Below is a map of Hunting Island Campground, South Carolina
The original campground was just one bath house and tent camping. The green areas is where it expanded offering 30amp electricity. The upper blue areas is where the campground enlarged venturing into the jungle area. It offers 30 or 50amp service plus water. There are no lots with sewer or TV cable.
This trip I stayed in lot 146. Ironically, last March, I stayed in lot 145. My friend and his dog came to visit recently, they were lucky enough to get lot 147 across from me. The folks coming after me cancelled so I extended my stay through October 20th.
Now that I am messing about with the insurance over my roof stabbing, I extended my stay again through the 23rd but had to relocate to lot 184. This map is not at all accurate, but it's sort of close. For instance lot 111 and 146 are side by side, but on this map, it looks like a great expanse between the two.
The green area is mostly sand and palm trees. The blue section is mostly dirt and jungle. The little dark blue lines are how they laid it out for suggested parking on your camp site, but many folks wiggle around to get the best spot that suits them. The beach camping areas have changed over the years, as front row camping lots were consumed by storms and high tides.
The roads are narrow and one way. The trail-side camping in pink, is really quite wonderful. I went up there hiking with my friend and the dogs, to check on the space, since they weren't in use. Inside the holler of a tree, someone had left behind some split dry wood wrapped in plastic. My friend carried it back to my campsite. We built a roaring fire that afternoon, then dined in the evening on spicy Jambalaya with local shrimp and hot sausage. We made piglets of ourselves, it was so delicious. The fire lasted until late in the night. It was still roaring along, when I went to bed, it seemed safe enough in the fire ring. I was in bed, propped up with pillows watching it from my bedroom window.
Then the rains came, the fire fought mightily, then lost the battle to the waters from heaven.
But for a brief time, that fire enchanted me, transporting me back to Overbrook House. I owned it for 7 or so years in the 80's in Greenville, South Carolina. The house was nearly 100 years old, very sturdy, with generous rooms and high ceilings. I loved the place, it was less than 5 minutes from work. I had three pets living with me, two cats and a dog. In my bedroom was an ornate fireplace built for coal. It was small but suitable for wood burning too.
Out back I had two piles of firewood. One stack of short logs for the bedroom fireplace and longer split lengths for the living room fires.
As long as I lived in that house, I built a fire in my bedroom every night in the winter. I also had a fireplace in the living room which was in use almost as much as the bedroom fireplace. I liked having the cozy home fires. I used to lay in bed after a rugged day in the executive jungle, letting the fire mesmerize me into drifting off to a deep sleep. My cats were piled on the bed with me, my big white German Shepherd was laying in front of the fire, on a rug that was purposely super padded so it felt like walking on the softest thing imaginable. The dog loved that rug, me, the fire, the cats. We were one happy cozy family.
One time I ordered up wood over the phone from a guy who was going to cut trees into logs, then split the wood, deliver it and stack it. I explained I wanted half the load in 15 inch lengths for the bedroom and the other half in 30 inch lengths for the living room. The agreement was he would not only deliver the load, but stack it up for me too. I had a nice covered area out back.
Saturday morning, I was in the sun room off my bedroom in the back of the house. I heard this awful roar. I ran to the front door, to see that the firewood truck had showed up, then dumped this huge pile of wood in one big heap of a mess on my font lawn, flattening out flower beds, mashing up the postage stamp sized grass in the garden.
I was flabbergasted. I ran out to talk with the goofy man asking him WHAT was he doing? He proceed to start grabbing a few pieces of wood and stacking them on the large front porch. I explained I wanted it stacked in back, under cover, since it was green wood and I wouldn't be using it this year. Then I noticed the entire load was in identical sizes. All of them about 20 inches in length.
Even funnier, the guy selling the wood couldn't understand, no matter how many times I tried to explain to him, why I wanted logs in two different sizes.
He just kept telling me over and over that the 20 inch logs would burn as nicely as 15 or 30 inch logs.
Had he left the load in the truck, my driveway ran down the hill, along the side of the house, to the big backyard, where I wanted it stacked under a rear addition that sat on 8-foot high brick columns. My house was a town home that was slender across the front, but super long down the sides. From the street, it looked like a tiny house with a big front porch. The front yard was terraced level, but the lot sloped downhill along side length of the house to the back garden.
I wish I had a video of the idiotic conversation we had over where the wood should be stacked and the size problem and so on. Plus I was pretty irate that the dunce had ruined my front garden in his thrill to try out his new dump truck mechanism. In the end, the guy was such a bully, hard-headed and stupid as cardboard. If anything that video would have been a great example to show kids why they should never ever drop out of school (for fear of ending up a pure halfwit like this prime example before me.)
For some insane reason, I ended up buying the wood, just to get him to move it off my front garden and get him off my property. When he was done, there was a huge mess where my beautiful flowerbeds and grass had been. I had worked so hard on my outdoor garden. I was nearly in tears when I saw the huge damage he had wreaked. Then the bloke suddenly bent over, started ripping my flattened flowers out of the ground and tossing them randomly around the garden while I screamed "Stop that!"
I paid the man, to get rid of him. Incredibly he was seriously trying to tell me to call him again for more wood. I told him I wouldn't call him if he was the last man on planet earth and I was freezing to death. He looked at me and asked in a serious tone "Why not? I done give you a fair price and I custom cut it for you."
As I stood there before him, I so wanted to say "Your head ain't good for nothing but a hat rack!" But I bit my lip instead. (Wimpy me!)
It was an expression I clearly remember my mother saying to me in a slightly different form. I had done something stupid and she got mad and declared "Try using your head for something else besides a hat rack!"
The original campground was just one bath house and tent camping. The green areas is where it expanded offering 30amp electricity. The upper blue areas is where the campground enlarged venturing into the jungle area. It offers 30 or 50amp service plus water. There are no lots with sewer or TV cable.
This trip I stayed in lot 146. Ironically, last March, I stayed in lot 145. My friend and his dog came to visit recently, they were lucky enough to get lot 147 across from me. The folks coming after me cancelled so I extended my stay through October 20th.
Now that I am messing about with the insurance over my roof stabbing, I extended my stay again through the 23rd but had to relocate to lot 184. This map is not at all accurate, but it's sort of close. For instance lot 111 and 146 are side by side, but on this map, it looks like a great expanse between the two.
The green area is mostly sand and palm trees. The blue section is mostly dirt and jungle. The little dark blue lines are how they laid it out for suggested parking on your camp site, but many folks wiggle around to get the best spot that suits them. The beach camping areas have changed over the years, as front row camping lots were consumed by storms and high tides.
Then the rains came, the fire fought mightily, then lost the battle to the waters from heaven.
But for a brief time, that fire enchanted me, transporting me back to Overbrook House. I owned it for 7 or so years in the 80's in Greenville, South Carolina. The house was nearly 100 years old, very sturdy, with generous rooms and high ceilings. I loved the place, it was less than 5 minutes from work. I had three pets living with me, two cats and a dog. In my bedroom was an ornate fireplace built for coal. It was small but suitable for wood burning too.
Out back I had two piles of firewood. One stack of short logs for the bedroom fireplace and longer split lengths for the living room fires.
As long as I lived in that house, I built a fire in my bedroom every night in the winter. I also had a fireplace in the living room which was in use almost as much as the bedroom fireplace. I liked having the cozy home fires. I used to lay in bed after a rugged day in the executive jungle, letting the fire mesmerize me into drifting off to a deep sleep. My cats were piled on the bed with me, my big white German Shepherd was laying in front of the fire, on a rug that was purposely super padded so it felt like walking on the softest thing imaginable. The dog loved that rug, me, the fire, the cats. We were one happy cozy family.
One time I ordered up wood over the phone from a guy who was going to cut trees into logs, then split the wood, deliver it and stack it. I explained I wanted half the load in 15 inch lengths for the bedroom and the other half in 30 inch lengths for the living room. The agreement was he would not only deliver the load, but stack it up for me too. I had a nice covered area out back.
Saturday morning, I was in the sun room off my bedroom in the back of the house. I heard this awful roar. I ran to the front door, to see that the firewood truck had showed up, then dumped this huge pile of wood in one big heap of a mess on my font lawn, flattening out flower beds, mashing up the postage stamp sized grass in the garden.
I was flabbergasted. I ran out to talk with the goofy man asking him WHAT was he doing? He proceed to start grabbing a few pieces of wood and stacking them on the large front porch. I explained I wanted it stacked in back, under cover, since it was green wood and I wouldn't be using it this year. Then I noticed the entire load was in identical sizes. All of them about 20 inches in length.
Even funnier, the guy selling the wood couldn't understand, no matter how many times I tried to explain to him, why I wanted logs in two different sizes.
He just kept telling me over and over that the 20 inch logs would burn as nicely as 15 or 30 inch logs.
Had he left the load in the truck, my driveway ran down the hill, along the side of the house, to the big backyard, where I wanted it stacked under a rear addition that sat on 8-foot high brick columns. My house was a town home that was slender across the front, but super long down the sides. From the street, it looked like a tiny house with a big front porch. The front yard was terraced level, but the lot sloped downhill along side length of the house to the back garden.
I wish I had a video of the idiotic conversation we had over where the wood should be stacked and the size problem and so on. Plus I was pretty irate that the dunce had ruined my front garden in his thrill to try out his new dump truck mechanism. In the end, the guy was such a bully, hard-headed and stupid as cardboard. If anything that video would have been a great example to show kids why they should never ever drop out of school (for fear of ending up a pure halfwit like this prime example before me.)
For some insane reason, I ended up buying the wood, just to get him to move it off my front garden and get him off my property. When he was done, there was a huge mess where my beautiful flowerbeds and grass had been. I had worked so hard on my outdoor garden. I was nearly in tears when I saw the huge damage he had wreaked. Then the bloke suddenly bent over, started ripping my flattened flowers out of the ground and tossing them randomly around the garden while I screamed "Stop that!"
I paid the man, to get rid of him. Incredibly he was seriously trying to tell me to call him again for more wood. I told him I wouldn't call him if he was the last man on planet earth and I was freezing to death. He looked at me and asked in a serious tone "Why not? I done give you a fair price and I custom cut it for you."
As I stood there before him, I so wanted to say "Your head ain't good for nothing but a hat rack!" But I bit my lip instead. (Wimpy me!)
It was an expression I clearly remember my mother saying to me in a slightly different form. I had done something stupid and she got mad and declared "Try using your head for something else besides a hat rack!"
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