Swampland

Above: View from the canal in the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge. Note how dark the water is and the incredible reflections it produces. Below, one of the most famous comic strips from "Pogo" by Walt Kelly. The characters lived in the swamp.

The first time I was in Southeast Georgia, it was on a family trip to Disney World in 1986. We took the minivan south through I-95 and noted that it was swampy. And it was a hot summer day and it smelled too.

It actually was tidal lands, but at that point in my life, who knew the difference? Or cared? We were heading for Orlando’s theme parks and took little interest other than to note the place was fairly ugly.

On the return trip, we stopped at a motel and the ex got sick, possibly from the pool water. Thus, there was no desire – ever – to stop in the area again. Fast forward a quarter century and I found a place of peace and serenity there after finalizing the divorce papers and selling the house. I had actually come across the town of St. Marys because there was a state park to camp at. The weather was so mild and the park so attractive, that I stayed about ten days rather than travel on to Florida. It wasn’t until I realized Spring Training Baseball was almost over that I moved on.

This year, I am spending a month here and again enjoying it. I’ve spent more time at the state park – though I am camped across the street at a very friendly RV court where people return every winter. Some of them remembered me from my brief weekend with a Sunday potluck supper on St. Patrick’s day in 2011 and I was happy to repeat the experience this year. And I’ve made day trips to Cumberland Island National Seashore, a gambling boat trip in Brunswick, GA and a day in St. Augustine, FL. The nearest city is Jacksonville and I’ve been there a couple of times to take care of some banking and making purchases that no local store could provide. But today was the time to get away from the coast and visit a real swamp.

Thus it was time to go to Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge. A 700 square mile refuge that is definitely swampland. Now anyone who grew up in my day, and was halfway intellectual, knew Okefenokee and its residents well. Our daily date with Walt Kelly’s “Pogo” comic strip gave us more than a few wicked grins as its inhabitants made shrewd observations about the state of mankind. I’ve included perhaps his most famous strip made on Earth Day, 1971.

“Okefenokee” was the name used by the indigenous Creeks and was believed to mean, “Land of Trembling Earth”. As it turns out, that’s a popular but very loose and many believe incorrect translation. “Oka” means water in the Hitchiti Creek language and “Fenoke” means shaking in Hitchiti. So the original meaning of Okefenokee is more like “Waters Shaking” not the commonly held “Land of Trembling Earth.” But the land indeed trembles. Most of what appears to be land is vegetation floating on the surface of the water and if you step on it, you will find yourself in several feet of water if you are lucky. A lot of it is called “swamp muck” which is a type of quicksand.

But truth is far different than what the comics usually tell you, but I did meet a version of Pogo. His name is Charlie and he is a tour boat guide. I took an instant liking to Charlie because he is who he is and doesn’t give a damn what others think of him. He has a number of lower front teeth missing and just carries on with his business, not worrying about what he can’t control.

He says he’s been living along the swamp for more than 40 of his 60 years. Lean and wiry, he uses a loud voice to share the secrets of the swamp. For example, we started going along a straight line of water that stretched at least a couple of miles in one direction and I thought to myself that this surely isn’t natural. Turns out I was right. Charlie told us the story of how people tried to dredge a canal to harvest the cypress trees in the swamp, but only made it about ten miles before giving up. But the canal is one of the few places to enter the swamp on a boat and so we benefit from it a century later.

Along the route, Charlie pointed out many alligators and other wildlife such as turtles and heron and described their functions in the swamp’s ecology. He noted that water levels are about two feet lower than normal and there are far fewer birds than normal, which is ironic because the government established the swamp as a migratory bird habitat in 1936. He told us that with these conditions, raccoons would eat the birds’ eggs and so the area was no longer very attractive. He did point out that the alligators more than welcomed the raccoons as yet another source of food.

Having viewed ‘gators in the wild at Florida’s Great Cypress National Wildlife Refuge, I was used to seeing them in the wild. But I was impressed by the karma of a gator’s life. When they are small, they are food for many of the swamp’s mammals, for example, turtles. But the hunters become the hunted by the time the gators grow up and they become the top of the food chain.

Another aspect of the gators is they do not feed very often in the winter months. Though there is rarely a frost on the swamp, during the winter months they can slow down their metabolic rate and remain that way for days. It also enables them to spend hours underwater without needing to come up to breathe. Because of the heavy amount of tannic acid in the water along with a bottom of peat moss, the water is black in appearance. You can’t see more than an inch or so into the water, which enhances the gator’s ability to hunt.

Yet the water is also pure enough to drink, although you will have to realize there is some “Gatorade” in it. All the water in the swamp is the result of rain and it drains into the St. Marys and Suwannee Rivers. In fact, should you get lost in the swamp, you could survive on it as well as a plant that grows in the water. It’s orange tip, which looks a little like asparagus, tastes somewhat like celery with a mild spice. The area abounds in many varieties of fish as well.

You can also rent a canoe or a kayak to explore the area, but the water level is too low for a skiff with a motor. In fact the outboard motors of the tour boats can get clogged with peat rather often.

As we returned towards the docks after our tour, I asked Charlie about how people in the area make a living in the area. Not too well, was the answer. Charlie was a former park ranger and so driving a tour boat came rather naturally. He said he has lived in the swamplands for about 40 of his 60 years. There’s employment to be had in the timber industry and there is a nearby town, Folkston, with some retail stores. Folkston is also known as a mecca for train watchers as the main tracks heading to and from Florida converge there. Check out YouTube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WaPQZ706_4k&feature=player_embedded for a fascinating report on this attraction.

But he also mentioned that drug smuggling is big here. Planes will drop their loads into the swamp to be retrieved by swamp dwellers who pass it up through a supply line. He said there are a couple of “outlaw towns” in the area that will follow a strange vehicle passing through the town. Moving drugs are the new way of making a living and are far more profitable than distilling moonshine. Now I don’t know if Charlie was pulling my leg or not, but I’m not at all tempted to visit these towns.

In addition to pushing a guideboat, Charlie goes into the swamp (but not on parkland he says) to harvest water lilies. A local business will pay him $15 each for plants which are in bloom and are resold to people who have residential gardens and ponds. Now I’m not saying what happened, but two days after Charlie pointed out that fact, I took the tour with someone else and the water lilies, which were starting to bloom in numbers, were gone. I asked Charlie about it, and he gave me the face and voice of an angel telling me how he would never go into the Refuge to illegally poach the plants. He reminded me of a girl I knew in high school. Whenever the teacher left the room, she would start a spitball fight and never, ever would the teacher believe our accusations about her. Yes Sandra Raff, this means you, wherever you are.

But anyhow, while Okefenokee remains a national treasure, people like Charlie make it worth visiting.

A day at the beach

I’ve travelled to a number of places of historical interest in my journeys; likewise places of incredible beauty. Cumberland Island National Seashore off the far southeastern coast of Georgia is both. It challenges you eyes, your brain and your body… and you damn well better make the 4:30 boat off the island!

The adventure begins with a boat ride. It’s about 45 minutes to the island from St. Marys, Georgia’s modest port where the park headquarters is located. Costing $18 (less for seniors and kids) for the boat and another $4 for the park fees (If you are over 62, get a $10 senior pass from the National Park Service. It gets you into every national park for free).

After purchasing my ticket, I was waiting for an orientation when a man asked, “How are you doing?”

“Better than this guy,” I replied. “Pointing out that the young man with him was wearing a New England Patriots sweatshirt. He was actually a Giants fan and the family was from New York. A relative had given him the shirt. The family included the man, his wife, his son and a daughter. The daughter seemed rather clingy to her mom and as we were talking, she came over to me and touched the small baseball I had attached to my camera strap. As a former special ed teacher, I realized she was exhibiting symptoms of autism and I let her do what she wanted. The dad had just purchased a souvenir tee shirt and I told him there was a good chance the insects would love nothing more than to snack on his arms. I offered him some insect repellent, which he declined.

The orientation was pretty basic. A ranger showed us a map including the places we would visit and the two boat stops. She was kind enough to remind us that if we didn’t get to the 4:30 boat on time, a charter would cost us several hundred dollars. I then realized I had left my cell phone in the trailer – charging it for the trip. Oh well! It's not that I wanted to make a call, my phone is also my watch.

There are two spots where the boat lands, Dungeness and Sea Camp. Dungeness is the name of a location for two mansions built in two very different times in American History. Sea Camp is the Park’s camping ground. It is very primitive. You haul everything you need in and out of there except water. They do provide showers – cold showers – as well. My departure was at Dungeness. I basically wanted to look at the woods and the beach. But thanks to a wonderful Ranger who acted as a tour guide at Dungeness, I had a wonderful education that in some respects is a microcosm of the history of the United States. At the beginning of the trip, the ranger advised us to wear long sleeves and insect repellent. My acquaintance in the tee shirt took me up on the offer, spraying his family as well.

The island’s first residents date back to the time of about 1000 a.d. They were Timucuans who lived and hunted there. As with most tribes, the men were hunters and gatherers while women maintained the homes and produced items such as clothing and pottery. Around the mid 1500s, Spanish explorers reached the island and introduced, perhaps by force, an agricultural aspect. The native population was wiped out due to the diseases the Spanish brought with them. Europeans generally infected the natives with measles, a minor childhood disease to us but fatal to a people who had never been exposed to the germs. They did leave us a disease in return that was minor to them – Syphilis. At any rate, it is believed that a Catholic mission remained on the island for about 80 years before the white man abandoned it for better places.

Saint Marys is located only a few miles from the Florida border. In 1736, the British, led by General James Oglethorpe, took over the island and established small forts at each end. A small battle in 1742 confirmed the British claim that the Island was a part of Georgia. Oglethorpe was a member of the British Parliament who founded the colony as a haven for prisoners in debt. But the island had not experienced any significant homesteading until the time of the American Revolution.

It was what the scientists would describe as a maritime forest. It was filled with live oaks and palmetto plants as well as some small game. Many of the trees there are believed to be more than 500 years old.

Following the American Revolution, Nathaneal Greene, a man who had raised himself from a private to general of the southern army, was given a number of land grants in the Carolinas and Georgia, including Cumberland Island. Greene harvested much of the live oak trees for use by the Navy. This included the timber for the U.S.S. Constitution, “Old Ironsides”, whose sides were actually made from the two-foot thick timber from the island. Greene died shortly afterwards and his wife chose to settle on the island, turning it into a plantation growing Sea Island cotton. She built a large home on the island, naming it Dungeness. She died in 1814 and the family eventually abandoned the island. However, it is the burial place of “Lighthorse Harry” Lee, revolutionary war hero who died there after becoming sick on the Georgia coast. Lee was also the father of Robert E. Lee, the commanding general of the Southern forces during the Civil War. Eventually, his remains were dug up and placed next to those of his son’s in Virginia.

Abandoned for more than half a century, the island was taken over by Thomas Carnegie, business partner and brother of steel baron Andrew Carnegie. The Carnegies rebuilt Dungeness over the spot where the Greene family’s plot was. Elaborate and expansive, the complex included four stories and is thought to be the first home in the south to have electricity. It employed more than 200 servants, mostly African Americans, who formed a village at the other side of the island.

The main building was burned to the ground in the 1920s. By then, it was used as a summer retreat by the Carnegies and at the time of the fire was maintained by a caretaker. Local lore has it that some poachers were shot at and sought revenge by burning the building. At any rate humans abandoned it, but the horses the Carnegies owned were set free to fend for themselves. It is believed the current population of these now-wild horses number about 200.

Looking at these horses gives one an entirely different perspective of what these animals are really about. Most of us encounter well-groomed and cared for horses that are stabled and cared for. We use them for racing and equestrian events and in many cases, pets. But the horses of Cumberland Island fend for themselves. Many are scared from the battles between stallions and a few are scrawny with bones showing as they suffer from diseases. There is no medical care. Their footprints look as if the horses are shoed, but they aren’t. They are used to humans, and allow us to come within a few feet of them. At the ruined mansion, they were grazing on the lawn, and fertilizing it. What appears to be perfect grooming, except for the horse manure, is actually the result of grazing on the extensive lawns the Carnegie family used for recreation.

The ruins of the buildings are indeed ruins. Our ranger told us that it was way too dangerous for people to enter what is left of the buildings and they won’t be explored for evidence of the family’s treasures until the walls finally collapse completely. Also in the area, one can find the rusted remains of pre-world war one era automobiles and farm vehicles. Had they been preserved, they would probably be worth millions by today’s standards.

With yet another warning to be on time for the 4:30 boat, our ranger left us to our own. She and I had spoke about how best to see the island and she suggested I follow the beach in a northbound direction up to the Sea Camp region. It was about three miles up the coast, she said, about the same distance as we had already hiked. And she again reminded me to be there by 4:30 p.m.

As I departed the Dungeness area, I asked someone the time. It was about 1:30 p.m., seemingly plenty of time to get to where I needed to be. Most of my companions stopped to eat, but I walked by myself along paths surrounded by pristine dunes. Even the horses took the paths to their grazing areas. At one end of the island are vast expanses of Marsh that seemed to reach out miles to the ocean. I was worried that I was lost. I found no evidence of footprints and thought I had missed the boardwalk path to the beach. But eventually I found it and I began the trek up the beach. It was low tide and the sand was hardened by he still wet ground. Depending on the beach area, it was between 50 and 100 yards between the beach dunes and the waves. I walked to the waves, shallow at this time of day, and photographed some seabirds foraging for goodies like crabs as the waves receded.

The entire beach was filled with shells, many of them quite attractive. The most plentiful were of small conch. However, I had many of them from previous ventures to Florida. One conch shell did attract my attention. Rather than the light brown and vanilla white ones, this one was a very dark blue and it was pitted. I picked it up, not knowing why I really wanted it. But as I continued to traverse the beach, I realized it was very much like the autistic girl I had met on our way out on the boat. It was battered and different, yet very beautiful in its own way. I decided to give it to her.

The trek along the beach was long. I spotted an object in the distance that I thought was a landmark designating the sea camp trail. Yet as I walked for at least two hours, it seemed to be no different in size. By this time, I was getting concerned. I had purchased a hiking staff earlier in the day to replace my other walking stick that was cane size. It was a very wise decision, as my bad knee needed support with every step. I yearned to take a break. I had a backpack filled with canned soda, food, insect repellent and a telephoto lens. Yet as I observed the sun on the horizon, I realized the time was getting short. Eventually I reached the landmark. It turned out that it was a group of beach chairs for those who were camping were enjoying the now higher waves.

“Lie to me if you have to but tell me this is Sea Camp,” I asked one of the men who were there. He told me I had made it and offered me a beer. I declined but asked how far to the docks. It was about 20 minutes and it was only 4 p.m. I was going to make it. Pup, the pup, who was back at my trailer enjoying the air conditioning, would get to go out and take care of business soon. I would have had no problems surviving the night on the island, but could only imagine what condition the trailer would be in if the poor dog had to wait until the next day to relieve himself.

I hiked the last part of the trail through the dense live oak and palmetto bush and with a sigh of relief made it to the dock area. Suddenly, I heard a hearty “hello” from the man I had spoken to earlier that morning. I immediately gave him the seashell I had found, telling him how it reminded me of his daughter. He seemed to be overcome with gratitude. As his family had made the trek along the beach, all the shells they found seemed to have some dying marine life and they didn’t pick up any. I was asked to offer the girl the shell. Her mother asked the girl “can you say thank you?” And she did.

I spoke to the man and his older son for a while and learned that it was the first time she had said thank you to a stranger. It was a big step for her. We talked for a while about the New York Yankees in the days of Mantle. Finally I begged to be excused. I hadn’t eaten or drank for the entire day and was exhausted. I am told that I hiked about eight miles, more than I had since my Army days in the sandy timber forest of Fort Polk, LA. And I felt it.

So I sat at a picnic table and had a can of cola and some grapes. I was too exhausted to eat anything else. It was too much of an effort to open the pop top on a can of soup. Still leaning on my walking stick, I made my way to the boat. I set my bag down and accidentally knocked it into the water. A member of the crew gaffed it but my telephoto lens was ruined. I figured it was worth the price of the good things that happened that day.

On the way back to Saint Marys, we were being followed by some seagulls. Someone bought a bag of chips and crumbled them up tossing them to the birds. Soon the area where the man was, including the autistic girl, were surrounded by gulls. I watched her delighted face as they swooped within inches of her. Despite the physical hardships of the day, it was one worth remembering. God had once again enabled me to do something kind to another person.

Mankind and Nature

Photos: Top -- Tourist train in St. Augustine, FL. Bottom -- Abandoned Dungeness mansion once owned by the Carnegie family and now populated by the horses the family abandoned there.

The other day, I was at the Cumberland Island National Seashore in St. Marys, GA. It is a place of history dating back to the earliest times that Europeans came to North America. Originally, the Spanish controlled the island and they “encouraged” the local Indian tribe to farm as well as hunt. Following the American Revolution, the island was given to war hero General Nathanael Greene, who cut down almost all of the live oak trees to sell to the Navy for building ships, including “Old Ironsides”. After the island was deforested, Greene’s widow turned the island into a sea cotton plantation. But after her death, the island was abandoned and the live oaks and other vegetation came back. By the late 1800s, members of steel robber baron Andrew Carnegie’s family re-settled the island and built an incredible mansion. Eventually, the family left the area but still owned the island. While under a caretaker, the mansion was burned to the ground.

The only evidence of human habitat remains a few buildings used by the national park service and the ruins of the mansion and its adjacent buildings. It is considered a dangerous place and is and will be uncared for until it completely collapses. However, the lush lawn outside the ruins is kept trimmed and fertilized by the descendants of the horses the Carnegies left on the island. There are about 200 of them there living as wild animals. I was stunned by the contrast in their unkempt appearance and the beautiful animals we care for.

This is a place where nature continues to triumph over mankind.

The place I visited today was far different. Have you ever been to St. Augustine? It’s the first European settlement in North America. Here, the remains of a fort still stand, as well as some pieces here and there of the original settlement. But this is a place where tourist traps rule. Here is the original Ripley’s Believe it or Not museum. And there are other museums and attractions based on little historical evidence, such as the location of the fountain of youth. It’s the worst of everything in Orlando and Las Vegas combined.

One such example is the tourist train I took. For $21.99, you board a train and are taken to dozens of different stops, many of them museums, as the guide shares memories of the town. I was especially enraged when told about the black community and how Martin Luther King and baseball hero “Frankie” (not Jackie) Robinson held a civil rights rally. I had met Jackie Robertson as a small boy and, despite my being a Yankee fan, he was a hero to me. At night the trains become ghost hunters, a tour of haunted places.

Here, mankind and his greed have taken over like a cancer with no end in sight.

There are a few persons, those I consider survivors (perhaps including myself), who find a great deal of humor and irony in this. What do you think?

A one-night stand with a princess

Photo: The Emerald Princess II casino boat out of Brunswick, GA at its berth under the Sidney Lanier Bridge.

Many years ago when I was working for advertising agencies, I would head to Las Vegas a couple of times a year for trade shows. And so I gambled, never losing very much and rarely winning a little bit.

The first time I was in Las Vegas kind of hooked me on Casinos. It was the night before I departed for home and I had some spare change. I put three nickels into a slot machine and hit the jackpot. At first, I thought I had won $19,000 and was going wild. But it turned out there was a decimal point I hadn’t noticed so I only won $190.00 instead. Still, it was about a week’s pay at that time and I always looked forward to doing some gambling.

There have been times when I’ve been slaughtered but most of the time; I manage to keep fairly even. Last year, I was just outside of Tampa and received $25 in slot play at the Hard Rock Seminoe Indian Casino. I managed to work it into $90 and was ready to hit the blackjack table but the minimum play was $20 and I figured I could lose it in about 10 minutes.

But last night, I decided to do a little gambling with what was a somewhat different twist – on a gambling boat that goes outside the three-mile limit for a few hours. In this case, the boat was the Emerald Princess II out of Brunswick, GA.

At the RV park where I am staying, about 30 miles to the south, there were brochures on the boat and I decided it was a good way to kill a night. I called and learned that most of the blackjack tables had a $5 minimum, my kind of speed. So I made a reservation and showed up at 6:30 p.m. for the 7 p.m. – 1 a.m. cruise. The actual gambling is between about 8 p.m. and midnight as it takes about an hour for the ship to reach international waters from its berth.

The first thing that you see as you arrive at your destination is you are at the base of the Sidney Lanier Bridge, a truly beautiful example of functional structure. At the same time, its height is rather scary and I was very glad not to have to go over it.

You must present proof you are over 18, even at my age. As with much of the Georgia coast at this time of year, the insects were somewhat intense and it was a nuisance to walk about 300 yards from the ticket office to the boat. But once on the boat, it was comfortable. The first two decks are casino floors and the third is a dining area. The normal cost of a ticket is $10, which includes a meal before the cruse begins and a snack as you head back. I got in for free thanks to one of my RV park neighbors having a free admission ticket.

One of the first to arrive, I went into the dining room and discovered to both my horror and delight, a piano man. He was singing lite geezer music. It reminded me of the Billy Joel song.

As I entered, I looked at the menu and discovered the main entrée was “Boston Butt.” I didn’t a have a clue, but it was basically roast pork. It’s southern nomenclature as people at the park later said it was a common word. To me, “Boston Butt” evokes images of Tom Brady and the Patriots frustration when they play the Giants. The meat was served with Rice and canned green beans and you could have gravy and/or bar-b-que sauce with it. It also came with a salad and canned peaches and cookies for desert. There was also some sort of fish. A simple meal, but well cooked and tasty, it filled me up. I sat next to the window and observed a couple next to me. The man was clearly in his senior years while the woman was younger and quite stunning. After eating, they returned to the room and started looking under my table. I pointed to the table next to me and the woman retrieved the cell phone she had dropped. It was, I suspect, really good Karma for me.

One of the things I noticed about the people was there was a myriad of ways to dress. I had a dress shirt and khakis, but many wore jeans and a tee shirt while still others dressed up. I also noticed that more than half the people in the dining area were quite obese.

As the boat started to move, I went through the two casino floors. The ground floor contained blackjack tables, a roulette wheel and craps table. It was surrounded by slot machines. The second floor was similar, except the tables were for Texas Hold Em poker. Even before leaving, people were surrounding and playing electronic games that paid in tickets, which could only be redeemed after passing the three-mile border when the boat passed into international waters.

I parked myself in a corner in the slot area so I could watch the progress of the boat as it left its dock and went under the bridge. Alas, smoking is permitted everywhere except the dining area and I found myself becoming nauseated by the second hand smoke. It didn’t help that there was some boat movement as the result of the waves and at times, I staggered through the decks. I had to be really careful about going up and down the steps, as there was no elevator.

I didn’t do well at all when the casino opened. I put a $20 bill into a quarter slot machine and it did not pay out even once. Already a fifth of what I budgeted to lose was gone and my gambling time was only fifteen minutes old.

Anyhow, I figured blackjack couldn’t be worse and I went down a deck to play. I was pleasantly surprised to find the tables, while sometimes full, always had room for everyone. I avoided the smokers and bought $100 in chips. Before I played, I reviewed some of the rules of the game with one of the dealers. I had not played blackjack in decades and I thought it was wise to do so. It paid off right away.

The second hand I was dealt had two aces. I could “double down” (split the aces into two hands and add two more cards). I did so and got two blackjacks. Within moments, I had covered my $20 loss from the slots. I am a small better and for about 45 minutes bet the $5 minimum with a couple of $10 bets when I had a “feeling” I might get a good hand, usually after the dealer has pulled some sort of ridiculous way to hit 21. Gradually, I started winning a little at a time. I suddenly found myself up about $80. Now just as I know when to stop when I’m losing more than $50. I usually stop when I win more than $50. Way too often, I have watched me lose “house money” and then lose my own money. So I decided to cash in, telling people I’ve won more than I deserve.

Now at a land-based casino, I could simply walk out the door, happy to have won a little and even happier to have not lost. But three miles at night in the Atlantic is too long a swim for anyone. And it was only around 9 p.m. What was I going to do for three more hours?

So I relaxed for a while and then went against my own principles. It’s house money. What the hell? So I went back to the blackjack table. And the same thing happened. I started slowly building up my chips to another $75. And again I walked away.

I was pretty nauseated by the smoke and boat movement but discovered there was an outdoor area. One could climb up to the fourth deck and I relaxed again. I was surprised to see about 50 seagulls by the rear. I never knew they were nocturnal. I shared a philosophical question with some of my fellow passengers. I asked, “If a seagull flies over the sea, what flies over the bay?” Now it’s an old joke that just about anyone living in the New York metro area knows and groans at. But the southerners didn’t understand it and just looked at me blankly.

But then, I hadn’t a clue what Boston butt was either.

Head cleared and hours more before the voyage ended, I put five bucks, or 20 quarter coin units, into a slot machine. I’m was doing OK, gradually building it up to about 35 coins when suddenly I got three “7s” and I had 370 coins to my credit. These slots are more like the ones I had used in Vegas decades ago. They pay out in real quarters instead of putting your winnings on a credit-type card. I needed to find a bucket, but I couldm’t leave the machine to do so. I finally spotted an empty one and as I went to get it, I accidently hit the lever. I won another 60 coins! It’s ridiculous! I’ve won $100 in minutes!

So I went back to the cashier, where I had just cashed in my chips, and he told me I’ve earned about 2,000 percent on my bet. All I know is I’ve got another $100 bill in my wallet.

By this time, it was around 10:30 and I had lots of house money. I went into a toilet stall and got it sorted. My winnings were nearly $300! Then I headed back for the blackjack tables. I continued to play $5 at time. I started to lose, and this time I was behind about $30. But I decided it’s house money and continued to play. Slowly, I found myself back to being even. And as I continued my $5 betting, I slowly started building up my winnings again, just not as quickly. I started to notice the betting patterns of my fellow players. Most of the younger players don’t hold at 15 or 16 and get another card that frequently busts them. In the meantime, the older players generally play against the card the dealer shows. If it is a face card, for example, they don’t increase their wager if they have a potentially good hand. But if it is a lower face card, they often double their bet. That’s because the dealer is more likely to bust. I started to occasionally use this tactic and it worked a little more often than not. Around 15 minutes before they closed down the casino to head out of international waters, I called it a night, yet another $75 ahead. I again cashed in my chips and discovered I have won around $400!

I sat down at an empty table where the Texas Hold-Em was going on. The action there had petered out and the tables were covered. I relaxed with a soda and then as the casino shut down, I made my way outdoors again. The early morning was quite pleasant. It was about 68 degrees and was accompanied by a pleasant breeze. I began people watching. Some people are absolutely wasted. A woman passed me with a bottle of beer in one hand and a can of beer and a cigarette in the other. She wasn't making much sense as she tried to find her companion. As I watched the boat head for the bridge and its berth underneath it, I realized that the reason it takes nearly an hour to go out three miles to sea is there are a number of channel markers and the captain must follow a specific course at a speed with minimal wake. I enjoyed watching a few container ships as they make their way out to sea while wondering why they choose to begin their voyages after midnight?

As we got close to the bridge, a rather attractive woman stood next to me. I was downwind from her and the sweet fragrance of her perfume added to the generally good feeling I had.

I then wentl back to the dining room where there was a snack ready. I assumed it was something like cake but it turned out to be a Southern breakfast -- grits and sausage. I hate grits and when I asked the server for just the sausage, she gave me an extra one. And so I sat down to listen to our piano man do BeeGee songs. The woman who I helped find her phone asked me how I did and I said “not bad.” She said things were “a total and complete disaster.” I replied I’ve been there and done that, but with cash filling my wallet, I really had no sympathy.

As we left the ship, I notice the woman of two beer cans and a cigarette heading to a nearby car. She pulled out and stalled right behind my truck. I had to wait for about ten minutes before she starts it again. I suppose it was better to be in my condition than her’s. I kept well away from her car as she left the parking lot.

And so I headed home -- home now being where I park it. Pup, the pup, greeted me with wild excitement as I opened the door. He had been holding it for nearly ten hours and zoomed out to the nearest tree to relieve himself. I put a leash on him and he dragged me to the place he knows where to take a dump. And I once again counted the money and realized the Princess has paid the campsite expense at my next RV port of call near Tampa. It’s a good thing. But I know I’ve won more than I deserved and won’t court this princess again for a while.