For the Love of Marinas

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I've always loved marinas. Each is unique, with its own quirks, forgivable weaknesses, and heartwarming strengths. Marinas are terraqueous places consisting of both land and water, where pleasure begins and ends and memories are made to last.

Like airports, marinas are jumping-off points between two worlds. They are memorable checkpoints on our journey through life. They are natural gathering spots where we team up and set out on adventures or return from them, full of the stories that bond family and friends alike. Recreation often begins at a marina.

During our return from a trip south on the ICW a decade ago, Jeanne and I stopped at a marina on Jekyll Island as an October evening set in and the sky lost its light. The lady in charge came down to the dock and greeted us with a smile.

“Can we stay on our boat at your dock tonight?” I think we paid a dollar a foot, so for 22 dollars we were ushered to an inside slip with our bow pointed towards the channel and any wake that might come. That lady was so friendly that I’ll never forget her. “Our restaurant is open now, and tonight we have live music. There are bikes that you can use if you want to go for a ride. If you need to go to the store we have an old van.” Her friendliness made our stay special. We had a great dinner, enjoyed the show, and walked down to our little floating bedroom for a good night’s sleep. Water lapping at the hull makes a sweet lullaby. What a great marina! I want to go back!

When I first came to Savannah thirty years ago as a Chinook pilot in the Army, I lived on the Southside. Our favorite marina in those days was at Savannah’s version of Cape Finisterre at the bitter end of Coffee Bluff Road. The old Coffee Bluff Marina (replaced now by a much finer city-funded endeavor) was a ramshackle affair with on-trailer boat storage barns, an old tractor for pulling boats to the hoist, docks for tenants and visitors, and a great little store with most of what you might need on the water.

Early on, I was part of a group of soldiers and friends who left Hunter Army Airfield’s marina at Lott’s Island headed for Ossabaw’s beaches. On one such outing, we ran into a pop-up summer thunderstorm near Coffee Bluff. In line with the notion of “any port in a storm” we tied up to the dock and took shelter in the store. And that’s how I got to know Mr. Freddie. He was the man who ran the show, pretty much solo. Freddie was a wonderful combination of behavior traits. On the surface he was a curmudgeon but as soon as he determined he wasn’t dealing with a fool or a know-it-all, he warmed right up and became as helpful as anyone could ask. Freddie and I shared jokes and stories often over the years. He never let go of the day that I attempted to scud-run a Chinook up the river at a very low level while trying to reach the airfield. The weather was crappy with low clouds, fog and rain, and no visibility to speak of. We crept up the river, marker by marker, flying at only fifty feet. We reached the marina at (maybe) a hundred feet up. On top of the store we ran into a solid wall of “I can’t see anything, can you?”

We stopped and performed a pedal-turn, pivoting directly over Freddie’s head. Freddie definitely knew we were there. Heck, he may have been outside shaking his fist at us.

We snuck back out the river and up the coast and ended up landing at the Tybee Lighthouse helipad. When next I saw Freddie I asked, “Did we do any damage?” He smiled and laughed and said “Nothing I can’t handle.” That was Freddie. He was a great American and I miss him.

For the last fourteen years my marina has been Hogans’ on Wilmington Island. I had the Sea Ray there for twelve of those beyond the normal services a marina normally provides. It seems like Hogans’ and Charity Event are paired in sentences about every month. Without Hogans’, there would be no “Fishin’ for Jaimie.” Our lives are enriched by these events where we demonstrate kindness and compassion for our fellow man – where we become the best versions of ourselves. I love my marina. years and now I captain a tour boat from their dock. The crew at Hogans’ are wonderful. The boss, Bubba Strickland, can best be described as a community treasure. Like Freddie before him, he’s got a hard shell and a soft heart. He stands on “the quarterdeck” on a summer day and barks orders to his young charges like a drill sergeant. His kids learn much about life and being squared away while working for him. These kids usually go on to enjoy happy and successful lives. Bubba does this.

I bet you have a marina you love too. When I stop at Isle of Hope’s marina to deliver Southern Tides, I sense that this is a really great place with friendly people. I want to spend time there and learn more about it. I want to sit on their deck and drink a beer and hear their stories. I’ve heard that you can have a car come from the Driftaway Café to pick you up for lunch or dinner. I need to try that.

We would love to hear your story about your favorite marina. The one you love - the one that makes you take a deep breath and let it out and relax. Please share your story with us on our Facebook page or send us a message. Heck, I might come enjoy your marina with you and hear your story in person. First beer’s on me.

Hogans’ Marina serves my community in many ways, well

Now, maybe you were wondering about that quote at the beginning. Well, this instruction was printed on a piece of cardboard cut in the shape of home plate and fastened to the wall behind the toilet at the old Coffee Bluff Marina men’s room. I imagine Freddie smiled when he posted it, and it never failed to make me chuckle when I stood in position at the appropriate distance from the plate.