Normally
I went into the wilderness areas of the Sierras and, back then, it
was possible to hike areas and not see another soul for weeks. Back
in the Bay area, life was intense to say the least and for a young
electronic design engineer, nearly insane! Time to recharge
batteries...
John
had taken a classified contract at Eglin AFB in Florida to do some
work on the HELO system. HELO stands for High Exit Low Open parachute
system for low observable insertion. Now I was a single engine
private pilot and stood by other pilots in that it is a really dumb
idea to jump out of a perfectly sound aircraft and jumping out at
30,000 feet with 1/3rd atmosphere at 50 degrees below zero
only to open the chute a bit later at 1,000 feet and lots of 95
degree, 95 per cent humidity air is just plain dumb!
Now
John had previously been in the Air Force, didn't really work out too
well. Seems after joining, he was rising in rank steadily for the
first four years when his commanding officer ordered him to do
something John found objectionable. Well, John's reply wasn't very
well thought out having to do with his CO doing a deed that would
require reassignment surgery. John got bounced back to private, last
class. He stayed in the USAF anyway and steadily rose in rank for the
next four years. Are you seeing a pattern forming? This time his CO
was still not having any of it and yep, private, last class.
As
John and his wife were busily making kids, his income scraping out
Air Force latrines wasn't going very far and the domestic scene could
have used some improvement. I don't know any male that considers
child support and alimony an “improvement”, especially in a
situation like his. Been there, done that, got the pictures (and the
bruises).
After
he had had all the “improvement” he could stand, he became a
civilian contractor for the Air Force and life became MUCH better. He
had one Air Force job that needs telling due its effect of
permanently curing hemorrhoids but this story is about the frog.
Well,
I had decided to head 'souf that Summer, see the folks, old friends,
and head over to Destin for a little spear fishing and swapping lies
with John. A seemingly innocent little occurrence toward the end of
my stay in Alabama was to have a profound effect on the rest of my
life, however it has nothing to do with John's frog.
I
had borrowed a Land Cruiser from my father for the trip to Florida
and learned again the difference in climate between the Bay area and
the 'souf in the Summer. 90+ degrees, pouring rain, condensation
quicker than could be wiped off in the un-air conditioned Land
Cruiser. I'm Home!
It
was a bit like old home week for John and I. He had an earlier
visitor in Destin that, unknown to him, would be responsible for the
best change in his life. Has nothing to do with frog.
The
week was a lot of fun. Days were full of snorkel spear fishing,
babbling with the folk at the dive shop, and looking at girls. I'm
real good at that, got lot's of practice! There was one less than
optimum occurrence; while spear fishing about 10 feet down off the
pilings of the middle of the Destin bridge, 2 sharks 8 or 9 feet long
passed about 15 inches er, feet under me. I don't particularly like
critters that want to eat me. I kinda liked the way I was as it
seemed much better than being a collection of shark turds. That would
make me sad. One is told not to panic or splash around when one is in
a dicey situation. I'm proud to say I didn't. My brain (what brain?)
shut down and I planed much like a flat rock to shore 3 light years
away. After arrival, I did notice a brown stain in my wake.
I
don't much care for sharks.
Evenings
were good. John had a nice, fat expense account so we kept ourselves
well fed and watered. There were lots of good things available to do
in the evening that had a low probability of serving much jail time.
Friday evening he told me we were both invited to a get-together
Saturday at a beach house hosted by a bunch of young Air Force pilots
and their gals. Lots of food and drink, conversation that will be all
that good pilot stuff, and maybe a loose woman or two. Alas, that
last was never to be and the curse of the G rating still remains...
I
ate 4 pounds of boiled shrimp washed down by paint stripper. Bad idea
if I were to continue so when the party was breaking up to do
Saturday night things, I begged off joining the crew. The probability
of serving jail time went waay up! John did (he was shopping for
frogs) and I went night fishing. Regular type that is. Being eaten by
a fish in the dark doesn't appeal much.
There
wasn't anything worth keeping, just sail-top cats and an awesome
number of crabs that dropped the line before I could pull them up to
the bridge-top. Didn't matter as I wasn't meat fishing. Just a nice
night with a cool sea breeze. Decided to hang it up around 3 A.M. and
headed to the beach to sleep.
Woke
up before dawn with something seriously wrong. Later, I counted 800
bites on my left forearm alone. Couldn't count the rest, too dense.
Sand fleas. Both arms, pits, shoulders, neck, face, scalp. Thank God
they didn't get in my pants. I would have shot myself right there.
Went
back to John's. The door was wide open. Strange. He was home, his car
was there.
Went
in only to find John on the couch swollen up like a corpse and
looking worse. Seems he and the crew went out shopping and among
other items, had T shirts made with latex decals which John found
out, he was violently allergic. Spent the night in the ER having
things done to him. Quite a pair. The motel had a bar accessible
underwater in the pool. We spent the evening commiserating sitting on
bar stools a foot under water. Nice and cool for feverish corpses.
Oh,
before I forget, John's decal. Its impression really stood out on his
hide. A chest-wide frog. Labeled “RUBBIT”. Horny toad of course.
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