 Well
no telling of the Big Trip story would be complete without a little
discussion of the Florida Campsite. See the first day as we headed
down from Sand Wash, we were trying hard to get to a place where there
wouldn't be mosquitoes. We didn't find anything too appetizing but
were running late so we stopped at this bit of sandbar that was more or
less in the shape of Florida. The problem was that the part that
would be Miami and the hole eastern seaboard for that matter were taking
the brunt of the river (low and slow though it was at this point.
We decided to camp there anyway even though every once in a while some
bit of the sandbar would flake off and drop into the river. In
other words our little home was actively eroding away. But
slowly. Ever so slowly. Least that's how we saw it until we
went to bed and the sun went down and then we didn't see anything but we
imagined a lot. Each time the sand slumphed off it splashed and
woke us from what was turning into a worried sleep. How much had
fallen off that time? If it was falling off the same rate as it
was earlier - it'll be an inch or two each time. How often is it
breaking off? How much can go away before it takes the tent
away? Sleep with one eye open. I got up and had a brilliant
(so I thought idea). I'll tie my dry bag to the bowline which is
staked into the sand not far from the tent. If the bag drops in,
it'll make a serious noise and we'll know it's time to get up and
move. Well, Judy gets up and sees the bag precariously close to
the edge and moves it back away from the edge. So I wake again and
see the bag has been moved and decide, well if we put the kitchen behind
the tents, then the tent will fall in first and we'll be able to get up
and move everything as needed. So I move the kitchen. All
this miserable night when I do catch some REM sleep it's invariable to
dream that the water has come up and has carried our gear and the boat
and the frame off. I can see each bit floating downstream and for
each piece I catch up with 5 more float on by. Oh it was a bad
night. The picture here is looking downstream from the Florida
Camp.
 A
couple days later we had spaghetti dinner at one of our favorite camps
along the river. Along with a substantial amount of pasta, we had
garlic bread and no-bake cheesecake. Somehow the girls decided
that we shouldn't throw out the left over cheesecake. See they ate
pretty lightly of the cheesecake which probably serves 8. So they
each had perhaps a serving each. They said "If you eat the
rest of the cheesecake, you don't have to dishes." I never
wished more that I had chosen to do dishes. Ooph! The next
day, I got hungry and partook of the leftover spaghetti stored in a
convenient squeeze tube!
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Well
no telling of the Big Trip story would be complete without a little
discussion of the Florida Campsite. See the first day as we headed
down from Sand Wash, we were trying hard to get to a place where there
wouldn't be mosquitoes. We didn't find anything too appetizing but
were running late so we stopped at this bit of sandbar that was more or
less in the shape of Florida. The problem was that the part that
would be Miami and the hole eastern seaboard for that matter were taking
the brunt of the river (low and slow though it was at this point.
We decided to camp there anyway even though every once in a while some
bit of the sandbar would flake off and drop into the river. In
other words our little home was actively eroding away. But
slowly. Ever so slowly. Least that's how we saw it until we
went to bed and the sun went down and then we didn't see anything but we
imagined a lot. Each time the sand slumphed off it splashed and
woke us from what was turning into a worried sleep. How much had
fallen off that time? If it was falling off the same rate as it
was earlier - it'll be an inch or two each time. How often is it
breaking off? How much can go away before it takes the tent
away? Sleep with one eye open. I got up and had a brilliant
(so I thought idea). I'll tie my dry bag to the bowline which is
staked into the sand not far from the tent. If the bag drops in,
it'll make a serious noise and we'll know it's time to get up and
move. Well, Judy gets up and sees the bag precariously close to
the edge and moves it back away from the edge. So I wake again and
see the bag has been moved and decide, well if we put the kitchen behind
the tents, then the tent will fall in first and we'll be able to get up
and move everything as needed. So I move the kitchen. All
this miserable night when I do catch some REM sleep it's invariable to
dream that the water has come up and has carried our gear and the boat
and the frame off. I can see each bit floating downstream and for
each piece I catch up with 5 more float on by. Oh it was a bad
night. The picture here is looking downstream from the Florida
Camp.
