On Letting Down Your Guard

 

    Recent public mantra, especially associated with men, involves our willingness (or lack thereof) to let our guard down and reveal our vulnerable side. To eschew all that so-called "toxic masculinity" - as it is referred to,  and open up about our feelings, and be willing to share our insecurities, fears, and the like. Real men aren't afraid to cry. Real men aren't afraid to own their weaknesses. And on and on.
    All that sounds great from a trendy feel good standpoint, and perhaps with regard to dealing with excessive self pride or ego it offers a balancing counterpoint. But all that stuff only goes so far before it becomes a concerning liability. By disclosing your vulnerabilities, you also provide opportunity for others to leverage that information for their benefit with total disregard to your well being. This is a lesson I have had to learn on multiple occasions over the past several years.
    During my journey with cancer, I have attempted to be an open book and communicate all the aspects of what is going on. The treatments, the side effects, the toll on my physical well being, as well as the emotional roller coaster. I have felt that I owed that to my friends, family, and close inner circle. I still feel that way to an extent, but not entirely.
    You see, I have been off all treatments for almost a year, which means that my mind is once again clear and on point, and not trying to think through the fog of drug therapies. My day to day personal life is also more grounded than it has been in several years. Those two things combined give me a pretty damn good vantage point from where to reflect on the past and make the necessary course corrections going forward.
    As I continue down my road, in intend to me much more conservative about what information I share. I will no doubt stumble. But it won't be heard. I will be scared, but I will not blink. I will cry, but a tear will not be seen upon my cheek. I will not reveal to others the true side effects of my journey only for them to attempt to gaslight me with that very same information.
My travels going forward are mine and mine alone. Sure, I will continue this blog. I will provide updates to those who ask - much like a field general would update the media. Hard core facts will be very limited and accessible by only a select few. For everyone else, "I'm fine".
Toxic? nope, just necessary. Masculine? not hardly, just tactically prudent.
    My father had a saying. "Be like a duck". Meaning, no matter how aggressively a duck is paddling in the water, it always appears calm and collected on the surface as it glides through the water.
    So when is it OK to let your guard down?
Never.
    And about that toxic masculinity crap? You can take that bullshit and flush it right down the fucking toilet.There is absolutely nothing toxic or wrong with walking tall or being a man.
I will say it again.
Never. Let. Your. Guard. Down.

Hot Saunas, Cold Showers, Bare Feet & Tofu. (a.k.a. Six Years Later)

In case you wondered what the
inside of a cancer center looks like.

Time for my four month check up with my oncologist. A visit that coincides almost to the day six years ago that I played my first hand in the game against cancer. September 15, 2015 - the day I had surgery to remove my prostate. Smack dab in the middle of "Prostate Cancer Awareness Month" - which I knew nothing of  at the time. But if you look at the picture at the bottom of this post, which I took the day after my surgery, you can notice the blue ribbon on the "complementary" newspaper laying on my bed. Something I was blissfully unaware of at the time - much like the fact that surgery was not the end, but just the beginning of this wild and crazy ride. Here I am six years later, walking down a hall labeled "medical oncology" for yet another test. Who knew? I am about to find out if "Doubling Down" paid off for me. More on that later.

Another blood work
That I managed
to not pass out on.

Waiting on my Onc.

As I mentioned in my previous post "Doubling Down" back in July, I have been focusing a lot on diet and exercise. That, combined with being off of the lupron, has been an awesome experience. I weigh around 186 pounds now, and am starting to see some definition in my upper body. Strength, stamina, and flexibility are also improving a lot. My 5k times are dropping significantly, and I recently finished a 10k event as well. Of special note is my right shoulder. I have had a wonky shoulder joint for well over ten years, with a very limited range of pain free motion. I had surgery done on it in 2020 which helped only marginally if at all. Final prognosis from orthopedics was that the joint was compromised by arthritis and the only valid next step was a complete shoulder replacement. That didn't happen. What did happen was a diet almost devoid of processed foods and sugars, combined with some intermittent fasting. There is a lot of current information available on the relationships between diet, stress and physical maladies often associated with just aging. I can tell you for a fact that my shoulder feels better than it has in decades. I can now throw a ball "overhand" for my dog. Something I haven't been able to do in years. Long before cancer ever entered the picture. I know that there are a lot of naysayers about the importance of specific dietary focus, but from first hand experience, I am reaping significant benefits from it, and it is the only thing I am doing different from all the times before. So I will leave it at that.
    So, where do hot saunas, cold showers, and bare feet fit in? (I threw in tofu just for the hell of it - nobody eats that shit.)  Well, one of the other aspects I have been working on is my mental game, as well as experimenting with ways to take care of all aspects of my body. Hot dry saunas have long been known to provide healthy benefits with regard to your skin (your largest organ), helping to release absorbed toxins and open pores. (besides, my gym membership comes with the use of one) There is also meditative aspects of the sauna experience - for those of us who don't bring our phones in there with us, that is. Cold Showers. The jury is still out this one. One of the health gurus that I follow on line touts cold showers as being a healthier option than using a lot of hot water. Not sure, but it better prepares me for swimming in some of the local springs, and probably saves a little on the utility bill, so what the hell. 
    Now, barefootin..that is a whole nother subject altogether. In certain hippie-ish circles, there is this notion of "earthing" or "grounding", where by going barefoot on the soil, you ground yourself to the earth. It supposedly has medicinal benefits - much like a copper bracelet. Well, I have worked in electronics all my life, and can tell you without hesitation that all of that is complete bullshit. Anyone who has made it through basic electronics can tell you as such. That being said, there is nothing more relaxing than working in my yard barefooted. It is a calming and freeing experience. And perhaps there in lies the key. Finding ways to relax and unwind. Taking off the shoes and letting your feet breathe. Not to mention, allowing all the bones and joints in your feet and ankles to work and do their job. My mom worked in the yard most every day that I can remember - most times barefoot or in house slippers. Though she had her other issues in her latter years, falling and stability on her feet (like most elderly people) was never a problem. Perhaps her feet and ankles were more capable because from all that time unshod? Who knows..

    So, back to my recent appointment. Did all of this make a difference? Yes it did. most definitely. Did it stop the cancer from growing? No, it did not. Since July 19th, my PSA went from 0.06 ng/dl to 0.50 ng/dl. Still a small number, but also an eight fold increase in two months. That my PSA is returning is not a surprise. We knew it would, because going off the drugs allows my testosterone to return and prostate cancer feeds on testosterone. My testosterone has gone from "castration levels (,5) to a current 460 - right in the middle of the normal range for a man my age. We just didn't know when the PSA would start to climb So what is the plan? What next? Well right now, nothing. That is the part about intermittent therapy that I am learning to cope with. The waiting game. The part where I go on with my life, knowing that cancer cells are multiplying at some unknown rate and do nothing about it (initially). At present, the cancer cells are either just blood born and not physically metastasized, or there is a micro-metastasis too small to be detected by scans.  I will retest in three months. When my PSA reaches 2.0 ng/dl, I will have a specialized pet scan done to see if there is any detectable metastasis. If the scan detects a hot spot or lesion somewhere, It can be targeted with radiation treatments. If the scan does not find anything with a PSA of 2, then I have a decision to make. I either chose to go back on lupron and send the cancer cells dormant (not kill) again and deal with the side effects of the drug, or I choose to wait it out a little longer, let my PSA rise higher, and scan again. In my current mindset, I would opt for the latter. I would much rather have a defined target to go after. In an over simplified analogy, it is way easier to swat a fly that has lit on a counter than to swat one in the air.
Also, the cumulative side effects of long term ADT are physically brutal, and data shows that going too aggressive with it too soon provides no appreciable longevity benefit for the reduced quality of life it brings. So, while some things are up in the air, It seems like I will have some more work coming up in the not too distant future. 
Knowing that fact, was all my efforts toward a healthy lifestyle worth it? Absolutely, without a doubt. You see, I never expected any of it to cure anything. Sure, we all would like a Disney movie style ending, but those sort of things rarely happen outside of the Magic Kingdom. I did it to help me regain what I had lost physically from being on ADT for two years. I did it to have me in the best shape possible for facing any upcoming challenges. Even though my cancer is growing, there is no doubt in my mind that my choices and efforts have helped to keep it to a slow growth. What would my results be had I chosen to throw caution to the wind and live off of cheeseburgers, wings, and beer? At least I know that I am doing everything I personally can to take responsibility for my own health. No what-ifs and no shoulda, coulda , woulda. I am doing my part. But the biggest reason is that I feel great, and feel better every day. I like how I feel. I like what I see in the mirror. And I like the level of physical activity that I am capable of. I am in fact living my best life. And that is exactly what I intend to keep doing. In every way I possibly can. So yes, it is all worth it to me. Every single bit of it.
Well, except  for tofu. Nobody eats that shit and smiles about it.
    Doubling down is most definitely paying off. In more ways than you can imagine. I am just getting started in this game, I have a full cache of chips and it's time to "Ante up". See you at the gym. Or in the woods. Perhaps at the local market in the organics section. Or maybe at the beach. I'll be the guy with a good tan and no shoes.
Peace.

 Have I really been at this for six years? 
Wow.

Six years earlier to the day,
The day after my prostate
was removed in 2015

I am not yours.
I am not yours to fix.
I am not yours to cure.
I am not yours to look after.
I am not yours to change.
I am not yours to build up.
I am not yours to tear down.
I am not yours to use.
I am not yours to control.
I am not yours to quench.
I am not yours to keep in check.
I am not yours to mold into a preferred version of me.
I am not yours.
I am mine.

"I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love - put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind."
- Sara Teasdale.

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love - put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/i-am-not-yours-by-sara-teasdale

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love - put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/i-am-not-yours-by-sara-teasdale

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love - put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/i-am-not-yours-by-sara-teasdale

I Am Not Yours

By Sara Teasdale more Sara Teasdale

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love - put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/i-am-not-yours-by-sara-teasdale

Returning To The Scene Of The Crime

The place was Honeymoon Island State park, Florida. The year was 1992. The actual date seems to escape me at the moment, but it matters not. The statutes of limitations have long been expired. It was, as they say, a crime of passion. It was where I offered my proposal of marriage to my fair maiden. We were wed a year later. A union that would last almost twenty six years, until succumbing to blatant infidelity. Another crime of passion. One that, in my mind, robbed our quarter century relationship of all validity and value.
    I had never returned to that particular park. not even once. As much as I enjoy the beach and state parks, that one just never came back up. Especially after the divorce. After that, there was no way in hell I could see my self ever going back there. Plenty of other spots to visit. But there is something about actively avoiding a thing that keeps it at the forefront of your thoughts. And there is the fact that Honeymoon Island is where you have to go to catch a ferry to Caladesi Island. A place I did want to see. It was obvious that enough time had passed that I needed to return to the scene of the crime. Which is what I did a couple of weeks ago.
    All and all, it was a worthwhile trip. Arriving at the entrance Honeymoon Island, I presented my annual park pass to a surly woman who was obviously in a bad mood, and seemed to question the validity of my pass. Once I got passed there, I made my way to the ferry launch, purchased my ticket, and was quickly on my way to Caladesi Island. You are only allotted four hours on the Island, and once there, I decided to take a hiking trail prior to exploring the beaches. The trails were somewhat flooded due to the recent passing of tropical storm Elsa, and the mosquitos were horrendous. Of course I had forgotten my bug spray. Even so, the trail was peaceful (in a biting and swatting sort of way), and offered some history at an old homestead ruins site. It turns out, that Honeymoon Island and Caladesi Island were at one time a single Island until a hurricane removed a swath in the middle in 1921. The original name of the place was "Hog Island". Interesting. After the hurricane, they became north and south Hog Island, respectively. They were renamed Honeymoon Island and Caladesi Island later when they became a destination and a park. Which makes sense. Who would want to visit a place called "Hog Island"?
    After enjoying the hike and donating a pint of blood or so to the local skeeter population, I made my way to the beaches on the Island. The beaches on Caladesi (South Hog Island) are awesome. Smooth white sand, easy surf and clear water. A real gem and a welcome relief after a steamy summer hike. After an hour or so, it was time to make my way back to the ferry to go back to Honeymoon Island. Storms were already building and rain was imminent. 
Once back on Honeymoon Island, I made my way to the beach there, and set up a chair to just chill and reflect. It was pretty much as I remember. In reality, it is sort of a shit beach. Lots of rocks of all sizes. Overall it pales to the beach I had just came from. By this time there were thunderstorms building on all sides, and rhythmic booms of thunder in the distance. Even so, I was glad that I was there. The memories started coming back. I recognized the area where I popped the question. We had a picnic and I had brought a bottle of wine. We filled the empty bottle with sand and shells as a memento. We kept that bottle all through our marriage. It wasn't until after the divorce was final that I threw it out.
    Then there is that rock jetty. There was a man fishing on that jetty when we were there. The sole witness to the crime. I remember shouting to him that we were going to get married. I guess that I expected some sort of animated response from him like what would happen in the movies. I recall he just looked annoyed that I interrupted his fishing time. Hell, perhaps he knew what the eventual outcome would be or something. Sort of funny thinking about it now.
   Dang! That was a close one!! the storms are close in now and lightning is flashing all around. The distant silhouette of downtown Tampa is totally engulfed in a storm. The winds have shifted and the temperature has dropped significantly due to another storm from the east. Just me and a few stragglers scouring the rocks for intact shells remain on the beach. No one left in the water. I should probably call it a day. As I pack up my chair and take one last look back, It is just a beach. And not a very good one. No bad juju. No emotional attachment. No resentment. No sadness. Just a beach.

Will I return again? I can't really say. Maybe. Caladesi would be cool to visit again.
Any regrets? Just one. I wish I hadn't thrown out that old wine bottle full of sand. I wish instead that I had brought it and poured the sand back. God knows, this beach can use all the sand it can get. That would have been fitting. I'll get over it easy enough though. But there is one thing I will do "out of respect for the history of the area". I will from this point forward refer to this place by it's original name.-
"Hog Island"
It deserves that much.
Case Closed.

    

Doubling Down

 

    My last oncologist appointment back in May went extremely well (see "High Fives").  So much so, I went with four month intervals on check ups. Of course, I had an ace in the hole - I was due a routine check up with my general physician in July which normally involves a full blood panel and an extra PSA test that I could hedge the bet with - so to speak.
    Over the past few months, I have been really ramping up my work towards a healthy life style and trying to take full advantage of being off the Lupron treatments. There are no words to explain what it feels like to watch and feel my body return to normal as my testosterone continues to return. Strength, vitality, mental clarity, and armpit hair. Yes, pit hair. Something that had disappeared along with chest hair, leg hair and even back hair at the expense of hormone therapy. You may think that I make too much of something like that, but it is just a visual indicator of the completeness that I am beginning to feel and enjoy.
    As I said, I have been mostly adhering to a healthy diet consisting of ample vegetables and greens, minimal red meat products relying mainly on fish and fowl - and tofu. Whole grain bread and brown rice, minimal processed carbs and sugars. I have also minimized my alcohol consumption - relying mainly on nonalcoholic beers when I desire a malty beverage.
    On the exercise front, I run a couple of times a week, continue to walk most days at lunch, and also increased my strength training - both at home with a Bowflex and dumbbells, and also at a local gym.
I am also trying to be outside as much as I can to get ample sunlight. Either by doing yard work, or going to the beach or camping/hiking.
    So, today was my July GP appointment. All of my efforts payed out in some ways, as there was a significant drop in my cholesterol - so much so that I am now going to half my statin dose and see how it goes. Unfortunately, the hand I was dealt wasn't a full house. It seems that my PSA has gone from completely undetectable to barely detectable. It is a very small number (0.06 ng/ml), but it has possibly reared it's ugly head once again. The fact that it returned is no real surprise, I was just hoping it took more time. I have already consulted with my Oncologists' office. They did not seem too concerned and mentioned the accuracy difference between a screening test and diagnostic test. That they would run a diagnostic on my September 16th visit and see where my levels are at that time. Seems reasonable to me. Almost two months.
So now what? After all that effort, there is a strong possibility that my cancer is returning. So do I through caution to the wind and fold on my attempts at a healthy approach. Well, I will admit that the thought briefly crossed my mind. Resigning myself to just get back on the Lupron and let the chips fall where they may. But at the end of the day, I still feel better than I have in years. And just where would my cancer be right now had I not been proactive with my health?
The way I see it,  I have just shy of two months before the next time my hand is called. It is time to really refine and fine tune my game and wear my best poker face. I  might be playing against a stacked deck and long shot odds, but I'll be damned if I will flinch. The moment I  back off, the house wins the pot.
So you thinking I'm folding my hand any time soon? Fuck you, cancer. I ain't folding shit. I'm doubling down on your ass.
Peace out.

Puppy Dog Tales.

      

Labradors are fun loving super friendly get along with everything doggos, right? Usually, yes. But that is not the case with Basil, my 89 pound brown lab. I got him from a friend in 2016 when he was 2 years old. She had rescued him as a puppy from what turned out to be a very unscrupulous breeder. She had began training him as a service dog, but the scars from his puppy days proved to be too deep. Word was that he was used as a "bait dog". A dog that is tied up and used as a target of attack to teach other dogs how to fight. Whether or not that is the case, he proved to not interact well with other dogs. He will not initiate any aggression with other dogs, but he does not tolerate other dogs entering his personal space. Which is why my friend had to find another home for him. Otherwise, he is a beautiful and well behaved man's best friend. I take him for rides, and he loves to play with one of his ball toys, and takes one everywhere he goes. He is leash trained very well, so the main problem when I take him on walks is other dogs and their owners who insist that it would be cute  if their little micro dog come up and play with Basil - almost totally disregarding mine or Basil's body language that he doesn't want to play. After a few years, I think I finally got the point across to most of my neighbors. Basil does not want to play with your little fluff poodle.
    Then the other day, I noticed something more. We started our morning walk - and came by the neighbor and his dog. I said my normal greetings, Basil gave the other dog a wide birth, and picked up his pace, reeling out the retractable leash to it's full extent. We got to the corner about to turn, as the neighbor met up with another walker and dog. those two dogs immediately started playing together and chasing each other. Basil stopped in his tracks, dropped his ball and began to quietly whimper as he watched them frolic. The look in his eye..standing at a distance, tail wagging with a slight delay of shyness. I recognized it instantly. He wanted to play with the others but didn't know quite how.
    I recognized his look because I have lived the look most of my life. I remember so many times as a kid, I would watch watch other kids at the school playground, or at the beach, or wherever. Everyone seemed like they were having fun. I would watch from a distance, somewhere between hoping that I would get invited to join and scared that I actually would get invited. If they did invite me, then what? It looked so natural to so many, but I had no idea how to interact in group settings. I remember actually practicing things to say in advance (something I do to this day). Fortunately - or not -  I rarely got included, so it didn't matter much. Not that I was being actively excluded or bullied or anything of the sort. Hell, they probably though I was being snobbish or aloof.
    Throughout most aspects of my life, I have in large part kept to myself. This is not to say that I have not formed some strong friendships with some beautifully amazing people, I just never really developed the art of socializing. Not that I haven't wanted to from time to time, it just never came to pass. I have attended countless cycling or running events that involve hundreds and sometimes thousands of people. But once the event starts, I inevitably wind up riding or running by myself. I usually have a blast, but I manage to make a mass event a solo trek. When I moved into town, I had visions of having parties and entertaining in my new house. That of course never materialized. I have had four or five  friends over throughout the years I have lived there. Even then, I manage to work myself up, stressing over "getting it right" - whatever that means. It is funny - because of the fact that I am a part time performing musician, a lot of people thing that I am naturally outgoing. Truth is, when the music stops, I get quiet as well.
An introvert? That is a popular term of late. Maybe. I don't know. Loner? OK. sure. If you say so. I am not a fan of one word labels - few things resolve that easy. I am sure that there is some official name or clinical diagnosis if you look hard enough. Most assuredly there is some sort of treatment or medication to make me better -  at my own expense - so I can be more conforming to social expectations or whatever
No thanks. I'll pass on all of that.
    At the end of the day, not much has changed from those early days on the playground. Except for one thing. These days, I am good with it. After fifty six years, I am at peace with whatever brings me peace. I have some amazing friends that accept me for me. When my life intersects others in a limited fashion - it is fine. But I have no interest in forcing anything anymore. I am good with me.
And Basil, you are the good boy!! Now, lets go throw the ball, buddy!

 

Going Back.

The Goose Pasture. I have no idea why it is called that. It is just a no frills campground at the end of a tram road in west Florida. Just a place to camp with a couple of outhouses. A place where I would spend summer vacations with my family as a kid in the 70s. In all the times we went there, I never once saw a goose. Cows, yes. Pigs, yes. Snakes, yes. Mosquitoes and yellow flies, yes. But never a single goose.
    Every summer, we would camp there at least once, but sometimes twice. We would usually stay a week at a time, often combining it with a visit with my Mom's family that lived close by in the town of Woodville. We had a Coleman Valley Forge pop up camper with an old 12 ft boat from J.M.Fields tied to the top, and a white Chevy van that my dad had bought. It came as a work van with no seats in the back, but we added a couple of bucket seats out of an old Cadillac for my sister and I. They were not bolted down (in case they needed to come out to haul something), so the chance of Margaret and I flying around back there during unexpected braking was real. But somehow, like most of our generation, we managed to survive.
    Looking back on those times, there are some fond and sometimes funny memories. My dad and I taking the boat out and fishing all day, just to come back and find that My mom and sister out-fished us by a long shot sitting on the bank with cane poles and worms. Hi-jinks that my sister and I played on a particularly annoying game warden who insisted that we had a dog with us (when it in fact was just a cassette recording of a dog) A big fish-fry with all the close in relatives joining. Campfires and stories that I wish I had listened a little closer to. A trip with this local guy (Pinkney Hartsfield) to some nearby caves and a place where you could move a rock and see the water running under the ground you were standing on. 
   I didn't realize it then, but it was where I began my love of the outdoors. This campground is nestled on the Wacissa River, which was pristine, remote and wild at the time. We would always go up river, just in-case the old Evinrude 9.9 broke down, we could drift back to camp. I remember my dad teaching me how to constantly pay attention to the surroundings and how it was easy to get lost. That river has a lot of fingers - like a maze, and many of them lead to nowhere. You had to know which ones would get you back to camp. I learned how to paddle and control a boat there. I remember my dad using a fishing technique called a bob-pole. It was a long (14 ft or so) cane pole with a foot long solid steel wire lashed to the tip with a spinner on the end of the wire (no fishing line). He would use that pole to run the spinner in and out of the nooks and crannies along the shoreline. The combined action of the spinner and the lure bouncing from the steel wire flexing in the current made for a spectacular presentation to any fish in its path. That technique is not used much any more, but it requires good paddling skills from the guy in the back of the boat to keep the guy up front at the right distance from the shore and out of the trees.
    All that was over forty years ago. I have often thought about going back, especially the past few years. But something always came up.  Last week, I finally made it happen. I left from work on Friday after lunch for a three day trip. Driving up highway 98, when I got within a couple of miles of the dirt road turn off, I actually had butterflies in my stomach. Not really sure why.
    Well, the old dirt road was paved - for the first mile, but turned to dirt right about at the now closed and dilapidated dolomite mine. Nothing remaining but rusted remnants behind an oft breached chain link fence. Another mile or so before the left turn to goose pasture road. About 3 more miles of pot holes and washboard to go. There is a sink hole next to the road that is about half way. We always used to stop there and see how much water was in it. It is actually part of the Aucilla River sinks and now part of the Florida Trail system. Passing that, I knew I was close.
    The cattle gap going into the campground is now gone, as are the outhouses - an RV dump station now taking their place. Recently maintained porta-potties are now installed on the far side of the campground. Otherwise, things seem pretty much unchanged - including the abundance of biting flies. The river adjacent to the campground is now disappointingly choked with eel grass - an inevitable byproduct of the environmental impact of "progress".
    Once I made camp, I got in my kayak and headed up river. As I got past the wide open section of the water and got into the narrower parts, the eel grass all but gone, the real beauty of the river I recalled as a kid lay before me. Just me, the river, my senses, and my memories. It was later in the afternoon, so I kept an eye on the time and paddled up as far as I thought safe to allow for time to get back to camp before dark. Some areas I recalled vividly, some I think I experienced for the first time. But I had the river to myself that afternoon. Magical, emotional, and calming. Though I brought fishing gear, I think I only made one cast the entire trip. I was too occupied with just taking it all in to focus on fishing.

    The next morning, I decided to set out down river and explore new territory. As I mentioned, we rarely went that way due to mechanical concerns. A kayak does not share that limitation. I also was in search of a piece of water called "The Slave Canal" which is basically a shallow and swift circuitous path through the swamp that connects the Wacissa to the Aucilla River. It is it's own history lesson, spanning paleolithic to post civil war times. It turns out, down river of the goose pasture is just as magnificent as the other parts. And I did find the slave canal and go in for a ways, but it was a little too swift and technical for me to traverse the whole way (5 miles) and then try and paddle back up stream through it. I will save that for another day when I can arrange transport back.

I dedicated the final day of my trip to exploring the Aucilla sinks. A nearby series of sink holes and geologic formations where the Aucilla river goes underground and reappears, only to go back in hiding just to do it again a few hundred feet or so away. In these explorations, I finally made another connection. My mom always mentioned a repeated nightmare that involved me falling in a sink hole. She and her brothers & sisters grew up in this area and often fished and hunted the area for food. She would have known just how much of this area involved sink holes, water rushing under ground and other such inherent dangers. She mentioned seeing cows getting pulled under during one high water period. Having seen some of the sinks first hand now, I have a better understanding of what I once thought a strange thing to be worried about. I also know that had she been here and seen me purposefully crawling down some of them, she would have taken a switch to my ass.
  

By any measure, it was an awesome trip. Words fall short to describe the beauty, so I will quit trying. But I have attached links to a few videos that I tool along the way. 
   Do I plan on going back again? Well, although I am already planning my next return trip, I don't think I any longer have a need to "go back". While memories are cool, and a great reference point, there are so many new discoveries to be made there. So, no, I won't be going back, per-se. I will instead be going forward, building on a newly refortified foundation.
~Peace~

Wacissa & a story.. a little bit of the river upstream from camp

A hike along the Aucilla and sinks walking along the Florida trail