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anaisninjaSquiddo's family and I drove out to St. Pete for some fishing Wednesday evening. Nothing was biting, but the raft was in the car, so I blew her up and rowed her out.
First time rowing here, and it's beautiful. The bay warm and calm as bath water, up in the tangley mangroves, there's egrets, herons and pelicans all doing their nails and shit. No bugs, that's no small feat in Florida. Perfect. I'm thinking for the hundredth time how much I love it here, and having the weird feeling that South is where I want to be, where I have to be.
I'm hugging close to the shore, waiting for thunderheads to roll over, scattered storms in the forecast to keep in mind. Clouds pass, the sun busts through and I'm off to the first islet I can see. There's all manner of birds out there, and it's maybe 100 yards off shore. Why not, I'll row out and back.
Fucking birds galore out there. Skimmers, turnstones, plovers, roseate spoonbill on a goddamn spoon. All the birds I've dreamed about from the field guides since I was a wee crow. I'm freaking out about how awesome they are, and how close I'm getting - was getting - to them.
I wonder why I'm having problems rowing; I've hit a big ass sandbar. I stand up and step out of the boat into ankle-deep water. I start laughing. Some kids in a motorboat yell 'hey!' and wave at me all happy. I wave back and laugh. It must look surreal to people on shore to see me standing out here, not quite sea, not exactly land. I grab the ropes to my raft and pad along like a kid with a pet pony.
What I thought was an islet isn't. It's a small stand of mangroves with their roots dug in the sand, oyster shells piled high, active birdlets of all sizes feeding, chilling and preening. I've never seen anything like this before.
I've just about gotten my jaw put back in my head, wading back out to the water, oars ready to row. Then the wind picks alllll the way up, chops the water to hell, snags my inflatable pillow and blows it out 25 yards before I know what's happened.
When I do register what's happened, I decide I'm going to sit on the goddamn sandbar until the wind calms down, and then I'll row back to shore. No use tiring my arms out and getting nowhere. I'm glad to have a sandbar to wait it out on, that I don't have to row against the current to keep from getting pulled out to sea. I'm glad that the tide is on the way out, that the water won't rise any higher.
Then I saw lightning flash in the not too far distance. And then the rain, all of it.
I tied my boat up to the barrel on the sandbar, threw a towel over my shoulders and crawled-ran away as fast as I could.
Not on open water, check, no metal on my person, check, staying low to the ground and away from trees, check.
But also, soaked to the skin in water, partially submerged in water, in close proximity to water...
Oddly the first word that came to mind was not an obscenity. It was probability.
I should have been scared to hell. I really should have. I knew my situation was not safe, yes, and I took steps to increase the probability of being safer. Not dealing with an if, but a when, and thinking if I act fast, I might not have to take it personally.
But scared? No. Even with CONDUIT plastered on my soaking wet ass in a lightning storm - I couldn't find it in me to feel scared. I know. I looked. I've loved storms since I was a kid, loved the way they sounded, smelled, tasted, love the way they made the sky look and the wind act. I used to run around my neighborhood with butter knives when it stormed out, hoping I'd get hit by lightning.
And maybe it's foolish, for damn sure it's childish, I couldn't be scared of something I've always loved so much. If it's time for me to go, and this is how it's going to happen, I would still want to shake somebody's hand for letting me have it this way. Now that I'm back on dry land, I'm wondering if this is how sailors feel about the sea, why after all the storms and turbulence and danger, they can't stay away.
Maybe I was in denial of my situation. I don't know. All I remember is thinking of what I should do next. I didn't have to focus on being in the moment, the moment was right there. I wrapped the towel tighter around myself, knelt down on the sandbar with my hands pressed to the ground and waited. Listened for strikes, recited my mojuba and waited.
I'd run back to the raft between strikes, flipped it over so it wouldn't fill with rain, run back to wait, run out again to untie it and try to row it out, hear another strike, tie it back up again. There's wind and rain, and I'm wetter than I can ever remember having been in my life, but I'm not cold. I wonder what Squiddo and the fam are feeling and doing on shore. And I feel okay.
I wonder now, did I slip into manic phase out of necessity, or was I really okay? Maybe it doesn't matter, because I got through it in one piece.
When the wind died down, and the lightning passed, I untied my raft and headed back to shore. Still heavy rain, I waded as far as the herons could take me along the sandbar, then rowed over the oyster beds. My peeps were waiting on shore, worried but relieved that my stupid ass made it through, cat ears and all.
There's a few things I'll do differently next time I head out on the raft. Some things I have to read up about, some things I'll take into serious consideration.
As it turns out, being soaking wet and kneeling down (vs. being completely dry and lying down flat) was the rightest thing I could have done; lightning moves through you and keeps moving (instead of stopping straight in your organs) when you're wet. Same when you've got your hands and knees on the ground; you give lightning your arms and legs to go through, and the chance that they skip over your vital bits.
I got off easy this time.
But I will go out again. And soon. Can't stop thinking about it.
BTW,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
leafysnout, PLEASE don't tell mom about this. I'll give you cookies, anything you want. Just please don't tell mom.
First time rowing here, and it's beautiful. The bay warm and calm as bath water, up in the tangley mangroves, there's egrets, herons and pelicans all doing their nails and shit. No bugs, that's no small feat in Florida. Perfect. I'm thinking for the hundredth time how much I love it here, and having the weird feeling that South is where I want to be, where I have to be.
I'm hugging close to the shore, waiting for thunderheads to roll over, scattered storms in the forecast to keep in mind. Clouds pass, the sun busts through and I'm off to the first islet I can see. There's all manner of birds out there, and it's maybe 100 yards off shore. Why not, I'll row out and back.
Fucking birds galore out there. Skimmers, turnstones, plovers, roseate spoonbill on a goddamn spoon. All the birds I've dreamed about from the field guides since I was a wee crow. I'm freaking out about how awesome they are, and how close I'm getting - was getting - to them.
I wonder why I'm having problems rowing; I've hit a big ass sandbar. I stand up and step out of the boat into ankle-deep water. I start laughing. Some kids in a motorboat yell 'hey!' and wave at me all happy. I wave back and laugh. It must look surreal to people on shore to see me standing out here, not quite sea, not exactly land. I grab the ropes to my raft and pad along like a kid with a pet pony.
What I thought was an islet isn't. It's a small stand of mangroves with their roots dug in the sand, oyster shells piled high, active birdlets of all sizes feeding, chilling and preening. I've never seen anything like this before.
I've just about gotten my jaw put back in my head, wading back out to the water, oars ready to row. Then the wind picks alllll the way up, chops the water to hell, snags my inflatable pillow and blows it out 25 yards before I know what's happened.
When I do register what's happened, I decide I'm going to sit on the goddamn sandbar until the wind calms down, and then I'll row back to shore. No use tiring my arms out and getting nowhere. I'm glad to have a sandbar to wait it out on, that I don't have to row against the current to keep from getting pulled out to sea. I'm glad that the tide is on the way out, that the water won't rise any higher.
Then I saw lightning flash in the not too far distance. And then the rain, all of it.
I tied my boat up to the barrel on the sandbar, threw a towel over my shoulders and crawled-ran away as fast as I could.
Not on open water, check, no metal on my person, check, staying low to the ground and away from trees, check.
But also, soaked to the skin in water, partially submerged in water, in close proximity to water...
Oddly the first word that came to mind was not an obscenity. It was probability.
I should have been scared to hell. I really should have. I knew my situation was not safe, yes, and I took steps to increase the probability of being safer. Not dealing with an if, but a when, and thinking if I act fast, I might not have to take it personally.
But scared? No. Even with CONDUIT plastered on my soaking wet ass in a lightning storm - I couldn't find it in me to feel scared. I know. I looked. I've loved storms since I was a kid, loved the way they sounded, smelled, tasted, love the way they made the sky look and the wind act. I used to run around my neighborhood with butter knives when it stormed out, hoping I'd get hit by lightning.
And maybe it's foolish, for damn sure it's childish, I couldn't be scared of something I've always loved so much. If it's time for me to go, and this is how it's going to happen, I would still want to shake somebody's hand for letting me have it this way. Now that I'm back on dry land, I'm wondering if this is how sailors feel about the sea, why after all the storms and turbulence and danger, they can't stay away.
Maybe I was in denial of my situation. I don't know. All I remember is thinking of what I should do next. I didn't have to focus on being in the moment, the moment was right there. I wrapped the towel tighter around myself, knelt down on the sandbar with my hands pressed to the ground and waited. Listened for strikes, recited my mojuba and waited.
I'd run back to the raft between strikes, flipped it over so it wouldn't fill with rain, run back to wait, run out again to untie it and try to row it out, hear another strike, tie it back up again. There's wind and rain, and I'm wetter than I can ever remember having been in my life, but I'm not cold. I wonder what Squiddo and the fam are feeling and doing on shore. And I feel okay.
I wonder now, did I slip into manic phase out of necessity, or was I really okay? Maybe it doesn't matter, because I got through it in one piece.
When the wind died down, and the lightning passed, I untied my raft and headed back to shore. Still heavy rain, I waded as far as the herons could take me along the sandbar, then rowed over the oyster beds. My peeps were waiting on shore, worried but relieved that my stupid ass made it through, cat ears and all.
There's a few things I'll do differently next time I head out on the raft. Some things I have to read up about, some things I'll take into serious consideration.
As it turns out, being soaking wet and kneeling down (vs. being completely dry and lying down flat) was the rightest thing I could have done; lightning moves through you and keeps moving (instead of stopping straight in your organs) when you're wet. Same when you've got your hands and knees on the ground; you give lightning your arms and legs to go through, and the chance that they skip over your vital bits.
I got off easy this time.
But I will go out again. And soon. Can't stop thinking about it.
BTW,
leafysnout, PLEASE don't tell mom about this. I'll give you cookies, anything you want. Just please don't tell mom.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-14 07:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 02:25 am (UTC)I want so much to be there for Yemaya ocha. But if my broke ass has to be away from my godpeeps, being across the street from Cuba with an armload of watermelon ain't bad.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-21 12:05 am (UTC)Also. You have to come out here, dude. You need to fish, shoot and chill on the beach with me, Squiddo and his bros. And eat tastyburgers from the local greasy spoon THC, that's Tasty Home Cooking. Ahahahaha.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-16 03:31 pm (UTC)