Twenty Three

There are still rose petals on the floor that fell when I put your dried bouquet in a box to be shelved for however many months. I must've swept that room 15 times and still, they manage to elude disposal. I step over them in the morning and when I come home and, on occasion, I recall the afternoon I spent on the phone with the flower people who assured me they'd be delivered at 4. It was nice to have things figured out for a few weeks. There's a certain comfort I found in what we had, despite its hurried birth and fiery ending, the inbetween wasnt bad. You're living the life you wanted all along, with a whole different sect of the populace to admire you. You're high off of those quick fucks in early morning hours from slim boys with shaggy hair who oogled your pictures with adolescent lust and "dreamed" of the moment you'd slide their hand to your throat and tell them to squeeze, while their hard little dicks worked furiously toward climax, before retiring to their facebooks and leaving more ego fuel in your inbox. You're where you were when you were fifteen. Back when people learned to warn people about you... It doesn't matter what's written here, I can be as bitter, or as scathing as I want, it doesn't change the fact that you were an excellent enough fuck that shaking you off was a month-long ordeal, but judgment and sobriety have a funny way of correcting that thought process. In the aftermath I've found solace in bettering myself, "living well is the best revenge.." and such, though "revenge" isn't exactly the term Id use; It has far too much conviction and dedication to be in line with my feelings toward it.. I still manage to still drag my emotions through the rollercoaster I put them on time and time again, like a zealous father of a timid child, who wants him to ride all the rides at the theme park, while the boy wants nothing more than to spend the day in the arcade. I've embraced my weaknesses, and bettered myself on many of them, while accepting and ignoring the ones that keep me up till 3am when I work the next morning. Recently, I've found myself smiling into dreamier sets of eyes, all the while knowing that they were waking up next to a bad decision sometime in the next few days, who's worth more to them than any amount of sweet nothings I could whisper in their direction. They'd eat all my sugar up, and become full and comfortable, but it was starvation where they felt the most at home, starvation that got that killer figure, and it was in the arms of starvation they would fall asleep comfortably, not tossing and turning. I've sought after the guide to that starvation method, I've searched every book, every corner, and every seedy friends practice, but I cant embrace it. I am plying a dead trade. In my mind I craft each plank expertly, pour the resin on thick and make sure she sits comfortably in the harbor, all the while knowing that I am a master at building wooden boats, only to watch them sail into rough seas, and the empty rewards I enjoy in kind are my personal success. I find that keeping myself pleased with these empty rewards not only makes the most mundane intimate encounter seem that much more special, but it masks the fact that I've become a sycophant to batted eyes and big smiles. They seem like a more like a pinnacle rather than a pitfall, and I revel in my ignorance to the contrary. For the record, I can still look at her and see warmth and innocence, no matter where I stand regarding the choices she made, she's still a creature of beauty, inside and out. The standard meditation sessions on long drives home have reflected more on the road and the rain than on unwinding, which only adds to the calm stress that's made its home in my demeanor. A slow burn that creeps out through subtle rolling eyes and sighs, but is fed with enough small branches of inconvenience and setback, that it wont fully extinguish no matter how many keystrokes I type or hours I sleep. I cant blame routine, or process for the way I've felt, I'm healthier than I've been, I'm enjoying good sleep, and for the most part, the relationships with my family and friends are quite well.. Why then have I allowed myself to be so tied up in the affairs of their affairs? I am supposed to be above this. And I cave in. I adjust and I let her slip back into the passenger seat post-marveling at how much I've pulled myself together in a tete^e^tete with her mother. God, that smell. That sweet smell coming from the right. Where the fuck have I been? Sweet amnesia as it registers with my brain that the smell is for me again. That skirt. Those thighs. That low cut top and those thick breasts separated by a narrow waist downward to those thighs. I could satisfy myself for days with those thighs and that sweet smell. She knows. She's mulling over her own checklist. Yes that is for you, those arms that used to toss you around just like you liked are still right there for you. Yes, you've missed them. The lanky fashionistas can fuck, but they cant fuck like I can. They cant hold you like I can, and you don't smell as sweet to them.. As the evening rolled, I caught that half smile and those massive eyes burning into the side of me more than once. Yes, I can wink at the other girls there. They sure can flirt, you were them once. They will never be you. At least not for more than a night. What the fuck am I saying? Those young little bodies couldn't keep up like you, and they wouldn't feel as good as you. But goddamn it if I'm not going to make you think I feel awkward while I stare at them, while I smile back, while I know you're looking.. Did it feel exhilarating to kiss him while you knew I was watching? I didn't mind nearly as much as you thought I did, but your saddened expression as you walked out when the cute brunette shoved her tongue down my throat certainly indicated that you cared. They hated you all along, that spit in the face from my friends was delayed by MY trust in you alone... blind trust that ended up being repaid in the form of ignorance and taking what I had for granted. I'm far too much for you. You need a nice frat boy to beat you around and fuck you like a whore. You got that with the guy before me, you said he wasn't worth a damn, you reminded me of that every time we fucked, and I always wondered why such a terrible person kept you for a whole year, you'd shower me with tales of how he could never compare to me. but it turns out, he wasn't half bad a guy, its just he could only tolerate your garbage for so long. I can sympathize. So here you are again. You fucked with the wrong boy, and you're on the ropes. Think this is the last time you go out and get spit on? Not after the fiasco you put me through... "Good-bye is too good a word, so Ill just say, fare the well.."

Econ River: 1-11-10 to 1-12-10

Wow, I havent updated this in some time.. Maybe 2010 will have more points of genuine interest (rather than bitchy over-worded musings or stories of personal tragedy) than its predecessor. Sadly, given the state of things thus far, I feel another year of minor inconveniences and no real wins to speak of. Anyway, on with the show.

I will start by saying that I didnt expect much more than a gnarly, cold evening near a fire, but this was by far one of the most, if not the most eventful, overnight hikes I have ever been on.

Erick, Otis and I left his house yesterday around noon, bound for the Little Big Econ state forest for an overnight trip that we had been planning for some time. It was a welcome distraction for both of us, and I was excited to show Erick the site I had talked so much about, since he had yet to see it.

We both had overpacked alot of comfort items since the hike wasnt going to be far, and we knew the temperatures were going to dip into the 20's. After a detour to fill out my gun transfer paperwork and get some food, we arrived at the site at about 2:20pm. We got started on the hike shortly after and just past the halfway point, we noticed some palm scrub that had been ravaged. Otis perked up and started running and sniffing around the area, and as we started to check out the ground, it became clear; wild pigs had been here. We made a note of the location and continuted on a scenic, but mostly uneventful hike. It wasnt long before we arrived at the site, it was about 3:15 and we had plenty of time to gather a large amount of wood for the evening and break camp. We set about to getting our tents set up and surveying the area. It wasnt that cold yet, but the wind gusts that blew our frosted breaths across the exposed penninsula hinted at a very cold evening.

After getting everything situated, we bundled up and set off to gather logs for the fire. Otis had been pacing around camp the entire time and staring back at the trail, eager to set off upon a murderous rampage of animal brutality, the likes of which we couldnt possibly fathom. "This is MY fucking forest now. Hide your offspring, I seek their souls as payment for crossing my path" thought Otis, a mirthless grin upon his face. As soon as we set off, he bound into the underbrush a good 20 yards ahead of us, eager to satiate his thirst for blood.

We found it was not difficult to locate suitable logs off all sizes, as the recent freezes had killed alot of the trees. We pushed several down about 80 yards from our camp and chopped them into suitable sizes for carrying. After gathering several large sized logs and palm fronds for kindling, we headed back out in a different direction to pick up some timbers along the shoreline. We walked for a good hundred yards when, without warning or commotion of any kind, Otis leaped off the trail and engaged a large armadillo in Animal Kombat that was over before it started..

Without hesitation, Otis pounced upon it and with a massive bite, shattered its skull and torso with a loud crack. He then took it into his mouth and shook it mercilessly while Erick and I stood by speechless. We watched as he stood over it, prying the top half of its body from its bottom with his paws and teeth, before we started yelling for him to get back. I was worried he would start to eat it or it would bite at him and he would get sick from it, so I went in after him. He backed off, confused. It was then I saw that it was still alive, but with no chance at all to make it. After deciding that neither of us wanted to play God for this animal, we allowed nature to handle business and sent Otis back in to finish what he started. We heard another loud splitting sound and waited a second before calling him back a second time. We we're both stoked and taken aback about Otis's first confirmed wilderness kill (he has lay more than one park squirrel to rest) and bestowed upon him the title of "War Dog, Level 5" as we walked back into camp with our second load of firewood. On our third trip, we came across an old man with a vest full of hiking pins from all over the US and two eagle feathers in his safari hat. He stopped a minute to talk to us, and confirmed our suspicions about the Pigs. He said he had seen the scrub as well, and a few of the pigs in it, before I had even mentioned it. We parted ways after a brief conversation and headed back into camp with our final load of wood before dinner.

We took a few minutes to drink some water and check out the scenery. It was about 5 Oclock now and the sun started to fall behind the treeline and make tall shadows of the pine trees that reached out like claws across the river near our site. It was then that Erick noticed the next big surprise of the evening; A family nest of Bald Eagles, about 300 yards from our location, but within good distance of our binoculars. It was quite a sight, and dispite camping there 4-5 other times, I dont recall seeing that nest before. We watched them for awhile and were set to start building the fire, when we saw several large fish along the shoreline that were very different from the reptillian catfish that hang out all along the edges of the Econ. We moved closer to check them out and saw what looked like several redfish swimming sluggishly in circles near the shore. They appeared to be really affected by how cold the water had gotten (we hoped) and we decided it was worth a shot to spear one of them (as we knew Redfish to be edible) though we were both confused how redfish would get so far inland to fresh water..

Excited at the prospect of fresh fish, I haistly set about to fashioning a spear out of a nearby sapling while Erick kept an eye on the fish. I finished the crude spear a minute or two later and took a thrust at the larger of the two. It was a direct hit. I nearly lost it by pulling back out of the water too quickly, but got it up on shore and held it down with my boot before it could flap back into the water. We were both totally awestricken; We had seen a boar ravaged palm scrub, Bald Eagles nest overlooking our camp, animal brutality, and now we were inspecting some fresh fish that would compliment our freeze-dried camp gruel very nicely (assuming it was edible). We posted some pictures up asking for ID help on the fish, and finished with the fire. It was about 6pm now and night was coming in fast, when we got the fire rolling, and good news about the fish from James; It was Tilapia. A favorite of both of ours. Evening turned to night, and we set about preparing the fish to be cooked. We cleaned it and stuck it on a branch leaning over the fire to cook till we were satisfied it was "well done".

After IDing the fish, we asked James if he'd like to meet us out here. He had just moved away from Downtown and lived in Oveido not far from the Trailhead. After some texts and discussion over "needed supplies" ("Liquor, Fruit Juice, Breakfast Food and whatever you wanted to keep you warm") I offered to hike back since I was pretty familiar with the trail, while Erick hung out at camp. As it got closer to the time we were to meet him at the trail head, Erick had decided he wanted to come along too. It was about 8pm when we got camp cleaned up, threw a large log on the fire, and packed the hatchet, our knives, headlamps and some water. With the fish in our bellies (and in a pot near the fire to stay warm) and all bundled up, we ventured into the pitch black woods, unsure of what else could possibly happen, and wondering if those boars would be active at this time.

Since we had no other way to navigate around the boars lair without adding serious time to our journey back, we put Otis on the leash out in front and marched back toward the trailhead, weapons at the ready. We dedicated much of the walk to planning our strategy. I divulged the bulk of the information I knew about boars from extensive bathroom reading of the SAS Survival Manual, which was:

- Medium to large sized ones have their tusks at the level of most peoples Femoral Artery, therefore, running away is a bad idea unless you want to bleed to death in a few minutes.

- The goal to catching one, is to get to their rear legs and lift, making them immobile and unable to reach back at you. Then your partner deftly plunges a knife between their eyes. This is easier said than done.

- Meat near the skin must be boiled to eat because of parasites.

- They dont like loud noises.

- They snort.

and we felt very prepared for the boar attack. Sadly(?), the hike was uneventful and we showed up to the trailhead where James was waiting with all of the requested items. A bottle of Canadian Hunter whisky, fruit punch, hot dogs, bacon and eggs, his sleeping gear and a bag of chips. We got super stoked on how well we would be feasting the next morning, as all we had counted on before james arrived was granola and oatmeal.

We made it back to the camp with no pig encounters and picked up a few logs on the way back to toss on the fire, as it had likely slowed to embers. Upon arriving at camp, we got the fire blazing and sat down to roast some hot dogs, and consume some beverages (in addition to the whisky, I made a 2/3 grain alcohol 1/3 Grenadine canteen filled to the brim that we have dubbed "Firewater" and "The Grenade" for obvious reasons). The night quickly became a blur over a warm fire and good conversation, the alcohol deceptively worked its magic while our senses were distracted by the cold. Within 2 hours we had consumed the whole bottle of hunter, and most of the Firewater and were sufficently toasted. The following are events that I remember, but only in blurs.

- A lengthy discussion on the topic of "What are some other characteristics of the Canadian Hunter" that can be determined from his appearance on the bottle?

- Erick, shitfaced and stumbling around, smiling while falling into the river up to his knees.

- Busting caps.

- James and I singing David Allen Coe songs.

- Erick falling out of his chair several times, vomiting in his shoes, my socks, and his tent.

Needless to say, good times.

The night was pretty rough. In the hour before we all headed off to sleep, it had gotten down into the mid-20's and we were right on the water so it felt much worse. None of us had a 4 season tent and my bag was rated at 20 degrees max so I kept all my clothes, my ski mask, boots, gloves and hoodie on and crawled into my bag. Sleep throughout the night was disturbed from Otis's running around, my pillow deflating (found out it popped later on),discomfort from the cold and wind, and the occasional nature noises. Around 3:30, I heard Otis outside my tent and saw he didnt have a collar. Rather than leave my cocoon, I grabbed his scruff and pulled himinside. He was shivering and glad to be near dad, and I didnt mind because after he warmed up, he made for a good replacement pillow. I finally gave up around 8am and called out to James

who slept near the fire (probably the smartest idea). We got up and surveyed the camp. We got pretty wild and werent disciplined with getting the camp in order before bed, and paid for the in the morning because all of our gear was covered with frost. We started off to gather wood (Dem Froms) to reignite the embers. This is the last time I remember seeing my phone =(.

After the fire was going, we cooked up some Hard Boiled Eggs (as most our cookware was dirty and frosted and we couldnt do the bacon) and Oatmeal. Erick was still out cold and we would hear a groan from his tent every now and then but little else. After our bellies were full, we watched the frost melt off of the trees like rain as the sun shined on them and tended to the fire. Soon after, it began to warm up, and we began to get sleepy again, so we passed out for a mid morning nap.

We woke up around noon and got camp together. The night had taken its toll on gear. I was missing my camp fork, headlamp, and a tarp that had blown away down the river and was unretreiveable. After a cleanup and getting everything packed away, we headed back for the car around 1:30. About 10 minutes from camp, Otis darted off the trail in familiar fashion and we heard a familiar cracking sound; he had another armadillo on his back and was mauling it with his claws. I called him back, and the armadillo righted itself and limped off. 2 in a 24 hour period. Awesome.

On the way back, some Forest Pig drove by and told me to put otis on a leash, so I tied him to 100ft of rope and let him run around in front of us as we walked back. We got back to the cars in short order and parted ways. The drive home was painful. We both had hangovers, headaches, and I hadnt slept well at all. I also discovered, upon arriving back at home, that I had lost my phone. I remembered having it that morning, but alot of shuffling around happened between now and then and it was missing. I checked and re-checked my gear. Nothing. I had to go back and I only had about 2 hours of daylight. I started to head out the door, and Rachel showed up. I hadnt called her and she was worried. Sadly, I had to kiss her goodbye and leave to get as much sunlight as possible to look.

Rush hour had started and the ride was a stressful stop and go fiasco. I realized that all I had in addition to a t-shirt, sweats and boots was a light jacket and knife. If I got caught out there for some reason, it would be a hell of a painful night. I arrived at the trailhead with an hour and a half of light to spare. Two 40something guys and their hounds were at the entrance. I asked if they had seen a phone, but they hadnt. We talked for a second and they claim to have seen a family of pigs not far from where I would be hiking through. I thanked them for the info and set off down the trail. The plan was to get to the site as fast as possible and look at potential spots where it couldve fallen out on the way back.

I got to the site in 15 minutes and started combing my hands through the sand all over the site. I found my missing camp fork, and my headlamp, but no phone. I searched the shore and near the trees. No phone. Back to the camp, all over the tent area and in the sand again. No phone. Went to the site of the pushed down tree from that morning. No phone. Went to the site where Otis attacked the 2nd armadillo. Yet again, no phone. Night was setting in and dispite headlamps, I didnt have my glasses, nor did I have any hope left to find it, as I had been very thorough. Solemnly, I headed back to the car as the world grew dark. I got to the car as the last rays of sunlight were fighting through the trees and scribbled a note to leave with the guestbook, offering a reward for finding the phone and an email address to contact me at. Now sore, sleep deprived and hung over, I write this novel less one tarp and one phone. Grumpy and tired.

Things I learned:

- Don't bring your phone camping.

- Don't get totally shithammered in the woods.

- Wear extra socks.

- The canadian hunter's lead husky is named "Thor"

All in all. An excellent trip. Anyone have an extra sprint phone?

This will contain my musings on life, my adventures, and some randomness. I've received positive nods in the past with some of my writing, but cant develop a consistant pattern of putting fingers to keyboard and letting my head empty. Hopefully, this will be a good start.