Roadtripping ...

I haven't regularly roadtripped for the sake of just hitting the road since I was in college; but, given all the other stuff I have on my plate -- a lot of paddling, lately -- I spend a lot of hours behind the wheel.

By and large, I enjoy it. A lot. I'm always happy when there's enough give in the schedule to stop and smell the flowers, literally, and read historical markers and pop into ramshackle, old general stores.

I take the scenic route whenever I can.

Imagine my joy when Tamara sent me a link to a Web site dedicated to roadtrips. RoadtripAmerica.com is chock-full of advice on how to live and work from the road ("dashboarding," it's called), narrative reports on interesting day-, weekend- and longer trips, and a gallery of truly humorous roadside signs.

That's just some of what you can find there.

This week, you can also find a story about a trip Tam and I took to the Texas Coastal Bend. Next Sunday her article about Walla Walla, Washington's wineries will appear.

The RTA folks are some of the nicest I've dealt with in the world of publishing and it's a privilege to be featured on their pages. Check it out.

New blog: backyard wildlife posts moved

Lots of wildernesss, not much water. That's been the state of this blog lately. So I'm doing some housecleaning and moving the backyard wildlife posts to a new blog: The Abilene Trail Chronicles.

I'll add photos and new posts this evening. Lots of cool stuff going on in our Oak Hill backyard these days.

Odds and ends

Life is busy, busy, busy. Big changes in the offing on the homefront, seemingly ceaseless rain across the middle of the state (and accompanying busy-ness at work), lots of writing deadlines; I'd sure like to slow things down a bit.

Contrary to that deep-seated desire, I've been chatting back and forth with the editor of RoadTrip America about some brief web pieces. RTA pays comparatively well, I'll be roadtripping anyway, so ... why not?

One reason why not, or that gave me pause anyhow, is that web publishing demands some level of exclusivity; RTA likes all electronic rights in perpetuity. We've negotiated 12 months on text, 6 months on photos. So while I'd really like to write here about a fun road trip out to Menard, the 1750s Spanish acequia there and an adventure at the London crossing of the Llano River ... I can't. But look for it at RTA next month.

The good news that comes with all the rain across the state this spring is that the aquifers are full, the rivers and streams are full, and it should be a good paddling summer. It's a big change after a couple of drought years; in fact, right now there's too much water in some of the rivers I plan on including in the Falcon book.

My editors liked the sample material I sent, by the way, so I'm feeling more confident about being on the right track with that.

On the coastal paddling front, the long July 4 weekend will see me stroking north from Padre Island National Seashore to Rockport, my hometown. Tam's going to give coastal paddling a try, says if she doesn't like it she'll catch some rays on the beach and pick me up at the take-out.

The next weekend I'll paddle on up to Seadrift. Like much of the middle and upper coast, here redfish, trout and flounder will be on the fishing menu. But around Corpus Christi and Port Aransas, I'll also get a few shots at tarpon and snook and that's a pleasant prospect.

Patrick's been having a ball with his cousin Chris and their Grammi and Papa. Longview -- berry picking and the Texas State Railroad; Austin -- Children's Museum and gellato and some Daddy time; Ingleside -- beach today, fishing with Uncle John tomorrow and some more Daddy time this weekend ... it all reminds me of the kind of summers I had as a kid.

Did an in-studio interview about boating safety with Bryan Beck at KGSR-FM this morning, and was reminded that Austin really is a great music town. Stumbled across "My Baby Now," by Bruce Robison, earlier in the week. Good stuff, and ... well, I find it calming.

And while I'm making recommendations, check out Love Warps the Mind a Little by John Dufresne. I'm reading it again, a second run-through within 12 months, and it's lovely in about a dozen different ways.

An update

I've been asked, urged, begged -- okay, not really begged -- to update this blog.

Some folks want to know how the last leg of the Kayak Safari was. Not much fun, but more in a moment. Some people want to know if I'm still alive. Yep. At least one person just wants to be amused. No promises there ....

This weekend is a busy writing weekend; I'm wrapping up my contractually required "sample" chapter for the FalconGuides book. It's actually quite a good exercise as it reminds me of all the things I need to pay attention to when I'm out on the water.

Here's one: Don't Leave the GPS on the Tailgate of the Truck.

So. The last leg of the coastwise trip was tough. Day one: 17 miles in a quartering gale, water the color of chocolate milk. Day two: 22 miles up the ditch. An overnight thunderstorm nearly blew us away. Day three: North winds. Day four: North winds.

I think we ended up catching maybe 10 fish between us -- nothing really noteworthy. Saw some birds. Built a couple of nice campfires. And we were really happy to step ashore at Bird Island Basin after four days and 70 miles on the water.

It was such a challenging leg of the trip -- such a grind -- that I joked more than once that it would be the Haiku feature story.

Here are a couple from the trip:

Waves roll, cockpit fills.
Wind howls, pushes petulant;
Riding chocolate milk.

Coyote watches:
Ears pricked, eyes keen, nose scenting;
What creatures, these boats?

Sunlight burns water
Bright; stroking, stroking onward.
Miles to go ‘til night.

Rain like bullets splat.
Tent walls tremble, folding flat ...
Sleep, at last, ‘til dawn.

Liquid sky below
Ripples, rolls, clears, surprises:
Raccon tracks in mud.

Green water, red fish
Grubbing mud, tail tasting air;
I cast ... not hungry?

Sand: spilling, slipping,
Racing to the water’s edge,
In cool repose rests.

Journey ends, paddle rests;
Strangers offer cold beer:
A good day at last.

That's not to say, of course, that the article won't be worth reading. One of the things a near-fishless 70-mile stretch of S. Texas did was give me the opportunity to talk more about the fascinating history of the Wild Horse Desert.

The next leg of the kayak safari brings me to my home waters, that stretch of bay and beach that I've roamed since I was a child. I'm looking forward to it.

Where we are

Late last week I took a cyber-stroll by this site and realized it had been nearly a month since I'd posted anything new.

Kinda made me feel guilty.

So, below, you'll find a recap (with photos) of the most recent leg of the Texas Kayak Safari. Most of that information also lives at http://www.texassportingjournal.com/, so if you bopped on over there last month you probably already have read it.

There's more, and a different version, coming out in the magazine in the May/June issue. Pick it up at Barnes & Noble or your local news stand, or -- better -- go to the magazine Web site and sign-up for a subscription.

Weather forced a postponement of the Easter weekend paddling leg from Port Mansfield to Yarborough Pass; we had sleet and snow in Central Texas, and gusty north winds and temps in the 40s and 50s on the coast. It was a good weekend to do other things.

Hopefully that will be the last big blast of cold air until sometime around Thanksgiving. Bay waters are warming, spanish mackerel and kingfish already are showing up on the middle coast and with big bait balls moving along the shore the tarpon shouldn't be far behind.

Speaking of tarpon, I recently read an unpublished manuscript by Hart Stillwell. Stillwell was a legendary Texas writer who penned Hunting and Fishing in Texas and Hunting and Fishing in Mexico along with a novel and more. Back in the day, you could find his articles in True and Cosmopolitan (I'm not making this up) as well as Field & Stream and Outdoor Life.

This book, unearthed in an attic box at Texas State University's Alkerk Library by my colleague Steve Lightfoot, was to be titled Glory of the Silver King.

It's a fascinating look at changing conservation ethics and -- especially interesting to me -- the tarpon and snook fishery in South Texas and northern Mexico from the 1930s through the 1960s.

Flotsom and jetsam

From Wikipedia: Traditionally, flotsam and jetsam are words that describe goods of potential value that have been thrown into the ocean. There is a technical difference between the two: jetsam has been voluntarily cast into the sea (jettisoned) by the crew of a ship, usually in order to lighten it in an emergency; while flotsam describes goods that are floating on the water without having been thrown in deliberately, often after a shipwreck.

Lots of folks have questions about various aspects of the TSJ kayak journey, and I thought it might be helpful to provide answers here, and to wrap up some loose ends … bits and pieces of information that have been bobbing about in my brain for the past couple of months.

One question – or maybe it’s an observation, and it often goes unspoken – is whether this is truly an epic journey.

In my view, the answer is both yes and no. More than 380 miles from Mexico to Louisiana under paddle power … well, it’s a long way. Many segments, such as the one just completed, will include multiple days of paddling and camping miles from civilization and supported only by what we can carry in our boats.

But I’m not the first to try something like this. Swedish mountaineer and adventurer Renata Chlumska took just 32 days to kayak from Brownsville to New Orleans as part of her “Around America Adventure,” which began in July 2005.

Gene and Rachel Gore of South Padre Island paddled 404 miles of Texas coastline on the outside in May 2004. They did it in just 19 days. On surfboards. Rachel survived a mako shark attack on her board north of Port Mansfield.

In February 2003, Arthur Hebert and Larry Koenig of Louisiana set out to circumnavigate the Gulf of Mexico. From Grand Isle, Louisiana, they actually paddled as far as Isla Mujeres on Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula in 139 days.

Chlumska, Hebert and Koenig all did their paddling in traditional, decked touring kayaks – the kind many folks suggested I use if I want to cover long distances quickly and comfortably.

I admire the beauty, speed and load-carrying capacity of sea kayaks, but they are very few paddlers’ first choice for fishing platforms.

My thought? Do this trip in the kinds of boats most of the nearly 8,000 members of the Texas Kayak Fisherman community use. Do it in a boat someone can go buy for $800 or less, and nearly anyone can paddle.

But, even this has been done, and done big. Just not in Texas. In 2005, “Kayak Kevin” Whitley completed a solo, 1,800 mile kayak fishing odyssey from Big Lagoon State Park in Pensacola, Fla. to his home in Norfolk, Va.

All that said, Dean made an observation as we were sitting around the campfire one night between South Padre Island and Port Mansfield: “Not many people – even people a lot younger than us – do this kind of thing anymore,” he said. “This really is an adventure.”

Another feature of this trip that makes it different – and it’s a decision we just made – is to paddle nearly all of our miles on the “inside,” behind the barrier islands. It’s almost counter-intuitive, but the most remote waters on the Texas coast are in the bays. It also removes from the equation the one variable that’s difficult to overcome: big surf.

Finally – and this has come up a lot – while it would be cool to knock-out the entire trip in 30+ paddling days straight-through, I have a day job. So do my regular paddling partners. So we’re making the trip in segments or legs, mostly long weekends.

What’s the point of all this?

Well, we’re paddling the entire Texas coast for a couple of reasons. The first, and the one that keeps me going, is that it’s just plain fun. I enjoy kayaking. I enjoy fishing. I have a longstanding love affair going with Texas’ inshore waters, and I truly believe there is no better way to experience that environment than in a kayak.

As we began planning this trip, it occurred to us that a lot of folks are going to the same old launch points and paddling the same old water … week after week, year after year. Granted, some of those spots – Lighthouse Lakes comes to mind – are primo paddling areas by anyone’s definition. But they represent just a fraction of the more than 3,000 miles of tidewater coastline in Texas.

We figured that, by paddling the entire coast and writing about it, perhaps we could inspire other kayakers and anglers to sample some of the more remote waters the Lone Star State has to offer.

Finally – and this has been an important consideration from the beginning – I wanted to get a sea-level look at the entire coast at the beginning of the 21st Century. Because changes, they’re a’comin’.

As I’ve hinted before, we can be hard on our land and our water here in Texas. The Gulf coast and in particular our bays and estuaries face some truly vexing challenges in the coming years. Among these are booming development, freshwater inflow from increasingly taxed rivers and streams, energy development and point pollution from industry.

The news isn’t all bad, and the state of our red drum fishery is indicative of that. It’s better now than it has been anytime in the past 30 years.

Yeah, but why you?

Well, I thought of it and then presented the idea to a publication that was just crazy enough to take a shot at supporting the notion.

To be honest, I really don’t have any special qualifications.

I’ve been mucking about in boats and chasing fish since I was in grade school. I’m a second-generation native of Rockport, on the middle Texas coast. I’ve taught windsurfing and sailing, and I’m a state-certified Boater Education and Angler Education instructor.

I’ve been paddling for about the last seven years, much of that time on the Texas Gulf Coast.

But, part of the beauty of this project is that just about anyone in decent physical condition and with moderate paddling skills could do it. That’s part of what I hope to demonstrate.

You could do this. Probably.

What about safety?

Safety is something we are taking very seriously as we paddle up the coast. In addition to carefully planning our pack list to include first aid supplies (and someone who knows how to use them), we also carry GPS units, VHF radios and cell phones.

Prior to each segment, we file a detailed float plan with the magazine headquarters, and provide approximate check-in and landfall times.

We have a powerboat on standby during each segment, too … someone we can call in the event of an emergency, or who will come find us if we go missing.

Even in the Lower Laguna Madre, with average water depths of 3 feet, we habitually wore our personal flotation devices, or PFDs. It’s a good habit to get into, and habits are born of repetition.

Where does the equipment come from?

The only way I can afford to make this journey is with help from sponsors. In some cases, the sponsors also advertise in Texas Sporting Journal. In others, they simply provide products for us to use.

Hobie was first to sign on, and has provided two Hobie Mirage Adventure kayaks for the trip. Ocean Kayak was an early sponsor with the Ocean Kayak Prowler 15 models, and my friend Scott Null at Wilderness Systems arranged for delivery of two Wilderness Systems Tarpon 160i boats.

An off-route, offshore segment will feature the super-stable X-Factor and Mini-X kayaks from Malibu.

As we discussed which models would be suitable for this trip, my focus was on speed (which usually translates into hull length) and load-carrying capacity. That narrows a field of dozens of great sit-on-top plastic boats to just a handful of great, long boats. I think we have the right models.

Paddles were donated by Bending Branches, and the fiberglass Slice and Slice Angler models I’m using are good all-around rec paddles with enough power to brace in big surf and enough flex to be comfortable for hours at a time.

NRS provided dry bags, including their Expedition DriDuffel, a commodious and tough bag that turns a Tarpon tankwell into a secure and watertight storage area.

Temple Fork Outfitters, a fantastic (and not-so-little, anymore) Texas fly rod manufacturer, donated fly rods and reels, and my old friends at Pflueger-Shakespeare sent me some more of the reels I actually buy (Pflueger Presidents and Supremes) to match with All-Star rods.

If they’ll handle 40-pound tarpon and 35-inch snook, both on 12-pound test line, you’re not going to have to worry about how they perform on redfish and trout.

Garmin sent me a GPSMap76Csx handheld GPS unit, along with BlueChart cartography for the Texas coast. It has performed flawlessly.

Cabela’s provided inflatable PFDs and camping gear, including a Deluxe XPG tent and XPG Backpacker sleeping bags. GSI Outdoors provided our camp pots and pans, as well as a hand-powered coffee grinder and French press coffee pot. My footwear was provided by Bite.

In seeking and accepting sponsorship offers, I looked for products I already know and like, or products I believe have a high likelihood of being useful, durable and successful in the field. If it doesn’t work, I’ll let the sponsor know why, and you won’t be reading about it here.

But the fact is, all of the stuff we’re using does work, most of it very well. That’s why we’re using it.

What other fish are you going after?

Ah … the fish. Fishing is a big part of this trip, and we were ambitious when we drew-up the list of species we’re targeting. Happily, we can scratch one of the most elusive – snook – off the list already. My 35-inch linesider from March 2 in Brownsville tied the state catch and release record for rod and reel.

It also was a hell of a lot of fun.

Other fish we’ve already caught include jack crevalle, red drum, ladyfish and spotted seatrout. We’ll be looking for bigger reds and speckled trout as we move north.

Also on the list are: Southern flounder, Spanish mackerel, King mackerel, Blackfin tuna, Bull shark, Blacktip shark, Atlantic bonita, Cobia (ling), Tripletail and Tarpon.

Yeah, you read right; Blackfin tuna. Stay tuned.

And I’m sure we’ll pick up some incidentals; in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up with something in the neighborhood of 20 species before all is said and done.

We’ll be pursuing all of these species primarily with artificial lures – soft plastic jerkbaits, topwater plugs and flies. Not because we frown on fishing with bait, but because it’s our preferred method of fishing and it relieves us of the task of catching and keeping bait alive, or carrying dead bait where we might not have ice.

I use Norton Sand Eels with great success. All of the fish I caught during the first segment – snook, jack crevalle, speckled trout, redfish and ladyfish – came on the “salty chicken” (pink and green) 6-inch sand eel. I switched to flies for a few of the ladyfish, just to exercise my casting arm.

After fishing with Capt. Danno Wise and Lonnie Stanley of Stanley Lures late last week, I’ll also be trying out some of Lonnie’s wedgetails and swimming jigs. They look great in the water and I’m betting they’ll catch fish.

Can I come?

Maybe. I’m happy to paddle with cheerful, irreverent, observant folks who have something to offer the expedition.

You should be an able swimmer and capable of paddling 15 miles per day in a fully loaded kayak. You have to be able to unhook your own fish. It helps if you know how to use a camera.

You’ll have to keep up, or have your own evacuation plan if you can’t, and you’ll be responsible for your own boat, paddle, PFD and most of your groceries. We can help with shuttle service.

If you’re truly interested, drop me an e-mail at AReed at TexasSportingJournal.com.

Schaumberg, who are you?

I don't really need to know, but I am curious. Send me an e-mail, or post a comment. I don't think I know anyone in Schaumberg, Ill.

Baton Rouge?

Belize -- hey Mike. Hope to see you sometime in the next year or so.

Mexico! Hiya Mel. Hope married life and the art world are both treating you well.

I'll get something fresh up here soon ... weekend weather here has been gruesome, and I've been busy at work. But ... I have a Cub Scout "polar bear" campout coming up this weekend, maybe a Hill Country road trip next week. Surely there will be something blog-worthy in one of those.

In the meantime, go check out Hornetbear's site. He's been fishing. Or go see Steve over at The Sneeze. Dude's hilarious. His "Ask Dr. Michael" series, from a previous webzine effort, is one of those things you read and think: "Man, why didn't I think of that?!"

In other news, keep an eye on the weather. There are rumors of a Siberian cold front headed this way at the end of next week. Some of the long-range forecasts are predicting sustained sub-freezing temps as far south as the Yucatan.

If that pans out -- and I sure hope it doesn't -- it could be disastrous for our burgeoning snook fishery. Not to mention mangrove snapper and speckled trout.

What lies beneath

So ... that last post got me to thinking about my junior poet project again, and more generally about poetry.

I did Donne. Done did it. Because my friend Patrick already had picked Hopkins, and David Oliver Davies advised me that if I could grasp the 17th c. metaphysical poets, I could grasp just about anything.

But ... since, I find that I never read John Donne for fun. Or inspiration. Gerard Manley Hopkins, yes.

Consider:

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices ;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
(from "The Sun Rising)

There is a sort of exuberence in Donne's language, and certainly in his "conceits" -- the images and ideas that stand for something other than their objective meanings -- and in some seasons I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him in bemoaning the day's meddling interruption.

Donne's not so bad, really.

But think now on this, Manley's recounting of a hawk on the hunt:

I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!
(from "The Windhoever")

The music of his verse, its rhythm and alliteration, cries to be spoken -- sung -- aloud.

Hopkins, a Jesuit priest who suffered nearly his entire life from depression, struggled mightily with his faith, with the bleakness he found in his own mind and soul.

But somehow, it appears, he never gave up.

He frequently -- in poems like "Pied Beauty" and "Spring" and, especially it seems to me, in "As kingfishers catch fire ..." -- uses what he sees in nature to illuminate what, as he saw it, lies beneath.

Invariably, for Hopkins, that is the order of God's universe; the ingeniusness of His design; and the notion that everything signifies something.

Do I believe this?

I don't know. I would like to, I suppose. I keep thinking about it. But I'm still not sure.

I'll leave you with "As kingfishers draw fire," my favorite Hopkins poem for its music, and for -- in the end -- its powerfully humanizing argument that every man and woman is imbued with the same worth and dignity.

Read this aloud:

AS kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.

Í say móre: the just man justices;
Kéeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is—
Chríst—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

Conservationists and environmentalists

In the Fall 2006 issue of Nature Conservancy Magazine, Hal Herring revealed that hunters and anglers might also be conservationists:

"To be sure, many members of the self-described hook-and-bullet community don’t look like stereotypical environmentalists. It’s no secret, and no wonder, that hunters and nonhunting environmentalists often make each other nervous.

"But what may come as a surprise is that sporting and conservation groups, including the Conservancy, frequently turn to each other as partners. And while they may not see eye-to-eye on every issue, what connects them is an understanding that healthy ecosystems mean healthy habitats for game animals."

I think maybe the tree-huggers are more surprised than the so-called "hook-and-bullet" crowd.

Hunters and anglers, in my experience, typically are conservationists. Whether that's out of some narrow self-interest (Ducks Unlimited purchases thousands of acres of wetlands and protects it to boost the numbers of migratory waterfowl) or genuine appreciation of the natural world for its own sake ... well, who knows?

Maybe a little of both.

It's a chicken-or-the-egg question for me. I can't remember if I first wanted to fish so I could be on the water, or if I wanted to be on the water so I could fish.

I do remember the first time I spent an entire morning in a duck blind watching an osprey work for its breakfast and enjoying the sight of late-season bluebills and buffleheads alighting in my decoys. I didn't fire a shot that morning.

So what's the difference between an environmentalist and a conservationist? According to Webster's, the respective objective definitions are pretty similar:

Environmentalism: 2 : advocacy of the preservation, restoration, or improvement of the natural environment; especially : the movement to control pollution

Conservation: 1 : a careful preservation and protection of something; especially : planned management of a natural resource to prevent exploitation, destruction, or neglect

Subjectively, I'm much more comfortable being called a conservationist. A conservationist, in my mind, recognizes human needs in the environment. An environmentalist, perhaps, may not.

Other than those vague connotations -- and I'm not at all sure I'm right -- I really don't know what the difference is.

Thoughts on this? Let me know.

My links ...

Okay, people; click on a link every once-in-a-while. Please. I don't get paid for them.

The linkees didn't ask to be linked ... in fact, some of them may be horrified to find out they are unwittingly associated with me.

First of all, the "TexasMix" link -- KTXN-FM out of Victoria, Texas -- really will take you to the best radio station on the planet. It's some sort of genius format only they can do: Larry Joe Taylor and Brian Burns segue to Van Morrison and Dave Matthews Band which leads right into Willie Nelson and Lyle Lovett with a little Jimmy Buffett thrown-in to keep the Parrotheads happy.

KTXN plays more Austin musicians (Darden, Bob, Marcia, Trish, etc.) than any station in Austin. Check it out.

Okay ... reviewing my links, there are some you can actually safely skip, unless you're shopping for a new kayak or you want a fishing report. But check out Radio Lab: those folks produce some really interesting shows. And Ira Glass and This American Life -- freakin' hilarious stuff.

Oh, and visit Hornetbear's Haus o'Anglin'. He posts some great photos, and he's pretty damned funny. Too cool to e-mail me back, apparently, but what the hell ...

I'm not even going to make this easy for you by linking the sites in this post. You're gonna have to make the trek over to the right side of the page here and do it yourself. Go. Now.

Who reads this thing?

My mom, for one. After that last post I got an e-mail from her: "Are you depressed?" (yes) "Are you quoting someone?" (yes -- the narrator in Moby Dick) "Are you okay?"

Yes, Mother, I'm fine.

The best blogging, I think, is writing that is close to the bone ... by folks who allow their most personal and specific thoughts and struggles illuminate a common human condition.

It takes a lot of courage to do that. Wendee does it sometimes, but she also says she's a "heart on my sleeve kind of gal ..." I spent some time reading a blog a while back that was all about the dating travails of four 30-something single women. It was hilarious.

I don't think I'm quite there yet.

And of course, for me, blogging is (in very small) part marketing ... my book publisher reads this. My magazine editor checks in. God knows who else.

I have a subscription to Google Analytics, and it gives me some very basic aggregate information -- don't worry, I can't tell all that much about who you are; but I can make some guesses. And some of the data are pretty interesting.

For instance, apparently someone from Jasper, Texas, checks in pretty regularly. I've been to Jasper, and it's a pretty small town. A small, pretty town in fact.

And I have more than one reader -- or one reader who uses more than one computer -- in Lake Mary, Florida. Don't think I know anyone in Lake Mary, unless it's one of my Snook Foundation friends.

Key Biscayne, Florida: thanks for checking in, Lisa. And thanks for checking my facts, too!

Aransas Pass, a regular visitor, might be Dean, or it might be another TKF regular.

Gaocun, China? No idea. San Diego? Huh ..... Here's one: Palatine, Illinois. Regular visitor, and I'm pretty sure I don't know anyone in Palatine. But thanks for visiting!

Referrers are pretty predictable, for the most part ... some folks get here from search engines, some from links on message boards or friends' blogs ... I had one the other day from "teencumshots.blogspot.com"

No thanks. Really. I'm really hoping that one was completely random.

But people -- some of them people I don't even know -- say the nicest things, too. Here's one comment I got the other day from I-don't-know-who:

"I have been reading your blog for a while now and really enjoy the way you write, you have the uncanny ability to transport your readers to the place and time of your adventures. Keep up the good work it brings joy to more people than you probably realize."

What a wonderful compliment! Thanks so much.

Anyway, in case you're wondering, here's the breakdown:

I've had about a thousand visitors since the last day of October, 2006. A whole bunch of you come back more than once, and I thank you. I hope you'll continue to find something useful, or entertaining, or at least a little bit interesting here.

Over the life of this site so far, an average of about 11 folks pop in each day. Lately the average has been a bit higher -- about 30 each day.

Most of you live here in the States, but I've also had visitors from: Canada, the UK, Spain, Germany, South Africa, Denmark, Italy, Belgium, Columbia, Argentina ... and a handful of other places.

A good portion of you read the three latest posts, or one of the three latest posts, and go away. But a whole bunch of you really liked the fly fishing post (kinda funny, because really I was just trying to be slick and avoid giving a fishing report), and the article about fishing with Patrick and about restoring an old sailboat were pretty popular, too.

Anyway, thanks for stopping in. And, really Mom, I'm okay.

Paddling

The new year is shaping up to be busy, busy, busy.

A little less than a year ago I started talking with the editors at Texas Sporting Journal about writing a series on coastal kayak fishing. That led to a regular paddling column in the magazine and March 2 – Texas Independence Day – we’ll launch the Texas Kayak Safari.

Over the course of the spring and summer – on weekends, holidays and whatever vacation days I can scrounge – I’ll paddle the nearly 400 miles between the Rio Grande and Sabine Pass.

There will be lots of fishing involved, but I’ll also make time to talk about some of the challenges facing the Texas Gulf Coast in the 21st Century.

It’s a trip I’ve been wanting to take since about the beginning of the decade.

While the coastal voyage was taking shape I was fortunate enough to land a deal to write FalconGuide’s “Paddling Texas,” an inland paddling guide book. So whatever time I’m not on the salt, I’ll be somewhere on a river or stream.

Industry response, to the coastal project, in particular, has been overwhelmingly positive. I’m getting help from my friends at Hobie, Wilderness Systems, Ocean Kayak and Malibu Kayaks. Cabela’s, TFO, Pflueger-Shakespeare and GSI Outdoors Cookware also have signed-on.

Friends in the paddling community have been generous with their offers of information, company, shuttle services and places to crash and get a hot shower.

To help keep track of my busy schedule – and to let folks know where I’ll be any given weekend – I’ve added a calendar feature to this blog. You can find it at the bottom of the sidebar column to the right.

Both projects are going to be mighty interesting, and I’m looking forward to what the next 12 months brings.

If you see a trip that fits your schedule and you’d like to come along, give me a shout.

This weekend I'm headed to the tropical tip of Texas to chase snook out of a kayak with my buddy Danny.

Over the last 10 years we've spent New Year's Eve together in San Salvador, Tuzla and Houston, but I think this will be the first one we've spent fishing.

Not a bad way to cap 2006 and ring in the New Year ....

A book deal

Well, the big news this week is a contract to write FalconGuide's "Paddling Texas." I'm still a little floored by the whole thing.

They seem like nice folks with a great line of guide books and they're actually going to pay me to kayak the state's inland waterways. Okay, they're not going to pay me a lot, but you gotta start somewhere, right?

It's funny how things work. This actually isn't my first book deal. A couple of years ago I was going to write a wadefishing book. That fell apart with the rest of my life post-divorce, and I've been kicking myself ever since.

So this sort of feels like a second chance, a shot at redemption. And, oddly, I was pretty sure I was going to be writing a paddling book this year, I just wasn't contemplating this book.

Everything just kind of fell into place ... from the time I sent the first e-mail to the aquisition editor (also the founder of Falcon Press) until the time he put the contract in the mail, something like 14 hours had elapsed.

The book I thought I was going to write this year was a coastal kayaking book, a follow-on to a Texas Sporting Journal series that will take me from Boca Chica to Sabine Pass. And, ironically, Globe Pequot (the press that owns the FalconGuides imprint) was on my very short list of publishers to contact ....

So maybe I'll be writing that book, too, after all.

However it works out, I'm profoundly grateful for the opportunity. I'm going to be doing a loooooot of paddling over the next 12 months. Which means 2007 is probably going to be a pretty good year.

Wendee probably said it better

This will be my last post for a while. I've been browsing other blogs, and ... well, it's not so much that mine is awful, but there are some other folks doing some really fine blogging out there.

Wendee Holtcamp, for instance. Wendee's a frequent contributor to Texas Parks & Wildlife magazine (among many others) and she's an actual, real-life scientist.

Her blog, www.bohemianadventures.blogspot.com, covers everything from religion to hiking the Guadalupe Mountains to writing and divorce and motherhood ....

She writes unironically about the untimely death of Steve Irwin. I couldn't do that.

Wendee's braver than I am, and probably smarter, too. She's certainly a very fine writer and she drives around with rubber boots and waders in the back seat of her car.

But I don't think she fishes much.

You want fishing, check back here. I'll post again. Someday.

On writing, and a proto-blog

The greatest compliment any writer can receive from another, I think, is: "I wish I had written that!"

It's something I don't say too often, even just to myself as I'm reading a really clever turn of phrase or particularly engrossing story. I mean, c'mon ... I know I'll never be Ernest Hemingway. Or Tim Cahill, for that matter.

Most of the time I feel like Charlie Gordon; at some point in his progress, as I recall, he was just bright enough to know exactly how intelligent he wasn't. I thought, when reading Flowers for Algernon, that such a moment must be almost insufferable.

Yet, here I am: a competent craftsman, at least as good as perhaps three-quarters of my colleagues, but no genius. To scale that wall that separates simply "good" from truly "great" writing requires an exponential increase in effort ... or divine intervention.

I'm grateful for "good," most of the time ... for the opportunity to work at a craft that allows me to indulge my curiosity and to fashion something new, or at least slightly different, nearly every day.

My old friend Shannon Walbran from the University of Dallas is, naturally, an incredibly gifted writer. She manages "light" while avoiding "fluffy." She can do "lively" while being "informative." And, almost always, she's entertaining.

Half a decade ago, someone sent me a link to her journal entries ... I checked today and was happy to see they were still alive, and I realize now that Shannon was blogging before most of us knew about blogs.

Here's one, below. I wish I'd written it.

26 October 2000 - Calcutta - Diwali: sweetness and light

Today was the first of three days of Diwali (dee-VAH-lee), the festival of lights. Most shops on the streets near my hotel were decorated with marigold-flower streamers -- thick, orange garlands which take hours to sew together. People at open tables on the streets sold these streamers, heaps of candy, candles, sparklers, and incense to get ready for the night parties.

As soon as the sun went down, firecrackers started going off. They are allegedly banned, for three main reasons (smoke, noise pollution, and child labor), but I heard them from all corners of the city.

Just as I was pulling on my sandals and getting my camera ready, a hotel staffperson knocked on the door and presented me with a plate of Diwali sweets. I ate three of the six super-saturated sugar cakes and, wired on sucrose, took to the streets to see the lights.

Mimicking the marigold streamers, yellow Christmas lights cascaded from buildings and trailed from lampposts like vines. The street was massed with people buying things from the open tables and walking around to see the displays.

Some light formations were really elaborate. People had wound the strings of lights into wire mesh screens as big as the side of a garage, depicting gods and goddeesses as well as the
geometric symbols for good luck.

One of those symbols is the swastika, and it shocks me every time I see it, even when it's in yellow or green. Much older than the Nazis, who adopted it for their own use, the swastika is a good luck / health symbol often used here in India.

Diwali seems to be all about sweetness and light, until you catch a glimpse of the goddess being celebrated, Kali. She is one frightening creature! Her skin is bright blue, her big red tongue is sticking out of her mouth, and her kohl-lined eyes are bulging. Each of her eight hands is holding a weapon.

The good part is that she is wielding these armaments against an evil beast (and please correct me, someone, if I've got the mythology wrong) whom she is subduing under her vibrant blue foot.

The lonely planet guidebook says she is "bloodthirsty, hankering after battle and carnage." (!)

Shrines to Kali were set up all up and down the street, as big as a two- floor storefront, constructed from a bamboo scaffolding with canvas stretched taut over it. They look like permanent chapels and are very cleverly done.

Devotees paint the structure and apply detailed moulding trim around the front door, through which one can glimpse Kali leering.

To get a better look around the neighborhood, I decided to try a transport mode for which Calcutta is famous. Human rickshaws.

Yes, I had immediate qualms about letting a person haul me around - most of the drivers are skinny and look rather sickly, but I had heard that they love to drive foreigners. We pay much better than locals. And, I was just one passenger, as opposed to the whole families I saw crammed into a single rickshaw.

As soon as I thought the word "rickshaw," a driver found me. He had a grey stubbly beard and looked about 50, with strong, wiry legs sticking out from a plaid cotton sarong. We communicated with sign language. I showed him the amount of money I would be willing to pay to "drive around and say ooh! aah! at the lights." He understood totally. I climbed up into the carriage, he tipped the yoke over his shoulders and pushed us off.

One downside to a human rickshaw is that taxis and buses treat it like a car, but pedestrians treat it like a person, which leads to less-than- smooth traffic interactions. The positive aspects are: it can go down little alleyways which taxis can't reach, and it is extremely quiet. No motor.

Also, the driver was very attentive and stopped for me to take photos in front of every Kali shrine.

Calcutta looks a lot like the Quarter in New Orleans, if you've seen that. Calcutta might be a little newer, but the cities share colonial architectural attributes. On the wide avenues, buildings are brick and stone, two to three stories tall, and are graced with many balconies. On the narrow, crooked side streets, the houses are more like one-room storefronts, with a barn door that opens to the lane.

When we passed by one of these on the rickshaw, I saw a woman lighting clay Diwali oil lanterns and thought we had gone back a hundred years.

A strange thing happened about twenty minutes into the ride. Countless kids had called out, "Hello, hello!" to me, and I waved at some of them. I had about finished with looking at the shrines, and I told the driver to take me back to the big road we'd started from, just by saying the name of the street. He nodded. A university student-looking guy observed this short exchange and then said in a warning tone, "That driver is taking the wrong way."

I just smiled and waved at him, too, and we kept going.

Diwali is something like Halloween, too, plus Christmas plus the Fourth of July. Poor women and children go from store to store with bags or cardboard boxes, and shopkeepers fill their containers with sweets.

Ten minutes later, to my surprise, the very same student guy was walking alongside my rickshaw again, and he repeated his warning. The driver made an irritated face at being falsely accused, and the two spoke for a moment in Bengali.

I then stopped the carriage and explained, "Look, I don't really care if we are going the long way around, because I'm just out to enjoy the lights, but thank you."

The student, annoyed that I did not need to be rescued, stodd at a corner and watched us roll away.
The rickshaw driver broke into a jog, maybe to show me that he was hardworking and honest (which I already believed) and that I was getting my money's worth, or maybe just to ditch the knight errant.

Around the very next turn, the main street opened up - we were only thirty seconds from our original starting point. Radiant with fairy-lights and bursting with firecrackers, the street was shaking to a drumbeat as itinerant musicians played music for the goddess.

The driver and I ended felicitously - I gave him a good holiday tip and we parted amidst Diwali's sweetness and light.

As an afternote, I have to say that NONE of my photos from that night turned out. Of the 24 exposures, only a few from my visit earlier to an educational program came out clearly. The rest were smeared with a rainbow, as if the roll had been exposed to light or airport x-rays or ... Kali?

[For more of Shannon's travel journal, go here. To see what she's up to these days, visit: http://spiritguidance.net/]

About this blog ...

I'm not sure if it was the first time a manatee showed-up, or if it was the raggedy pair of flamingos on the back bay ... it might have been just at the moment I realized I had not heard a human-generated sound in half an hour.

It occurred to me, then, that the broad, salty basin that stretched out before me ... connected to another to the north and yet another to the south; separated from the vast Gulf of Mexico by a thin ribbon of sand and grass ... it occurred to me that this place is no less a wilderness than a remote corner of the Rockies or some sere desert landscape.

Some areas on the Texas coast are truly remote. Out of cell phone range, with little or no human traffic in a given day ... far from comfort and convenience. Other places just appear to be that way, unless it's a weekend or there's a nationally televised fishing tourney in town.

But for all the buzzing about of outboard-driven boats, or the lazy wheeling of Navy trainers in the sky above ... people are only scratching the surface.

Above and below, and -- especially -- at the edges, strange and wonderful life abounds.

Bull sharks as large as a man glide above the bottom, feeding a million-year-old hunger. Dolphins frolic and hunt and chatter and sometimes come over to check-out the bipedal stranger in their midst. Crabs forage in the spartina marsh, and wild hogs wade the shoreline. Alligators lie in wait in the mud and, overhead, a frigate bird soars, watching a noisome flock of laughing gulls as they dive on a school of bay anchovies.

There is great beauty here, and mystery and sometimes just a little danger.

It is, to my mind, truly a water wilderness.

So ... this blog is about that. About the place where I grew up and return to as often as I can. It's also about other places in Texas, places that are different or beautiful or just a little bit wild.

Texas boasts more than 3,700 named streams and 15 major rivers. In some places, these waterways are truly wild, by any definition. In others, they bring a little bit of the wilderness to neighborhoods and back yards. Streams -- especially in areas where residential and agricultural development is booming -- serve as corridors for wildlife, and it is there you are most likely to encounter the wild side of Texas.

This blog also is about how people -- I and others -- think about and use and enjoy that water wilderness. There will be a lot in here about fishing and kayaking, because those are ways I often interact with the environment.

It's an opportunity for me to ask questions, and seek or propose answers, about some things I've been pondering for a while or maybe just popped into my head today.

It's also is a place for me to gather some stories I've written at other times for other publications and put them all in one place. So there's some old stuff in here. Maybe it's stuff you've seen before somewhere else.

No doubt I'll go completely off-topic from time to time and post the most inane thoughts about things that have nothing to do with Texas waters or the natural history of Texas at all.

That's because, well ... it's my blog and I can do that.

Anyway ... hope you enjoy it. Have a question or complaint or topic idea? Shoot me an email. Want to say something nice, or even not-so-nice, about a post? Leave a comment.

Thanks for stopping by.

About me ...

I was born in Nacogdoches, Texas, but moved back with my family to the Coastal Bend at the age of 3. After a few years in Ingleside, we returned to Rockport, where both my parents grew up. I graduated from high school in Rockport in 1987.

Growing up in Rockport, I often felt deprived -- no skating rink, no mall, no McDonalds; later I realized what a blessing that was, as I spent my free time instead exploring the peninsula, fishing, hunting, sailing. It was the foundation for a life-long interest in the goings-on at that imprecise, shifting boundary between land and water.

The next years included a liberal arts education at the University of Dallas, a year of religious life in New England, a couple of years in the world of politics in Washington, D.C., Army deployments to 13 different countries ... marriage, fatherhood, divorce.

I've lived in Rockport for an extended period again, and hope to get back permanently one day.

Currently I am a news writer for the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department, based in Austin. Along the way I've written for Texas Fish & Game magazine (where I was boating editor), Texas Parks and Wildlife magazine, Texas Outdoors Journal, Gulf Coast Connections, Lone Star Outdoor News, Texas Sporting Journal and scores of other publications.

I am currently at work on "Paddling Texas," from FalconGuides, and a major series on coastal kayak fishing for Texas Sporting Journal.