|
The first day of November produced
leaden thunderheads, hit-and-run squalls, a quick peek of sun,
and then more storm clouds. When the sun came out I spotted a line of pelicans
flying in a row and picked up my binoculars.
I estimated about 45 birds, all
white except for their black wing tips and enormous orange bills. As
the ponderous critters flapped and coasted, each one
seemed to take its cue from the one in front of it, beginning to
flap and then going into a glide when its predecessor did, rising on
the air currents, with the precision of a chorus line. According to
my bird book they were American white pelicans. They fish by swimming in a long
line and beating their wings to drive prey into shallow water, then take both water and fish in their
pouches and
hold their bills vertically to drain out the water before swallowing
the food.
The channel along the space coast
near Cape Canaveral turned shallow. It must be loaded with
sand bars and shoals because the depth gauge wouldn't sit still.
Changing numbers jumped up and down second by second and it made me nervous to see nine feet
of water below the rudder and in an instant it plunged to two, but
we managed to stay off the bottom.
When we turned into the channel
leading to Fort Pierce it felt like coming home, but this time it was only a stop along the way. The weatherman
called for strong
easterly winds and considerable rain lasting through the weekend and
we had no desire to be motoring or swinging on the hook in that
mess. It had already picked
up by the time we pulled in the marina. After filling up at the fuel
dock Tom looked over available slips to figure out which one he
could steer into without getting blown about and hitting something
important, like the rows of half million dollar yachts bobbing in
their berths, but good fortune and skill are a winning combination.
We slipped in without incident. It's clear that Fort Pierce has not only recovered
from three hurricanes in two years, but is thriving with
small businesses
going strong and new construction downtown.
My poor little Honda had been
orphaned for seven months and it took hours to
get rid of the mildew. I sponged the interior with a 50/50 mixture
of alcohol and water and then vacuumed the carpet and upholstery to
suck out any mold spores. It's a welcome change to have wheels for
running errands instead of foot power. Fortunately we didn't need to drive Friday
night to get to the marina's Tiki Bar when
even walking was tricky. We were going there to meet Debbie and
Perry. I poked my head out for a look around. Under the glow of each
dock light I could see streams of rain coming down at a nearly horizontal
angle. I took my umbrella, which was rendered useless when the wind turned it inside out. We were in for a repeat of last weekend's wild
weather but it was great to see Perry and Debbie again.
Saturday dawned bright and we
checked out the farmers' market
next door set up in Marina Plaza. Stands were loaded with fresh fruits and vegetables
but were missing their usual canvas awnings, a wise move on a gusty day. A
baker had the longest lines; no wonder with offerings of fresh-baked
bread, cinnamon rolls and turnovers. Of course, they sold fresh
steaming coffee at the next stand. The guitar man took a perch near
the middle of the activities with a microphone clipped around the
side of his head to hold it in front of his mouth, while he
vocalized old Jimmy Reed blues tunes. He left an open guitar
case at his feet to collect the dollars. We came away loaded down with
bags of fresh produce; the hydroponic lettuce and tomatoes were
excellent.
Monday morning the snook were
running. You couldn't miss the racket they made cruising by our
stern, crashing and thrashing and beating the water. One of them
would have made a good dinner but - no fishing lures. Tom said he
left them in Bahia Honda.
No stopover is complete
without a trip to a Chinese buffet and this time Diane came with us.
We went looking for the Joy Luck in Vero Beach but now they call it New Century.
Election Tuesday dawned with light winds so Wednesday would be
our movin' on day. But, before we
left, Tom just had to pick a papaya for me (his idea, not mine). Diane
told him they were growing like weeds in the park and a few of them had
mature ones hanging from their branches. We buzzed through the park
on a gator in search of ripe fruit and came to a stop when I spotted
something yellow through dense leaves. Tom then became the hunter/gatherer,
donned a long sleeve shirt,
headed into the brush with a machete, and began hacking his way
through jungle growth. He returned to the gator carrying what looked like two
pumpkin-colored tennis balls. I cut one in half only to discover
that it was 90% seeds with a razor thin layer of bitter fruit next
to the skin. Then he noticed what appeared to be a poison ivy rash on his
hand. Worth the effort? Hmmm, maybe not.
Tomorrow begins the last leg of
this journey, south to the Keys.
(click on pictures to enlarge)
|
