figure immortalized in a park statue. The cobblestone roads that still lead down to River Street. There's even a bar, still in operation, that was once a popular pirate hangout.
Our final night came and went too quickly. A wonderful river side dinner at Vic's on the River started us on the walk that would end at Kevin Barry's. We never want our trips to end, with that last night, it never will. I can still hear my bashful Sarah screaming out her request for Galway Girl until the Steve Earle wish was granted. We sang along and drank like we were trying to stop a boat from sinking.
Comments
Post a Comment