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[Towboat Trash]

"To this island we gave the name of the Island of Ill Fate...It seemed to me impossible for life to last, although I afterwards suffered still greater privations and much more distress, as I shall tell further on...I could no longer stand the life I was compelled to lead. Among many other troubles I had to pull the eatable roots out of the water and from among the canes, and from this my fingers had become so tender that the mere touch of a straw caused them to bleed. Nearly six years I spent thus in the country, alone among them and naked, as they all were themselves. We asked them about those who remained alive, and they said there were in a very sorry condition, as the boys and other Indians, idlers and roughs, kicked them, slapped their faces and beat them with sticks, and such was the life they had to lead. And to show us that what they said of the ill-treatment of our people was true the Indians with whom we were kicked and beat my companion. Neither did I remain without my share of it. They threw mud at us, and put arrows to our chests every day, saying they would kill us in the same way as our other companions."

--"The Journey of Alvar Nunez Cabeza De Vaca, and his companions from Florida to the Pacific, 1528-1536 (1905)", describing being the slave of the Galveston Karankawa Indians in the year 1529

"These Indians and the ones we left behind told us a very strange tale. From their account it may have occurred fifteen or sixteen years ago. They said there wandered them about the country a man, whom they called "Bad Thing," of small stature and with a beard, although they never could see his features clearly, and whenever he would approach their dwellings their hair would stand on end and they began to tremble. In the doorway of the lodge there would then appear a firebrand. That man thereupon came in and took hold of anyone he chose, and with a sharp knife of flint, as broad as a hand and two palms in length, he cut their side, and, thrusting his hand through the gash, took out the entrails, cutting off a piece one palm long, which he threw into the fire. Afterwards he made three cuts in one of the arms, the second one at the place where people are usually bled, and twisted the arm, but reset it soon afterwards. Then he placed his hands on the wounds, and they told us that they closed at once. Many times he appeared among them while they were dancing, sometimes in the dress of a woman and again as a man, and whenever he took a notion to do it he would seize the hut or lodge, take it up into the air and come down with it again with a great crash. They also told us how, many a time, they set food before him, but he never would partake of it, and when they asked him where he came from and where he had his home, he pointed to a rent in the earth and said his house was down below.

We laughed very much at these stories, making fun of them, and then, seeing our incredulity they brought to us many of those whom, they said, he had taken, and we saw the scars of his slashes in the places and as they told."

--"The Journey of Alvar Nunez Cabeza De Vaca, and his companions from Florida to the Pacific, 1528-1536 (1905)"

"I ran into one thing down there that I've always regretted. It lay in the back of a sandhill--not the back, but in the front side of a sandhill--there was a black object. I couldn't tell what it was. I drove up to it. And it was the stern of one of the old Spanish ships. You know, it had those steps 'way up? When I first found it I didn't have a camera. I've always regretted that. Didn't have a camera. I drove up to it, and I looked at it....I didn't look in it, I've forgotten why. I went down there afterwards and never did find it. A storm hit. I still know where it was, because I was working on a tract right back of the Island where they had drawn the shoreline contours. I went down there to pick a fellow up. There was a surveyor down there I'd been working with. I had gone back to the beach for something, and I came back down and he'd worked down this way about a mile. I drove across the Island. That's when I saw it, but he was hollering at me. I went over and picked him up. Well, he had split me with Standard Oil Company, and I didn't want the same thing with him. Thought I'd keep it to myself and come back, you see, so I drove on out. And then the storm hit.

--Oral interviews with Louis Rawalt, 1978

"How's that job going? You still got it? Well good! Well, hang on to it TIGHT I tell ya! TIGHT! Don't ever let a good job go, no sirree!

--conversation with Ralph Wade, surf fishing legend, one of many times to tell me this. Rest in Peace Ralph.



Crapcanned, tossed out, laid off, put "on the beach," fired, terminated, shut down, shown the door, "reduction in force,"...whatever you wanna call it, I found out last week that there just wasn't gonna be work on Friday. In fact, that's a wrap Jack. Seven years just like that. Your separation papers will be in the mail.

Seems like Mr. "Bad Thing," will find a man whether he was out looking for him or not. And not a darn one of us gets out of this life without bruises and bangs and bumps and skull-crushing, mind-numbing setbacks. Getting hit in just the right spot can stop a man in his tracks and the only sensation is that ringing in the ears, that eternal lasting numb ringing....but then again, so can some news.

Years ago, a friend of ours, we'll call him Mr. P, went through the same thing. And my mind remembers it like it was yesterday, he told us, "I've always wanted to do this, to go to PINS and stay a week, so I'm gonna do that...gonna do that now...."

So after a few days collecting myself, the wife ran me out the house. More or less told me to go...go find yourself, and you know where to do that...


With no plans other than to exist...the beach suited the way I felt. Adrift and on land but still floating somehow...


And with the sun low and the tide hitting the railroad vine, I sank old girl. And maybe it was on purpose, I just don't know.


But this three foot deep area was what the beach looked like, which meant it was time to stop for the night.


But I hooked up the winch using about 200 feet of line and winched old gal on out and continued.


Knowing where I wanted to be for the night...


One of my truly enjoyable areas.


Truly and honestly full of questions and numbness, I went and sat on the dune.


And once it was good and dark, I got on down off my mountain and set up camp and went and sat down by the water to fish for blacktips, hoping the coyotes would find me.


And I'd catch a hardhead and live bait fish him on a cast out over the bar. And several hours later, they did, and a coyote came right on up to my chair as I sat totally still in the pitch black, in the fog, in the mist and the damp night air. Because there's one thing I know, and that is on that night, I truly just didn't give a &*#$. And he startled a little after he realized I was alive, and then began his hopping and jumping, dipping and dodging dance down the beach to the north. And if you've ever been blessed enough to see them do the dip and dodge ghost crab hunting dance, then you know what I'm talking about.




And I knew why the Kronks always kept coyotes around their camps, and realized I was doing the same this night.


And I put it all away and went on to bed without eating, and grabbed my latest fiction book that I just hadn't had the wherewithal to finish. Some kinda nonsense about Italy and Michelangelo or something or other.


And the morning came, and nothing had changed.


Just alone on an empty beach, facing the day and facing whatever else lies buried within.


So I grabbed some boots and took a walk. Not remotely interested in fishing-just didn't give one good shake of a donkey's butt for it this day.






And I sat on the dune and watched Monday morning coming down in the land of the Kronks and of Zachary Taylor.


And in the distance I watched ducks paddle their way to the end of one slough, only to pick up and fly off. And then crash land, ker-splashing their way into the next deep ephemeral pond, and thought about things.


And the false wild indigo showed that it was indeed winter time on Padre, and life goes on.


And in the distance, Station Meteor and the Navy sailors' observation tower bid me good morning.


And I think I realized, it was time to go. And time to go find some meaning in this day. So I did.


And took a ride down see the old "Lillian" shipwreck again.


Discovered in 94, not a whole lot remains of what the powers that be have declared a fragment of a wreck that is possibly elsewhere. Studying the scantlings (dimensions) of this wreck they tell us that this portion was likely a ceiling portion of a vessel's interior built in the latter half of the 19th century. Using the ABS "Rules for Contstruction," the width of the planks and the spacing of the iron spikes put this ship at likely between 140-180 feet long.


This portion alone is about 98 feet long.


Reports aren't definitive, but according to the shipbuilding norms of the time, this would likely be southern yellow pine according to those smarter than I.




Frame fasteners all had to follow the 1879 Rules for the Classification of Wooden Vessels, if this was indeed constructed in the late 1800s.




Either way, this is all much older than you or I.









Using spikes to hold it all together.


And 22 ft of it buried under a dune.


But the sandy distances called me, and I suppose I knew the real reason I had paid this spot a visit.


One of my favorite spots to sit.


And on the way there...


Mangrove buckeye!


Hello, old friend.


And up I went.






And I looked back, and watched the Gulf from my vantage point.


Such thick grains...


And I sat on down, and I guess I realized why I was there. The Creator and I were gonna have some time, and I wasn't coming off that dune until I got right again...


And I sat there and did what I needed to do. Took the time.


And believe me, I was there a while.


But you couldn't ask for a better place to get right.


And I thought about things-you know...not a darn one of my generation was drafted like Daddy. And he told me once-he sure would have liked to do things with his life other than Vietnam and how that took his dreams of college away forever and after that he had us to raise. And a man can either take his licks and get over it and move on and grow like this railroad vine, or stay stuck in the past.


So I got on back up and headed back down off my mountain to go find some fish.


And the sun peeked out at me.


But I got distracted again, and went to go pay a visit to Sonny Kilgore's cabin.




And sit with the Golden Monarchs I found still hanging around.




And the Camphor Weed was so thick and in bloom. I always wondered why not a more attractive name, it's such a colorful annual...


And I came across some of that old Spanish wax, this one broken off it's main piece, which is shaped like a disc and rare to find.


So quiet and serene.



Storm washed in Golden Cockle shell, unbroken.




And I sat on a new hill like a Hawk, and just watched.


Watched Southwest fly to Harlingen from Hobby.




See Sonny's cabin yet?


There it is.



And on the way there, I passed through such a beautiful area of butterflies. Hard to tell, but this one appeared to be maybe a orange Sulphur...


Feeding on still blooming Padre Island Mistflower!


And some more Mangrove Buckeye!






And there I was.


It's all collapsed now of course, but what a spot to build a cabin. And all I know about this structure is what Ralph told me.


Sonny Kilgore built a cabin in this spot to stay in years and years ago.


There's just not much left except timbers under the vegetation now.


And butterflies and me and memories and flowers...




So old.




Collapsed.




And the sun had peeked out momentarily, and the day seemed a little brighter.


And I found a new Padre treasure.


And a lone Crested Caracara. Where it's mate? It was totally alone...from what I could see...


And even though the beach remained a war zone, I had just enough drive to go and fish a little bit.


I suppose life's a never ending struggle anyways, and nothing is handed to anyone.


So I hit the beach. Got after it and found some mullet and got to fishing.


But the fishing was very slow, so I eventually made my way north and set up shark camp.


With just enough drive to shark.






And while rigging baits I think my live mullet cast outs caught this fellow about 5 times before I gave up fishing mullet for the time being.




And there it was.


And I went and dragged some wood for a fire.


See that float straight out?


And it felt good, felt real good. Just to do what I know how to do.


And again, I went and sat on the dune and watched.


And right at dark, a red glow formed over the depths, and the supermoon that I had been waiting for began to arrive. 67 years they say, since it had been so close to Earth.




And I just sat and watched it rise over the watery deep.






There she was.




And I got cold in that wetsuit so I fired that pile of beach debris off and got those flames going.


Nothing better.


And I hadn't eaten much lately, so I threw a lil something together.


And went and got warm.




And watched the moon rise and waited.






And the wind switched west and blew that smoke right into my tent cot all night.


But I survived and morning came soon enough, no sharks and no runs.


And the tide finally dropped and it was one gorgeous morning.






And all these pools filled with mullet.


And being that it was our anniversary, I figured...well...time to go to the house, and just come back tomorrow for straight table fish, no goofing off.


So I packed it on up, baits crabbed out a lil bit but untouched.


Went to the house, did the anniversary thing...and went fishing in the morning.


And the pomps were there...






Filled a 100 quart cooler that day.


And that was a wrap, as the weather turned for the worst the very next day. But I got to fish with some friends of mine for the pomps, and I think we ended up with around 45 pomps between us. And not a single...single solitary....hardhead all day. Unreal. As far as the Indian quotes? I suppose the moral of the story is that not a single one of us has got it worse than anyone else ever has on this Earth. De Vaca was made a slave by the Kronks over on Galveston Island (Isla de Malhado) for 6 years before he escaped and walked his way back to civilization in Mexico, kept safe by his act of being a "holy miracle man," as he went. And Ralph was right-if you have a good job, hang onto it tight. But even Louis was laid off from Standard Oil in his time, and to keep his job had to turn around and walk away from a Spanish shipwreck behind the dunes...and never could find it again...And Lord knows my daddy was out of work enough times over all the years gone by, and he always kept his head high. Sure did. And he always did the right thing. Maybe those times happened just so I would know how a man is supposed to carry himself and move forward. Never know. I suppose my head still isn't totally right, but it never was anyway, right?

Everyone have a great Thanksgiving, looks like I'll be enjoying it too this year right here at home.

Tight lines everyone.

--Colin
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Protect Padre at all costs for future generations to use and enjoy and never forget our freedoms aren't free.

www.padreislandexpeditions.com

[Eric ATX]

Love these reports man! Stellar job out there

[shallowsport]

Always enjoy your pictorial excursions. That was a "Super Moon" and appears a "Super Trip".
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"I do hunt and I do fish and I do not apologize to anyone that I hunt and fish." - Norman Schwarzkopf

[Mel]

Thanks for all the pics. I'm usually down there this time of year and I'm missing it.

[manuel9622]

Sorry to hear about the job. I to am in limbo if my department is sticking around and if I'll have a job in the new year. I have worked for a major cable company for the last 18 years and the company was bought out mid year. I tell my wife I will be going fishing for a week if something happens. My Dad and I sold the landcut cabin permit this past August and I have been regretting it so much. That's where I was going to go spend the 7 days to set my mind straight. Guess I'll go down and pitch a tent somewhere in the landcut. For now I have a job. Good luck on finding another job and I'm sure you will.
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Shallow Sportn' it

[Monkeychow33]

Thanks for sharing, great post as usual. I love all those pictures you included, they make me feel like I was on the trip as well.

[HungerBuster]

Praying for you brother. Glad you had that wench!
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Fish ON!

[BIG LONG]

Towboat trash, I really enjoy your reports and read over them a few times a week. Pure AWESOME!!!!! Please keep them coming!
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If you dont believe in god, you havent been to Texas.

[Jetty Rat]

I agree with all of the things that all of the gentlemen above have said, great report, i enjoy reading them