The sunshineless state
July 12, 2013

As I am often reminded, there is a reason some places are green, green, green and it has to do with rain; however, Florida touts itself as “The sunshine state”, so I must take exception to being rained out of my beach day.  Staying at Pelican Palms (never again, more later), we hied ourselves down to Pensacola Beach on Santa Rosa Island.  The ranger inquired as to whether we had brought the rain with us.  Shucks, if we had that much precipitation in Arizona, we would keep it to ourselves.  Oddly enough, the ranger had lived in Chino Valley while she was working at Grand Canyon; a line of cars behind us precluded any further conversation.

This was our second Santa Rosa Island; we’ve also been to the one that is a channel island in California.  Very different, Florida’s version is very long and narrow with beautiful white sand beaches the entire length, beaches on which we did not recline, I might add, because it never stopped raining the whole time we were there.

Fort Pickens, out at the end, looked like a fascinating place to explore, another activity on which we did not embark.  We ate our lunch in the truck while watching rivulets of water run down the windshield, and braved the elements enough to dash into the museum.  It was only semi-interesting, being geared more toward children with things to slide and open in order to have questions answered.

It was a bit amusing to watch the video tour made to accommodate sightless folks: a woman’s voice described each and every scene and activity as the ranger explained various aspects of the fort, for example, "he walks up a flight of stairs; an American flag billows in the breeze".  A group of teenagers found it hilarious.  It was even more fun watching them watching it.

Meanwhile, back outside, in relative desperation, we birded through a rain-streaked windshield and shot occasional photos as we quickly lowered and raised windows.  On the tops of mostly dead stick trees, we saw several osprey nests and two great blue heron juveniles perched atop their erstwhile home.


When we saw a passel of birds on a side road, we drove o bgggggggggggggg (Rowdy typed this) onto the rain-flooded pavement and observed some pretty odd bird behavior.  The area had attracted a lot of sea and shore birds, all of which were happily bathing and ducking in the fresh water.  We saw laughing gulls, least terns, willets and black skimmers (the last two were new trip birds): all were splashing happily away like desert kids during monsoon.  We shot black skimmers off to the side after their dunking - I love the way they line up like soldiers at attention.

Gulf Island . . .

Luckily, we stopped at the Gulf Island National Seashore before the trek over to Pensacola Beach; it allowed us to have a great hike before the rain commenced once again.  There we did some beach combing and observed an osprey perched near its two babies that were jumping up and down and flexing their wings on their nest.  They surely were set to soar off of it that morning.  That was another new bird for the trip as were the fish crows and downy woodpecker.

Not having a clue as to what we were embarking on, we set off on a trail that took us into some fabulous thickly forested country, unfortunately populated with a sprinkling of mosquitoes, but nothing overwhelming.  Every turn of the trail revealed an even more breathtaking scene in the dim interior.  Disappointingly, the low light and rainy conditions did not allow any good photo ops, but the experience was magical.

I was reminded in a rather dramatic way about my rule of thumb for hiking in such environs, and that is to always, always, always have a person with nerves of steel walk in front of you; if that is not possible, one should always, always, always carry a stick and wave it constantly in the air in front of one if one knows what is good for one.

The reason for this is elemental: spiders, large creepy crawly arachnids that have a penchant for building their snares in that convenient space across a trail or between any two trees through which I am walking.

In this case, I ceased my forward motion to take a picture at which point Chris pointed out the golden silk orb spider (it was wearing a name tag) directly in front of me at face level and approximately half the size of my face into which I would have walked if it were not for wanting that photo.  Note to self: move aforementioned rule of thumb to foremost in mind at all times.  I’m still shuddering.

On a far less disgusting note, we spotted a six-lined racerunner skink that we had never seen before but were able to identify.  He was far too quick to get a photo.

Pelican Palms . . .

The RV park to which I shall not return: very attractive, it is a former KOA, usually very nice and this is no exception: nice pool, great bathrooms & showers.  All good except that all the pads are grass, not a gravel or concrete parking place to be seen, all of which might be fine in Arizona, but slogging through several inches of water every time we stepped out of the trailer somehow lost its luster after (actually before) the first step.

More waterloggedness, this not the fault of Pelican Pete, the window at the head of the bed leaked - again! - after Chris just recaulked it when it leaked - again! - at Luling.  Even that wouldn’t be too bad; it always before wetted Chris’ side of the bed but he evidently booby-trapped it - it got my side this time.  And I decided to leave the hair dryer at home this trip . . .

 Grocery? . . .

We were somewhat bemused when we asked directions to the nearest grocery store from the ladies who seem to have nothing more to do than sit at picnic tables under the ramada and smoke cigarettes.  With much advice and conflicting directions, they directed us to the local dollar store and assured us they have groceries there.  Makes me wonder if these women dine only on deviled ham and Vienna sausages.

Live Oak, Bagdad . . .

As we have driven the back roads of the United States, we have seen thousands of lovely small towns, each with its own personality, and so many with the most wonderful historic older homes.  Some, like Bagdad near Pelican whats-it, have dynamic large residential areas of preserved and revered older homes, others smaller sections or ones that are encroached upon by commercial.  Bagdad may have the most beautiful currently used historic residential neighborhoods we’ve seen yet, but in many, many others, the sight sets in motion a yearning for that quieter simpler life we remember.

I love that they almost all are the “capitol” of something: watermelon, goober peas, spring diving, corn husking, orchid propagation or dragonfly habitat.  You name it: there's a capitol of it.

Roadways . . .

Back here, it is the norm to name streets, bridges and any other structures after people.  I love seeing names like Kensara Road, Felicia Campbell Boulevard and Herkimer Soggybottom Avenue and wonder about the people who are so honored.

The sole nice photo of the day.