My spring break trip in March 1981 with Neal and Stuart involved time on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and we planned to cross into South Carolina for a visit to Myrtle Beach. But because of the ferry schedule between islands, we spent a memorable night on Ocracoke Is., and determined that there was no time for Myrtle Beach. We made it as far as Wilmington, NC.

I thought of that on my drive between New Bern and Myrtle Beach last month, which was mostly, but not entirely, on US 17. Just another example of how I think: When I miss a planned destination for some reason or other, something doesn’t quite sit right until I go there eventually. At 44 years and some months, the lag between planning to go to Myrtle Beach and realizing that visit was unusually long, but in any case I finally made it on June 20, 2025, a Friday, and I stayed until the following Monday. Yuriko joined me those days.

Crossing into SC on US 17, you first encounter North Myrtle Beach, which seemed every bit as developed and tourist-oriented as Myrtle Beach itself, replete with restaurants and motels and retailers, including a wide variety of beach retailers whose large-letter marquees made bold and nearly worthless promises about low prices.

North MB is also where I started noticing the area’s miniature golf courses. Or, as the industry seems to call it, mini golf, because there is such a thing as the American Mini Golf Alliance and the US ProMiniGolf Association (pro?). Then again, a simple search also turns up the World Minigolf Sport Federation and Miniature Golf Association of America, along with the Professional Putters Association (professional?). There’s clearly a lot I don’t know about miniature golf.

In North MB, you drive by Hawaiian Village Mini Golf, Hawaiian Rumble (home of the Mini Golf Masters tournament), Mayday Golf, Professor Hacker’s Dinosaur Adventure and Professor Hacker’s Lost Treasure Golf, among others. In Myrtle Beach proper, among others, there’s Broadway Grand Prix, Captain Hook’s Adventure Golf, Jungle Safari Mini Golf, Jurassic Mini Golf, Popstroke, Red Dragon Cove Adventure Golf, Aloha Mini Golf, and one that was truly hard to miss, Mt. Atanticus Minotaur Golf.

Visit Myrtle Beach says there are over 30 mini golf courses in the area, their faux oddities rising near major thoroughfares – artificial landforms, cartoonish pirate ships, weird sea creatures and so many dinosaurs, at least in my memory. Had daytime temps been anything less than 90° F. or so, we might have picked one and putted some balls around for a lark. Or, failing that, I might have spend time on sidewalks outside their fences, taking pictures. There’s a coffee table book in all the Myrtle Beach mini golf spectacle, or at least an extensive Flickr page.

We decided instead to spend our limited amount of daytime outdoor time at Myrtle Beach’s actual beach, which is bordered by a boardwalk.

Late that Sunday morning in June, the boardwalk wasn’t particularly busy. Could have been the heat dome. I figure the place is hopping around spring break time, or the month after Thanksgiving, for instance.

Any boardwalk with its salt is going to include a Ferris wheel in the vicinity. Officially, it’s the SkyWheel Myrtle Beach.

We decided that the $40+ for the two of us on the wheel would be better spent on lunch. It was, at tourist prices at a restaurant-bar open to the boardwalk, but not completely sky high. Then we found our way to the Gay Dolphin Gift Cove, whose fame preceded it. That is, I read about it online before the trip.

As a souvenir emporium, four stories stocked with gewgaws and gimcracks, the Gay Dolphin doesn’t disappoint. A store of that name has been on this site since 1946, though Hurricane Hazel destroyed the original in 1954, along with much of the rest of Myrtle Beach.

Things I never imagined would be for sale, or even exist, are for sale there.

Not just small items, either, but sizable ones. Maybe this shark is for sale. It must be, just at a price I’d never want to pay.

Same for these figures.

Looks like the list price for the man-dog in formal wear is $3,000. So yes, more than I’d care to pay. We weren’t much in the market for souvenirs anyway, but I will say this for the Gay Dolphin: it had a large rack of postcards. New cards, but also vintage, mid-century cards for all of 50 cents each. I bought a bunch. Good for you, Gay Dolphin.