Photographs courtesy of Marietta Muller Gwathmey The gorgeous Wrightsville Beach day that summer in By Marietta Muller Gwathmey I l l u s t r a t i o n s b y D a l e N e s e m a n macey August 1989 lent itself easily and joyfully to a shell-seeking expedition to Masonboro Island. My summertime friend Janet and I had promised our begging children that we would undertake the venture and they were eager to get underway. As we loaded the Whaler with drinks, life jackets and snacks, we collected a few extra neighborhood children. There were eight of us in the boat as we navigated the waters of Banks Channel and pulled into a creek behind Masonboro. The marsh was alive with crawling crustaceans of varying species. They skittered out of the way as we splashed through the shallow water to pull the boat in close and secure the anchor. It was low tide, but rising fast, and anchoring out too far might have meant a swim for the boat when we returned later. From where we moored, there was about a one-half-mile trek over the dunes to the ocean side of the island where the children wanted to look for shells, especially the favored sand dollars which they knew were plentiful on Masonboro. We soon mounted the ridge of the dune — it was beautiful. The narrow spit of sand and sea oats jabbed like a pointy finger between the ocean and marsh-fringed sound. The sun was bright, but not hot, and it turned the ocean into a diamond with a million brilliant facets. Gulls circled and cried, crabs scurried under-foot, and the waves foamed and crashed on the shore. Like a slingshot hurling multiple rocks, the children flung themselves down the ocean side of the dune running with wild abandon and propelled by a force of energy that I have often wished I could bottle and sell — or drink. Janet and I followed leisurely, A boy and his bird in 1989. William Gwathmey, 8, was Macey’s caretaker. How could we abandon this helpless creature that still showed a spark of life? Well, we couldn’t. enjoying the luscious salt smell, the incredible view and the joy of our children. We walked down to the shoreline and headed south, heads bent, eyes intent on the tide line of small pebbles and shells which yielded treasures every few feet: iridescent scallop shells, long fragile razors, perfect periwinkles, curled key shells and occasionally 29 www.wrightsvillebeachmagazine.com WBM
Wrightsville Beach Magazine May 2014
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