"The story of my early demise was greatly exaggerated." Mark Twain
While many buffoons have taken great humor and fun in belittling my name, playfully trying to sound contrite and sorry that I was not around, and in general cavorting about at my expense - I have returned. No longer will you Dear Readers have to suffer under the misapprehension of wrong tales spun by the unwashed. Here, laid out plain as day, is unvarnished truth of a recent expedition to Picnic Key.
Pull up an easy chair, get a glass of warm milk, and enjoy.
Jimmie as a Traveling Companion: On Thursday, 29 Mar 07, Old Yaker (slyly disguised as Jimmie Dorazio) pulled in. We all went out to dinner and then transferred his gear and boat to my van. He bivouacked on a couch in my living room, and my Katie Bug (6 year old Granddaughter, for any who haven't e-met her yet) sacked out on the other couch.
Friday morning, 06:00 folks started rousing, stumbling around, and getting ready. Jimmie fried up two egg sandwiches for us to eat on the road, someone got Katie a breakfast, and Jimmie & I hit the road.
Since I was just out of the hospital from pneumonia (not a recommended way to lose 10 pounds - but it works), I drove about 30 miles to get us out of the local area, then Jimmie handled the other 1,420 miles. An even 50/50 split.
Lunches were "snacks" we'd brought along. He had cheeses, ham, olives, crackers, etc. I had some cheese, V-8, jerky, and other stuff. His olives definitely had something wrong with them. Despite piggishly eating of them, I couldn't figure out what the problem was. (About a week later, when they were all gone, I figured it out - there wasn't enough of'em.)
Jim is an indefatigable, gentleman; he's kind, courteous, thoughtful, and generous. Best traveling companion I've had in years. (Other than that red headed lassie from Dearborn MI.)
What do I do with a Jar of White Lightning?: When we arrived in Everglades City, Chuckie was wolfing down a hamburger at the local "restaurant". What had been the Oar House under previous managers, used to serve up food that was (reportedly) tasty, served rapidly, and thoroughly enjoyable. Well, it's under new ownership - NOT under new management. The folks there are either senile or terminally stupid. I believe that it is a self-imposed state of stupidity and don't-give-a-damnedness. They even screwed up gritz, though God Herself only knows how one discerns between "good" or "bad" gritz. The difference is so minuscule that only a modern, laboratory replete with an atomic microscope could differentiate.
Back at the room, Chuck presented both Jimmie & me with a gift sack. In it were, among other goodies, a jar of real Georgia white lighting and a box of gritz. More about the gritz, later. Now, what could I do with some white lighting?
Well, here in Michigan, cars are often subject to pine sap, bugs, leaf sap, and such. I found that white lightning is not only a great toilet bowl cleaner, it does wonders at dissolving sticky stuff off the car finish too. Only as I was finishing up cleaning the car, did tragedy strike. See, rubbing a towel on a car causes static electricity. Static electricity often causes sparks. Sparks often ignite any flammable substance in the vicinity.
Large. blue sheets of flame erupted from my car. Streaks of lightning (the real, yellow stuff from the sky) were arcing down on the scene. The first fire truck was immolated outright, and the second one only barely escaped with its rear tires unmelted. The Township said they'd forward the bill to Southern Paddler.
The Great Gritz Auction: Earlier, I mentioned that in the gift pack was a box of gritz. Now, my penchant for gritz is well known. What in hell am I gonna do with a box of gritz? Rest assured, Dear Reader, these aren't any "quick" or "minute" gritz - these are the industrial strength stuff.
Historically, gritz have helped advance civilization. The Appian way constructed by the Romans over 2,000 years ago is still in daily use. Stones weren't secured by mortar or Portland cement. They are held in place by a liberal application of gritz. The Hoover Dam is constructed of gritz. Interstate I-75 is paved with'em.
Gritz are responsible for one event that does not bespeak in their general favor. In 1913, the great ship Titanic struck a gritz-berg in mid-ocean, sinking with great loss of life.
I'm thinking that I should auction off this box of gritz, so some avid user can gain full benefit from them. So, let the bidding begin at about $2, and go down from there. (I can't afford to pay any more than that for someone to take them off my hands! Local laws prevent dumping of hazardous waste in drains or trash sites.)
Time and Tide Waits for No Man: Departing from Everglades City is a dicey job, if Chuck is your trip planner. Ably consulting tide charts, squinting mightily, grunting when appropriate, and emitting only one fart, he announced, "We're going out against the tide."
What luck! I travel half way across the country to be outwitted by a cracker that can't tell time.
"Well, Chuck, when does the tide turn in our favor?"
"When Mickey's right hand is on the 12, and his left hand is on the 4."
"Isn't that a little late?"
"Nope! 4 o'clock in the morning is actually quite early."
To be perfectly fair about the whole thing, he reversed it for our return trip. The tide was going out - as we were going IN.
Sand, Sand, Sand: Chuck had originally planned a trip of several keys, shore sites, and chickees. Being a thoughtful and considerate soul, he rearranged it to facilitate my weakness from pneumonia. We went directly to Picnic Key (albeit up stream against the tide, and upwind too) and remained right there. THANK YOU CHUCKUS HOSPITALICUS!
Picnic Key is an island of a few acres of sand, covered by only a few cubic feet of sand gnats and no-see-um's. I was fully prepared for mosquitoes and ticks with permethrin on my clothes and tent screens. Seems that gnats and no-see-um's consider this stuff a rare delicacy, and fatten for the coming summer on it.
The sand seems to be decomposed coral and sea shells - mainly oyster shells. It gets into everything: food, drink, clothing, ears, and any other body opening you can imagine. My teeth now have been honed to such an edge that I can tear open packages at the toy store in one bite.
Porpoises on Poipose: Next to a beautiful woman, If God has created a creature with more grace than a porpoise, I don't know what it is. The late Steve Irwin used to hold up various critters and ask, "Oh! Aiiiin't it beautiful?!"
"No, Steve - it's a damned spider (or snake, or some other disgusting critter)."
But these graceful creatures are awe inspiring, fantastic, and amazing. Obviously, they've never been exposed to gritz.
Porta Potties, Tourists, & Raccoons: Picnic Key has a porta-pottie on it. We, of course, camped within a stone's throw of it. (Chuckie has an eye for civic beauty and scenery - ehh?)
Now this structure served as a magnet for all kinds of folks. Darned if I could understand why people would paddle for miles to sit in a stinky, plastic box. There were a lot of mangroves and sand and privacy all over the place. But, nonetheless, visitors dropped in like we were serving free shrimp and wine.
This led to many interesting conversations, fascinating folk, and entertaining stories. We all enjoyed the parade of humanity circulating through the territory. My personal favorite was the young lady who is a guide there, taking her parents on a trip out to the keys. Mom & Dad were gamely following along in a two-holer kayak.
Jimmie's favorite was a group of mixed gender folks. After they left, he found a pair of panties in the sand. Being the gentleman he is, he immediately hung them in a mangrove nearby the porta-pottie. Kooth and swave all the way.
A few years ago, a typhoon (called hurricanes in this neck of the woods) came through here. It evidently washed over the island with such depth and force that all the resident raccoons were washed out to sea. Never has bad weather done such a good turn for mankind. Just like when I camp at Lake Mijinemungshing in Lake Superior Provincial Park - where it's too cold for the little beggars to survive the winter - I have been assured of no raccoons. What a blessing!
Activity and Leisure: We had virtually none of the former, and a helluva lot of the latter. I led the way by demonstrating several "practice naps" each day. It is a well known medical fact that time spent in a practice nap doesn't count off your Life time.
We moved from spot to spot - morning, noon, and night. Dodging the sun, collecting the breeze, not getting wet by the incoming tide which Chuck continued to mis-predict.
Mac as a Fisherman: Gator Mac wrought miracles of fishing - all those dead fish got up and swam away. Many days did he labor in the sea - and THEN - one day he fooled us.
Right after we'd eaten a lunch, tummies distended all peoperly, and moved away from the incoming tide the third time, whilst watching Chuck trying to act unsurprised that it was actually approaching at that time of day, here comes Mac barreling in full bore. He held up three big fish. Jimmie started looking for the refrigertator to keep'em cool until supper time.
As it turned out, we ate a LARGE amount of fish as desert to our lunch. Three, big frying pansful of fresh (still wiggling going into the pan fresh) fish. JARVIS good eatin'! A young couple from New Yawk City (that's out on Lawn Guyland somehwere's, I think) camped nearby. We invited them over to eat too. And gave them a large plateful for their supper. As they were wandering away, she could be heard saying, "This will beat that macaroni and cheese we WERE going to have!"
Chuck as a Paddler: I'd like to report that Chuck is an excellent paddler.
I'd like to, but that would be a fib. Actually, he was behind me most all of the way. Since I was still in a weakened state recovering from that cursed pneumonia, that was a puzzlement to me. When I asked him about that, all he did was mutter.
After a few hours of paddling out against the tide, I had to pee. I asked Chuckie, (he being the resident cracker in attendance) where was a good spot to stop for a minute. "Wait a bit." he yelled.
Soon, he hollered over, "OK, now."
About a minute after I pulled over, while I was still enflagrant, a tourist tour boat putted right on by. "Thanks for your excellent timing, Chuck!"
Everglades City Redux: If ever there was a location where Nature pulled a joke on mankind, this may well take the cake. Scenic and nice in its locale, something in the water affects local residents. And, there is a town ordinance of a weight minimum for all the gals. My guess, without actually reading their town rules, is about 250.
Folks there have the trait of being lackadaisical down to a fine art.
While many buffoons have taken great humor and fun in belittling my name, playfully trying to sound contrite and sorry that I was not around, and in general cavorting about at my expense - I have returned. No longer will you Dear Readers have to suffer under the misapprehension of wrong tales spun by the unwashed. Here, laid out plain as day, is unvarnished truth of a recent expedition to Picnic Key.
Pull up an easy chair, get a glass of warm milk, and enjoy.
Jimmie as a Traveling Companion: On Thursday, 29 Mar 07, Old Yaker (slyly disguised as Jimmie Dorazio) pulled in. We all went out to dinner and then transferred his gear and boat to my van. He bivouacked on a couch in my living room, and my Katie Bug (6 year old Granddaughter, for any who haven't e-met her yet) sacked out on the other couch.
Friday morning, 06:00 folks started rousing, stumbling around, and getting ready. Jimmie fried up two egg sandwiches for us to eat on the road, someone got Katie a breakfast, and Jimmie & I hit the road.
Since I was just out of the hospital from pneumonia (not a recommended way to lose 10 pounds - but it works), I drove about 30 miles to get us out of the local area, then Jimmie handled the other 1,420 miles. An even 50/50 split.
Lunches were "snacks" we'd brought along. He had cheeses, ham, olives, crackers, etc. I had some cheese, V-8, jerky, and other stuff. His olives definitely had something wrong with them. Despite piggishly eating of them, I couldn't figure out what the problem was. (About a week later, when they were all gone, I figured it out - there wasn't enough of'em.)
Jim is an indefatigable, gentleman; he's kind, courteous, thoughtful, and generous. Best traveling companion I've had in years. (Other than that red headed lassie from Dearborn MI.)
What do I do with a Jar of White Lightning?: When we arrived in Everglades City, Chuckie was wolfing down a hamburger at the local "restaurant". What had been the Oar House under previous managers, used to serve up food that was (reportedly) tasty, served rapidly, and thoroughly enjoyable. Well, it's under new ownership - NOT under new management. The folks there are either senile or terminally stupid. I believe that it is a self-imposed state of stupidity and don't-give-a-damnedness. They even screwed up gritz, though God Herself only knows how one discerns between "good" or "bad" gritz. The difference is so minuscule that only a modern, laboratory replete with an atomic microscope could differentiate.
Back at the room, Chuck presented both Jimmie & me with a gift sack. In it were, among other goodies, a jar of real Georgia white lighting and a box of gritz. More about the gritz, later. Now, what could I do with some white lighting?
Well, here in Michigan, cars are often subject to pine sap, bugs, leaf sap, and such. I found that white lightning is not only a great toilet bowl cleaner, it does wonders at dissolving sticky stuff off the car finish too. Only as I was finishing up cleaning the car, did tragedy strike. See, rubbing a towel on a car causes static electricity. Static electricity often causes sparks. Sparks often ignite any flammable substance in the vicinity.
Large. blue sheets of flame erupted from my car. Streaks of lightning (the real, yellow stuff from the sky) were arcing down on the scene. The first fire truck was immolated outright, and the second one only barely escaped with its rear tires unmelted. The Township said they'd forward the bill to Southern Paddler.
The Great Gritz Auction: Earlier, I mentioned that in the gift pack was a box of gritz. Now, my penchant for gritz is well known. What in hell am I gonna do with a box of gritz? Rest assured, Dear Reader, these aren't any "quick" or "minute" gritz - these are the industrial strength stuff.
Historically, gritz have helped advance civilization. The Appian way constructed by the Romans over 2,000 years ago is still in daily use. Stones weren't secured by mortar or Portland cement. They are held in place by a liberal application of gritz. The Hoover Dam is constructed of gritz. Interstate I-75 is paved with'em.
Gritz are responsible for one event that does not bespeak in their general favor. In 1913, the great ship Titanic struck a gritz-berg in mid-ocean, sinking with great loss of life.
I'm thinking that I should auction off this box of gritz, so some avid user can gain full benefit from them. So, let the bidding begin at about $2, and go down from there. (I can't afford to pay any more than that for someone to take them off my hands! Local laws prevent dumping of hazardous waste in drains or trash sites.)
Time and Tide Waits for No Man: Departing from Everglades City is a dicey job, if Chuck is your trip planner. Ably consulting tide charts, squinting mightily, grunting when appropriate, and emitting only one fart, he announced, "We're going out against the tide."
What luck! I travel half way across the country to be outwitted by a cracker that can't tell time.
"Well, Chuck, when does the tide turn in our favor?"
"When Mickey's right hand is on the 12, and his left hand is on the 4."
"Isn't that a little late?"
"Nope! 4 o'clock in the morning is actually quite early."
To be perfectly fair about the whole thing, he reversed it for our return trip. The tide was going out - as we were going IN.
Sand, Sand, Sand: Chuck had originally planned a trip of several keys, shore sites, and chickees. Being a thoughtful and considerate soul, he rearranged it to facilitate my weakness from pneumonia. We went directly to Picnic Key (albeit up stream against the tide, and upwind too) and remained right there. THANK YOU CHUCKUS HOSPITALICUS!
Picnic Key is an island of a few acres of sand, covered by only a few cubic feet of sand gnats and no-see-um's. I was fully prepared for mosquitoes and ticks with permethrin on my clothes and tent screens. Seems that gnats and no-see-um's consider this stuff a rare delicacy, and fatten for the coming summer on it.
The sand seems to be decomposed coral and sea shells - mainly oyster shells. It gets into everything: food, drink, clothing, ears, and any other body opening you can imagine. My teeth now have been honed to such an edge that I can tear open packages at the toy store in one bite.
Porpoises on Poipose: Next to a beautiful woman, If God has created a creature with more grace than a porpoise, I don't know what it is. The late Steve Irwin used to hold up various critters and ask, "Oh! Aiiiin't it beautiful?!"
"No, Steve - it's a damned spider (or snake, or some other disgusting critter)."
But these graceful creatures are awe inspiring, fantastic, and amazing. Obviously, they've never been exposed to gritz.
Porta Potties, Tourists, & Raccoons: Picnic Key has a porta-pottie on it. We, of course, camped within a stone's throw of it. (Chuckie has an eye for civic beauty and scenery - ehh?)
Now this structure served as a magnet for all kinds of folks. Darned if I could understand why people would paddle for miles to sit in a stinky, plastic box. There were a lot of mangroves and sand and privacy all over the place. But, nonetheless, visitors dropped in like we were serving free shrimp and wine.
This led to many interesting conversations, fascinating folk, and entertaining stories. We all enjoyed the parade of humanity circulating through the territory. My personal favorite was the young lady who is a guide there, taking her parents on a trip out to the keys. Mom & Dad were gamely following along in a two-holer kayak.
Jimmie's favorite was a group of mixed gender folks. After they left, he found a pair of panties in the sand. Being the gentleman he is, he immediately hung them in a mangrove nearby the porta-pottie. Kooth and swave all the way.
A few years ago, a typhoon (called hurricanes in this neck of the woods) came through here. It evidently washed over the island with such depth and force that all the resident raccoons were washed out to sea. Never has bad weather done such a good turn for mankind. Just like when I camp at Lake Mijinemungshing in Lake Superior Provincial Park - where it's too cold for the little beggars to survive the winter - I have been assured of no raccoons. What a blessing!
Activity and Leisure: We had virtually none of the former, and a helluva lot of the latter. I led the way by demonstrating several "practice naps" each day. It is a well known medical fact that time spent in a practice nap doesn't count off your Life time.
We moved from spot to spot - morning, noon, and night. Dodging the sun, collecting the breeze, not getting wet by the incoming tide which Chuck continued to mis-predict.
Mac as a Fisherman: Gator Mac wrought miracles of fishing - all those dead fish got up and swam away. Many days did he labor in the sea - and THEN - one day he fooled us.
Right after we'd eaten a lunch, tummies distended all peoperly, and moved away from the incoming tide the third time, whilst watching Chuck trying to act unsurprised that it was actually approaching at that time of day, here comes Mac barreling in full bore. He held up three big fish. Jimmie started looking for the refrigertator to keep'em cool until supper time.
As it turned out, we ate a LARGE amount of fish as desert to our lunch. Three, big frying pansful of fresh (still wiggling going into the pan fresh) fish. JARVIS good eatin'! A young couple from New Yawk City (that's out on Lawn Guyland somehwere's, I think) camped nearby. We invited them over to eat too. And gave them a large plateful for their supper. As they were wandering away, she could be heard saying, "This will beat that macaroni and cheese we WERE going to have!"
Chuck as a Paddler: I'd like to report that Chuck is an excellent paddler.
I'd like to, but that would be a fib. Actually, he was behind me most all of the way. Since I was still in a weakened state recovering from that cursed pneumonia, that was a puzzlement to me. When I asked him about that, all he did was mutter.
After a few hours of paddling out against the tide, I had to pee. I asked Chuckie, (he being the resident cracker in attendance) where was a good spot to stop for a minute. "Wait a bit." he yelled.
Soon, he hollered over, "OK, now."
About a minute after I pulled over, while I was still enflagrant, a tourist tour boat putted right on by. "Thanks for your excellent timing, Chuck!"
Everglades City Redux: If ever there was a location where Nature pulled a joke on mankind, this may well take the cake. Scenic and nice in its locale, something in the water affects local residents. And, there is a town ordinance of a weight minimum for all the gals. My guess, without actually reading their town rules, is about 250.
Folks there have the trait of being lackadaisical down to a fine art.
thank you.