Surfing - Double Shark Attack - South Africa

Louisiana to Lassen

It was a little strange at the end of my last work hitch. We pilots had been sitting around for the day, our customers having been notified that we wouldn't be flying unless a life-or-death emergency came about. We weren't even required to show up at the flight line, but I got bored at the hotel room and went in anyway.

Before calling it a day, I went up to the advisory tower and took this shot of our helicopters sitting idle. The weather at the base was okay, but offshore, the wind was howling with the advance of Hurricane Ike, and seas were running more than twenty feet.

It was, er, interesting driving from Morgan City to New Orleans the next morning. Advance bands of rain and wind had moved ashore from Ike over the night, and I half expected to come upon a jackknifed big rig on Highway 90. I worried that my flight would be delayed, but the band of weather moved north before takeoff time, and the United flight got off the ground right on time.

I flew into Sacramento because it was much cheaper than flying into Redding. The drag about flying into Sacramento is the two-and-a-half hour drive to home from there. Once I got on Interstate 5 northbound, I called Rhonda on her cel phone to check up. She and Dylan were on the road to Lassen National Park for a campout sponsored by Dylan's school.

The plan was, once I'd arrived home, to change clothes, pack a bag, and head off to meet Rhonda and Dylan that night. Mind you, I'd been up since two in the morning California time. "Are you sure you shouldn't get a good night's sleep and join us tomorrow?" Rhonda asked. I told her that I was sure I could make it after stopping by the house for more clothes.

When I got home, though, I realized that I was exhausted. The nervous energy that had carried me through the hurricane evacuations and the commute home seemed to flow out of me once I walked through the door. I thought about driving on a mountain road at night, with too little sleep. I called Rhonda on her cel phone, but she had no coverage. Damn. I really didn't want Rhonda and Dylan to worry about me. I thought about dosing with a big-time hit of caffeine, and driving the hour-plus to Lassen anyway, but I decided that I'd rather Rhonda and Dylan worry about the possibility of me getting into an accident than learning the next morning that it had actually happened.

Just as I was ready for bed, Rhonda called. Sure enough, she had no cel phone coverage, so she'd driven to a campground store and used a pay phone. We chatted for a few minutes, and she mentioned a few extra camping items I could bring along. It was wonderful to hear her voice, and to know that she and Dylan could rest easy.

Usually, it takes me ten or fifteen minutes, at least, to fall asleep. That night, I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I drove to Lassen the next day to reunite with my family at the campsite near Manzanita Lake.

Manzanita Lake and Mt. Lassen

I'd been away for three weeks, and Dylan hugged me around the neck so hard that I couldn't breathe. The little dude is sure getting strong. With a hug and a kiss from Rhonda next, I felt at home. Home is with my wife and son, whether it's at our own house, a motel room, or a campsite.

We camped next to Uncle E, his wife Sharyn, and their two daughters. Uncle E and and Sharyn are great folks to hang out with, and their kids are so doggone cute that it hurts to look at them.

Later on, Sharyn, Rhonda, and the kids went on a nature hike around Manzanita Lake. Uncle E and I considered going along, but we knew the kids wouldn't miss us much as long as they were together. Besides, we figured that the manly thing to do would be to hang around the campsites to protect them against dangerous predators. While the families were away, we felt the need to bolster our courage in the face of such a grave mission. Some Mexican beer seemed just the ticket. We maybe, just maybe, got a little too involved in conversation, as we discovered later that a Steller's Jay had made off with about half of a bag of peanuts in the shell. But hey, along with talking about music, politics, and religion, we solved about half of the world's problems. It should also be noted that our mission was by no means a complete failure: a golden-mantled ground squirrel tried to stare Uncle E down, but Uncle E steadfastly drove the potential offender away with his icy glare.

Don't mess with Uncle E when he's had a couple of Mexican beers. That said, Uncle E should use caution if he goes back to Lassen anytime soon. Word in the woods is that the golden-mantled ground squirrels have a bounty on him.

He'd better show up with an extra-large bag of peanuts.

Visiting Old Morgan City

Last night, I went to the old waterfront downtown of Morgan City, Louisiana to have dinner at one of my favorite places to eat in town, the Latin Corner. I remembered to take my camera with me this time, to take a couple of shots of the old Dixie Hotel across the road from the Latin Corner.

I'm sure it was built over a hundred years ago, but I don't know anything about its history. How many babies were born there? How many people died there? How many dreams were born there? How many dreams died? How many generations made the place their livelihood? I love old places. I wish they could talk.

It's still boarded up in the aftermath of Hurricane Gustav. I saw no signs of life other than the lights.

Here's the Latin Corner from the outside. The building was built in 1911.

It's a simple place, with a warm aura and great food. The owner is from Cuba; his wife is from Venezuela.

It's time to pack up and head for New Orleans airport. It's going to be a rainy, windy drive for seventy miles. I'm hoping Ike won't delay the flights. I'm also hoping that Michael and his family will be okay as Ike advances, as well as the rest of my friends and coworkers in the Houston/Galveston area.

Half Done with Ike

Hurricane Ike looks to be headed for the Texas coast. Here in Morgan City, Louisiana, my employer plans to stay put with the helicopters unless Ike takes an unexpected turn to the north.

Tomorrow marks 21 days at work. The area manager's instructions this afternoon were to stay in the quarters unless a maintenance run up was required in the aircraft to which we're assigned. Our oil company customers were informed earlier in the week that today would be our last day of flying offshore until Ike is no longer a danger.

The evacuation effort for Ike was easier than for Gustav because we hadn't taken that many passengers offshore when when the calls came to start pulling people back out.

The folks in our scheduling department told me today that they have things covered beginning Friday, so tomorrow will be my last day at work before I head home. Soon, I'll reunite with my wife and son.

Dylan was unhappy when I told him that I'd be at work for an entire extra week. It caught me by surprise. I know he's upset, or sleepy, when he calls me "Daddy" instead of "Dad."

I did what surely any thoughtful, conscientious dad would do: I bribed him out of his sadness.

"Dylan, I'll tell you what: when I get home, we'll go to the mall and I'll buy you two new games for your Wii." "Two games, Daddy?" "Yep, two games."

He'd been sounding like he was five again, but as my eight year-old son recited a list of games he'd choose from, his voice grew deeper. He sounded more like a ten year-old.

"Wow, thanks Dad."

I'll always miss being called "Daddy." But then, it's fun to watch my son grow up.

Oh yeah, sometimes I wish I could go back to holding him as a baby, on a warm summer night, while he points at the sky and announces, "Moon."

But then, I don't need a miracle to go back to those moments. They live on inside me.

Years will go by, and more moments will find a permanent home in my heart.

Really, a guy can't ask for much more than that.