Footprints In The Sand

If you are fortunate enough to find yourself in a beautiful resort on the beach, it is mandatory that you explore the sands, no matter how appealing the pool and its wet bar may be.

The view from one of the higher perches in the resort.
Photographer was tilted...not the horizon.

Mary is fulfilling her obligation to explore,
heading off toward the north.

But the sands soon meet the rocks.

Maybe there's a way through the jagged footing to the sand beyond...

...for a better look at the shack atop the next hill.

Just time the waves, sneak through the arch, and then scale the rocks beyond.

Nope.
Time to retrace steps back to the sand.

Avoid stepping on other beach walkers.

Another rocky point forces one back up the stairs and through the resort
to get back down to the sand on the other side.

Not like the beach, but not a bad walk, either.

That's more like it.

The Westin, right next to where we stayed, was buzzing with construction activity.
It was heavily damaged when Hurricane Odile slammed into Cabo San Lucas in 2015.
What are the odds that the rebuilding will be impervious to hurricanes?

Mary makes footprints.  She's good at it.

But alas, the lass cannot make them last.

The waterfall from this rocky plateau flowed continuously,
since each successive wave refilled the central basin.

Just the tip of the rockberg.

Changing types of rocks appeared along the way,
but none were an insurmountable barrier to bipedal locomotion.

I see Mary sitting on the rockman's shoulder, near his face,
as he claws his way out of the sand.

The flow has done a little sand sculpting.
Be careful not to get caught by the Undertoad,
who lives underwater and pulls in the careless.

A great day for a walk.

Or to fly in the clear blue sky.

Unconcerned with who watches below.

 

Or perhaps watching he who walks below.

And then flying on, unconcerned.

Time to turn around...

...and head back!

A good walk is its own reward.  

And as Mary says, "Si camino más, más margaritas!"

(If I walk more, more margaritas!)

Sanibel Is For The Birds

Unlike some of the coastal areas in Florida, Sanibel Island was fortunate to have town fathers and mothers who had a bit of foresight.  And a major mosquito problem that delayed development, now under much better control due to better plumbing.  The ridges and valleys that form the island were perfect for catching stagnant mosquito-breeding water, and without connection, impossible for larvae eating fish to get to.  I only got a couple of potentially Zika-carrying bites.

After the causeway that connected the island to the mainland was built in 1963, it became apparent that the locals would soon be overrun by the developers and tourists if they didn't take steps to prevent that dilemma.   So the regulations were changed to limit all new construction to 2 stories or less, not counting the stilts all intelligent builders provide in hurricane country.

Additionally, starting in the 1930's, portions of the island were designated as wildlife refuge.  Due to that beginning and continued conservation efforts, upwards of 3/4 of the island is national, state or local refuge.  Does a great job of keeping the density of the human population down.

And where humans are limited, birds are plentiful.

Can you hear him warble?

No, the water is not this color.
It's just a reflection from the surrounding mangroves.

Blackbirds not singing during the life of day.

Some birds just do not cooperate.
Not easy to capture this pileated woodpecker in the shadows.
With the moving head, no less.

A hairy bird.

Can you hear him warble now?

These guys were all at a small refuge in the interior of the island.  I fully intended to go back to see more, and maybe get a better look at the woodpecker, but that didn't happen.  There were lots of other birds on the periphery of the island.

Stepping lightly over the shells.
This may be a Ruddy Turnstone.

"I love crab legs, don't you?"

"But they're just so hard to eat."

The sandpiper is unafraid of the onrushing surf,
confident in his ability to scurry away just before the crushing wave arrives.
They should be called Waveteasers.
Or maybe this is a Godwit, or a Curlew, or a Snipe.

Maybe THIS is the Ruddy Turnstone.  Or a Red Knot.  Or a Plover.
Who cares?
Isn't it beautiful?

Here's a nice shot of a tern.

And here's another tern.
Why?
Because one good tern deserves another, of course.

These are the coolest guys on the beach.
They usually stand in groups, beaks into the wind,
unperturbed by the humans ambling by, only a few feet away.

And they have the best haircuts.

You get a little idea of the pace by watching the trailing splash.
All these shorebirds move quickly when they want to.

"Why yes, I love the beach.  Doesn't everyone?"

Longer legs make scurrying from the waves unnecessary.

Some are MUCH better at posing than others.

Do you really think you're going to catch anything with that curved beak?

"Yum!  Periwinkle!" 

These birds frequent the wave washed southern shore of the island, where the waters of the Gulf of Mexico wash shells and an abundance of food up onto the beach.  But that is not the only place where aquatic life attracts feathers.  Next time, I'll show you a few of the inhabitants of the mangrove swamps on the northern shore.

Three Weekends ‘til Christmas

We caught the plane and flew, but did not catch the flu on the plane.

So, what do you do when you’ve got a bazillion things to do and Christmas is fast approaching?  Why, go to Florida, of course.

Actually, the story is a little more involved than that.  The old neighborhood crew has been trying to get a trip to the Mastro’s condo together for many years.  A myriad of responsibilities and some unforeseen twists of fate have put the kibosh on several planned trips.  But this time, due to some inevitable changes and a strengthened desire to get away, a quorum was able to break away for a short trip.

Windy

Sandy was a super storm.  The same system that did so much damage in New York and New Jersey did some noticeable damage to the beach.  

Undercutting

The "Replace the Sand" approach.

The barrier sustained damage, but did its job.

Plan B walkway

Somewhere, there is a big hole where all this replacement sand is coming from.

Singer Island is the barrier island for Riviera Beach.  Clearly, barrier islands move.  Rebuilding is in progress.  Not sure which is better...concrete and steel, or just replacing the sand until next time.

We took long walks on the beach with birds of many feathers.

Pelicans in formation

Wonder where they flew before the tall buildings got in their way.

“You are a determined man,” said Tony to the fisherman as we passed him for the second time on our long morning walk.  “Fishing is patience,” he replied.

Dave drinks only Blue.

Johnny Walker Blue was what we had promised ourselves.  Originally, the toast was to have been in honor of Tony’s Uncle Danny, the original owner of the condo.  However, I don’t think Uncle Danny would mind that we expanded his tribute to include Mary, Tony’s Mom; Roy, my wife Mary’s Dad; and Keith, my father.  A nice moment with raised glasses.

Every morning, we had coffee on the 12th floor balcony.  Tony likes the high solid-concrete wall that serves as a railing.  I don’t think anyone in our party would prefer to replace it with an iron or glass railing, regardless of view augmentation.

Doing nothing on the beach is a fine pursuit.  Much better than writing a patent application, which I was doing the previous day.  

“Randy, when did you become a business tycoon?” asked Tony.  

“More like a business typhoon,” I replied.

“Nawww...” added Dave.  “More like a business buffoon.”

Our group.

Successfully doing nothing.

We are those little specs on the left.

I go golfing once per year.  As you might guess, my game was nicely sharpened up for the Palm Beach golf course designed for Christmas season play by Saint Nicklaus.  Or at least you’d think Jack was a saint from all the worship he gets in the area.  I had a truly outstanding round, getting way more strokes for the money than the other guys.

Yeah, like I'm going to hit the little white ball through this without mishap?

Tony's comment is not printable.

Going right in!

After smacking little balls in unintended directions, we went to a nice outdoor restaurant on a by-way off the intercoastal waterway.  Very nice to sip and munch by the water as the sun goes down.

He did not kill himself when he jumped down,
but he did spill his beer.  Bad form.

Dancing?

That's the Captain's hand on my shoulder.

All the palms in the area seem to grow with lights on them.
Lightfruit?

Didn't go here.

TIKI !

Did go here.

Later, we took in another near a marina.  Then Gail directed us to a swingin’ hot spot.  Maybe not a direct route, but she got us there.

We continued to investigate the beach,  watch the birds and a work on our sunburns.  I wore my big floppy hat and slathered on the SPF 451 lotion.

On our last night, we headed to Palm Beach.  The Breakers is an interesting place.  Very expensive, no doubt to keep out the riff-raff like me.  When the bill for our drinks arrived, Tony said something like, "What? We drank diamonds?"  (Forgive the poetic license, Tony...this is a G-rated blog.)

Inside the Breakers.

Breakers wine rack.

Some of the lovely ladies at the breakers.

Very cool bar with fish swimming under your drinks.
Not good if you've had too much alcohol.

Impressive view of the Breakers.

Nice decorations on one of the main drags in Palm Beach.  

It was a wrong number.

 Unfortunately, the stores were all closed.  

With a word, they couldn’t get what they came for.

  But they enjoyed themselves nonetheless.

Our last day, I was disappointed to observe that maturity has set in.  I still wanted to hurl water balloons, but just to watch them splat on the pavement...not on unsuspecting passers by.

That morning, I woke up at sunrise.  The sun teased by staying well behind the wall of clouds a half mile off shore.  Finally it made its debut, I took this picture, and went back to sleep.

More long walks and then a dip in the pool before we headed out to the airport.  

Scary denizen of the deep.
Must be from the manatee family.
Or maybe a beluga.

Our little friend beckoned us to return.

But thank goodness we've returned home to gray skies and freezing drizzle!  

We were so tired of sipping our coffee in the warm air and looking out over the ocean from the 12th floor veranda.  

But we do thank our hosts...