Georgia and A Day on the Flint River 1996

Georgia  and A Day on the Flint River 1996 

 

                                                   Win, Pat and Scott on the Flint River

 

Where the Flint River flows between highways 36 and 74 - roughly halfway between Macon and Columbus, Georgia - about 20 miles of very scenic, pristine, river can be found.  It is not a high adventure river because it is classified as only a class II river with no dangerous rapids.  Brother Scott had previously traveled this section of river a couple of times by canoe. Once when it flooding, he and his son Jeff had made the entire trip in about 1 ½  hours.  We reasoned that because the water was fairly low and I was not as young and strong as Jeff, the entire trip might require five hours.   

 

We planned to leave home about 5:30 A.M.  Scott had returned from work in Atlanta about 9 P.M. the night before, so he had no time to check the boat or trailer.  In the morning we found that the left tire was flat.  After “fixing” the flat and preparing some sandwiches, we gathered a couple of apples, water, and granola bars.  The “fixed” tire again lost air, so we discarded the idea of using the trailer and tied the long canoe in the back of the pickup.  Leaving about 6:30 A. M.,  Scott drove his pickup and I followed in my car for the trip to the Flint River.  We left the car at a river access point by a bridge where we expected to end the trip and drove about 20 miles upriver to the launching site.

Scott on the Flint River

We boarded Scott's large, fiberglass canoe about 9 A.M.  The air was cool, but I was snug and warm in a light jacket.  The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and the river was inviting.  The electric motor was hooked up to some 12-volt batteries that Scott had salvaged from a desktop computer’s emergency, electrical supply system.  The little motor pushed us along at a speed somewhat faster than we could have paddled.  Scott remarked that we were not traveling as fast as we could if we had a larger auto battery.  But, we had all day - plenty of time for a lazy trip down-river to view wildlife and simply observe new scenes around every bend in the river.  Within minutes of entering the river, we observed a couple of river otters cavorting on some logs and diving in the water.  Later we observed belted kingfishers, mallard ducks, Canada geese, vultures, and about 20 turkeys.  We stopped, walked along the river bank and took in the colors of the autumn leaves.  In certain locations on the river, large trees leaned over the river.  Gusts of wind blew showers of leaves on us as we passed.  In wide, still areas of the river, the water surface became carpeted with leaves.  Our canoe left a trail through the leaves behind us.

We also saw two deer.  One large buck had apparently been wounded by hunters only to die in the river.  It was not a pleasant sight, floating in a brushy log-jam - its once beautiful body now bloated and rotting.  Later we heard splashing sounds along the river bank; a 4-point buck charged up out of the water to climb part way up a 10-foot embankment only to fall back into the river.  A second and third attempt had the same results.  Exhausted, with its tongue hanging from its mouth, it stood on its three good legs in the shallows with its mouth wide open, panting and trembling.  Now we were close to the deer in our canoe and could see the deer's problem.  Apparently, a bullet had shattered an upper bone in its left front leg which dangled uselessly to the exhausted and frightened deer.  Realizing that we were causing, even more, pain to the deer by our closeness, we faced a dilemma.  Can we in good conscience leave this deer to slowly die of its wound?  If we had a rifle, we could put the deer out of its misery.  Of course, if we killed it with a rifle, it would be illegal because we had no hunting license.  Could we grab the deer and kill it with a pocket knife?  The 4-prong antlers were fairly small but still looked very dangerous.    

 

At the age of 20, we might have attempted such an adventure.  At the ages of 55 and 60, our valor and compassion were tempered by caution, common sense, and lower testosterone titers.  We paddled on down-river and left the deer to its fate, hoping some hunter would find it and put it out of its misery.  Even a macho hunter might be sickened by the sight of this poor deer and wonder whether hunting for sport was still fun or just habit.  On the positive side, the deer carcass would provide food for the hungry, black vultures that we observed circling over the river valley.  Scott explained that when sick or injured, deer often head to the water.  Maybe that is why we saw the two bucks in the river on this beautiful autumn day.  But, lead poisoning was probably the ultimate cause.

As we traveled, Scott pointed out interesting features such as a historical river crossing for Indians and wagons at an end of an island in the river.  He also heard a flock of turkeys.  We left the canoe, climbed the woody embankment as quietly as possible, and observed them slip away through the woods. 

After about an hour or two on the river, I quizzed Scott about our location.  He replied that we were about halfway to the parking lot and pickup truck.  Now the wind was blowing hard into our faces and the water was very low.  Several times, it was necessary to leave the canoe so that we could pass over very shallow rocks.  Consequently, we were traveling much more slowly than we had planned.  At some point, maybe about halfway, the little batteries were drained and the electric motor was worthless dead weight.  After passing a second and then a third halfway point, we realized that the day was passing rapidly and that we still had a long way to go.  Our ongoing, joke-of-the-day became: Are we half way yet?  We both began to paddle more seriously.   

 

We paddled hard for several hours before I “hit the wall” about 5:30.  I was nearly exhausted.  We may have scraped more rocks in one day than that canoe had hit in its life of traveling Georgia rivers.  My respect for the durability of Scott’s canoe increased throughout the day as we subjected it to considerable pounding and scraping.  Rapids that normally speed up the trip only slowed us down because we were forced to port the canoe over the shallow areas.  Our only major disagreement during the day was caused by my timidity when passing through the boulders and small waterfalls.  Knowing the durability of his canoe, Scott’s preference was to ram, full speed ahead, over and between boulders, over small waterfalls, and through shallow areas.  Thus, I was sometimes back-paddling to avoid hitting a rock, when Scott was paddling hard forward to ram over the rock.  Otherwise, we made a good team.

We watched the sunset, and darkness was descending.  Now, when we ported the canoe, the footing on the large, shallow, and slippery rocks was more difficult because we could not see where we were stepping in the near-darkness.  The temperature was falling and we were fairly wet.  Then, ahead in the river, we saw lights of civilization.  As we passed some homes, we could see the dim outline of the bridge where we had left the car in the morning.  By now my exhaustion was nearly complete and I was beginning to chill.  Leaving the canoe on the bank of the river, we drove back upriver, got the pickup, drove back down-river, and loaded the boat into the pickup.  The one-hour trip back to Macon was very difficult as I fought to stay awake.  I focused on the tail lights of Scott’s pickup and used my last reserves to energize the small muscles that hold up heavy eyelids.  I needed coffee, but the only restaurant that we found was closed.  Bed felt very good that night.   

 

What did we learn from this trip?  Next time we will take a larger battery and I will take my much-needed, energy-recharging, after lunch, nap.  

The river was so pristine and uncrowded that we saw no bridges except for the one at the start and end of the trip.  All day we had seen only four people - 2 kids on a motorbike and two fishermen in a canoe.  Overall, it had been a great trip on a beautiful river, with good company.  I had sore muscles and good memories to prove it.

 

Table of Contents:  https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6813612681836200616/4404749581224177008?hl=en

 

 

 

Gentle Adventures

Gentle Adventures

January 27, 1998

Consider the following arduous adventure by Sandra Johnson that was reported in an ad by a California Outdoor Gear Company:  “I didn’t begin hiking until I was 49 years old.  A little later I walked 56 miles on my 56th birthday in 15 ½ hours.  In 1990 I backpacked the John Muir Trail, 1991 the Pacific Crest Trail, 1992 the Appalachian Trail - all solo.  I realized I want to spend my time in the wilderness rather than on city streets.”  

Or, here is another example: Bernd Heinrich sometimes runs 20 miles before lunch.  He is a distinguished scientist and writer who set several American and world ultra marathon records, including 100 kilometers, 100 miles, and the 24-hour run in which he covered 157 miles (R. Wolkomir in Nov. ‘97 Smithsonian).  Not bad for an author of at least 3 books and numerous scientific papers.

I read these stories and have considerable admiration for the stamina, courage, dedication, and gritty toughness of folks that take on such projects.  “Maybe I could do something similar,” I tell myself.  “All it would take is a little training.  LITTLE TRAINING???  Be serious!”  When I met Bernd Heinrich at an airport to transport him to his hotel, he refused to ride in a car because he wished to run to the motel -- “needed the exercise” he claimed.  He ran upstairs, down halls, across campus and into the lecture room where he presented an entomological seminar.  He ran almost everywhere even now in the Texas summer heat.  An admirable trait, huh?  Well, I have tremendous respect and admiration for Bernd, but I chose not to try to duplicate his feats.  Many of my acquaintances categorize my behavior as eccentric because I still do gardening type of exercises and try to avoid rich sugary foods.  But compared to Bernd, I am a virtual “tweety pooh.”  When I was young, I sometimes dreamed of being a champion in some athletic sport.  Not until middle-age did it occur to me that being a champion was not terribly important.  Then my subconscious, conscience or something kicked in and gigged me for finding an excuse to grow fat and lazy.  Could there be some kind of activity that might prevent my body from becoming vegetative without having to climb Mount Everest?  Could I not find adventure and maintain my physical health without having to swim the English Channel or hike to the North Pole?

In 1991, at the age of 55, I asked myself, “Is there life after Entomology?”  I had one of the best jobs in the world -- got paid for doing my hobby!  Had traveled over much of the world and lived for short times in Australia and Brazil.  “Why change a good thing?” I asked myself.  I could keep my job at A&M University till they force me out sometime after I reach 65, build up a sizeable retirement nest egg, build a big home, and spend the remainder of my life mowing the lawn.  Or, I could retire ½ time to see if there might be something else I might enjoy doing while my health was still reasonably good.  Pat and I could go climb a few mountains or goof off  — depending on our mood.  

A few years earlier we had seen a for-sale ad in the local paper for a motorhome.  We drove to Hilltop Lakes, looked it over, and fell in love with it.  We tried to negotiate, but were definitely out of our league and paid the blue-book price when we might have paid less.  But anyway, we began to learn about living in an RV.  Primarily, we learned by experience -- all the things not to do.  It took several years, but at some point, our other home without wheels began to feel like an anchor around our necks.  When we traveled, we worried that the lawn was not being watered or mowed, that someone would break into the home and steal all of our priceless junk, that a water pipe would break and flood the house or...  

 

Foretravel Gasoline

So, when I reached the age of 60 in 1996, I decided to retire full time, sell the house and see if we could not truly enjoy the gypsy lifestyle -- full-time.  Sure there was some indecision!  After being a workaholic all my life, could I suddenly handle the absence of goals, deadlines, and meetings?  Would I miss the intellectual stimulation of the academic environment?  Was our retirement income sufficient to support our new lifestyle?  Would I whine about needing to return to work because retirement is boring?  Could we learn to again enjoy childish pleasures without feeling guilty about it?  What would all of our friends and relatives think about such irresponsible actions?

Then there was the problem of all the treasures in our home that we had been accumulating for so many years --.family heirlooms, kids’ stuff, favorite and comfortable furniture.  Also, we enjoyed good neighbors, a great neighborhood and a good community! Was it time to vacate the “fur-lined rut?”  Would we regret giving up all this comfort and convenience for life in a motorhome?  This part was especially trying for Pat!  Maybe women sink deeper roots in a community than men, but it was probably easier for me to sell all our treasures in a garage sale than it was for her.  She was game for a change, but it took considerable courage to make such a dramatic change.  Our kids took much of our furniture and other treasures and even paid for some of it!  They never once asked: “Are you sure you want to sell our old home and live the life of vagabonds?” -- or questioned our sanity.  (Do we have understanding and responsible kids or what?) 

Now we were free to start a life of travel and adventure!  We traded our old motorhome for a new diesel job and “hit the road.”  Then we realized that almost every day we were forced to ask the question: How much travel and adventure do we want?  What risks are we willing to take to find adventure?  Slowly, a solution began to evolve.  It would be my job to get us into trouble and Pat’s to get us out.  Well, not exactly -- but close.  It was mostly my job to find interesting and exciting places to go and things to do.  Pat’s job was to carefully evaluate the risks of any new adventure without seeming to be negative -- not an easy task!  In the evolution of our general goals, we came to realize that extreme adventures were not needed to experience the joy and excitement of discovering unexpected pleasures.  No, we do not often experience the high-adrenaline charge of rock climbing or skydiving, but we can experience the satisfaction of “gentle” adventures without the need for an adrenaline rush.

Now, after about seven years of part-time motorhoming and three years of full-time motorhoming, we can look back on some of our “gentle” adventures through some short stories that I wrote and Pat edited along the way.  These stories are not an attempt to provide complete coverage of our travels, but hopefully, provide some entertaining “slices” of our experiences over time.  When we developed the ability to send and receive email, I began to send these stories to a few friends and relatives.  As more and more of our friends and family began using email, our address list continued to grow.  We began to get hints suggesting that maybe these stories should be published in the form of a book.  My stock answer was that publication might be OK as long as it did not turn into work.  To my amazement there are now about 72 (updated to 204 in 2022) of these stories and writing and sending them is still fun, so guess that I will continue until this stuff is either published or it turns into work.

A tentative book title is: “Gentle Adventures: RV Nature Travels” with this chapter as the introduction.  Sister Ruth suggested “Life on the Road.” 

If this venture turns into a bomb, those who encouraged publication (Ruth, Fanny, Dorothy, Peggy, John, Peter, Jack Heacock, Dick Heacock, John Benedict and others) may be forced to admit that by enjoying some of my stories, they have exhibited questionable literary taste.

 

Note in 2022:  One of the beauties of writing blogs instead of a book, is that these stories can always be modified or corrected at some later date.  Consequently, I consider all of the stories to be "works in progress", even though most will likely not be modified significantly before it all ends.

Table of Contents:  https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6813612681836200616/4404749581224177008?hl=en

Marine Corps Seaplane Adventure

Marine Corps Seaplane Adventure

F-0114 Convair R3Y Tradewind

 

Back in about 1959, I took a ride in a huge military flying boat that took off from San Diego and landed on the Salton Sea.  It was part of a Marine Corps operation to test the feasibility of using these planes to land troops in places where there were no land runways.  The flight proceeded smoothly until we landed on the Salton Sea.  High winds made the surface very rough with big waves, so the plane shook and banged when it landed on the water.  We wondered if the plane might break apart.  The pilot then taxied to a sandy beach on the shore of the lake, the cap on the front of the plane opened and a mechanical ramp reached out toward the beach.  In theory, my Marine Corps platoon could then simply walk on this ramp to the beach without even getting our feet wet.  But the winds were still high, so the pilot was afraid to come too close to land for fear that the plane might be blown and get stuck in the sand — or something.  So the ramp ended in water that was over the heads of many of the Marines attempting to reach land.  Carrying a heavy backpack, ammunition and rifles made swimming impossible, so our feet quickly found the bottom.  We would take a few steps underwater then push up to the surface to catch a quick breath before our load pulled us back to the bottom.  Once onshore, some Marines ditched their backpacks and rifles and swam out to assist the shorter Marines.  Nobody drowned, but it was a frightening experience. 

After drying off and regaining our composure, we spent the day making a simulated attack on an enemy position several miles from the beach.  Then the plan was to re-board the plane for a ride back to San Diego Harbor.  However, because of the high winds, the flight was canceled.  Later that night, several trucks arrived to transport us back to our home base at Camp Pendleton, California.

The memory of this event is still reasonably vivid, even after over 50+ years.  I was happy to ride on the fascinating plane and to see the technology and military strategy.  It’s not an experience I would recommend to anyone, but I’m reasonably happy it happened to me.  

Interestingly, out of 13 of these planes that were built, 5 of them were lost due to failures of their Allison T40 turboprop engines.  I’m just glad that those engines on our plane did not fail — otherwise, I would not be sending this story to my grandkids.

For a ca. 20 minute video of this plane and it’s planned use, check it out at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=016igUcXe9g

 

Table of Contents:  https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6813612681836200616/1124920218239867150?hl=en

Florida and Clearwater's Edgar

Edgar

Edgar of Clearwater

 

June 19, 2003

The Clearwater Beach area of Florida has lots of attractions: high-rise hotels, white sandy beaches, restaurants, tours, emerald waters, bike trails, tourists and – since we have been here –  rain, often and heavy.  Otherwise, the weather is much like South Texas – humid and hot.  In residential areas, White Ibis sometimes roam the streets like barnyard chickens. We watched the sunset from Howard Park beach and photographed the birds, flowers, and reptiles on the Honeymoon Island State Park Nature Trail and in Fort DeSoto Park.  But one of the most interesting nature stories was observed at the IHOP in Clearwater Beach.  There we met Edgar!  He was first observed standing on an outside table, peering through the window and watching us browse on our sandwiches.  Edgar is a very tame Snowy Egret with a taste for omelets.  According to the manager of the IHOP, Edgar is the name someone gave the bird maybe because of the euphonious --  “Edgar the egret.”  Edgar was something of a mixed blessing for the IHOP which had been experiencing lots of crows, House Sparrows, and assorted blackbirds making messes on their outside tables.  Edgar quickly established dominance and chased away the other birds.  Also, according to our IHOP manager, Edgar also chased off a penguin.  A penguin in Clearwater?  Maybe a laughing gull, I thought. Of course, Edgar did not have impeccable toilet habits either, but at least he was just one bird, so the clean-up folks tolerated him.

It is assumed that Edgar is a male egret, but who knows?  Edgar may really be Elvira or something.  Even the experts have difficulty separating the sexes.  But, this egret is an exceptionally handsome white bird, especially when in breeding plumage.  The black legs contrast with  bright yellow feet or “yellow slippers.”  A tour guide in the Everglades once informed us that these egrets dangle and wiggle their yellow toes in the water when perching on low mangrove roots, to attract fish – which are their favorite food.  

A couple of young boys approached Edgar at the IHOP and started tossing breadcrumbs.  Edgar deftly caught the crumbs in the air and just as quickly spit them out.  Edgar apparently has little taste for high carbohydrate foods.  He likes protein.  Toss him a piece of egg, steak or fish and he quickly identifies it as preferred protein.  Even though it is cooked and seasoned for human consumption, Edgar seems to have educated his palate to enjoy the beachfront human cuisine.  Has he given up his diet of fish caught from mangrove roots?  Who knows!

Edgar’s ancestors were hunted to near extinction to provide the beautiful, graceful, white plumes for the hats of fashionable ladies earlier in the century.  But then the birds were protected by law and feathered hats became less desirable, so Snowy Egrets survived and Edgar’s generation can now beg food at the local IHOP.  However, it is not like Edgar has no enemies.  When he becomes bored of human companionship and re-enters the swamp to hunt fish, he must still be wary.  If he mistakes an alligator’s snout for a stump to land on, he may become alligator food. 

Anyway, the two little boys became more and more aggressive in trying to supply Edgar with crumbs that he did not want.  At a critical distance of about five feet, Edgar began to feel threatened and quickly flew to safer environs.  Or maybe he was just off to beg a piece of hamburger from some customer at Burger King.  If he gets lucky, he may dine on more than just pieces of a hamburger bun.  But, in the logic of some of us tourists, if gulls and pigeons eat crumbs, why would this lanky, white bird be any different?

So if you are ever in Clearwater Beach and need a friend who is not a great conversationalist, just look up the local IHOP and – if you are lucky – you may find Edgar.  Just order him a scrambled egg without pancakes.  Have the eggs served on the table beside you and Edgar may quickly fly to your table, become your messmate and provide you with an exciting Florida “wildlife adventure”.

 

Table of Contents:   https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6813612681836200616/6594087090279963873?hl=en

Florida and Saint Petersburg

Florida and Saint Petersburg

 

Saint Petersburg Area

The grey squirrels forage in the oak trees which hang over our motorhome.  They cut the stems of the acorns and drop them to the ground.  Our motorhome interferes with this process - the acorns hit our roof instead of the ground.  In 2 of the 3 Florida state parks we have stayed in, squirrels have bombarded our motorhome with acorns.   An acorn that has fallen 20 to 30 feet from a tall oak tree, reaches a velocity sufficient to it makes a sound like a small firecracker when it hits the roof.  It can be startling.  the noise wakes us at night and in the day, from daydreams.  The feral pigs benefit from the activities of the squirrels.  They eat the acorns that the squirrels have dropped.  While biking in a State Park, we approached a mother pig and about 10 piglets.  The mother and 9 piglets ran off, leaving 1 who continued rooting.  Its head was buried in a rooting hole so it could not see me sneaking up on it.  I got so close that I could touch it before it became aware of my presence and exploded out of the hole and ran off to find its mother and siblings.  

But enough about squirrels, pigs, and acorns.  Contrary to popular opinion, our cellular telephone still works.  Sometimes we are located in the boondocks where cellular reception is weak or non-existent, but usually, we can be reached.  If you wish to reach us quickly, phoning is probably a better way than Email cause I don't check Email very frequently - about every week or two.

We are currently located at the largest RV center in the world.  The Lazy Days RV center near Tampa is located on about 100 acres of land.  Motorhomes and trailers for sale and repair cover a large portion of this 100 acres.  Apparently, they sell and repair more RVs here than anywhere else.  The center also has a campground, a Cracker Barrel restaurant, and Camping World where camping supplies are available.  We had some minor work done on our motorhome here but used it as a base for exploring Tampa and environs.

Today we will travel to Desoto County Park where we can camp over the weekend under palm trees with the waters of the gulf lapping near our door.  It is located on Mullet Key south of St. Petersburg. We visited the park a couple of days ago to check it out so we know that it has all the amenities that we like plus lots of shorebirds to watch.  From there, we can explore the attractions of St. Petersburg, Clearwater, and Largo area before continuing down the west coast through Sarasota, Fort Meyers, and Naples.  But first, a side-trip to Zolfo Springs is in order because there is an Escapees Park there and we will pick up our mail there.  Next, we plan to visit Everglades National Park and then spend a few days in the Florida Keys, probably at the Bahia Honda State Park.  So far, we have found the State Parks to be affordable, well maintained, and containing nice hiking and canoe trails.  On weekends they tend to fill up with local campers, but during the week there is usually plenty of space.  Most snowbirds who spend the winter in Florida find a preferred campground, usually a private one, and spend the winter in one location.  Because the State Parks usually have a 2-week limit, the snowbirds do not fill them.  Also, State Parks do not have sewage hookups so it is necessary to crank up every few days to go to the dump station.  This is no problem for us because we usually do not stay in a park for more than 2 or 3 days anyway so we dump when we leave.  However, our grey water tank can become quite full in a day or two if we wash a couple loads of clothes.  Consequently, we also stay at a commercial campground every once in a while where we have access to a sewer hookup so we can catch up on clothes washing.

Although we will probably spend a couple of months in Florida before heading back to Texas, we will leave plenty to see in future trips.  The weather here has been magnificent and is expected to remain in the upper 70's to low 80's for the next few days.  It becomes warmer as we head further south.

 

Table of Contents:  https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6813612681836200616/4404749581224177008?hl=en

 

Florida Keys and Birds

Florida Keys and Birds

 

 

 

 

December 12, 1996

Small waves are lapping over a rock about 30 yards from the front window of our motorhome.  Well, actually it is not a rock, it is a broken piece of old coral that forms the base of these Florida Keys - but that is another story.  Anyway, this "rock" is a favorite perch of various birds that show off to us during the day.  The brown pelicans - which are beginning to enter their reproductive phase as characterized by a yellow head and neck - are "kings of the rock."  In the pecking order for this "rock", the pelicans easily drive away the herring gulls which bully the royal terns, followed by laughing gulls, and ring bill gulls.   Sometimes, ruddy turnstones, sanderlings, black-bellied plovers, spotted sandpipers, semipalmated plovers and short-billed dowitchers temporarily hop onto the "rock".  The "rock" rests on a sheet of old coral and is a favorite foraging site for these birds.  The front of our motorhome is less than 10 feet from high tide and located on a point overlooking the Atlantic with a long, white, sandy beach to our right.  It is a beautiful view.  As the tide falls, more and more of this old coral is exposed, drawing flocks of birds for feeding.  The turnstones, dowitchers and sanderlings feed together, sometimes up on the beach where they search for sand fleas under the seagrass that marks the high tide line on the beach.  However, when flying, they usually segregate into distinct species again.  At high tide, the red-breasted mergansers sometimes forage cooperatively, driving small fish into shallow waters.  Redish egrets chase small fish, crabs, and shrimp across the shallow waters.  Further offshore, the cormorants and pelicans dive for fish.

We are located at Long Key State Park, which is one of the nicest we have ever visited.  There is some privacy in this spot because neighboring RV's are screened from view by Australian pine, wild hibiscus, and gumbo limbo trees.  There are two other excellent state parks on the Keys that are nice but all state parks on the Keys are expensive.   From the Bahia Honda State Park, we took day-trips into Key West, which is the tourist capital of the Keys.  One of the major events there is to congregate with other tourists on the harbor front to applaud the sunset - very interesting.  Ernest Hemingway's home is another of many other attractions.  We biked over much of the city and enjoyed eating our bag lunch at the beach.  Last night, we took a free boat tour of a small bird island to see the nesting magnificent frigate birds, brown pelicans, cormorants and great white herons.  The owner of Porky's restaurant in Marathon provides these free rides every evening at sunset.  His small, open-air, restaurant overlooks a harbor only a few hundred yards from the bird island.  As an appreciative gesture, many who take advantage of his tours, can sit on tall stools overlooking the harbor and partake of his booze and seafood.  The owner is a very friendly fellow who told us much of his life story and was interested in my  Cloudcroft family reunion T-shirt.  

Although Pat and I are infatuated with the Keys, there is a down-side.  Small biting flies (punkies) come through the screen so we have the windows closed and the air conditioner on, even though the temperature outside is comfortable.  When the wind is blowing, the beach is fairly safe, but when birdwatching in the mangroves we must keep moving or being eaten alive is a possibility.   Many of the locals use Avon's Skin-so-soft to repel them.  Mosquitos are not a problem now.   

As we travel, we are always evaluating the various locations as possible sites to settle down when we can no longer drive our motorhome safely.  South Florida or the Keys are definite possibilities although we have not experienced the heat of summer here.  However, I suspect that it is much like summers on the Texas Gulf Coast - hot and humid with lots of salt marsh mosquitos.  But, the beaches, birds, parks, museums, warm winters, friendly folks, nearness to good stores, libraries, and medical facilities are serious considerations that are available here.   Someday we will be forced to decide, but we are having far too much fun with the vagabond lifestyle to give too much thought to a semi-sedentary existence.   However, it would be very nice to have access to a full-time telephone.

From here, we plan to spend a few days in Everglade Nat. Park.  Before coming to the Keys, we spent a couple of days in the northern part of the park.  We especially enjoyed biking in the Shark Valley area where a river of water flows south very slowly to the sea.  A very nice, paved trail took us out through the grass, water, and hammocks where we dodged the alligators lying beside the trail.  One old fellow opened one eye as we approached, but appeared to fall asleep before we left.  We added snail kites to our bird list while there.   After the Everglades, we will travel slowly up the east coast of Florida from Miami through West Palm Beach, Fort Pierce, Melbourne, Cape Canaveral, St. Augustine, and Jacksonville, then over to Tallahassee and Pensacola.  We will be at home (motorhome) for Christmas somewhere here in Florida then start our trip back to Texas unless we find something exciting to halt our progress. 

 

Table of Contents:  https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6813612681836200616/4404749581224177008?hl=en

 

Florida's Loxahatchee River

Loxahatchee River

 

December 29, 1996

The motorhome was snug and cozy.  Outside a warm, slow, rain pitter-pattered on the roof.  The arrival of mail helped keep our spirits high.  We were expecting Christmas cards and possibly the RR as a Christmas present.  When mail did not arrive Christmas Eve, Pat's eyes became misty.  This is the first Christmas in about 34 years that was not spent close to the shining faces of at least one of our children.  We missed you all!  Hopefully, we can all get together next Christmas.  Maybe we can all begin to think of a location with attractive activities, good transportation connections, and reasonable weather.   Does the thought of spending Christmas on a warm Florida beach sound attractive?  Maybe a location close to Epcot Center or something.  Spent Christmas eve on Jupiter beach - about 15 miles north of Palm Beach.  The air temperature was about 79, water warm, folks swimming and catching rays on the beach.  We waded, watched birds and people, and dreamed. 

Launched our canoe into the dark waters of the Loxahatchee River, the only National Wild and Scenic River in Florida.  The sun was shining, the weather was warm and the vegetation on the riverbank was a fascinating combination of cabbage palms, cypress trees, and mangroves.   The wind was still and the smooth water surface mirrored the image of the riverside jungle.  As we paddled up the river, an osprey flew overhead with a fish in its claws.  It landed on its nest in a tall, dead, cypress tree beside the river.  The male osprey watched her from a nearby perch as she tore pieces of fish and fed them to her young.   After about 3 miles we stopped at the river landing of Trapper Nelson, the "wild man" of the Loxahatchee.  Until the early 1960's he lived a solitary existence along the river, built a cabin of ax-hewn timber, planted a few fruit trees, and trapped raccoons, bobcats and alligators.   He died under mysterious circumstances.  His body was found, shot through the chest and was ruled suicide though many suspected foul play.  His old property is now part of Jonathan Dickinson State Park, accessible only by boat, and is available for touring.  A ranger provides tours and a colorful description of the man and his life.   Later in his life, he wrestled alligators and played "Tarzan" for tourists - often with a large snake around his neck.  After the tour and brown-bag lunch, we again boarded our canoe for the return trip.  A light rain was falling but not to worry, our raincoats were in our backpack.  It rained steadily during the trip back and we got almost as wet as the river otter that frolicked and foraged under the red mangroves along the river.  But, the rain was warm, and we enjoyed it almost as much as the otter. 

Highway 1 runs most of the length of the east coast of Florida.  Where there are barrier islands, a smaller highway - A1A - winds northward along the coast.  If you are in a hurry, interstate 95 or the Florida Turnpike are available.  But to see the east coast, A1A allows you to see the Atlantic and the affluent folks that live there.  Because these barrier islands are susceptible to hurricanes and only the wealthy can afford to build homes that can survive these storms, there are almost no poor folks on these islands and only a few middle-class citizens.  These homes are characterized by their conspicuous consumption of rare resources - land and fresh water.  As in California and other western states, there is a virtual water war being waged over the ownership of the fresh water.  Often the wealthy have large yards and gardens that require irrigation to keep them green year-around.  The farmers have historically owned much of the water rights to irrigate the citrus, sugar cane, and other crops.  The Everglades require water which once flowed from Lake Okeechobee, through the river of grass, into Florida Bay.  About 1000 folks move to Florida every day and they are not coming to farm.  Ultimately, their votes will determine water use priorities so the farmers and the parks will likely feel the squeeze.  

Economically, the hottest area in Florida may be in the Jupiter Island to Boca Raton area where mega-mansions in the 25,000 to 40,000 square foot range are being built so that there are about 19 such estates - unrivaled anywhere in the USA.   Big names with big egos such as Rush Limbaugh, Oprah Winfrey, Celine Dion, and Vick Damone have all recently moved into this trendy area.  Pat and I thought about buying one such property which would have only cost us $6.7 million for 21,000 square-foot of space, but Rush Limbaugh purchased it before we could make an offer. 

To meet the Florida building code, homes on the barrier islands homes are designed so that if the high tide and a hurricane coincide, the waves break through the bottom floor, leaving the top 2 or 3 floors with minimal damage.   Almost anywhere on the east coast that the Atlantic meets the shore and the land rises several feet above high tide, there are homes.  The area from Key West to the coastal areas of Jacksonville is in the process of becoming one continuous city, broken occasionally by Cape Canaveral, wildlife refuges, and State and County parks.  Some of these parks have campgrounds with hookups for motorhomes from Texas.  We are currently hooked up at Sebastian Inlet St. Recreation Area.  The wildlife of interest here is evident from the signs admonishing not to dig turtle eggs and to drive boats slowly and avoid manatees.  To these might be added - don't step on the wood storks and pelicans.  They line up beside the fishermen to receive a handout of trash fish and fish guts near the fish cleaning areas.  It was our understanding that these storks were very rare and we were very excited to see our first one in the Everglades.  Here they are relatively abundant and so tame that you must dodge the "beggars" when biking along the waterway.   In the air, they glide gracefully, showing attractive white and black wings.  Up close on the ground they are much less attractive with their wrinkled, black, bald, vulture-like heads.

We have no time-table for leaving Florida.  When we feel that we have seen most of the state and feel the call of the road, we will head toward Texas.  From here we will visit Cape Canaveral and then try to see manatees at Blue Springs State Park.  So far these interesting mammals have eluded us except for those we saw in a tank in the Epcot center.

 

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Italy and Innocents Abroad

Italy and Innocents Abroad

November 11, 2003

Some folks plan trips with great care – we seem to follow the advice of the old song “Fools rush in, where angels fear to tread . . . .”  Of course, we did a little planning, bought a book on where to go birding in Europe and a couple of travel guidebooks.  But the travel guides recommend visiting the great cities of Europe – not the best places to find exotic birds.  Friends gave lots of advice.  Be sure to visit Paris, Rome, Stockholm, Prague, Barcelona, Amsterdam etc. we were told.  But “don’t ever drive in the big cities or the small, medieval towns with very narrow streets.”  In our travels through the USA in our motorhome, we generally avoid large cities whenever possible.  Driving and navigating in cities is difficult and drivers there are more aggressive than back in Edinburg, Texas, where we grew up.  

Driving in foreign lands is not a total novelty since we have driven in the United Kingdom, Germany, Australia, Venezuela, Brazil, New Zealand, Thailand, Mexico and Canada.  But some sage advised that in Europe, we should learn to drive like the Europeans.  Well, that is fundamentally impossible, because there are as many types of drivers in Europe as there is any place else in the world.  Of course, there are some trends that we expected: some Germans drive very fast on their autobahns and some Italian drivers drive with reckless speed.  But many Germans like to drive at slower speeds and many Italians are careful drivers.  Overall, I was impressed with the fact that most Europeans are excellent drivers.  My driving strategy was to “go with the flow.”  Drive fast enough so as not to clog up the highway, but slow down when “white knuckles” appeared.  We also tried to leave the freeways to take the smaller, country roads as often as possible.  Exploration of small, country towns and the countryside delights are always more fun than the boring freeway travel.  But, when we fall behind on our ill-defined schedule, we could usually catch up quickly by merging into the freeway traffic for a few hours.

Most of the driving in Europe was fairly simple and uncomplicated.  We had some minor problems negotiating all the circles (roundabouts) at first but managed to learn the rules mostly be watching the other drivers.  I remembered that a circle in College Station was replaced by a red light intersection because the incidence of fender-benders there was higher on the circle than any other place in the city.  So I was biased against circles.  However, as I became accustomed to the circles, I began to see certain advantages.  They slow traffic, but also allow it to keep moving.  Accidents on European circles are mostly of the “fender-bender” type.  Unlike the major tragedies experienced at a country highway, redlighted intersections, when a collision occurs because someone failed to see a red light and rammed into the side of another car at 60 mph.  Another major advantage of the circle is that if the road signs are unclear, we could just keep driving around and around the circle, where we could read the signs at a more leisurely pace.

Navigation, on the other hand, proved somewhat more difficult.  Traveling through 16 countries, some of which speak several languages, means that often the language on road signs was virtually impossible to translate.  Of course, knowing a smattering of French, German, Spanish and Italian helped, but understanding the different languages used in each Scandinavian country, or the Catalan, Portuguese, etc. greatly complicates understanding.  Europeans have made considerable strides in developing non-linguistic icons for use across the continent.  For example, the red “P” with a slash mark across it means “no parking” but it took us a while to understand the difference between the speed limit sign and the road number sign.  My brother Peter tells of finding his way along the Greek highways by following highway 60 – only to discover that he was lost and had been following the 60 kph speed limit signs. 

  

Usually, when we made a wrong turn, we discovered our mistake fairly quickly and corrected the problem.  But one day after a stressful drive over the high Alps near the Jungfrau, through thick fog on a narrow, steep, winding road, we were fighting exhaustion and were ready to find a room for the night.  Checking the map, we could see that we were near Lago di Como – one of those beautiful lakes in Northern Italy.  Why not find a hotel on the lake?  The highway to the lake was barred by the city of Como, we had no local street map and the signs directing the way to the lake were mostly absent.  Guided most by a general sense of direction, some road signs, and gut feelings, we continued on a busy city street.  The street began to narrow and climb more and more steeply.  “Maybe this is just a hill that we must cross and the lake will be on the other side,” we reasoned.  The street was now so narrow that often two cars going in opposite directions could not pass and the hairpin turns were so tight that we could barely negotiate them.  Our skepticism mounted as we continued up and up, passing a small church with a wedding party on the lawn and finally a sign indicating the end of the road..  Now we were certain that we had taken the wrong turn, found a place to turn around and headed back down the mountain we had climbed.  A van coming uphill held up traffic while autos squeezed through the narrow opening by pulling in the outside mirrors so that they would not hit the van on one side or the wall on the other.  Again reaching downtown Como, I reasoned that if we continued to follow the drainage downhill, we would ultimately reach the Lake where we could follow the road along the edge till we found a hotel.  The traffic congestion downtown was intense.  Streets built for donkey carts were now trying to handle modern traffic.  But, we inched along and finally broke out at the lake.

It was a Sunday afternoon and the lakefront highway also served bike racers.  The bikers could travel faster than the automobile traffic because they could wind their way among the often stalled cars.  But there were no hotels to be found.  Motorcycles and motorbikes also sped through the traffic, around curves overlooking the lake far below.  By now, exhaustion was nearly complete and we began to look for a place where we could park the car to take a nap.  We could not even find a parking place.  But, finally, we saw a sign for a hotel, followed a narrow, steep street down to the lake edge and were delighted to find a hotel with a gorgeous view of the lake.  The owner found a phone jack that we could use, so while sipping a beer on his lakefront restaurant, I caught up on email and Internet stuff.  We dined on lake fish for dinner and were at peace with the world again.  We had survived our first day in Italy.

So why do we wish to travel and see other cultures and places under such trying conditions?  Maybe it is due to being brain-washed by songs of our youth such as “Far away places with strange sounding names, far away over the sea . . . .”  Or maybe the travel reports from around the world by my Aunt Mary and Uncle Rex played a role.  Anyway, our itch to travel to exotic places has now been – at least temporarily – scratched and we can resume our more tranquil motorhoming adventures in the good old USA.

 

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