Carolina Beach Bums

11/25/2025

🌴🌅 Key West: The Island That Never Sleeps (Because It’s Too Busy Laughing)

The moment I crossed the Seven Mile Bridge, I knew Key West wasn’t just another destination—it was an attitude. A mood. A lifestyle that whispered, “Relax… and maybe have a drink while you’re at it.”

As soon as I rolled into town, chickens strutted across the road like they owned stock in the island. One rooster stopped in front of me, stared me dead in the face, then continued on like I was the inconvenience.

Welcome to Key West.

I checked into a pastel-colored guesthouse where the walls smelled faintly of sunscreen and the front desk lady called everyone “honey” whether you were 9 or 90. My room had a balcony overlooking Duval Street, where music spilled out from every corner—steel drums on the left, acoustic guitar on the right, and something that sounded like a confused ukulele from somewhere in between.

I hit the streets just in time for the sunset crowd to start migrating toward Mallory Square. Artists, tourists, locals, jugglers, acrobats, a very flexible guy pretending to be a statue—it was like a carnival collided with a tropical postcard.

I wandered over to a guy balancing on a unicycle while juggling machetes.

“You ever drop one?” I asked.

“Only once,” he said.
Then he winked.
I’m still not sure if he was joking.

As the sun sank lower, everything turned to gold—boats glowing like lanterns, water glittering like someone spilled diamonds, and that famous Key West heat settling into the perfect warm hug.

A man next to me whispered, “Best show on Earth.”
He wasn’t wrong.

Just as the last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon, the crowd erupted into applause. Clapping for a sunset might sound odd… unless you’ve seen Key West do it. Then it makes perfect sense.

Afterward, I meandered down to a tiki bar on the water. A live band played reggae. A bartender served me a drink with more fruit than alcohol. A local guy named Bubba told me he once swam with a manatee “who had better social skills than most tourists.”

Later, walking along the docks, I met an older fisherman with a weathered face and tan lines that told a thousand stories.

“First time in Key West?” he asked.

“Yeah. Love the vibe.”

He nodded. “Son, nobody comes to Key West on accident. If you end up here, it’s because you needed to.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked out at the water. “This island doesn’t just give you a good time. It gives you back a part of yourself you forgot you lost.”

He said it so calmly that I didn’t even realize until later that he'd just dropped wisdom deep enough to be a tattoo.

I wandered back toward my guesthouse, the night cooling just enough to make everything feel soft. Music played everywhere—different songs blending together into one easygoing soundtrack. The kind you swear you’ll remember forever.

Before going in, I paused on the sidewalk, listening to the roosters crowing even though it was midnight. Classic Key West.

And as I climbed into bed, I realized something about this place:

Some destinations recharge you.
Some inspire you.
Some just make you laugh.

But Key West?
Key West reminds you that life is supposed to feel good!

11/25/2025

🌊 The Whispering Water of Lake Waccamaw

Most lakes don’t feel alive. They sit still, reflect the sky, let the fish do their thing, and call it a day.
But Lake Waccamaw?
Lake Waccamaw breathes.

I noticed it the moment I stepped out of the car at the state park. The air felt warmer, heavier—like the lake was giving off its own heartbeat. The water stretched out in a perfect tea color curve, so wide you could forget it wasn’t the ocean. Cypress trees stood ankle-deep near the shoreline, their knobby knees poking up like they were trying to tell me something.

I wandered down the long wooden boardwalk that stretched into the lake, the planks creaking like they had stories of their own. A soft breeze pushed across the surface, carrying that freshwater smell—earthy, sweet, and clean.

At the end of the boardwalk stood an older man in a faded hat, casting a line. He nodded at me without looking up.

“You here for the mystery?” he asked.

“Uh… the fishing?” I tried.

He chuckled. “No one comes to Lake Waccamaw just to fish. This place is older than we can wrap our heads around. Has secrets.”

He reeled in his line smoothly. “This lake ain’t like the others. No one knows exactly how it formed. Some say meteor. Some say ancient ocean. Some say it’s just stubborn water that refused to evaporate.”

Before I could answer, a splash echoed across the surface—loud enough to make us both look.

“Could be a gar,” he said. “Or something else.”

“Something… else?”

He winked. “This lake gives back what you bring to it. You come here peaceful, it stays peaceful. Come here restless…”
He shrugged. “It’ll remind you to slow down.”

I walked along the sandy shore afterward, letting his words sit. The tea colored water was clear not murky, Minnows darted along the edge. Dragonflies hovered in shimmering blues and greens. Every movement seemed deliberate.

Farther down the trail, I found a quiet spot under a giant cypress. Its roots twisted up like carved sculpture—ancient, patient, and absolutely unbothered by time. I sat in the shade, closed my eyes, and listened.

The lake didn’t roar like the ocean. It whispered. Little laps of water. Rustling leaves. A socked-in silence that felt almost sacred.

After a while, I realized I’d slowed down without trying. My mind wasn’t racing. My shoulders weren’t tense. The lake had done exactly what the fisherman said—it reminded me to breathe.

On the walk back, I passed a sign about the Carolina bay lakes, how mysterious they were, how no one could quite explain them. I had to laugh. Lake Waccamaw didn’t need explaining. It just needed visiting.

When I reached the boardwalk again, the fisherman was gone—but his hat, sitting neatly on the railing, remained.
Maybe he’d wandered off.
Maybe he’d come back later.
Or maybe he was part of the lake’s secrets, too.

As the sun began to dip behind the trees, the lake glowed in shades of gold and glass. Calm. Ancient. Alive.

And walking away, I thought:

Some places you go to explore.
Some places you go to escape.
But Lake Waccamaw—
you go there to hear what the world sounds like when it finally stops rushing.

11/25/2025

🌅 The Last Light at Sunset Beach

Years ago Sunset Beach had a way of slowing time—not stopping it, just easing its grip. The moment I crossed the old bridge and rolled onto the island, the world instantly felt a little softer. The salt air drifted in like a welcome-back hug, and the breeze had that perfect lazy sway that made even the palm fronds look like they were on vacation. It still has that feeling, but I do miss that old bridge.

I parked near the pier just as the late-afternoon glow stretched across the sand. Families were packing up, beach chairs squeaking shut, kids negotiating “just five more minutes,” and pelicans cruising in military formation above the shoreline. Classic Sunset Beach—crowded and quiet at the same time.

I kicked off my sandals and started walking toward Bird Island. The sand was cool and powder-soft, squeaking under each step like it had secrets to tell. And in a place like Sunset Beach, it probably did.

Halfway down the shoreline, I passed a couple sitting on a blanket, arguing over whether the clouds were shaped like a dolphin or a lopsided biscuit. A white egret strutted by, clearly judging us all.

Then I saw it—the familiar wooden post rising from the dunes in the distance. The Kindred Spirit Mailbox. People said it held wishes, prayers, confessions, and sometimes just grocery lists from people who got emotionally sidetracked.

I opened the mailbox and flipped through the notebooks. One entry read:

“Came here to find peace. Found sand in my shorts instead. Still a good day.”

Another said:

“Celebrating 40 years with the love of my life. She still steals my fries.”

I added my own line:

“Carolina Beach Bum here—chasing sunsets and trying to keep my flip-flops from floating away.”

As I closed the mailbox, the sky started shifting—lavender melting into orange, orange into that deep, honey-drenched gold you only get at Sunset Beach. The waves mirrored it perfectly, turning into a rolling palette of fire and glass.

A small crowd gathered along the shoreline, everyone pulled by the same magnetic glow. Nobody talked. Nobody posed for selfies. For a minute, we were all just people watching the sun perform its nightly masterpiece.

And when the final sliver dipped below the horizon, the crowd exhaled—like we all remembered how to breathe again.

I stood there a moment longer, letting the warm breeze wrap around me. Sunset Beach didn’t just give you a view; it gave you a feeling. Soft. Slow. Honest.

Walking back in the dimming light, I realized something:

Some beaches are for fun.
Some are for adventure.
But Sunset Beach?
Sunset Beach is for the soul!

11/22/2025

11/22/2025

It is time to head south for the winter!

11/20/2025

08/11/2025