Welcome to SomePlace Else!
Beach Blog October
Today I start a blog.
The great Shelly Bermann once started his comedy monologue with
“OK, ok, we’re a little rushed tonight, I don’t have much time, I only have a minute, so I want to take this minute and discuss… the world..."
Well, I’m going to do the same thing, but I have the luxury where I live now, to do it over weeks and months of walking my nearby beach every morning.
Any beach goer-walker-runner-bum knows that this is where your sighs are the longest, your breaths are the deepest, and your faith becomes the strongest.
I took my dog Abby with me this morning. Most of the time I go alone, but every few days, I take out the leash, Abby goes nuts, and we walk the beach together. There are advantages and disadvantages to taking a dog on a beach walk.
The biggest disadvantage: you do not get as close to the gulls, the terns, the gannets, the crabs, and the fish because they see the dog.
The advantage is that you get a lot closer to the bikinis- because they see the dog.
“Oh isn’t she beautiful!!"
Nice work, Abby.
I have two favorite times to walk: early morning before sunrise and late afternoon, when the surf is still high, but things are winding down. I’ll try to keep writing on a daily or weekly basis, as long as I think I have something to say. If you do not hear anything that day, it probably means it was not a perspicuous day (is that an adjective?) or that my thoughts spilled over and I haven’t picked them all up yet.
Let's start:
October 7, 2009- I walked to my beach this morning in the fog. After living 20 years in the Keys, it was glorious to wake up and not be able to see across the little canal in my back yard. I could hear the distant surf from my dock, and I immediately looked to the east where, two blocks away, the sun was painting a pink strip over a thick silver-gray backdrop across the beach. I immediately followed the light.
The dunes were covered in dew and the wildflowers there were dripping. I do not know their names yet, being new here. But I will learn them. One was purple with yellow stamens and one looked like a brown eyed daisy. The dunes here are huge- tall and wide and full of wild flowers, thick healthy Sea Oats and other grasses.
There is something anticipatory in walking a great boardwalk towards the ocean in the morning. It is like you are discovering something brand new and extraordinary every time you do it.
As you approach, God starts to turn up the volume of the surf, you start to hear the cry of gulls, and you smell the new day’s promise as you breath it in.
October 9, 2009 - This afternoon after class I decided to embark on a journey of discovery in my new adopted hometown; Everyone who knows me knows that I have a thing for lighthouses. When my ex-wife Layna and I first moved into our home in Key Largo, we had a view ( with binoculars ) of Carysfort Light sitting on the reef off Key Largo. There was a wall in our new home that screamed for a portrait of the light, and we scoured every tourist trap, fine art and framing shop, and thrift store for 60 miles. Nothing.
I was so jones'd for a watercolor of that light I finally commissioned one at considerable expense. It turned out kind of cheesy,
and it stayed on the wall of my beloved Key Largo house for the new owners to contemplate after I moved out following the divorce.
Any way, l share my fellow dreamers and romantics' attraction to these structures. Psychology or sociology researchers could go nuts studying our affliction with these little structures, standing up to the elements and guiding those in peril, so I'll leave that to them. All I know is that when I moved here last month, The Light, after the beach, was the first thing I set out to see.
This particular lighthouse is a classic beauty. She also has much historic significance, as does the town that surrounds her. She is reputed to be haunted.
The lighthouse is set back from the beach, actually on the inlet, and after taking photos of it and visiting the museum, I thought about how to get a photo of her from the beach. The only access I could see was three to four miles south. The dunes there are huge, and I did not know whether a photo from the beach would even be possible, but I vowed to find out.
So yesterday, armed with the little Fuji that Cindy gave me for my birthday,
I drove to the beach in question and started to walk north towards the light.
This was a trek of faith, since you can not see the light from the beach entrance. I just hoped that once I got far enough north, I would get a shot of it peeking over the dunes.
It turned out to be a lovely walk; the entire stretch of beach is a state park with no structures ocean side, just those incredible towering dunes.
Sea Oats and wildflowers grew in profusion.
As I walked I saw several sea turtle nests that had been marked by the Park Service. It was late in the season and most nests had hatched out, but there were evidently a few left. When we first moved to South Florida, Layna and I served as volunteers for the Audubon Society's Turtle Watch program on Key Biscayne.
In early summer, we would walk the beach before sunrise, looking for the telltale tracks of the huge females. After locating a nest, we would transplant her eggs to a safer, secured area. Then, in the Fall, we would take shifts on the beach all night to ensure that any hatchlings got to the water safely.
Unfortunately, in Southeast Florida there is a profit to be made in turtle eggs and this, along with natural predation, necessitates the Turtle Watch program.
Up here, the Park simply keeps an eye on the nests and everyone behaves themselves.
I walked past the last of the nests just as the dunes level off and suddenly I could see the light! She is beautiful, jutting out of the sand in the distance. This is as close as it gets from the beach it seems. I take some photos with my nifty pocket camera and make a mental note to come back with my 35 mm Nikon and lenses at a later date.
My lighthouse hunt was successful, and I slowly walk the three miles back to my car, savoring this long, wide secluded beach with a lighthouse.
October 11 I realized this morning how very lucky I am. Not because I have a loving, close family or tight friends or any number of toys, but because, simply, when I wake up and look for something to do, I can do more than read or flick on the tube. I can write. And so can you.
I need to write. Neil Young once told Charlie Rose in an interview that the most important thing he could do in his life was to "be there for the source. "
Now, while none of us may have the intrepid, fidgety inner voice that he has,
we, you, can ALL benefit from simply writing things down.
I once wrote that music purifies, writing clarifies. That's my new religion.
As kids, we all moaned when our teachers or parents ordered us to keep a journal during a field trip or vacation. No greater favor can be suggested.
I implore you all- it doesn't matter whether you can put two coherent sentences together or write Winds of War - take a minute and write it down.
Most importantly, do not just write what you did that day, write what you thought that day. And do not be afraid to come to some conclusions about yourself.
It'll change your life.
End of Sermon.
Any way, yesterday I took a slow drive down A1A to Canaveral National Seashore, This stretch of coastal highway is the way Florida should be; views of the ocean- not condos. Small shops and fishing piers, people crossing the street to and from the ocean with beach chairs, surf boards, fish poles, and coolers. Not a blackberry within a hundred miles.
Oh sure, you'll still see the pseud with a cell phone stuck in his ear near the surf trying to act like Gordon Gecko in Wall Street every now and then, but for the most part, this is Old Florida at its best.
I stopped at Flagler Beach to watch a surfing contest. Incredible. Surfing is one of those things I always wanted to try. I am a big proponent of the idea that you can always try new things, but, alas, I think at 51, I'll just watch the beautiful bodies do beautiful things with a big hunk of fiberglass. I see some older folks doing it, but most of these folks must have been doing it since their teens.
It seems to me that unlike flying or SCUBA diving, which call for cool, calm, rationality, surfing should only be done gonzo style- fearlessly, like moto-crossing or ski racing. There seems to me a thin line in some of these pursuits that, even though they look like a hell of a lot of fun for an old fart, fools should not tread there.
Whether you choose to participate or just spectate. Make sure to write it down.
And do not be afraid to let a few secrets slip out in the process. You may learn something.
October 14 I took a bunch of guide books with me this morning on my walk so I can now report to you, among other things, that those pretty wild flowers I told you about growing among the dunes' sea oats are the Beach Sunflower ( the brown eyed daisy ) and the Sea ox eye. There are more, but these seem predominant.
As far as shore birds, I seem to see Sanderlings almost every morning in great numbers. They do not seem to congregate as much in the afternoon though. I think I already told you about the Royal Terns. I am not sure if these are residents or just passing through so I will have to see if they stick around in the spring.
There was also a couple Gannets keeping them company, which for here is not unheard of. This morning I also saw a small shore bird with long legs picking crustaceans out of the surf line. I am not sure whether it is a stilt or a dowitcher. I think it is one of the two, though. I will do more research over coffee, my guide books, and the net when I get back.
The wind shifted to the west last night and the tides are high with the new moon approaching. This next month I will try to get a few moonrise shots for you. I have to keep it short this morning- I need to study for class!
October 15 Abby and I walked down to Matanzas Inlet after school last night. The sun was just starting to set. The inlet is a couple miles south of our beach, where the historic Matanzas river empties into the Atlantic.
Historians will note the many battles between the Spanish, the French Huguenots, and the British that were fought here. Last week Abby and I visited Fort Matanzas just up river, which protected the southern flank of St Augustine during Spanish colonial times. Ancient Live Oaks grow next to palmetto as they make way to the dunes.
The inlet is a wild, confused place where river currents and tides meet the ocean. It appears to be a great fishing spot, and I wanted to find out the best way to drive to it. That is the beach, but last night the tide was too high to risk it, so we walked.
It turned out to be a most profitable walk, as the shelling here is great, and I filled my pockets with oyster shells for my aquarium. The mullet are starting their fall run and I hear that the stripers will be here soon, competing with pompano and flounder for the harvest. I could see a lot of mullet jumping in the surf as we walked towards the inlet.
I can now also report that the long legged, long beaked birds keeping me company on most of my walks are willets, a member of the sandpiper family. They and the sanderlings seem to have the beach to themselves tonite, except for a family of eight that were all dressed in Khaki shorts and white tee shirts for a family portrait by the water.
As Mom and the kids waited patiently, Dad set up his camera on a tripod and got them all lined up arm in arm. Then he pushed the timer button and ran to join them before the shutter closed. As I passed them I called to the photographer, "hey Dad, that's going to be a great shot."
And indeed it will be. The light was perfect for what they were wearing, and the breeze put a wave in everyone's hair. I am sure that photo is going to be shown to generations in that family many, many years from now.
That's what beaches are for.
October 16 I don't know many folks that enjoy other peoples home movies, so I'll apologize in advance to some of you, but I just have to tell you about my sister Debi. I think about her every time I step on the beach, because no one loves beaches more than she. I think about her a lot as I and Abby walk our beach south this morning before sunrise.
Adults with siblings will know. As the saying goes, you can pick your friends but you can't pick your- sister. But if you are lucky, and if you work at it a little, siblings will turn out to be your best friend- the one you turn to when things get dicey.
Debi was always the best big sister a young kid could have.
She would take me to the movies downtown and always had time for me when I interrupted her homework. I treated her like shit most of the time. This was the sixties, with all the upheavals and long hair and societal changes.
Debi would have friends over, including boys, and I would drive the girls nuts by coming down stairs to visit. The boys, knowing this made the girls unhappy, would make a big deal of playing with "the kid" while their girlfriends fumed. It was great.
I remember one guy, I think his name was David Bubois, who had a convertible with tuck and roll upholstery. Man he was cool.
Debi always seemed to be attracted to the cool ones. She and I and Dad still laugh about her many trips to the "library." Debi was a good student, and did actually spend a lot of time at the neighborhood library. One night after dinner she mentioned to Dad that she was going to the library to study. I was bored and announced I wanted to go along. Usually this was fine, but that night she said no. I immediately appealed to a higher court- Dad- and he said "Oh, Debi, take David along." ( Dad probably just wanted to get me out of his hair for an hour or two. )
Debi was adamant. No, no, no! An argument ensued and she stormed out the door. Later I found out she was meeting Tim Berg, the handsome captain of the high school golf team on the hill in back of the house.
Debi with her Leslie Gore hairdo
I never thought about it at the time, of course, but Debi came of age in the sixties without our mother, who had died of a brain aneurysm years earlier. I can't imagine how difficult that was for her, as well as for my father.
I remember vividly how she sat me down after Dad had remarried. True to form, I was giving my new step-mother an extremely hard time, and Debi told me in a gentle way to knock it the hell off and give Clare, who in her mid thirties was childless and taking on an adolescent step-daughter and a hyperactive self centered step-son, a chance.
Later, Debi was introduced to Stuey Holtz by Dan Seering, who is well documented on this website ( see OKID Summer, Acquaintances of a Small Winner ). Stuey was the craziest bastard that ever walked the planet, god rest his soul. He died piloting his own homemade gyro-copter. The women, young and old, loved him to death. He was very, very good to me while he and my big sister were "going steady."
I recall with great affection the day Stuey announced he was looking for a new car. We jumped in his mustang and he drove me to South Motors on Park Street. That was Madison's "toy store" at the time.
Jaguars, MGs, there was even a Pantera on the lot. Stuey test drove them all after charming the receptionist and the salesman.
Seering tells tales of Stuey snowmobiling down the main hall of Reedsberg High School and "borrowing" a bulldozer for some fun late one evening- 'til running in to a cow.
But Stu was always respectful of Debi and our family. Debi sure knew how to pick 'em.
It is interesting to note that she ended up marring a man quite different- a salt of the earth type. Debi is smart and made a good choice. Lee has been the big brother I never had.
My last year in college, I and my fiance Layna were sharing her friend Shelly's little apartment on the east side. I was not crazy about the company her friend was keeping, but between school and singing six nights a week, I didn't have time to think about it. One night, I heard something in the basement and went down to investigate. A pump had fallen over; a pump that provided water to the largest indoor hydroponic pot farm I had ever seen. It looked like a botany lab down there.
I put two and two together, realizing that Shelly's boyfriend was dealing out of the apartment, and went upstairs and told Layna. We decided to break our lease and move out the next day. Desperate, I called Lee right then and at eight am the next morning he was there with his truck getting us the hell out of there.
Lee and Debi are very different yet compliment each other. Lee is a died-in the-wool Midwestern bred boy. Debi, like her brother, is a dreamer. I thank my maker for them every day. And I think about them every day, especially Debi, who always loves a good beach walk.
October 17 Well, I did it again. Pulled another stunt that only yours truly could accomplish. I scored plenty of style points on this one:
How many of you have ever gotten stuck in a car? Plenty I'll bet. A ditch, a snow bank, on a slippery boat ramp perhaps. Childs Play.
How about on a beach with the tide coming in, surf threatening the vehicle? OK, we've all seen or heard about this happening.
How about on a beach with the tide coming in, surf threatening the vehicle, in front of a bride in white on her wedding day with a hundred of her closest friends and family? The bride actually kissed the groom to the romantic background music of a 2004 Lexus SUV being towed out of six feet of soft coquina sand by a beat up 4x4 pick up. I'll save you the details. Here is a quick breakdown of events:
1. Driver of vehicle decides to drive to Matanzas inlet
to hunt shells and check out the fishing.
2. Driver of Vehicle negotiates designated beach drive well and
parks just south of drive where regular white hard sand is
transitioning into soft coquina, which the early Spaniards used
to build St. Augustine's fortifications, since enemy canon balls
tended not to break it, but merely sunk into it.
3. Driver of vehicle notices someone setting up chairs and
decorations. Vehicle is twenty feet directly in front
of said chairs.
4. Driver gets out, walks remaining one hundred yards to inlet and
hunts shells. Driver gathers useful information from fisherman.
Driver notices tide coming in.
5. Driver walks back to vehicle, gently attepts to drive away and
sinks three feet into red wet soft coquina sand. Driver looks at
bride who has taken position at front of chairs, and guests,
who are starting to arrive. Guests park at a safe distance and
look at Driver and vehicle.
6. Driver of vehicle attempts to dig his way out- twice. The
clergy arrives. Luckily, the groom is late. Tide builds.
7. Good Samaritan arrives with 4x4 and offers tow. Pulls out
chain. Driver of vehicle attempts to find frame of vehicle under
one hundred square feet of plastic.
8. Bride's brother walks over and assists Driver of Vehicle in
locating suitable place to attach chain. Sea water now with in
ten feet of vehicle. Groom arrives.
9. 4x4 eases chain taught. Bridal procession commences. Bride's
brother towels off and runs back to ceremony.
4x4 sinks into coquina.
10. Driver of vehicle and driver of 4x4 dig out 4x4.
Bride kisses groom. 4x4 and Lexus gun engines and swerve
out of twin ruts onto hard sand directly abeam wedding
guests.
11. Driver of vehicle apologizes, then asks bride for photos
before driving away.
Would I make this stuff up?
The inocent looking Coquina shell.
October 19 It was really chilly this morning and I had gotten quite enough of the beach on Saturday. I am still rubbing coquina out of my hair. I decided not to go to the beach and tended some email instead. One made my day. It was from Joe, a good friend who I worked with and for at the bell stand at Cheeca Lodge up until the fire on New Years Eve.
I worked five years at Cheeca, and loved the place and the people I worked with. Joe, Joey, Christopher, Bruce, Adam, Hank, James, Vinny, Michelle, John. Many others. If any of you are reading this, make sure to sign in to my Guest Book. I'd love to hear from you. And Bruce, your voice-over on my video WILL make it to this site. Give me another week or so...
Aside from my thoughts in this website about my last year at Cheeca, most of it was great, because of people like Joe.
Joe is in Chicago finishing up a degree he abandoned one semester short several years ago.
Joe is the most mature and perspicacious (sorry but the word is apt) twenty- something I know. Wise well beyond his years, sporting a keen curiosity and articulate manner.
He is a great writer and has started a blog. Joe will earn his degree in History this December and is considering graduate school. His film critiques and observations in the blog are well thought out and constructed. He is a HUGE sports fan and his baseball knowledge rivals anyone I have heard. If there is a deity, Joe will one day be writing for Sports Illustrated or Esquire- probably about the Red Sox.
You know what occurs to me as I write this? Joe and others of his generation and younger may not appreciate what a powerful tool we all have at our fingertips today. Only in the past decade could some regular guy like me write something- and I mean anything - in St. Augustine Florida at 8:32 in the morning and have it instantly read by someone in New York or Tokyo or Baghdad. This technology has changed the world and our perception of it.
In 1989 , it took several days for the photo of the young man stopping tanks in Tienanmen Square to get smuggled out of China, and by that time the student movement had been brutally crushed. But the Iranian government's violent reaction to citizen protests this year was on twitter within seconds.
That is profoundly powerful stuff.
Anyway, My friend Joe's thoughts are now in cyberspace. This young man has something to say. I have put his blog in my vital links page, but you can check him out at
http://islanderinexile.blogspot.com/.
October 21, 2009 Aren't friends wonderful? Take Dan Storm, one of my oldest and best. Someday I'll have to relay some Storm stories. Oh wait- I already have.
For those of you who have read OKID Summer- Memoirs of a Young Lounge Lizard ( On this website), you may remember my story of the night I was playing in Wisconsin Dells at the River Inn and the resort's manager ( and fellow best buddy ) Dan Seering ran a Strawberry Daiquiri special in the resort's lounge that night.
Seering had put out little placards on the tables saying "if you don't like it, throw it at the entertainer..." and someone tried- and instead of hitting me, plastered a bridesmaid that was there for a wedding.
That someone was Storm. Anyway, my good buddy must have felt sorry about my last episode getting stuck on the beach in my car, and sent me this:
Thanks, Stormer.
I feel much better now.
October 24 The Surf.
I've already mentioned that scene in Wall Street where Gecko is standing outside his Long Island mansion down on the beach at sunrise talking to our hero Charlie Sheen on his fancy brick cell phone. You know what makes that scene so great? You know who the star of that scene is? It's a wave.
When Oliver Stone was looking at his dailys after a day of shooting, I imagine him gleeful seeing that single gentle wave collapse perfectly, almost eerily, from right to left, as if on que. I can see it in the script:
Gecko: "I'm gonna make you rich, Bud Fox. Get dressed."
Que God: Wave curls across screen.
Slow fade to black w/ music theme.
To me, waves are like roses or a woman's breast- you just can't get any more simply, exquisitely beautiful than that.
This morning I walked alone, leaving Abby at home. She was in the dog house after consuming my new jar of tropical fish food I had bought the night before for my aquarium.
Anyway, I walked north this morning, hoping to meet up with my good buddy John, who normal runs the beach every morning starting at his place up north heading south. I didn't see John this morning but I was treated to many wonders. A rabbit or hare- I'll find out which, kept me company as I crossed the dunes to my beach this morning. I think I'll write about these dunes next week, for they are truly special.
Once I started walking north, I could tell the sunrise was going to be spectacular. The condo balconies were filled with tourists awaiting their chance at a vacation sunrise photo which once again confirmed to me how lucky I am to live in this place.
On my way, I pondered the waves' ability to hold us so.
Just what makes something esthetically appealing? Back in college I actually had a required course called "Aesthetics". It was a 500 level course in Landscape Architecture and was actually quite involved. But it doesn't take a Natural Resource or Art degree to see why waves are beautiful. The surf has it all: line, form, texture, color, it's all there. But what is so intrinsically appealing about waves is that you can see the art being made; you actually experience the flourish of the paintbrush, the wisp of the artist's hand. And no human being on earth can sketch a line like that.
An attempt to try.
October 26 The subject of my column today is mostly a guy thing.
I neglected my walk on the beach this morning, electing to arrange my doo-dad drawers instead.
You know the plastic cabinet with little see-through drawers that you put all your nuts, bolts, washers, finishing nails, hanging nails, wirenuts, wingnuts, locking nuts, wall anchors, masonry anchors, S hoops, coax connectors, butterfly hooks, hinges, air inflation needles, cabinet knobs, springs, PVC caps, drill bits, electrical connectors, cotter pins, thing-a-ma-jigs and doo-dads in?
Well I cleaned mine out this morning!
Cup of joe in hand, I sat at my work shop table, put on some Miles Davis, and kicked back. This is not a chore. It is a labor of love, akin to cleaning and rearranging your tackle box or photo albums. It should be done deliberately. With care.
Ladies; think jewelry box, although some of you, I am sure, also have doo-dad drawers.
The first thing I came to, after taking a half an hour to get all the little drawers out of the cabinet due to some tiny thing-a-ma-job jamming the last one from the inside, was this:
What in the hell is that? If anyone can tell me please email me at this address.
I saved it. Just in case.
I also ran across stuff like this:
Why.....?
So many memories in these drawers. I pick up the AC outlet that my daughter Stephanie had stuck a bobbie pin in when she was three, prompting us to get a set of plugs for each outlet in the house. I still have those too, and I place them in their own little drawer. The bobbie pin goes in too. I don't throw much out.
Next, I come to some stainless hardware, mostly marine screws, that I saved from a Cuban refuge raft that washed ashore in front of the house back in 1995 when we lived in North Key Largo. What a morning that was. The boat people must have come in during the night and scattered, leaving the raft on the flats at low tide. In the raft was a tool kit containing Russian and Chinese wrenches, two water bottles and a mess of orange peels.
It also contained a zip lock bag containing the same hardware that now lies scattered across my workbench.
I rewarm my coffee cup.
I sip and winnow.
I remember Jaime, my Cuban neighbor across the canal putting his small outboard on that raft and taking it for a spin. Jaime was a great old friend. He was a work-a-holic painter in Miami who came down to his second home in the Keys on weekends and any other time he could slip away.
Jaime fished every day off, taking his aluma-craft with 10 horse motor out a mile and a half to his favorite patch reef. You could just barely see it from our upstairs deck. We called it Jaime's hole. Lots of lobster there too.
Jaime took me fishing, and taught me how to use a fishing yo yo. Let me tell you- it ain't as easy as it looks. Especially if you actually catch large fish with it. Jaime would use four at a time, all hanging off a different part of the boat. He never sat still, constantly tending his lines. He roared with laughter the first time I had a fish on and let the line get away from me, tangling everything in the boat, including both my legs.
Unfortunately Jaime is no longer with us. He had two heart attacks shortly after my wife and I divorced and moved out. Jaime was self employed and had no health insurance. The first heart attack took his beloved Key Largo home. The second took his life. I know the subtleties of catching a fish with a cuban yo yo because of Jaime.
I look at the little plastic cabinet box in front of me. Boxes like these are full of memories, and memories are knowledge.
I place the marine screws back in their own set of drawers. Like a lot of stuff scattered on my table, I may never use them- or have I?
October 28 This past weekend I was tickled like a little kid.
Those of you who have read "God's Copilot" on this website know that I am an aerospace nut and that my son Robert is considering a career in aviation. I wrote Jeff Skiles, who I went to school with, and who was in the right seat of US Air 1549's cockpit the day of the Miracle on the Hudson.
Associated press
I was hoping Jeff might write my son a motivational letter. He not only did that, he invited Robert and me up in his private aircraft next year at the Oshkosh Air Show or at Madison, where we both grew up.
His new toy is a 1935 fully restored WACO YOC Biplane.
Jeff stylin' in his WACO.
Is that thing beautiful or what? Jeff and I traded several emails over the weekend. He has been working a lot in Washington DC lately ( no surprise )- it appears he will have his hands full with Northwest Flight 188 in the weeks ahead.
Jeff reports that he just wants to go flying again. I can not wait.
October 28 Standing by on the beach this morning to see the first ever launch of the Ares1X Rocket.
Ares 1X is the test flight of the newest generation of U.S. space vehicles which will replace the Space Shuttle STS system when it retires next year. My beach is close enough to Cape Canaveral that I should get a good look at it. There might be a weather hold this morning and NASA is still checking on any problems that thunderstorms and lightning may have caused to the vehicle last night. So I wait.
Ares is the booster part of the Constellation system, which will include rocket, payload and Orion, an Apollo like manned capsule capable of servicing the International Space Station and later taking four people to the moon and beyond.
The Ares 1x will be an unmanned sub orbital flight to test the basic first stage propulsion system. It uses what amounts to a shuttle booster motor for its first stage. Later systems will also have a cluster of liquid fueled engines currently used on the Air Forces' Delta rockets. Once in orbit, another liquid fueled engine, the J2, similar to Apollo's Saturn V, will be capable of propelling the Orion capsule into deep space.
Interestingly, the first stage being tested today has a "vectored nozzle"- in other words, the solid fuel motor will be steerable- something brand new, but which was looked at back in the sixties when Aerojet Corporation was building and testing the largest solid rocket motor ever made, in the Everglades for the Apollo project.
That project will be the subject of my next article "Moon Rockets in the Everglades " for which I spent over a hundred hours at the site and doing research. I should have the piece finished in a few weeks. As a teaser, here is a photo I took of the old abandoned rocket in its silo out in the Everglades:
October 30 Well, Halloween is upon us, and I must admit this is looking to be one of the best ever. Last night I took a ride downtown to catch all the pre- H festivities in one of the most haunted cities of America.
I stopped off at the Lighthouse first, which is also reputed to be haunted. St Augustine and St John's County does one thing extremely well- public spaces. Everywhere you turn there is a park. Federal, municipal, county, neighborhood- whatever. The lighthouse sits just north of Anastasia State Park and does full moon tours every month. There was a near-full moon last night, arriving just in time for Halloween, and the Lighthouse grounds were as spooky as it gets.
Old Live Oaks with Spanish moss hanging from them, illuminated by a huge silver moon racing through the scattered clouds. And watching over it all, the classically beautiful striped lighthouse casting its rotating light into the gloom. There were a lot of Halloween revelers congregating for a midnight tour. In October, the Light tours are complimentary for locals. Like I said, this town takes care of its own.
After the lighthouse, I drove uptown to the historic district. I passed the old cemetery, where hundreds of early settlers were buried after an outbreak of Yellow Fever. A gentleman in black was holding court with an oil lantern at the grave yard entrance. I walked through the Old Town Gates and up San Marco, past the First School House and assorted taverns. All the Haunted Tours were getting ready to go. I walked south to the City Commons, where the town's Farmers' Market sets up on weekends.
There is a gazebo in the middle of the commons, and forgive me, it reminds me of the set in Music Man. I think that is one reason I like this place so- it seems to me the perfect marriage of small town Midwest, where I grew up, and the perfect Florida beach town, which I have been looking for ever since moving down here. I used to love Halloween back home, and now this place screams home to me.
October 31 Since it is Halloween, I thought I might recount for you the story of ZAAT, the horrifying aquatic creature in 3D film folklore.
Courtesy Barton Productions Inc
The critics called it simply horrible.
One of my closest friends, Nat Fain, worked on the film when it was shot at Marine Land of Florida, just south of here, back in the early seventies. Nat was working at Marine Land at the time and was hired as a still photographer for the shoot.
The film has reached nearly cult status, resulting from being so bad it according to Nat, had to change its name four times so theaters would buy it after the reviews came out.
As far as I can figure out, the original title, ZAAT, is actually the bodily fluid of the monster, a bikini loving nuclear radiated walking catfish.
c.Barton Productions
Ohmygod, ohmygod!
The film's sound editor, George Yarbrough, recorded the clicking noise of a Geiger counter and used that whenever the monster spewed his bodily fluids.
One film critic called the monster a "demon born of an aardvark and a can of spinach". The reviews go downhill from there.
Nat says his favorite part of the movie is where the monster is walking along, lamenting "Oh the horribleness of it all..."
zaatmovie.com
ZAATs crew. That's Nat up on the right.
Have a happy and safe Halloween, everybody.
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