Thu, Jul 2 2009 - Festive Florida Firefly Float! (LAST MINUTE!!!) (View Original Event Details)
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Pam and I had kicked around the idea of a July 4 river trip, and we decided to make it happen. Pam worked with the (minimal, but it still exists) bureaucracy of the Atlanta Outdoor Club to get me lined up as a co-leader. The AOC leadership did their best to dot I's and cross T's, but I felt sorry for anyone who would attempt to stand in Pam's way. :)
Getting on the road turned out to be an ordeal. I was the last stop, so I just heard the highlights. These included a tour of Pam's garden, two gear transfers (car Tetris), the purchase of a large cooler at Wal-Mart, and interminable holiday traffic on the I-75/I-85 connector.
Loading Scott B's Avalanche at my place took a while, but we played Tetris again with the various boxes and put the roof rack to use. Finally, we were on the road toward High Springs, Florida! We arrived at the canoe outfitter at 2 AM. We set about erecting Scott M's eight-person tent (loaned at the last minute by a friend playing a cruel joke?), thinking the rest of us could be lazy and just crash in his McMansion. Pam said boys were smelly and set up her own tent, but we had the last laugh.
With sleeping arrangements complete, we hung out on the deck next to the river. We drank beer, listened to far away alligator calls and saw a few shooting stars. The conversation slowed down, and I fell asleep early on the deck, prompting compromising photos. The rest of the gang went to bed around 5. Pam woke up in the middle of the night with a full bladder and a small measure of disorientation. (Remember the beer?) After trying to use the zipper for about five minutes, she pulled an Incredible Hulk, ripped through the nylon and tumbled into the night air. Cheap tents are no match for a woman who really, really needs to go to the bathroom. Lucky for Pam, the deck was a lot more comfortable than it looked and she spent the night under the stars, right next to the water.
We got a late start in the morning, (again). Time for more Tetris, this time trying to squeeze the contents of a Chevy Avalanche and its roof rack into two canoes and a kayak. Amazingly, it worked. Scott M jumped in the kayak, and Manuel and Scott B headed out in a canoe. Pam and I grabbed the last boat. Pam had taken 10 or 15 canoe trips and she had firm ideas about our route through the water. When her opinion differed from mine, she made steering adjustments by paddling backwards or sideways. (PMW Note: Well, if you hadn't kept trying to run us into spiders...) She also sat too far to the left side of the boat. I let these control-freak thoughts build up for about five minutes before I burst out, "Pam, when the man is behind you, ya gotta let him steer the boat!" This prompted commentary from our fellow paddlers. (PMW Note: Well, if the man knows what he's doing... )
Eventually, we all got our sea legs back and reached an accord with our respective paddling partners. We saw turtles, birds and other nature stuff, but I just enjoyed the exercise. Oh, I should mention that we saw some white things stuck to the base of the trees that turned out to be snail eggs.
The first stop was Poe Springs, an Emerald gem of a springs off the left side of the river. We stopped to marvel at the green spring and took a dip in the water. We enjoyed the spring for a few minutes, (which was crowded with little kids) until Pam pointed out that yellow and blue make green. We left Poe Springs and set off for our campsite.
Around 2 PM, we arrived at Lily Springs, home of "Naked Ed" and our intended destination for the night. Pam found the site magical. She pointed out a white heron fishing in the spring and then a pileated woodpecker. We made our way down the small waterway and exited the boat to find a potbellied, leathery man in a loincloth riding toward us on one of those scooters you see old folks use at Wal-Mart. He drove up and said, "I decided you can't stay here."
Apparently, Naked Ed has some unique rules about who can camp at Lily Springs, and he did not like our ratio of four guys and one woman. This was in spite of the fact that Pam assured him that she could easily keep all the men in line, which was true. This was the low point of the trip. Nobody likes being rejected, even if it's by a hermit who makes up illegal lodging requirements. We paddled out to the river, unsure of whether we would find a camp site downriver on a holiday weekend. Then it started to rain.
The first place that Ed had mentioned turned out to be closed for camping, and had been for years. At the second place, Blue Springs, we hung a left turn and meandered down a narrow waterway next to an elevated boardwalk. A twenty-ish fellow in shades beckoned from the boardwalk and gave us the lowdown. They had camping available, but the place looked crowded. From our canoes, we observed a diving platform off to the right, on top of which a crowd of children stood crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting for the chance to leap into crystal-clear water that extended 20 feet to the floor of the natural spring.
http://www.bluespringspark.com/
I paid for our lodging while the rest of the group went off in search of a good camp site. Manuel and Pam ended up finding an ideal spot with shade, dry ground, and a reasonable amount of privacy, considering the July 4th weekend. I arrived at the site to find a golf cart with a young woman at the helm. Vicky worked for Blue Springs and seemed committed to making us feel comfortable. She arranged for a pickup truck to tow our canoes and gear from the water to the site. She tracked down a grill and drove over with it in the back of her cart. She arranged for the delivery of firewood. She was so helpful that we thought she must have an ulterior motive. We thought she must be sweet on Manuel, so we invited her to our dinner later that night. She never took us up on the offer, but that would have been fun.
I have stayed at a lot of campgrounds, from national and state parks to private enterprises, and never have I witnessed a more attentive staff than at Blue Springs. As we arrived, some men drove up to install a garbage bag in the container near the picnic table. After we had used the bag for a few hours, another golf cart arrived with men who insisted on changing it out for a fresh one.
Our first task to get settled in was putting up Scott M's McMansion, where three of us would sleep. Pam, who was now tentless, had decided boys weren't so smelly after all. Manuel and I set up our tents nearby. After expecting some primitive carry-in, carry-out camping at Lily Springs, we felt gratified to have access to bathrooms and hot showers. Everyone likes the concept of roughing it, but few of us will complain when accidental luxury comes thrust upon us.
Speaking of comfort, as we wandered out of our "primitive" camping area to the sites with the electricity hookups, we saw more luxury than some people have in their homes. The most striking example of excess was a tent with a hole cut in the side that featured a large, rectangular air conditioner. Pam could not resist walking up and introducing herself, and soon we were talking to Jerry, the patriarch of the group of families that had set up that compound.
Jerry stood with a medium build, white hair on his chest and an alert but cloudy look about his eyes. He gave a brief tour of the compound that included more tent air conditioners, a flat screen TV for watching the NASCAR race, refrigerators, and an inflatable mattress as high as your thigh. A while earlier, we had heard a large pop coming from a nearby field, and we had assumed it was fireworks. Instead, the electrical demand from the camp site had overwhelmed a transformer, causing it to explode.
This had the unfortunate effect of stopping all the electric water pumps throughout the camp site. As we marveled over the gadgetry in Jerry's compound, a friendly but irritated woman with shampoo in her hair wandered over. She hailed from upstate New York and confided to me, off to the side, "It's all these people with their doo-dads that blew the electricity," she said. "That's not real camping."
Personally, I gravitate toward a lightweight method of camping. Part of the point is to change your circumstances and leave it all behind. And by "it," I mean televisions, air conditioners, refrigerators, and hair dryers. That said, you've got to admire people who take a certain theme, creature comforts, and push it to the extreme. It's like those folks who take a perfectly normal car and spruce it up with flames on the hood and spinning rims. Your inhibitions or sense of taste might prevent you from imitating their style, but you've got to admire the enthusiasm.
Regardless, the competent staff at Blue Springs responded quickly to the issue and dispatched the utility company to fix the problem lickety-split. The transformer blew twice that weekend, and both times it was resolved much more quickly than I expected. Then again, with hundreds of people (maybe a thousand?) packed into a campground, we probably constituted a significant part of the area's population.
Friday night, Scott B. cooked up a shrimp boil that couldn't be beat. In addition to the shrimp, it included Andouille sausage, potatoes, corn cobs and other yummy stuff. As the delicious meal settled in our stomachs, we commenced the¶serious business of indulging in adult libations. Some of us took this more seriously than others. We cracked open some Firefly, the namesake beverage of the trip, as well as vodka and beer.
At this point, I felt an inspiration to attempt a diving maneuver that had eluded me since childhood, the front flip. I climbed confidently to the 12-foot-high platform, which was still crowded with children 11 o'clock at night. Then I proceeded to execute three front flips that¶ended a quarter rotation too early and produced skin-searing back flops. (Clearly, this difficult maneuver should only be attempted within a force field of inebriation.)
On the fourth dive, the force field was disrupted. The sea god Neptune reached up through the spring's limestone crevices, slapped me on the back, said, "I think it's time you leave the water, son." Our intrepid trip leader, Pam, said, "One more--I know you can do it!" After a final flip that ended a quarter rotation too early, I headed back to the camp site, where I declined to participate in conversation, (PMW Note: Not sure you were capable of conversation that night. When you passed out on the bench, we warned you that raccoons might eat your face. Eyes closed, you smiled, and replied, "Mmmm, yeah.") which left me bored, so I fell asleep (PMW Note: Passed out) on the picnic bench, resulting in more compromising photos. Are you sensing a theme here?
The morning of July 4, Manuel gave us many reasons to give thanks to our Armed Services.. The reasons came in the form of eggs and crisp bacon, cooked up by the former Marine on his portable camp stove. Mmm, bacon! Throughout the weekend, Manuel performed tasks competently, with minimum fuss. He cooked, he kept the camp clean and he was the first one packed whenever we had to leave. It seemed much easier to co-lead a trip when you have a Marine along for the ride, taking care of himself and contributing to the group. I can see why employers like hiring former military.
After breakfast, we puttered around, playing Frisbee and trying our hands at the diving platform. Everyone had fun, except me, because I insisted¶on attempting more front flips that elicited winces and groans from the sympathetic crowd. (PMW note: And belly laughs from your friends.)
Saturday afternoon, we hopped in the canoes to head downstream and see what was up at Ginnie Springs. Ginnie consists of seven springs in a row that appear like feeder streams on the left side of the river as you're headed downstream. We had heard from both the Santa Fe outfitter and our Blue Springs friends that Ginnie Springs was where college kids went to party. They weren't kidding. We made our way into the first spring, amazed at the traffic jam of colorful floats and variety of alcohol being consumed. If you could inflate it, the folks at Ginnie Springs would take it on the river. We saw inner tubes, air mattresses--even inflatable *pools* that would normally take up half a backyard, but now they merely held eight Floridians, sunning themselves on the vinyl like turtles. (PMW note: Don't forget the one giant pool that had a SLIDE and an inflatable cooler in tow.)
We made our way gingerly in our aluminum canoes, trying not to bump the soft floats or, worse yet, a swimmer. We backed out of the first spring and headed for the second spring, which was more of the same. Out on the river again, we passed a rope swing. We watched a few guys swing out into the river before heading left into a quieter spring for some snorkeling.
Pam had her snorkel gear, and Scott M and I joined her in the chilly water. Pam pretended to be a Mermaid fish charmer and was fascinated by the iridescent fish eyes. We eventually swam out toward the rope swing and noticed that it needed repair. One fellow placed his inflatable boat underneath the short rope, and a twenty-ish guy about 6'2" stood on this precarious perch, attempting to leap to the rope that was just out of his grasp. Pam and I swam up to hold the boat steady. The jumper had numerous close calls where he either fell into the water or on top of the other guy in the boat. A flotilla of college students drifted into view, and the women shouted, "Woo hoo! Go for it!" The jumper finally reached the rope and tied the repair knot. It's amazing what young men can accomplish with the encouragement of attractive women in bikinis.
Since I felt that I had contributed something to the rope swing, I had to try it. You had to climb up into a tree to get to the rope, and the approach was tricky enough that it was the scariest part of the endeavor. (PMW Note: And the funniest for those in the water and on the ground) I took one swing and landed on my side without much drama. (PMW Note: By then you were used to smacking into the water.) It was growing late, and Scott M and Manuel had headed back to camp. Scott B, Pam and I did a little more paddling before heading back.
We spent the evening socializing. Pam and Scott B ran off to make more friends and a sweet camp side concert resulted. Back in camp, Scott M and I worked on starting a camp fire. This was Scott's first camping trip, and he began by holding the lighter at the end of a stick, waiting for a burst of flame while the lighter grew hot in his hands. I showed him various methods of cheating, including paper towels and dry leaves.
Scott worked patiently at the process, discovering that air is more important than throwing on a dense pile of wood. He started to space out the kindling and create layers of gradually increasing size. Eventually, he ended up with a fire that burned much better than the one I was trying to start simultaneously in the grill, which was ok because I was only trying to heat up my can of ravioli. I was a little disappointed in my own effort, and then I thought, "Why the hell am I trying to heat up Chef Boyardee?" So I ate it cold, and all was well.
Manuel, Scott M and I discussed a range of topics, including dating, where I tried to explain the how AOC is both an outdoor club and a social club. Previously, some folks have cautioned me, "Don't get the wrong idea. It's a *social* club, not a hook-up joint," and I say, "Pshaw." My female friends in the group have said we need more cool guys, and I will pimp da hoes of the AOC if that's what it takes to increase our membership! (PMW Note: You dork!) So I explained it was unusual to have a trip with four guys and one woman. (PMW Note: Even though the one woman was a total babe!) I think Scott M and Manuel had a great time, and hopefully I piqued their interest for future club events. Pam and Scott B returned, and Manuel cooked up some vegetables, but most of us did our own thing for dinner. I fell asleep in my chair, prompting again, more compromising photos, this time with a big zucchini held near my open mouth by a giggling co-paddler.
We woke on Sunday morning with the knowledge that we had a long day ahead. Manuel and Scott M, in particular, had 10 hours of *driving* time before they would see their beds in Tennessee. That time did not include packing camp, canoeing a few miles to the pick-up point, the ride to the outfitter or packing up the Avalanche.
Once again, Manuel packed up lickety split. Scott M worked on deconstructing his McMansion. Scott B discovered that he had no tent to pack up, so he relaxed in a camp chair. Manuel chided him to do something useful, like empty a cooler, so Scott B reached over and unplugged one cooler, oblivious of the water heading straight for the other campers' gear. That episode, plus the fact that he left corn husks and shrimp hulls in the middle of the camp site, contributed to a certain reputation. Some follow a "leave no trace" method of camping, but Scott B dedicated himself to a "lift no finger" philosophy. We admired his purity of vision. We poked fun a little, but you've gotta love a guy who cooks a shrimp boil on the first night of a "primitive" camping trip.
The ride back was uneventful, except on one section where we ran into a downpour, which caused a traffic jam. Pam noticed a cloud of dust being blown over a barn on the side of the Interstate. (PMW Note: Hey, I was asleep!) With the dark gray sky and dust whipped up by the wind, it looked a little like a scene out of "Twister," and Pam, remembering a family member's near miss with a tornado, said firmly but with a quaver in her voice, "Get off the road now. We need to be in the ditch. Where are my shoes?"
Scott B moved to the right lane while the rest of us looked around. We saw no funnel cloud, and none of the other cars reacted. Manuel and I shared a bemused look. Pam frantically dug under her seat in search of footwear, creating her own tornado of red hair and elbows. No words were exchanged, but I saw Manuel think, "I can't believe you organized a trip with this crazy one." My look said, "Man, you work with her every day. How do you do it?" The crisis passed, and Pam relaxed and took off her shoes. I think she sensed Manuel's and my non-conversation, but she forgave us because she knows we think the world of her.
Everyone on this trip had their own little foibles, but discovering them in each other while enjoying some good laughs brought us all closer together.
And yes, this will be an annual event, so be sure to join us for the fun next year!
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