About three weeks ago, my partner Maria came up with a plan: we would spend Labor Day weekend camping and canoeing. This, I though, was brilliant, with one possible exception: it’s four thousand degrees outside.
Now Maria, the native Puerto Rican, is not one to be dissuaded by our summer heat. She actually wears several layers of clothing, including a stand-by sweater, to combat the air-conditioning in her office building. I mean, compared to San Juan, we’re practically shoveling snow up here.
But I digress.
Because this is the sort of thing you do for your partner, I agreed to this insane camping proposal on one condition: we go to one of Florida’s cool, clear springs as far north as a day-trip could take us.
So we began researching. Owing to the fact that Florida is pretty much a giant, floating blob of sand, there are no less than a zillion or so “ground-fed” water sources in our state. Many of these springs are small, uncharted for the casual tourist, or so remote you’d need a GPS locator and a machete to find them. Then, of course, there are the bigger ones which are so popular – particularly on a hot, holiday weekend – that you could barely dip your toe in the 72 degree water without smacking up against a flotilla of blow-up alligator rafts.
After careful consideration of these facts, we settled on Manatee Springs, about an hour and a half north of Tampa. There was really no reason for this except that the pictures looked pretty. And also they allow dogs, which seemed like a good idea at the time. So, Manatee Springs it was. We had made our decision.
Fast forward to about a week later. We have invited friends. A crew of four was now ready to hit the springs and discover “real” Florida. Only, our new traveling companions were not so excited about the camping part. Great, I say, barely concealing my relief, we could stay in a nice little bed & breakfast on Cedar Key, a marvelous fishing town about an hour west of Manatee Springs. Applause all around: I am the Labor Day weekend genius.
Then, a funny thing happened. I started a new semester at school and forgot all about the dang trip. Well, the plans were made, right? What could possibly be left to do?
If you’ve ever been outside of your house on a holiday weekend – I mean, to even so much as a picnic area – you know what I forgot to do. I forgot to make reservations.
Of course, by “forget,” I mean that I just didn’t do it.
Turns out we weren’t the only Floridians who wanted to hit the old canoe trail for Labor Day. Apparently, all of the rest of you did as well. Maybe you could drop me a line and let me know how it went, because, well, by the time I did make some phone calls (last Saturday morning), there was nary a canoe, kayak or floating vessel to be had in the entire state. And, needless to say, there were no rooms left at the inns.
Well, when life hands you lemons, you know what they say. I decided to go with Plan B. My dad owns a perfectly beautiful canoe, and there are certainly enough watering holes in the Bay area to dip it in, so I made one last phone call.
Would you believe that Dad’s canoe was booked too? Of course. He was practically on his way out the door with it.
It is amazing how fast you can go from Labor Day genius to Labor Day loser. I was in trouble now. My friends, sensing blood in the water, backed away from the whole deal. Maria was no longer speaking to me. What could I do?
There was only one trick left in my bag. An old friend of mine lives on the pink streets down by the Skyway, and I had heard a rumor that there was an ancient canoe in her garage. Well, it would be no spring-fed wonderland, but I supposed we could paddle around the docks down there. We could even bring our dog, Mango.
So we loaded up the truck with snacks and towels, sunscreen, and a couple of cans of Heineken. Twenty minutes later we were standing in my friend’s garage, struggling with this decrepit, thousand pound boat that probably hadn’t been in the water since Nixon left office.
But it was a canoe. Just fifty yards from the Gulf. And, even though I didn’t deserve it – even though I hadn’t made a single reservation – we had the best day.
Right up until Mango lunged for a bird and flipped the boat.
October 18, 2007
August 18, 2007
A Fort to Be Reckoned With
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am a lazy bastard. Oh, I know I talk a big game about getting out and enjoying the Florida sunshine, but you’re far more likely to find me in my natural habitat: the cool, dark recesses of a restaurant or bar. Particularly at this time of the year it seems I am eternally making outrageous excuses for my indolence and near-phobic aversion to the heat. (“Er, sorry…can’t play volleyball today…still nursing that jammed finger from junior high…”)
So, I’m certain that it will come as a bit of a surprise that my topic of choice in this very muggy month of August is none other that that playground for the uber-active, Fort DeSoto Park.
Anybody who knows anything about the Tampa Bay area has heard of Fort DeSoto. I’m sure I needn’t fill you in but, for the uninitiated – and it seems there are always a few of you – here is the requisite info: Fort DeSoto is the jewel of the Pinellas County Park’s system located at the very southern tip of the county and is home to some of the finest beaches, campsites, boating and fishing in the land. The park is also the “gateway site” for the Great Florida Birding Trail (who knew?).
According to Pinellas County’s website, the park property was first purchased from the federal government in 1938 for $12,500. In 1941 the property was sold back to the federal government for $18,404 to be used as a gunnery and bombing range during World War II. The property was repurchased from the feds in 1948 for $26,500. This clearly illustrates either some extremely poor real estate investing on the part of the county or, simply the fact that property values were skyrocketing even then.
Oh well. What matters is that we have it now. And what, exactly, did we get for all that dough? Well, nothing that Florida wasn’t full of at the time: untainted, mosquito-ridden waterfront property. Oh, and a big, fat fort.
Of course, we folks in the know like to call the whole park “the Fort.” As in, “Hey, big cookout at the Fort!” and “Didya hear about the shark attack at the Fort?” (Actually, nobody calls it “the Fort,” but wouldn’t it be cool if we all did? Let’s start a fun new trend, people!)
Anyway, there really is a fort at Fort DeSoto, which puts us in very cool company alongside St. Augustine and San Juan in Puerto Rico, though ours is not nearly as old. According to fortdesoto.com (NOT the official website for the park), construction on the fort began in 1898, but it “was never the site of any major battle, and the weapons of Fort De Soto…were never fired in anger at an enemy.” Perhaps in a moment of irritation, then.
Well, the fort is cool, nonetheless. And, occasionally, mock civil war battles are fought there (so you can either grab your confederate cap or go make fun, whatever floats your boat). But, what makes the park stand out (and, as a person only marginally more active than a tree sloth, I’m putting myself out on a limb, here) is all the cool stuff you can do there!
Torpidity aside, I, the human pet rock, have actually walked the Fort’s nature trails, steered my bike along its paved paths, and fallen – in countless unflattering positions – onto its sandspurs with rollerblades still attached to my feet. But that’s just for starters.
You can now rent a kayak or canoe and paddle the Fort’s canoe trails (or find uncharted territories of your own, potentially ambushing nude beach proponents). This happens to be my favorite Fort activity as it requires far less inertia and far greater rewards, from stingray sightings to the possibility of mangrove crabs jumping in your boat.
I have eaten fresh fish caught from the Fort area, and can say that they’re as fine as any tilapia (ahem, I mean grouper) in our Bay area. And, while I’m not a fan of terrorizing animals for my own amusement (sorry, sport fishers), I’m sure there’s plenty of fun to be had in that department as well. Boaters and fisherfolk alike (though I’m sure they already know), the Fort is your friend.
Add to all this outdoor abandon tons of great picnic sites, goofy carriage bicycles, vast undeveloped beaches, and a smattering of concessions stands, and I think you’ll get my drift when I say that the Fort totally rocks. It’s no coincidence that you’ve got to call, like, a bazillion months in advance to reserve a campsite (I hear they’re now taking names for Christmas 2012).
I’m telling you, as soon as I can get off the couch, I am so there.
Published in The Gabber Newspaper, Gulfport, FL 8/23/07
So, I’m certain that it will come as a bit of a surprise that my topic of choice in this very muggy month of August is none other that that playground for the uber-active, Fort DeSoto Park.
Anybody who knows anything about the Tampa Bay area has heard of Fort DeSoto. I’m sure I needn’t fill you in but, for the uninitiated – and it seems there are always a few of you – here is the requisite info: Fort DeSoto is the jewel of the Pinellas County Park’s system located at the very southern tip of the county and is home to some of the finest beaches, campsites, boating and fishing in the land. The park is also the “gateway site” for the Great Florida Birding Trail (who knew?).
According to Pinellas County’s website, the park property was first purchased from the federal government in 1938 for $12,500. In 1941 the property was sold back to the federal government for $18,404 to be used as a gunnery and bombing range during World War II. The property was repurchased from the feds in 1948 for $26,500. This clearly illustrates either some extremely poor real estate investing on the part of the county or, simply the fact that property values were skyrocketing even then.
Oh well. What matters is that we have it now. And what, exactly, did we get for all that dough? Well, nothing that Florida wasn’t full of at the time: untainted, mosquito-ridden waterfront property. Oh, and a big, fat fort.
Of course, we folks in the know like to call the whole park “the Fort.” As in, “Hey, big cookout at the Fort!” and “Didya hear about the shark attack at the Fort?” (Actually, nobody calls it “the Fort,” but wouldn’t it be cool if we all did? Let’s start a fun new trend, people!)
Anyway, there really is a fort at Fort DeSoto, which puts us in very cool company alongside St. Augustine and San Juan in Puerto Rico, though ours is not nearly as old. According to fortdesoto.com (NOT the official website for the park), construction on the fort began in 1898, but it “was never the site of any major battle, and the weapons of Fort De Soto…were never fired in anger at an enemy.” Perhaps in a moment of irritation, then.
Well, the fort is cool, nonetheless. And, occasionally, mock civil war battles are fought there (so you can either grab your confederate cap or go make fun, whatever floats your boat). But, what makes the park stand out (and, as a person only marginally more active than a tree sloth, I’m putting myself out on a limb, here) is all the cool stuff you can do there!
Torpidity aside, I, the human pet rock, have actually walked the Fort’s nature trails, steered my bike along its paved paths, and fallen – in countless unflattering positions – onto its sandspurs with rollerblades still attached to my feet. But that’s just for starters.
You can now rent a kayak or canoe and paddle the Fort’s canoe trails (or find uncharted territories of your own, potentially ambushing nude beach proponents). This happens to be my favorite Fort activity as it requires far less inertia and far greater rewards, from stingray sightings to the possibility of mangrove crabs jumping in your boat.
I have eaten fresh fish caught from the Fort area, and can say that they’re as fine as any tilapia (ahem, I mean grouper) in our Bay area. And, while I’m not a fan of terrorizing animals for my own amusement (sorry, sport fishers), I’m sure there’s plenty of fun to be had in that department as well. Boaters and fisherfolk alike (though I’m sure they already know), the Fort is your friend.
Add to all this outdoor abandon tons of great picnic sites, goofy carriage bicycles, vast undeveloped beaches, and a smattering of concessions stands, and I think you’ll get my drift when I say that the Fort totally rocks. It’s no coincidence that you’ve got to call, like, a bazillion months in advance to reserve a campsite (I hear they’re now taking names for Christmas 2012).
I’m telling you, as soon as I can get off the couch, I am so there.
Published in The Gabber Newspaper, Gulfport, FL 8/23/07
August 8, 2007
Are We This Sick?
Is Her Blood On the Wall?
New Report Has Cops Worried
New Report Has Cops Worried
SEE HOW HER PARENTS REACT
This is the current headline on AOL regarding the little girl, Madeline, who disappeared in Portugal recently.
There are few words to express - as a journalist and a human being - how repulsive this is to me. Have we become so anaesthetised that we are thirsty for this kind of "news"?
I don't want to see how her parents react. I've seen enough of grief to know - and I don't need it bandied about as entertainment. Or worse, news.
It is NOT news that these parents are living the biggest nightmare of their lives. It is not news that they are pleading against reason for the life of their little girl.
I don't want to live in a society that can not control its own fetish for voyeurism. Yet, I am overcome with this hopeless realization: we will never evolve past mindless brutality. We are simply too fascinated by the pain of others and betrayed by our own carnal lust to see it.
What hypocrites we are.
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