Beach Blog #6

The Beaches along 30A, South Walton, FL

     Wasn't it Will Rogers who never met a man he didn't like?
     I can't say Teresa and I are that accommodating, but we're not a pair to avoid conversation, especially when we hear or see something we don't normally find everyday.
     So down here along the beaches of South Walton, Florida or SoWal as the bumper stickers read, we're striking up more than a few unexpected but enlightening meetings.
     I remember as a kid going to Florida with my family. One of the things we enjoyed most was fishing from the beach, surf-casting. We'd bait a line with shrimp or crawfish and throw it as far into the surf as possible. Most of the time, we'd reel in our heavily weighted line not only fish-less, but also bait-less. Still, we didn't care. Who knew it, but at the time we were actually relaxing.

Claude from Philly

     I haven't walked along the beach or surf-casted in 40-years and I'm pretty sure T's never walked along the gulf coast. So when we spotted this guy ankle deep in the sea-foam hurtling his line toward the breaking waves gently folding from their tops, how could we not.
     "Hi, doin any good," we asked.
     "Nope, nothing," the man with an out of town type accent replied.
     "Whatcha usin?"
     "A pompano rig with a couple shrimp."
     I got the shrimp part, but had no idea what a Pompano rig meant. Still, we kept talking all the while our new angler friend never took his eyes off the water.
     "Where ya from?"
    "Pennsylvania."
     "Eagles fan?"
     "Yep," he answered like he just knew that's where I was going next.
     "Great game."
     "Better finish."
     The short questions with even shorter answers continued. But never ones to give up, "Have you been here before," Teresa asked. "No, first time." "How long you staying," I tried.
     "A month."
     "Hey! Us too!" I went on to explain that we just got here and were still exploring. All the while I'm thinking, surely this guy's going to offer up at least more than a single sentence. About that time, he made his first statement without a question to prompt him.
     "She saw an ad in Southern Living," he said never taking his eyes off his line but quickly nodding to a woman, presumably his wife.
     That's about all we got except his name is Claude and he lives about 15 miles outside of Philadelphia. Later, we saw him riding a bike with She. Am guessing he didn't catch supper.

AnnaBelle from Argentia

     Then there's AnnaBelle, a regular chatterbox compared to Claude, the quiet surf-caster.
     We met AnnaBelle at a fun place. She probably talked more because she was our waiter.
     She spoke in a very thick Spanish accent with a lot of rolling Rs. She knew her wines and her menu and since we were the only customers, she was trapped by two talkers from west Texas.
     "Where are you from," I asked.
     "Argentina. I came here a few years ago with a friend and never left."
"Have you ever been back," Teresa asked much more politely than my when, what and where inquiries. "Oh yes, I just got back," AnnaBelle answered.
     The long and short of it is, AnnaBelle's been back home but it's a long flight(s). She catches a plane in Fort Walton, transfers in Atlanta, lands in Miami and then takes the 10-hour air trek to South America.
     We met her husband too. He works at the pizza place around the corner. They were getting up early this morning to drive five hours to see the manatees. Got to admit, they're the first people I've ever met getting up early to see the manatees.
     I wonder who will meet today. I might stick to the waiters. They don't seem to mind my interruptions.
Bill Robertson, sore from a very long bike ride yesterday.