A Weekend at Blacky’s Campground
by Ann Bailey King
As one of the “early settlers” of Little Oak Island, I have had the pleasure of watching it evolve over the past seventeen years into a lovely, family community shared with an abundance of nature’s beauty and wildlife. However, my first visit to this island paradise was in the early seventies. My then father-in-law had purchased a new 40+ foot huge, air-conditioned Airstream camper with all the comforts of home-color TV, spacious sleeping accommodations, kitchen, tub and shower. You get the picture. What does this have to do with anything, you ask?
Besides having once been a dumpsite, so I am told, Little Oak Island was then “Blackey’s Campground,” an undeveloped island perfect for the true nature lover and explorer. I never was a Girl Scout or a hard-core camper, but I did think of myself as adventuresome. The thought of spending a weekend on this island near the sea was so intriguing that my husband asked his father if we could use the Airstream to take friends from Spartanburg camping. We convinced him, and sight unseen, he pulled the “silver monster” to the campground. After navigating the causeway on to the island, there was merely a narrower sort of road or path that encircled it. The campsites were sparse clearings sporadically located around the perimeter of the island which bordered on a narrow tidal creek. Upon seeing the arduous job that lay ahead of him, he responded with a resounding, “No way possible!” Call me naïve or optimistic, but I just knew he could do it and not disappoint us.
As if trying to back this huge camper without going into the creek was not enough, I wanted it taken all the way to the end of the island in order to have the panoramic view of the Morris Island Lighthouse. My father-in-law just wanted to leave and get his shiny new Airstream back home without a scratch. After much pleading and whining, he gave in and struggled to back the camper inch by inch on the narrow, bumpy, dirt path in 98 degree weather. Each time he said this is far enough, I would implore him to go just a little farther. I was determined to get to the end of the island and look out at the lighthouse; however, after much time, sweat, and cursing, we would have to be satisfied with a view of the Folly River. Physically exhausted and having lost all patience, he had gone as far as he was willing to subject his brand new camper to the rugged terrain. I wasn’t going to push our luck as I felt very privileged he had agreed to let us use it, and I didn’t want him to change his mind. It was quite an ordeal for him to prepare our plush accommodations, or should I say “set up camp,” and it had taken up our afternoon plans for fun and relaxation. As the sun was now beginning to set, we had to assure him that we were very capable of handling the situation and bid him farewell until Sunday afternoon.
He left unwillingly with numerous concerns, mostly for the safety of his Airstream, but not before saying, “It beats me why you would want to stay in a luxury camper with no electricity! I was crazy to let y’all talk me into this fiasco!” We looked at each other in shock, but of course responded, “We knew that.” Sure we did—NOT! It never occurred to us to ask about electrical hookups. I replied with a positive and upbeat attitude, “We’ll enjoy the cool ocean breezes and the moonlight.” We would “rough it.” Sure we would! We came to the startling realization that none of our modern conveniences were going to work: the AC, hot running water for baths, the nice toilet facilities, and yes, the color TV and stereo system. We couldn’t listen to our cassettes or watch our VHS movies. Now I’m really dating myself.
Well, it was now time to put plan B into action and relax by the water with a cool beverage and tasty hors d’oeuvres. We had planed frozen daiquiris and pina coladas. Needless to say, the lack of electricity put a damper on that idea. Being the hardy campers we were pretending to be, we weren’t going to let such a minor detail spoil the moment. We set up our lounge chairs (in the bushes) and were determined to have “Happy Hour in Paradise.” I carried out the tray of treats with tropical napkins I had weighted down to keep them from blowing away. Those cool ocean breezes could get quite strong in the late afternoon.
Wrong again! It was now dead low tide with no water in the little creek in front of us, mudflats everywhere, no breeze, and there would be no moonlight due to the heavy, dark clouds that had been building all afternoon. In a matter of what seemed like seconds, we were attacked by a swarm of giant mosquitoes so thick they looked like the smoke monster on the TV show LOST. The sesame seeds on the hors d’oeuvres appeared to be crawling. Upon closer scrutiny, we realized that we were eating gnats! Happy hour quickly became grumpy hour and came to an abrupt halt. We escaped into our lovely but “non-working” camper.
We had brought steaks and seafood along with a smorgasbord of gourmet delights which remained iced down in the cooler instead of conveniently displayed in the roomy refrigerator. We had planned to set up the “rugged” Coleman gas grill (versus the customary campfire) for grilling our delectable supper, but the mosquitoes made sure that wasn’t going to happen. We nibbled on snacks and tried to entertain ourselves with card games as it grew hotter inside the camper. A mild breeze began to blow, and the semi-cool fresh air was a brief but welcomed relief to the stillness that engulfed us. As quickly as the soft breeze had entered, it left. The only circulating air was that of our heavy exhales let out in utter, uncomfortable boredom.
To add to our misery, the infernal “no-seeums” were attracted to our “mood lighting” and made their way through the screens, hence, out came the Avon Skin So Soft. Its pungent odor combined with our already sweaty bodies did stop the enemy for the time being, but our close proximity made the smell almost unbearable. Bored with cards and eating snacks, the only thing left to do was try to sleep the night away and hope for a better tomorrow on our “Fantasy Island.” As I lay hot and miserable in our luxurious “state room,” I had forgotten that I could become claustrophobic. To keep from having a panic attack, I silently counted from 100 backwards, said the Lord’s prayer, recited the 23rd Psalm, and repeated my mantra of “I can do this, I can do this,” all the while driving my husband crazy fanning myself with a magazine. I think I finally dozed off from sheer exhaustion.
Nearing midnight we were jolted by a loud crash of thunder and lightning. My first thought was that we were sitting ducks inside this giant, metal, bullet-shaped coffin. We had to shut the windows to keep the blowing rain out which only added to my mental hysteria of closed-up spaces. We lay in hot silence trying not to be terrified as the lightning lit up the darkness. I knew our Spartanburg friends were uneasy, to say the least, but were too polite to say anything. The romance and the excitement of our paradise get-away had now become the trip from Hell! We came to a quick consensus, and like cowards, the “city slickers” quietly escaped during the stormy night to our air-conditioned, bug-free townhouse.
After sleeping late the next morning, we decided to go check on the camper and eat lunch at the beach. We had to at least make an appearance on Folly. The merits of spending that night in the Airstream were also dismal. So, we packed up all our food and had a sumptuous repast of surf ‘n turf back home, followed by a night out on the town. We went back to our campsite on Sunday to pack up our “camping gear” and arrive before my father-in-law came that afternoon to begin the arduous job of preparing the camper for its return to the mainland. We all pitched in and attributed our silence to being exhausted from our fun weekend. We didn’t have the nerve to tell him that he had gone to so much effort and trouble for naught. We followed the “Silver Bullet” off the island in silence and felt very guilty for our charade.
I’m sure you are wondering why we were allowed to bring the Trojan horse on to the island. We had paid in advance via mail, and no one was there to greet us upon our arrival. It was all very laid back, and I guess it was assumed that we were “normal” campers who enjoyed the rugged outdoors in a tent. In retrospect, the small clearings were obviously for pup tents or pop-up campers, thus the reason for our very cramped existence stuck between two trees. We barely had enough room to only partially open the door, and we would squeeze ourselves out while trying not to hit our heads on a low-hanging tree branch. If there were other campers there, we didn’t see them. I’m sure they were hidden on the other side of the island laughing at us the entire time.
Yes, we were clueless back then. However, I was most clueless of the fact that years later I would be divorced (do you think that weekend could have been some kind of omen?) and that I would end up retiring on this beautiful island. I often wonder if I built my house on the same site we “quasi-camped” on that memorable weekend. I do have a beautiful view overlooking the Folly River, and I can see Russia, I mean, the Morris Island Lighthouse from the deck of my house. I don’t believe in coincidences. I think God knew I would need a quiet and peaceful place to live after all of the trials and tribulations I would go through in my life. Little did I know, or dream, that it would be this quaint and beautiful island we all love and call “Little Oak Island.” It is truly my paradise!
