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Road Trip, Part 4, Packing List, Smith Falls State Park to Houston, June 20-22, 2025.

Kolache

It’s a toss-up between a good kolache1 and a good donut, but I’d probably choose the kolache because they’re less common. Pretty good donuts can be found in lots of places, but the best kolache are found only on the edge of the interstate in small towns. In Texas they’re common enough, and in one of the best things you can say about anyplace kolache are common in Nebraska.

Kolache are Czech, re-homed by Czech immigrants to Texas and the Midwest, and are most often compared to Danish. It’s not an apt comparison. Danish probably originated in Austria, are often glazed, and like croissant are made with a laminated dough. Kolache should never be glazed,2 or laminated, and they feature a mildly sweet pillowy yeast dough.

Kolache are about the size of a biscuit. The center depression is filled with either a fruit preserve, sweetened cream cheese, or sweetened poppy seeds. A kolache without any filling would be a tiny bread loaf, not a kolache, and there’s no such thing as a sausage kolache. Except there are sausage kolache, but more on that later.

Many years ago I witnessed a panel discussion by a group of Tex-Czech bakers, who said that traditional kolache were filled with prune preserves, sweetened farm cheese, or poppy seeds. The panel members had all grown up on small Central Texas farms during the Depression, and explained that their mothers baked the big three because prunes were very cheap, everybody–meaning every Czech farm family–had a cow and made their own farm cheese, and that there were always poppies in the farmyard. I guess that in addition to farm cheese all those Czech farm wives made their own opium.

Kolache are filled with all kinds of fruit, not just prunes. I’d probably eat any kolache offered, but if they’re available I usually order one or more of the big three: a farm cheese, poppy seed, or a prune. At the kolache counter in Hruska’s in Ellinger–which sells my favorite kolache and where there’s always a line–the woman behind the counter once beamed when I ordered all three and said that those were the three kinds of kolache that her mother always made. That touch of tradition made both of us happy.

I don’t know the history of Kolache in Nebraska, or even how I knew that Nebraska, like Texas, loves kolache, but we had a campsite reserved for three nights at Smith Falls State Park near Valentine, Nebraska. Since by the first morning we had our Nebraska fish (or more precisely I had my fish and Kris had decided not to fish), the next morning we packed up our campsite a day early and took a 150 mile frolic out of our way to Verdigre, Nebraska, the self-proclaimed Kolach Capitol of the World.3

The dough in Verdigre Bakery’s kolache is a little different from Texas kolache. It’s less puffy, denser, more bite sized. . . Maybe the dough is a bit less sweet. After extensive sampling I couldn’t tell any difference between Texas and Nebraska fillings. The picture above is of poppy seed, so I guess opium is also a farmyard cash crop in Nebraska.

The lady in the Verdigre Bakery said that Texans sometimes stop by for kolache, but that we always asked for sausage kolaches. Kolache with sausage are not actually kolache, but klobasnek (or pigs in a blanket). Calling klobasnek “sausage kolaches” is common usage in Texas, and they’re made with the same dough as kolache. Still, even if it’s common usage, the misuse greatly annoys some Tex-Czechs.4 Kolache lovers from other states are just confused.

From Verdigre we drove another 180 miles out of the way to Omaha, because we had never been to Omaha, and somewhere during the drive to Verdigre we decided that this was our big chance. The College World Series was scheduled to start the next day, and Omaha’s streets were crowded with LSU purple and gold. I didn’t see any Coastal Carolina fans, which was the other team in the Series, and like their fans the Coastal Carolina team didn’t show up much for the World Series. We saw the stadium, and the lively district around the stadium, then drove on to Wichita, Kansas, where we spent the night. During that round-about meandering we crossed into Iowa, so I guess we actually drove through nine states, not just eight. The next day we drove 560 miles home from Wichita, a day earlier than we had planned.

Gear

In Wyoming they told us to bring six weight rods, which is a heavier rod than is normal for trout, but these were big fish in heavy current, so a six weight was a good idea. In South Dakota we used five-weights, which is the most common rod for trout. I tried a three weight spey rod to fish the Niobara River, but that didn’t go too well. I had Winston rods, Kris had a very old 1991 Orvis Rocky Mountain six weight, and she said it was so heavy she could barely lift it.5 I suspect she might have been exaggerating just a bit. She also had an Orvis Helios 3 five weight, and there were no complaints from her about the five weight.

We only used cold water floating lines. In Wyoming and South Dakota we mostly fished with underwater nymphs under indicators. In Nebraska I caught those extraordinary bass on black Pat’s rubber legs fished as streamers.

Our Car

This was a road trip, so a few things about our car.

Pre-trip my car had about 50,000 miles on it. The week before the trip we had scheduled maintenance done, and on the dealer’s recommendation had a brake job and I replaced the battery. I had the tires rotated at Discount Tire. I installed a Victory 4×4 rear window molle panel and upper shelf for storage in the cargo area, and re-mounted the fly rod vault on the roof rack. The upper shelf and the rod vault were useful, the rear window molle panel wasn’t but it looked manly. The fly rod vault holds four assembled fly rods, and rod vaults are apparently required by law in Colorado. They’re certainly common enough.

In addition to the rod vault I bought a Pelican gear box and mounting hardware from REI. I got the smallest box to minimize wind resistance, but it didn’t hold enough stuff. I should have bought the largest size.

In Wisconsin years before our muskie guide had demonstrated the cargo drawers in his truck, and since then I’ve wanted a set for our SUV cargo area. Plenty of companies sell cargo drawers for pickups and SUVs, but they’re expensive, and I thought that I could build my own. It took me about three weeks of intermittent labor, and the result includes the appropriate number of design flaws. I built two 35″ wide drawers from side to side, 30″ deep from front to back. The lower drawer is about 10″ deep and the top 6″.

I loved the top drawer. I could throw in my sunglasses and reels and rod tubes, my fly boxes and maps and camera, and all the other smallish stuff that would otherwise be rattling around loose in the back of my car, but the stuff I put in the bottom drawer would have done better in a duffel. Or a larger roof box.

What’s worse, the two stacked drawers ate up the back of the SUV, and the first time I went to the grocery after installation I realized that except for the back seat I no longer had anyplace to put groceries. When we stacked duffels on the drawers we couldn’t really use the rearview mirror. The drawers will get rebuilt as two shallower drawers, hopefully by our next road trip.

By the time I rebuild the drawers I figure it will have cost me as much as buying pre-made drawers in the first place.

Buc-ee’s

Buc-ee’s is a chain of travel centers, placed strategically along Texas interstates. The first Buc-ee’s was near Houston in Clute (home of The Great Texas Mosquito Festival). I have a love-hate relationship with Buc-ee’s. Once when I fished Matagorda Bay I parked my car for the day in an out-of-the-way corner of Buc-ee’s Wharton parking lot, and management tagged my car with a semi-permanent sticker that told me to never, ever leave my car in a Buc-ee’s lot again. It took an hour of scraping to get the sticker and the residual glue off my car window. It wasn’t very neighborly, and a polite note would have gotten the message across. I also don’t trust their brisket or kolache (though I do give them points for having brisket and kolache), and I hate crowds. Buc-ee’s interstate travel centers are huge and are always crowded, though there are so many urinals in the men’s room that there’s never a line.

On the plus side for Buc-ee’s, there are things you have to respect. There are all those urinals and the bathrooms are immaculate. The gas is cheap. You can buy many strange and amusing things in Buc-ee’s, from barbecue pits to onesies for the grandchild, they don’t allow 18-wheelers, and they’re spaced along the major routes out of Houston just where you need ’em. They pay their employees well above the minimum wage.

Buc-ee’s has now spread beyond Texas, to, among other places, Alabama, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Florida. On this trip we found one north of Denver. Someday Buc-ee’s will be everywhere, and beaver nuggets and mediocre kolache will be available to everyone.

I made my peace with Buc-ee’s on this trip. I forgave them that window sticker and I suffered the crowds. I bought their relatively cheap gas. I even bought some parched corn and a Rice Crispie treat. I did not buy my grandchild a onesie.

Where We Stayed, What We Ate

Out of our 12 nights, we spent only three in hotels. Two of the hotels were unremarkable, a Holiday Inn Express in Amarillo and a Holiday Inn in Wichita, Kansas. The most expensive hotel, The Rally Hotel in downtown Denver, was across the street from Coors Field where we stopped for baseball. Both the hotel and Coors Field were great, though the Rockies not so much. At check-in they gave us free beer, which was friendly even if it was a Coors. Staying next to the stadium was almost worth the cost, and almost worth the drive through downtown Denver at rush hour.

Because Roo the dog was with us, we felt more comfortable leaving her in an AirBnB than in a hotel on the days we spent fishing. We spent four nights in an AirBnB in Wyoming and three in South Dakota, and both were fine. The one in Wyoming had the better view.

We camped two nights in Nebraska, which meant that our car was packed with camping gear. We’ve owned our tent for most of our marriage, more than 40 years, and it has survived a lot of use. This trip though one of the poles broke. We cobbled together a repair, but I wouldn’t trust it in hard weather. The tent may have seen its last road trip.

Because we were camping and staying in AirBnBs, we cooked a lot. At home we almost always cook, and I’d say we’re adventurous, competent cooks, but on this trip there was no adventure. We ate beef for dinner and bacon for breakfast. We ate steaks. We ate burgers. We ate more steaks and then we ate more burgers. We ate eggs and bacon with toast for breakfast.

We spent a lot of time in grocery stores, which is actually a pretty good way to get to know a place. Mack’s Market in Thermopolis, Wyoming, not only sells groceries, but it has its own liquor store inside, and a gun shop. What more does one need?

I think I’ve covered most of the trip’s restaurant stops in the other road trip sections, except for the pizzas we had in Lander and Thermopolis in Wyoming. This really was a junk food extravaganza. We also had donuts in Amarillo, which would make a pretty good country song, and in Fort Collins, Colorado, which would also make a pretty good country song. The donuts were ok, but I wouldn’t have picked them over a good kolache.

Where We Didn’t Go

I would have liked to see more rivers in Wyoming, and in September we are going to fish for a day in Yellowstone at the end of our Montana trip, probably on the Firehole. 6 I’m already thinking about a trip next May through Wyoming and back to the Green River in Utah.

I’d like to explore more of the streams in the Black Hills, but probably never will.

We didn’t stop for an onion burger when we drove through Oklahoma. We didn’t see the giant ball of twine in Kansas. I guess I’ll be remembered as the guy who never saw the giant ball of twine.

Playlist

I made playlists for Nebraska, South Dakota, and Wyoming, but I have to admit we mostly listened to books while we were driving. “Willow, Weep for Me,” by the Nebraska composer Ann Ronnell was on the Nebraska playlist. It has been recorded by everybody, and we had versions by, among others, Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, Julie London, Sarah Vaughan, Lew Rawls, Tony Bennett, Barbra Streisand, Chad & Jeremy, and Sam Cooke. Ronnell also wrote “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.”

Disney pigs, likely from Nebraska.

The other well-known song on the Nebraska list was “Nebraska” by Bruce Springsteen, foreshadowing New Jersey, which will likely be our last state. Omaha and Lincoln seem to have pretty lively alternative music scenes. Mannheim Steamroller is from Nebraska. I’m not a fan of Mannheim Steamroller.

Danielle Ate the Sandwich, from Nebraska and Colorado, plays a ukulele and sings. She is wonderful, witty, and fun.

Ooh, I've got soul, I've got soul
But you'd never know, never know
If you were stuck across the table from me
The terrible dinner guest

The Terrible Dinner Guest, Danielle Ate the Sandwich
Danielle Ate the Sandwich.

There are about 100 songs named “Wyoming,” and all of them are pretty good, though the rap song “Wyoming” by Afroman doesn’t live up to his classic, “Idaho.” The country singer Chris Ledoux is the best known musician from Wyoming, and he’s big on melodramatic story-telling, which for me is not quite the thing unless it involves either Laredo, El Paso, or a girl named Rosalita (also foreshadowing New Jersey).

The best song ever written about Wyoming is “Git Along Little Doggies.” This is jumping ahead, but the best song ever written about Montana is “I Ride an Old Paint.”

I never got around to much of a South Dakota list. The only person on my South Dakota list is Shawn Colvin, though I probably should have included “Born to Be Wild” as a nod to Sturgis. I always enjoy Shawn Colvin, though, so I’m ok with sticking to Shawn Colvin.

Guitar

I played the guitar a lot on this trip, probably because we cooked in our adopted homes and there was more free time in the evenings. In Nebraska, at the state park, after the failed attempt at spey casting on the Niobara River, I sat at our campground and played for a couple of hours while Kris went to Valentine to shop for steaks, bacon, and burgers. A woman with a Denver guitar shop tee shirt came over to talk to me about guitars, and invited us to their campfire that evening. It was a nice gesture, but when I went to bed at nine-ish the campfire hadn’t kicked off. I’m sorry. They might have known someplace to fish.

  1. The Czech singular for kolache is properly kolach, and the plural is kolache. The Texas usage of kolache as the singular and kolaches as the plural is not correct, but it makes a lot of sense to English speakers, and probably Spanish speakers as well. At various times I use all of them. Sometimes I suspect I use all of them in the same sentence. I’m betting my usage would make a Czech baker’s head spin. ↩︎
  2. In Schuelenberg, between Houston and San Antonio, there’s an otherwise good bakery that glazes its kolache. It’s unnecessary frippery, and I’ve only stopped for their kolache once. ↩︎
  3. Verdigre is home of an annual Kolach Days Festival. Wikipedia reports that Kolache are also available in other Midwestern states, including Minnesota, South Dakota, and Prague, Oklahoma. Both West, Texas, and Caldwell, Texas, claim to be the Kolache capitol of Texas, and West does have very good kolache. I’ve never had kolache in Caldwell. ↩︎
  4. Sausage kolache are not even Czech, but a Texas variant. The greatest kolache variant of all is from a Cambodian-owned donut shop in St. Charles, Louisiana, where instead of sausage they stuff their koblasnek with rice boudin. Brilliant. There are now boudin kolache at most independent donut shops in Houston. ↩︎
  5. Graphite fly rods are impossibly light, a matter of a couple of pounds and some stray ounces. What’s more, the newer graphite materials in modern rods allow thinner tip ends than rods from 30 years ago, so that when you’re swinging a nine-foot lever a modern rod will feel lighter than a 30 year-old rod of similar weight. The 30-year old rod Kris was fishing was pretty light, but it likely felt heavier than what she was used to. ↩︎
  6. Most of Yellowstone is in Wyoming. This is one of those factoids that always seems unnatural, like Kansas City being in Missouri. ↩︎
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Massachusetts Packing List

Gear

I don’t write reviews of gear. Years ago, I gave Kris a new fly rod, an Orvis Helios 3 five-weight–what else does a girl want for Christmas?–and I wrote a review of the rod. I’ve been embarrassed ever since. I think I said that it cast well. Our Massachusetts guide brought along an Orvis Helios 4 nymphing rod, the new top-of-the-line rods from Orvis, and I was excited about fishing with it, but you won’t get a review from me, except that it looks good and it cast as well as I could cast it.

My opinions about fishing gear aren’t worth much. I tend to fish the same brands over and over, so I don’t really have much basis for comparison. From time to time I catch rod fever, or convince myself that I need a new reel to replace a perfectly good reel that I hardly ever use. Some days you just need to go to the store. But my opinions? You don’t need my opinions on fishing gear, or probably anything else.

So be warned: I’m going to share my opinions on fly rods:

  • Most modern rods can outfish me. I have never tested a rod’s limits.
  • If I lose a fish, it’s not the rod.
  • You can’t have too many fly rods in a closet back home.
  • For trout, I fish Winston rods because they’re pretty. Fly rods can always cast better than I do, so they might as well be pretty.
  • I usually decide that I need a new fly rod when I haven’t gone fishing in a while.
  • Someday I’m going to fish that Tenkara rod again. Someday I’m going to fish that Euro nymphing rod again. Someday I’m going to fish that Winston 3-weight again. Someday I’m going to fish that Sage 12-weight.
  • I think I need a new 10-weight. The new Orvis Helios 4s seem really nice. Maybe Kris needs a new 10-weight? Too bad Mother’s Day is past.
  • When I pick a rod for a day’s fishing, I always pick a rod that’s reasonably heavy. It’s like the start of the baseball season: this isn’t a time for pessimism. Picking a heavy rod affirms my certainty that I will catch a bigger, stronger fish than I can otherwise handle. I won’t, and deep in my heart I know I won’t, but there’s plenty enough opportunities in this life for sad outcomes.

We took two 5-weight rods with floating lines to Massachusetts–hers was the Helios 3 I’d gifted those many years ago, and mine was a Winston. I didn’t take the Tenkara, nor the 12-weight.

Palmer, Massachusetts

We’ve been to Massachusetts before, so we fished two days, spent three nights, and then came home. Otherwise, we didn’t do anything but eat. It’s just as well because Palmer is not a tourist Mecca. We ate at an Italian place with huge portions of red sauce, a sushi joint that’s pretty good, and a railroad-themed restaurant in the old train station. I think that if I lived in Palmer, I’d eat at the sushi joint a lot. I think if we’d spent four nights, we’d have eaten at the sushi joint twice.

We stayed at the Trainmasters Inn, a railroad-themed bed-and-breakfast owned by the people who own the railroad-themed restaurant. It was nice, there was hot water, and I liked looking at all the train bric-a-brac. The railroad-themed restaurant gave us free bread pudding because we stayed at their railroad-themed inn. At the bed-and-breakfast, the breakfast was always a berry muffin left by unseen hands on a cake plate in the self-service coffee room. They were good muffins, but by the third morning I would have liked some variety.

There was a railroad hobby shop next to the Italian place, but it was never open. That’s too bad. If my life had taken a slightly different path this could be a blog about toy trains. What guy doesn’t love toy trains?

I didn’t see any running toy trains at the railroad-themed restaurant, which seems to me a real oversight.

Donuts

By statute, the only donuts allowed in Massachusetts are Dunkin’s. Does anyone really like Dunkin’ Donuts? The answer to that is yes, Massachusans. I suspect they eat Dunkin’ Donuts three meals a day, 365 days a year. On Thanksgiving and Christmas they have turkey, but they also have Dunkin’ Donut dressing on the side.

I counted six Dunkin’ Donut shops in the Hartford airport, and if I were the Governor of Connecticut I’d call out the national guard to protect the border from illegal immigration.

See that line of cars in the parking lot? That’s the line of cars for the Palmer Dunkin’s takeout window. It was at the back of the building, so that line of car loops around the building.

I made Kris go to Dunkin’ Donuts twice, and in the interest of science I tried several. I thought the Boston creme was the best of the lot, but Kris refused to try it. It did look pretty goopy. The blueberry donuts were ok, and so were the chocolate glazed. I suspect that the plain glazed had never seen hot fat. The donuts were passable, but none of them explained the Massachusetts obsession.

Where We Didn’t Go

We’d been to Fenway a couple of times, and have had good visits to Boston. We’ve been to Nantucket. We didn’t fish there though, and we haven’t fished Martha’s Vineyard or Cape Cod for stripers. Stripers would be an excellent choice for Massachusetts, but April was a bit early in the season.

We didn’t visit the Emily Dickinson house, which was just up the road in Amherst, and we didn’t visit Walden Pond.

Snow

It snowed the second morning we were there, and on the third day it was still snowing when we reached the airport. As far as I know it snows every day in Palmer, and Massachusettians spend their days standing at the plate glass window at the Dunkin’s watching the snow.

Playlist

Massachusetts makes for a good playlist. You could actually do a great playlist of music by Berklee College of Music graduates, though I didn’t. The first song I put on the list was “Dirty Water” by the Standells, which was a favorite song of my childhood. Apparently the band’s sound engineer wrote it after he was mugged visiting Boston, and the Standells were from LA, but Bostonians made it their own.

On my Massachusetts Playlist, there’s James Taylor, Joan Baez, the Cars, Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, Aerosmith, J. Geils Band, Marky Mark, Donna Summer (did you know that there’s a 17 minute version of “Love to Love You Baby” that includes at least 15 minutes of heavy breathing?), Boston, the Pixies, and the strangest baseball song ever written, Warren Zevon’s “Bill Lee.” None of it is magnificent (except maybe Jonathan Richman), but it’s mostly good, and none of it is unlistenable (at least in short doses–that heavy breathing goes on a bit too long). Most of it is pretty sophisticated stuff. There’s also New Kids on the Block . OK, some of it is pretty unlistenable.

Bill Lee, From Boston Baseball History, https://bostonbaseballhistory.com/new-bill-lee-remembers-1975/

Guitar

I took a guitar to Massachusetts, but I never took it out of the case.

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South Carolina Packing List

Gear

We took eight-weight 9 foot rods, floating lines, and seven foot 16 pound leaders. We took redfish flies, which are generally any fly that looks even vaguely like a shrimp, crab, or small fish. If redfish are eating, they will eat anything you throw at them, including feathers, fur, polyester, and baseballs. Tan is my preferred color, unless my preferred color is chartreuse, purple, red, or pink, or if I’m feeling natural either olive or white. As long as they’re eating, redfish are a happy fish, and almost any color works.

What could be easier?

So of course we had a problem with our reels. I have used the same reels in saltwater for 30 years: Tibors. They’re beautiful things, handmade in Florida, and they come in different sizes for different fish, the 8-9 Everglades for bonefish and redfish, the 9-10 Riptide for permit and jacks, the bigger 11-12 Gulfstream for tarpon, and finally the massive Pacifica for things like sailfish and marlin, whatever those might be. Actually, I own some other 11-12 reels but I don’t own a Gulfstream, and I don’t need anything as big as a Pacifica. I own several Everglades and a couple of Riptides, but I lust after an orange Gulfstream. Not that I’d ever mention it because then Kris might feel obligated to remember that on my birthday or Christmas.

Or Father’s Day. Father’s Day is coming up.

Tibors are bombproof, easy to work on in the field, and for any given size their parts are interchangeable. They take almost no maintenance, and their design hasn’t changed significantly in the 30 years I’ve used them. Tibor engraves your name on a nameplate for the reel, and there is something so satisfying, so validating when one screws on that identifying nameplate. It’s there for everybody to see: this guy Neil Thomas ain’t fooling around. He owns a Tibor, so he must be special!

I love them. Mine have my name on them. I’m special.

Tibor makes other reels, the Signature, the Backcountry, the Billy Pate, but only the Tibor is just the Tibor. Tibors now come in fancy colors, though as I recall the originals were either gold or black. My oldest is gold, though the gold has faded and it’s pretty beat up. It’s the reel I used in South Carolina, and right now it’s in our skiff down the coast at Port O’Connor. It’s a well-made thing.

Kris doesn’t like them, and that was our problem. It’s not that they don’t work, but she says they’re heavy, and bulky, and to her they just don’t feel right. I keep trying to slip them in on her, hoping she’ll grow as fond of them as I am, because then I’d have an excuse to buy more. When we were packing for Charleston her usual eight-weight reel had a seven-weight line on it, so instead of switching the line I packed one of my Everglades. She complained the whole time we fished.

It was too heavy. It didn’t feel right on her rod. Where was her reel?

So now she has a new reel, a Hardy that she picked out at Gordy & Sons. It was a Christmas present, and by me a capitulation. It’s lightweight, probably flawless, probably made in Korea. It’s certainly very nice. It’s not a Tibor.

Hotels

Visiting the King Street shopping district in Charleston is a Garden & Gun ad incarnate. There’s jewelry and ball gowns, beachwear and books. I’m certain there are Luis Vuitton purses, and purses made at a boutique South Carolina saddlery shop, and purses made of woven sea grass. There’s crockery and cookware and antiques. I always wondered why Charleston was such a vacation magnet, and now I know. People go to Charleston to shop.

Where once slaves were auctioned, now there are bibelots, and bibelots don’t come with the same moral downside. I bought a spool of 20 lb. saltwater tippet at the Orvis store, so I did my part. My shopping was completely successful.

There are also hotels. You can spend as much as you’d like on a King Street hotel, though probably not as little. We actually stayed outside of the shopping district several miles inland, in an area of town that is gentrifying from the possibly dangerous to the marginal. I’m fond of mid-century modern motor inns, and we found a restored one in Charleston. In Savannah, just down the coast, we had stayed at a great restored motor inn, but the Starlight Motor Inn in Charleston was not as finely finished as the Thunderbird Inn in Savannah, nor was it as central. It was very good though, with small but well-appointed rooms. The room rates were immensely reasonable, and parking was free. I’d stay there again in a heartbeat.

The strange thing about the Starlight, I guess the ultramodern thing about the Starlight, was that we never saw any live employees. Check-in was by internet, which included a room code but no card or key. There was only a keypad for room entry. Room-cleaning was by request at an extra cost, which seemed fair since the room rate was so low. There was a storage unit with extra towels and coffee and whatnot in a cabinet in the stairwell under our room, and whether or not we were supposed to we helped ourselves to what we needed. There is a bar at the Starlight, but it’s open Thursday to Sunday and we were there Monday to Wednesday. I’m certain we could have roused someone if we’d needed, but there was never a need.

There was a pickle ball court painted onto the parking lot, and a moveable net, but there wasn’t a pool. Kris didn’t tip me when I carried our bags to the room.

Donuts

Annie’s Hot Donuts, in Mount Pleasant, was outside of Charleston proper but on the way to the ferry for Fort Sumter. At Annie’s, donuts are made when ordered, with fat fry-dom on demand and toppings from an ice cream sundae buffet of choices. It is such a miracle, why have I never seen one of these before? Why isn’t there one in Houston? Granted, in the morning, at the best Houston Shipley’s, the glazed donuts are hot when you get them, and a hot Shipley’s glazed is donut perfection, but that’s turnover and time of day, not the business plan. Every donut at Annie’s is hot when delivered. Miraculous.

There is an online list from Eater of Charleston’s essential donuts, but it unforgivably doesn’t include Annie’s. On the morning we fished–we fished one morning and then the next afternoon–we were on the water before any of the Eater-listed donut shops opened. We tracked down where Glazed Gourmet Donuts on King Street had been, but it’s now permanently closed. Joey Bag of Donuts was out of our way, though it was certainly one of the best names ever. On the day we fished in the afternoon, we had breakfast at The Junction, which was on the list, but it wasn’t donut day at The Junction so we had to settle for biscuits. I’ll grant that they were excellent biscuits.

The Junction was interesting not just for the biscuits, but because it was in Park Circle, even further west of the King Street shopping district than our motel. Park Circle seems to be the Bohemian, as opposed to the Garden & Gun, side of town, where because of cheap rents you can find a micro-brewery, or a bike shop, or a vinyl record store. It looked fun to explore, and I recall the biscuits fondly.

Restaurants

There are as many restaurants in Charleston as there are guitar pickers in Nashville, and in addition to the redfish that I didn’t catch, we left a bunch of restaurants untested. For our two lunches we had oysters near King Street. If we had had three days for lunch, we would have had oysters three days. We didn’t eat near enough oysters.

The two places we ate lunch, 167 Oyster Bar and Amen Street Fish and Raw Bar, weren’t joints. They were upscale, focused on seafood generally, and we paired our oysters with other more substantial things. At Amen Street in addition to oysters we had the shrimp corny dogs, she crab soup, and at 167 for some reason a lobster roll. I don’t think lobster rolls are native to South Carolina, but sometimes I give over to my baser desires.

There are authentically joint-like oyster joints in Charleston, but we didn’t make it to any and its a shame. Next time.

The first night in town we ate at Rodney Scott’s, which is whole-hog South Carolina Barbecue. There was this strange disconnect when people asked where we ate and we said barbecue, because they immediately assumed we’d eaten at a newer place, the Central Texas-style Lewis Barbecue Charleston. Why, I ask you, would we go from Texas to South Carolina to eat Hill Country brisket? I’m sure it’s excellent brisket, and I’m vaguely curious if it’s any good, but the world of barbecue is large, and for us whole hog is a rare treat. Brisket is not. Even great brisket is not.

At Rodney Scott’s, who orders both the hush puppies and the cornbread? Who doesn’t?

Monday night we ate at Hannibal’s Kitchen, which is traditional Charleston Gullah Geechee and which sports authentic 1980s Black Liberation decor. it was a great place, and we both ate the crab and rice. Both Rodney Scott’s and Hannibal’s are places I’d go back to. If Hannibal’s were in my neighborhood I’d go back way too often.

Tuesday, our last dinner, we went to Fig. I’m always so proud of myself when I get a reservation at a place like Fig, because it means that I’ve planned far enough ahead to do something hard. Fig might be the best known of all of Charleston’s high-toned restaurants, and it’s not easy to nab a reservation. Did I have to make the reservation 60 days ahead? 120? On the day our oldest child was born? I can’t remember, but whenever, I did it.

I read in some review that Fig is the place locals go for special occasions: Graduations, anniversaries, Tuesday nights . . . The decor is a bit dated, but it was presumably always meant to be clubby. The menu is American modern with a South Carolinian bent. It’s pricey.

After all that build-up though for some reason the waitstaff couldn’t get my orders right. My drink was wrong and had to go back to the bar. My entree was wrong and had to go back to the kitchen. I am apparently getting crankier with old age, because it bugged me, when usually I would have written it off to the sorts of normal human foibles at which I excel. Then I realized the staff was just dazzled by Kris’s beauty and couldn’t pay attention to me, so it was ok. After all, who wouldn’t be so dazzled?

Just as a reminder, that’s the orange Tibor Gulfstream. With blue backing.

Fig also had oysters, and we ate some.

Fort Sumter

We’ve been to a lot of Civil War battlefields, Shiloh, Gettysburg, Vicksburg, Bull Run, the Edmund Pettus Bridge, and Central High School in Little Rock. Fort Sumter may have been for me the most emotionally charged of all of them. Perched out in Charleston Harbor, in the midst of all that historic Southern outrage, it held the deepest reservoir of failed possibilities. Bombarding Fort Sumter was the path we chose, and we’re still paying.

We timed our visit right because Erik Larson’s The Demon of Unrest was published in 2024, and it is a great introduction to both the antebellum mindset and the particulars of Fort Sumter. It is also a timely book and pilgrimage to ponder the current state of affairs in these late days. It would have been a shame to miss either the book or the pilgrimage.

Playlist

Dizzie Gillespie was born and raised in Cheraw, South Carolina, then moved to Philadelphia when he was 18, and then moved on to New York. He also once stabbed Cab Calloway in the leg.

Moving to Philadelphia was a right of passage for South Carolina African Americans, who repatriated their popular music to South Carolina as Beach Music. Stay (Just a Little Bit Longer), Under the Boardwalk, Sixty Minute Man, My Girl, Such a Night . . . Motown was Detroit, Stax was Memphis, but Beach Music had its own sound and its own audience, and the audience was at least partially White and in South Carolina, busily Shagging.

Not that. That wasn’t invented until later. The Shag is the state dance of South Carolina.

Gillespie didn’t play Beach Music, but after the stabbing he was fired by Cab Calloway. It apparently wasn’t much as stabbings go, and he tried to apologize, but Calloway held a grudge, as bossmen will.

Gottlieb, William P., Portrait of Dizzy Gillespie, New York, NY, 1947, public domain.

Gillespie went on to become the first great trumpet player of BeBop, and influenced a generation of trumpeters that included Miles Davis, Fats Navarro, and Clifford Brown. Gillespie wasn’t the only great jazz musician from South Carolina. Hank Garland, the great jazz/country/rock and roll guitarist, was from Cowpens. Freddie Green, the greater jazz guitarist, was from Charleston. The great country blues guitarist, Reverend Gary Davis, was from Laurens.

Popular bands from South Carolina tend to have an edgy new-wave feel. The Country band, Shovels and Rope, is from Charleston, Ben Bridwell of Band of Horses is from Irmo, and Iron and Wine is from Chapin.

There’s enough diversity among good musicians from South Carolina to make for a fine playlist. Even The Marshall Tucker Band is perfectly ok in small doses. Did you know that there was never anybody in the band named Marshall Tucker? He was a blind piano tuner from Spartanburg.

Freddie Green, circa 1938, Library of Congress.

John Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas was born on Parris Island, though he grew up in Virginia. I figured it was a close enough connection to include his Monday, Monday and Words of Love.

When Dizzie Gillespie appeared before his World War II draft board, he said, and I quote, “in the United States whose foot has been in my ass?”, and questioned whether they really wanted to give him a gun. He was classified 4-F. It’s good to know one’s limits. The funny thing is that notwithstanding the shooting threat and the stabbing, Gillespie is generally considered to have been not only a great jazz trumpeter (maybe along with Louis Armstrong the very best), but also a good-natured guy.

Guitar

I’m writing this so long after we went to South Carolina that I can’t remember if I took a guitar, or, if I did, whether I played it. Too late now to figure it out.

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South Carolina, Part Two

Now that I’ve offended all of South Carolina in Part One, it seems worthwhile to mention some other stuff. There’s always some magazine or travel email declaring that Charleston is the very best U.S. vacation destination, even better than Fargo, North Dakota. I’m certain there are many good things to say about South Carolina, and I do like the food. There are lots of fish.

Population and lGeography

In 2023, there were an estimated 5.374 million South Carolinians, making South Carolina 23rd of the U.S. States by population. In the 1830 census, there were 581,185 South Carolinians, with 265,784 free and 315,401 slaves, more slaves than free. Of the free residents, 7,921 were reported as free colored. Female slaves outnumbered male slaves by about 4,500, and white males outnumbered white females by about 3,000.

There has never been a decennial census when South Carolina did not report some growth, but there were never any huge gains. From 1860 to 1870, during the Civil War, growth was a minuscule .03%. It’s estimated that as many as 20,000 South Carolinians died in the War, so that certainly slowed down the numbers. Between 1920 and 1930, growth was only 3.3%. That would have been the height of the Great Migration and the early beginning of the Great Depression in the agricultural South, so South Carolina is probably lucky to come out with a net gain.

From 1910 to 1930, South Carolina’s Black population dropped from about 55% of the total population to about 30%. During the Great Migration, Philadelphia was a particularly popular destination for South Carolina Blacks, and Philadelphia rhythm and blues would re-migrate to South Carolina juke boxes in the 1960s as Beach Music.

In the most recent census, more than half of South Carolinians live in six metropolitan census areas, the largest being Greenville-Anderson-Greer with 928,195. Nearby Spartanburg accounts for another 355,241. Greenville and Spartanburg are in Upstate. Columbia, the state capitol, located in the Piedmont, has 829,470, and Charleston in the Lowcountry has 799,636. While the combined statistical metropolitan areas are pretty large, there are no individual cities with populations larger than 150,000. Columbia has 133,803, Charleston has 132,609.

In the 2020 census, 60.3% of South Carolinians were Anglo, 25% Black alone, and 5.8% were two or more races. Hispanics were 6.9% of the population.

The state’s three regions, the Lowcountry coastal plain, the Piedmont beginning at the fall line, and Upstate (which includes South Carolina’s slice of the Blue Ridge Mountains), are together mildly uncomfortable when they sit down to Thanksgiving dinner, each boasting pride of place, and each fiercely protecting its perceived prerogatives. I have heard that the state geographically balances things like highway and education funding so that no area feels slighted. It’s the smallest Southern state, 40th in size among the U.S. states with 32,020 square miles. It’s a miracle that so much discord can be be contained by such a small package.

Politics

South Carolina is Republican. In the 2024 election, Donald Trump carried 58.2% of its 2,548,140 votes. In 2020 Trump carried 55.11% of 2,513,329 voters.

Lindsay Graham and Tim Scott, both Republican, are South Carolina’s U.S. senators. There are seven congressional delegates, and only Jim Clyburn, in South Carolina’s most gerrymandered Congressional District, is a Democrat. Presumably the gerrymandering minimalizes the statewide effect of traditionally Democratic voters. Every elected state official is Republican, and in the General Assembly the senate is 30 Republicans to 15 Democrats. The house is 88 Republicans to 36 Democrats.

It’s a mighty red state. The one Congressional District that voted Democratic for President in 2024 was also Jim Clyburn’s Congressional District.

2024 Presidential Election Results by South Carolina Congressional District, Wikipedia.

Pat Conroy

There was never a more geocentric author than Pat Conroy (1945-2016), and in the 70s and 80s he was all the rage. The Prince of Tides, The Great Santini, Lords of Discipline, South of Broad . . . He even wrote a good, readable South Carolina cookbook. I used two of his recipes, the oyster bake and the Frogmore stew, for my daughter’s birthday this year. There are, I suspect, similar recipes throughout the Gulf Coast, but Conroy makes them seem peculiarly South Carolinian.

Readers of a certain age (and I’m certainly one), were introduced to South Carolina through Conroy, and all-in-all it’s a pretty good introduction. Conroy’s families are often as not full up with disfunction, but even his villains have their moments, and correspondingly his heroes have their villainy. It may be a complicated world, but end of the day his books are readable and his place, coastal South Carolina, is likable.

A number of Pat Conroy’s books have made pretty good movies, though not the cookbook. No one’s ever made a movie of the cookbook, and that’s a shame. It might be short on plot, but it would be long on character development, mostly mine.

Food

There are things people eat in the South (including Texas as part of the South) that weren’t traditionally eaten elsewhere: barbecue, grits, okra, greens, cornbread, pecan pie, biscuits . . . From Southern region to Southern region the particular versions of those things vary. In my parents’ house, for instance, we usually ate turnip greens, not collards or mustard greens. Central Texas barbecue is mostly beef, while other Southern barbecue (including East Texas) is mostly pork. Recipes in Shreveport probably have more in common with Dallas than New Orleans.

Southern Blacks apparently put sugar in their cornbread, Southern Whites did not. Northerners, who learned about cornbread from African-American Great Migration cooks, use sugar.

Questions of race and food and the sources of Southern cooking are fascinating, but as a general matter everyone loves iced tea, maybe sweet or maybe unsweet, fried chicken, and cornbread, maybe sweet or maybe unsweet. Traditionally Blacks and Whites, poor and rich, ate more or less the same stuff, though I would never put sugar in the cornbread. I have tasted it though, and as a child I put sugar in everything else, including rice and grits and iced tea.

Notwithstanding the South’s generalized food traditions, there are some places in the South that are Meccas for food creativity. New Orleans of course, Central Texas for barbecue, and the South Carolina Low Country. For Central Texans it’s all those German and Czech butcher shops, while for New Orleans it’s all that all dat. For the Low Country I suspect it’s a combination of wealth, copious inshore seafood, the preservation of African culture by the Gullah Geechee, and rice.

Other than Louisiana, the ultimate Southern seafood extravaganzas, the Frogmore stew and the oyster bake, hail from South Carolina. South Carolina lays claim to being the source for shrimp and grits and vinegar-based barbecue sauce for its whole-hog barbecues. South Carolinians don’t just eat black-eyed peas, they throw in rice snd whatnot and turn them into hoppin’ john.

I already owned a copy of The Pat Conroy Cookbook, but before we went I dug it out and read parts. I also bought Gullah Geechee Home Cooking, and used it some. The Gullah Geechee recipe for okra gumbo is not so different from my mother’s. It’s tomato and okra based, but of course the author adds shrimp. South Carolinians put shrimp in everything I reckon, including no doubt the cornbread and the iced tea.

In Charleston, at the Fort Sumter gift shop, we bought a copy of Charleston Receipts, the 1950 cookbook of the Charleston Junior League. Whatever negative things one might say about Charleston, The Junior League, or South Carolina, Charleston Receipts is a masterpiece. There are 22 recipes for shrimp alone, including Shrimp for Breakfast and six different shrimp pies. 

"Fry bacon until crisp.  Save to use later.  Add bacon grease to water in which you cook rice . . . add shrimp . . . "

Hampton Plantation Shrimp Pilau, Charleston Receipts, 1950, 38th printing, p. 75. As if these people don’t already have a jar of bacon grease handy.

Fish

We’ve had a good redfish fall in Texas at Port O’Connor, with lots of fish, so we were primed for redfish, and would go to Charleston to fish some more for them. There are other South Carolina fish to fish for, Native brook trout in the Upstate, redeye and largemouth bass, even a striped bass spawning migration, but right now I’m mostly thinking about redfish and saltwater.

When we were last at the skiff in Port O’Connor, I brought home the boat box of redfish flies I’d stowed nine years ago. They were pretty sadly rusted, as though I’d soaked them in tears for all the fish I haven’t caught. I had to throw most of the flies away, and since then I’ve been tying redfish flies to replenish the box and to take to South Carolina. I’ve been using materials and receipts from Sightcast Fishing, which specializes in Texas Gulf Coast flies. They do well-designed variations of classic Texas saltwater flies, their materials are creative, and their flies are pretty. Of course if you can find them, redfish will usually eat almost anything you throw at them, but still . . . it’s nice to know that what I throw looks good to me, even if the fish ignores it.