Rockfish Nation

February 7-9

Tuesday morning was time to retreat north. 

There’s no straight line from Georgetown to I-95. So I followed a Google Maps tacking maneuver through the Low Country.

It brought me to the Interstate near mile 181, less than 20 miles from South of the Border, the theme park that is the last stop in South Carolina before you cross into North Carolina.

The route home was almost deja vu. There were three stops on the way south, two on the return trip. Fredericksburg got a pass. Days Inn at Weldon was the first stop

As many times as I have been to Weldon, either stopping at Ralph’s and moving on or staying overnight at Days Inn, I knew little about the place. 

This time, I found there’s more to Weldon.

Not so much in the food way. I wound up going back to Ralph’s, this time for pulled pork with only a side of Brunswick stew and some Southern-style green beans,

I was out looking for a place to buy a bottle of wine. You can pick it up in any convenience store in North Carolina. The state ABC store only sells hard liquor.

I keep forgetting that this is not a wine-drinking area. The wine rack at Big Al’s on U.S. 158 had four shelves, stocked mostly with sweet reds, whites, and pinks. The only dry wine I could get was a Barefoot Pinot Grigio. 

I was tiring out, so I took it.

During my search, though, I saw signs for River Falls Park. I wasn’t in shape for more exploring, but managed to store the information.

Google Maps showed it two miles away and with only three turns. Maybe even I couldn’t get lost.

Wednesday morning, before driving north four hours or so to Aberdeen, Md., I set out to find the park

First, I missed my last turn, Rockfish Drive, which looked like a private driveway. Then Weldon Mills got in the way.

Weldon Mills is the name of a craft distillery. It is in two buildings. One is an ancient three-story brick structure. There are no curtains or blinds; you can see right through it to the other side.

Judging by the size and shape, it could have once been a cotton mill.

There’s no sign of manufacturing there now, not thread, fabric or whiskey.

There are whiskey barrels on an old wagon outside. There’s also a tour bus.

I moved on and made the next right. Oops, this doesn’t look anything like the Google Maps route.

I came back and found Rockfish Drive. It’s a loop road at the site and runs next to the newer single-story building where the actual distilling takes place.

The park is behind the big mill building on the hill and overlooks the Roanoke River. 

I saw a man with white whiskers out walking on the park field. 

“Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me where the waterfall is?”

There is no actual waterfall, he said. The falls are rapids caused by exposed rocks. 

He pointed to the building on the hill. You can go there to start a tour of the distillery, he said. 

“I won’t have time for a tour today. I said. “I photographed the building. It looks haunted.”

Maybe Weldon Mills carries visitors between buildings on that tour bus.

The two are only a couple of hundred yards apart, but the bus would keep a tour party together.

There is no precipice on the river, but these are falls of a sort, especially for flat terrain. Just as a trickle in dry country is a river, and a lake, if it has alligators, could be called a bay.

The river’s elevation drops enough to create a swift current. You can see whitewater where the river hits the rocks. The turbulence roils the surface for maybe a hundred yards downstream.

The park has another statue of a fish, shaped just like the ones at Ralph’s and Days Inn. They aren’t large-mouth bass at all. That was just my guess because they were in disguise so you can’t see their stripes. Ralph’s fish, for instance, was dressed in pink pigs.

The park’s fish had stripes and the pedestal underneath it read:

Weldon, N.C. 

Rockfish Capital

of

the World

A few feet away, I found what that meant. A sign told me that striped bass are also known as rockfish. In the spring, they swim about 130 miles from the Atlantic to spawn here. The population is so dense that the spawning bass roil the water in events known as rockfights.

As I was taking a snapshot of the sign, a lady in braids streaked with gray came up and sat on a park bench behind me.

“Do you fish?” She asked.

“No, Ma’am. I haven’t fished since I was maybe 11 years old.”

She nodded. “I fish.” Perhaps that’s why she was here.

She asked me if I could read the sign.

“Yes.” I told her what I had learned from it—about the rockfish and the spawning. 

“That’s nice,” she said.

I wonder now if she wanted me to read the text to her.

The drive on I-95 wasn’t difficult. I stopped at a gas station in south Virginia to fill the tank. It would be my last shot at fuel under $3.10 a gallon. I also needed to stretch my knees a little.

There was a sign in the parking lot:

No loitering

No profanity

No loud music

Well, hell, that’s all right. After all, it’s their lot.

I went back to the Comfort Inn again in Aberdeen. Getting there heading south was easy. Two turns and you’re there. Northbound, though, that’s different.

Google tells you to take the right fork to MD -22.

I took the right fork. Damn, this isn’t MD-22. Turn around. It’s all one way, with no access to the road I left.

After 15 minutes or so of trying to find an alternate route to 22, I passed Prost. What luck. Now I know where I am. 

Uh-oh, flashing lights at the intersection with MD-22. A policeman was directing traffic to the right. 

I don’t know how long it took to get straight again. I went in the entirely wrong direction for a while and wound up in Havre de Grace. 

There was a time that would have been OK. My sister Jamy used to live there.

I turned around and came across MD-22 after a few miles. Problem solved.

Well, almost. Wow, I needed the men’s room. I made it in time.

There is an Italian restaurant in a mall across the highway from the hotel.

It’s called Olive Tree. I had seen the sign before and wondered if it was connected to the Olive Garden chain.

While I was writing this, I came across a 10-year-old review in the Baltimore Sun that led with: “The Olive Tree is not the Olive Garden. But you would be forgiven for mixing them up.”

TripAdvisor has generally favorable reviews of the place, so I tried it.

The veal piccata was OK. I’ve had better. The sauce was a little too thick and made me wonder. Was it made in this kitchen? Or taken from a can?

Don’t get me wrong. The food was fine, just not terrific. If I’m not in the mood for Prost, I’d go back to the place again next time I’m in town. 

I was going to take Joanna to dinner before I checked into my room in New Jersey. It’s a short drive to Joanna’s from Aberdeen, maybe 160 miles.

My usual route is to cross the Delaware Memorial Bridge to reach the New Jersey Turnpike.

This time, I drove I-95 on the west side of the river, past Philadelphia. The plan was to cross the Scudders Falls Bridge north of Trenton, then either go to Hamilton Township to pick up the Turnpike, or else take U.S. 1 North to the Garden State Parkway.

Being unfamiliar with this part of the road, I wound up crossing into New Jersey sooner and joining the Turnpike at Exit 7. 

The surface of I-95 around Philadelphia is rough and battered, maybe the worst stretch on the highway. I won’t try that way again. 

I got to Joanna’s early. She had been feeling a bit under the weather when I left. She had been improving every day when I called in. It was great to see her bright and smiling at the door.

Be well, gang, and try to get lost now and then. It’s a lot of fun. Unless you need to pee, of course.

Love to all.

Harry