The book

GOLDEN
IVORY
WRITTEN BY
JEFFREY CHENEY
ALL PHOTOGRAPHY BY AUTHOR
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION............................................
1
INTRODUCTION..........................................
2
A PLEASANT REMINDER...................................4
THE HONEYMOON........................................13
LIGHTS, CAMERA, REACTION.............................28
LETTING OFF STEAM....................................37
SECLUSION............................................5
3
RECEIVING EXPOSURE...................................76
FULL MOON TONIGHT....................................94
POISON STRIPES......................................101
MISTAKEN IDENTITY...................................114
LET'S PARTY!........................................139
MY LUCKY DAY........................................148
GOLD................................................17
4
VOICES OF THE NIGHT.................................199
ROAD BLOCK..........................................214
NO CROSSING ZONE....................................231
IVORY...............................................24
3
DYING THIRST........................................263
THE FINALE..........................................276
TABLE OF CONTENTS
(CONTINUED)
THE MEDICINE MAN...................................280
THE UNWANTED VISITOR...............................296
VISITING HOURS.....................................306
BACK HOME..........................................323
THE PRESENT........................................340
WELL HIDDEN (POETIC EPILOGUE)......................349
SPECIAL THANKS.....................................351
This book is solely dedicated to my darling wife. The
countless hours of devotion, to complete this novel, were
taken directly from my family. In fact, during a good portion
of the time spent with them, my mind was immersed in a
2
ficticious
world.
Through
her
understanding
and
encouragement, my first novel was a personal success.
INTRODUCTION
What is a dream? Is it simply our mind working, while
in a relaxed state? Is there a reason behind these images
in our brain? How about when we're awake? Does our thought
process control what we see and don't see? Could it be said,
our view can be altered by the very desire to see something
else?
These questions require in depth explanations, along
with a substantial supply of opinion. However, one analysis
2
to this mystery is hard to dispute. It is commonly referred
to as perception. There are several factors that can
determine the manner an event is perceived. Different
emotions change the way we look at things. Exterior
conditions may effect how we grasp a situation.
Tony White is an average person in most respects. His
adventure consists of the basic human emotions. Some of
these include excitement, passion, sorrow, hate, love,
fear, and even greed. Throughout the story, many changes
take place that can control the perceptive abilities. At
some point, these influences become extremely diverse.
Enough to actually hinder the ability to differentiate
between fantasy and reality.
Without giving the story away, he has to make some
important decisions. His judgements will have to take into
account the many factors. In all cases, his perception will
play a key role.
The story itself is based on a fantasy of mine. Since
I was a teenager, I pondered on the possibilities of this.
I many times wondered what I would do, given the same
circumstances. The book is purely fictional but, at the same
time, very possible. Due to this feasibility, such things
as geography, chronology, nature, and associated procedures
were kept accurate.
2
Have you ever returned to a location and noticed
something you missed the first time? Why is that? What was
the cause for the lack of attention? Too busy? Not important?
If we don't apprehend these everyday things, just imagine
what could be out there, where man rarely or never travels!
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER ONE
A PLEASANT
REMINDER
3
DATE: MARCH 19, 2007
PLACE: MARION, OHIO
I love the sound of two champagne glasses as they cling
together. The crisp ring seems to seal the pledge that has
just been made. I carefully fill the glasses with a generous
portion of the sparkling wine. We use the glasses only once
a year. They were a present to my darling wife on our wedding
night. They are made of fine crystal with a gold plated rim.
The words "TOGETHER FOREVER" , also in gold, are printed
5
along the front.
Linda brings the glass to her nose, probably to feel
the moist tickle of the sparkling bubbles more than to test
it. I lift my glass as well and feel the bubbles wet my
mustache. As often as we drink champagne, neither Linda, nor
I, would know the good stuff from the bad stuff.
My eyes meet with her innocent blue eyes. She softly
clears her throat, " To Mr. and Mrs. Tony White, together
for twenty-five years!" She hoists her glass slightly. We
bring our glasses together to finish the toast. I take a
healthy swallow, while she takes a more conservative
approach. Two glasses is definitely her limit.
" And here's to twenty-five more! May they be as
wonderful and rewarding as the first.", I reply.
Once more the ring of the crystal sounds, followed by
a generous gulp. A couple more toasts followed much like the
first. With one bottle gone and the other an inch from the
bottom, I stand up to stretch. As I extend my arms, I look
at something in a way that I've never before. Linda is
forty-seven years old. I've always noticed how lovely she
is, but for forty-seven she is an absolute knockout. It's
something that I kind of been taking for granted. I am a very
lucky man.
Linda looks up at me with those soft blue eyes. She
6
turns her head just a bit and her long blonde hair follows.
I've yet to see even a sliver of gray. She smiles, and almost
as if embarrassed says, "Honey I've got a buzz."
I smile in acknowledgement and reply, " Do you want
anything, while I'm up?"
" No, I think I'll slow down a bit.", she answers with
her words already starting to slur.
I notice the reduction of light within the room. I
glance towards the window, to view that the sun is setting.
I think of the romantic possibilities of lighting candles,
but finding both candles and a match would be a small miracle
in itself.
" Livingroom lights on, please.", I say in a sturdy
voice. The overhead lights illuminate to a sufficient
brightness.
" Time, please.", again in the same directive manner.
A couple of seconds go by in silence. A mono-toned voice from
a hidden speaker states, " Seven fourteen PM, sir."
This voice-activated household controls system is
nice, but sometimes it makes me feel a little on the passive.
I had the system installed six months ago, and it's still
hard for me to get used to.
" Is it time, hon?" Linda wanted to wait till the
evening to open the gifts. I'm not sure why, but she has been
7
really excited about her gift to me.
" Yes, I guess it's close enough.", she approves in that
child-like innocence of hers.
" Good, You can open this first.", I respond. I walk
slowly to the counter and pick up the large box. It's been
setting there for two days tormenting her. It's wrapped in
light pink paper with deep red ribbon to set it off. As the
box sets on her lap, she seems to wonder off for a second.
My guess is that she is contemplating whether to shake it
and guess or just rip and shred.
She decides to just open
the large present. She realizes that she has never been
correct on a guess to this day, so why be wrong again. She
tears the paper and ribbon from the box, as if it was never
there. Behold, a blank box. I never wrap my gifts in the same
container they come in. This way, there's still some
excitement left. She gets a little frustrated with the tape,
but seems to win the fight. Linda pulls out the gift and her
eyes pop open.
" Oh honey, You shouldn't have spent so much.Thank
you.", she relates happily.
She looked over the portable laser cassette player,
pushing the buttons and reading the labels. I never thought
that compact discs would go, as fast as they did. She acts,
8
as if she likes her gift, but I know she was hoping for
something a little more personal.I look at her gentle smile
and honest eyes, and realize I must let her off the hook.
" Honey, push the eject button and put this cassette
in it.", I say handing her a laser cassette of an old " Black
Crows" recording. Anything is better than that new "space
metal" music or whatever they call it. She pushes the eject
button and glances towards the cassette in my hands. As she
grasps it and retrieves her sights back to the portable
player, her eyes open at least twice as far as the first time.
A shiny diamond ring, gleaming it's endless rays of color,
appears. I always told her that someday I would get her a
larger diamond.
Linda holds the one karat diamond with her thumb and
middle finger, bringing it up to the light.
" Brighter lights.", she says in an anxious voice.
Nothing happens. She looks a little confused.
" Brighten livingroom lights fully, please.", I say.
The lights come to full intensity in a few short seconds.
The word "please" must be used to activate the system. It's
sort of a password, to eliminate activation during normal
conversation. Linda glares at the endless beauty of the
precious stone.
" Oh, Tony, I love you.", she begins to cry, as reaches
9
for my embrace.
" I love you, too.", I whisper softly into her ear.
" Tony, I thought the twenty-fifth is supposed to be
silver, not diamond.", she says, as we clasp together.
" Well, maybe I should take it back."
" Oh no, no, the band is silver. That's close enough
for me."
" Well, in that case, I guess we're all set."
After a short kiss, Linda walks to a drawer and pulls
out a small box wrapped in blue paper. She tip toes ever so
slowly back, trying to pay me back for the teasing, in which
I gave her earlier. Finally, she hands me the package. I move
towards the loveseat and sit down. The box is no bigger than
my fist. The paper was taped on quite well, so I actually
had to grit my teeth a little to remove the wrap. Linda
giggles slightly, as if her joke was a secret. I open the
box.
" Linda, you did get me that watch.",
" Well, that's what you wanted, wasn't it?"
" Yea, but you had me fooled. I love you, hon", I reply,
while another gentle kiss is administered.
" I have a second gift as well.", Linda states in a very
upbeat tone. She, sort of, surprised me with that one.
" You have to wait out here.", she warns, " No fair
10
peaking."
" I won't, I'll take care of the wrapping paper.", I
promise.
She strolls into the bedroom and shuts the door. A bit
confused, I pick the paper and ribbons up off the floor.
Since the ribbon is made of paper too, I place it all into
the waste receptacle, turn the process selection switch to
"recycle", the material switch to "paper", and the power
switch to "on". The recycling process will take about a half
hour. It's too bad they didn't have these machines years ago.
If they did, we wouldn't have the garbage problem that we
have today.
I step over to the window and view the darkened skies.
The thousands of lights brighten the horizon. It's hard to
believe how much Marion has grown. After the geothermal
power plant went up, business started booming. Buildings
were being erected around the clock. And now here we are,
over one million people strong.
As I stare at nothing outside the window, I hear the
bedroom door open. It stirs me out of the trance, which I
was in. For a moment, I wondered how much time had passed.
" OH Tony?", Linda says in a very seductive voice.
I turn around and see a vision that was completely
forgotten. There she stands before me, wearing the same
11
lingerie that she wore on our honeymoon. This is the only
other time, I have seen her wearing it. The memories are
coming back, as if the whole thing happened yesterday.
" Well, what do you think? Do you like it? I've been
working out for a long time, so I could fit into this."
I can't seem to bring myself to respond. The memories
won't clear from my head. It's hard to believe that this was
twenty-five years ago. Hard to believe......
12
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER TWO
THE
HONEYMOON
13
DATE: MARCH 20, 1982
The recollections of that day seem so vivid. It was one
day short of exactly twenty-five years ago. The date was
March 20, 1982. And what a year it was!
I remember driving my brand new wife in our 1978 Pontiac
Bonneville. We were heading for Daytona Beach. We left that
morning with hangovers that wouldn't stop.
That was back when I was living in Danburg, Georgia.
I had a job at the Clark Hill Hydroelectric Plant on the
Savannah river. I worked as a mechanic. I was going to
college and working full time. My lifelong ambition was to
become a wildlife photojournalist. However, going to
college and supporting the wife didn't pay the rent.
Besides,
a
mechanic
made
more
money
your
average
photographer, or so I thought. Needless to say, I gave up
college to become a family man.
Anyway, we had a small church wedding. Linda looked
beautiful in her gown. Her silky blonde long hair showed
14
through the somewhat transparent veil upon her head. She was
about five foot six and maybe one hundred ten or fifteen.
Her measurements? Well, she was so well put together that
I don't think I'd tell my best friend, who by the way, was
the best man.
Mike Brell was his name. I met him back in my navy days.
We were both mechanics on the USS Grayling, a fast attack
submarine based in Charleston, South Carolina. This was, by
the way, where I met Linda.
Mike and I looked like a couple of smooth dudes in our
charcoal tuxedos. I was a bit taller, at six foot even, where
Mike leveled up with Linda give or take a half inch. But Mike,
like me, was built well, a hard worker, and most importantly
a great all around guy.
The wedding went quite well. The only real glitch came,
when I sort of tripped over the first step on the alter. I
always scuffled my feet, when walking. A crack in the
sidewalk was sometimes enough to send me flat on my face.
Anyway, we all made it through the ceremony without any
notable bruises. Now the reception, that was a whole
different story.
The reception started at 8:00 PM that night. We weren't
big drinkers however, if you based it on this particular
night, we'd be sent to the next available AA meeting. Since
15
I was originally from Chicago, and Linda from South
Carolina, a lot of our schooltime friends couldn't make it.
Nonetheless, there was a good fifty or sixty people and
enough booze for fifty or sixty more.
Linda wasn't into consuming hard liquor, so she stuck
to the Michelob that was on tap. Me? Well, it might be easier
to list the things, I didn't swallow that night. Mike matched
me drink for drink. We tried them all, Rum and Cokes, Vodka
Tonics, Screwdrivers, Whiskey Sours. Mike's brother had a
great stereo system and an excellent record collection. (
yes, that was before compact discs and laser cassettes ) He
played all our favorites from high school. Let's see he
played AC/DC, Kiss, Foreigner, Styx, Journey, Boston. We had
a grand time. And, for those of you who remember the
seventies disco movement, I'll make it clear. NO! There was
no music played by the Bee Gees.
I remember getting home that night, only god knows how.
Linda was still a virgin, and me? Well, I spent four years
in the navy. I will add though, on my behalf, I can count
the times on one hand. Anyway, this was supposed to be our
big night. We had been waiting for over two years for this
and.......
I woke up on the couch, at least half of me was on the
couch, that is. Linda made it to the bedroom, but for some
16
unexplainable reason, she had put the pillows from the bed
onto the floor and slept atop them. It was eight o'clock in
the morning. We had to get on the road. My head felt fuzzy.
When I closed my eyes, my mind would start to float in a very
uncomfortable manner. The taste in my mouth was hard to
describe.
While I sat upon the couch, Linda stumbled her
way by. Now she may be the most beautiful woman in the history
of the world, but at this given instant, she looked as bad
as I felt.
Still, we made it on the road in about an hours time.
About nine hours later, we were pulling into the parking lot
of the Marriot hotel in Daytona. Lunch turned us back into
regular human beings. And by this time, we felt excited and,
well to be honest, very nervous. The hotel was everything
we had hoped. It had an indoor pool, a poetic view of the
majestic Atlantic, and a short walkway to the beach.
Our plan had been to arrive a couple weeks prior to the
crowds
of
springbreak,
but
we
could
see
that
our
calculations may have been a little wrong. That was the last
thing on our minds, anyhow. First, we had to get by this
"consummation" thing.
We ate dinner in the hotel and went back to our charming
suite. The sun was setting to the west, and although there
was only limited light available, the beach was still quite
17
populated. We realized that our peaceful little stroll,
which we planned, should be put on hold. I think we were
looking for excuses, more than anything. Because, we knew
what came after our romantic walk.
As I viewed the endless sands, my eyes veered toward
Linda. However, she wasn't there. A few sounds came from the
bathroom, alerting me to her presence. As my mind perceived
the strength that the ocean possessed, a reminder of my
purpose occurred. The door to the bathroom swung open, my
head turned by instinct, and my heart skipped a beat. The
portrait before me made the ocean seem as insignificant as
a stagnant pond. I didn't know where she it got, and it didn't
matter anyway.
She had a white laced top with a deep v-cut running down
her sexy navel. A light blue ribbon tied the two translucent
cups together between her large breasts. With the dim light
and distance between us, I could barely detect her nipples,
as they attempted to pierce through.
She had on a matching G-string. Lace top sheer nylon
stockings were wrapped halfway up her slender thighs. To top
off this luscious apparel, her arms were covered with
matching lace sleeves.
I stood there in astonishment. This was the most lovely
sight my eyes had ever beheld. Her eyes had a certain fire
18
in them, although I could identify that she was scared. She
wasn't the only one.
My heart was thumping like never before. It was, as if
I had just seen the Boogie Man. Here I was, the man, the
charge taker. Something had come over me at that point.
Realizing how difficult it must have been for her to go
through with this, I had to ignore my fears as well. The
thought of being like this had never occurred to me. I had
wanted this day to arrive for so long. The possibility of
being nervous never entered the picture. That is, until this
moment.
I loved this woman more than could be described. It was
time to put an end to these cowardly feelings. Standing
before me was a gorgeous queen full of love and innocence,
waiting to share what she had to offer. Who was I to deny
such a generous request?
Neither one of us said a word. I was already in my
shorts, so I proceeded towards her delightful gift. I
wrapped my arms around her, placing my hands in between her
shoulder blades. My fingers slowly descended, massaging as
they moved. Finally, her muscular cheeks were being softly
grasped by my grip. Our lips met with a slight sensual touch
of the tongues. My eyes directed her to the king size bed.
I unbuckled the two belts that held her stockings to
19
the negligee. My hands started to unroll the stockings from
her scrumptious legs, but then they halted. Deciding to
leave them on, I rolled them neatly back up. The light blue
ribbon was the next step on my list of things to do.
Carefully, the ribbon was untied. I looked up to Linda, to
get one final acceptance. Her eyes said "yes". Her smile
urged me on. She, then, closed her eyes in anticipation of
the forthcoming pleasures.
There was no longer any nervous tension.
seemed to come natural.
Everything
Our emotions combined, as our
bodies experienced the passion.
Although the event was
short, it was absolutely the greatest sensation I had ever
encountered.
After holding eachother for about twenty minutes, we
laid on our backs and talked for two full hours. We talked
about anything and everything. It was like a magnificent
burden had been lifted from our shoulders. It felt great.
About midnight, we turned over and attempted to fall
into a deep slumber. I can't speak for Linda, but my eyes
would not rest. Maybe a ten minute dose, but that was the
best I could do. There was too much adrenalin in my veins.
Judging from the tossing and turning on the other side of
the bed, Linda was in an identical dilemma.But still, it was
four o'clock in the morning, before either of us said a word.
20
"Honey, are sleeping?", I asked in a quiet voice. It
was relatively obvious that she was not.
" No, I haven't slept a wink, you?", she asked, yawning
halfway through her sentence.
" Nope, how about we go for that walk on the beach?",
I suggested.
" OK, what should I wear?"
" Anything, it's
probably pretty warm outside."
She put on her turquoise bikini. Immediately, my mind
had second thoughts. I, then, looked out the window and saw
the moonlit beach. It was just enough to curve my appetite,
at least for the time being. As I put some shorts on, I
stated, " Hey, better grab a tee-shirt. The ocean breeze may
be a bit nippy."
Soon, we were walking hand in hand along the deserted
beach. The air was warm with a gentle breeze. The moon was
almost full, granting us a guiding light. We walked for a
mile or so, letting the water creep up to our feet. The soft
waves were surprisingly warm. Except for an infrequent sea
gull and the sound of the mild winds, it was silent.
We came along a couple of sailboats on the beach. They
had been tipped over, as if someway to store them through
the night. They appeared to both be about twenty foot long.
I had the strangest feeling that Linda was thinking
21
along the same lines as I. My frame twisted around, to see
what she was doing. It became significantly obvious, what
was on her mischievous little mind. She had knelt down, to
look underneath the large boats. Then, she stood up. While
biting the end of an index finger, she inspected both sides
of
the
distant
sands.
After
realizing
that
we
were
completely alone, Linda presented me with a seductive stare.
She was smiling. The eagerness was building up inside. What
had I created? Linda was always ultra-conservative. She was
about to go out on a limb. And, she was taking me with her.
(Not that I wasn't going to enjoy the ride)
Her tee-shirt was already withdrawn. She reached back
behind herself with both hands and unclipped her bikini top.
Exposing, once again, her lovely curves. With the bright
moonlight, I could see that the cool air had delivered tiny
goose bumps to her slender body. The bikini top was tossed
in between the two boats. The tops of the sailboats were
almost touching, creating a tent-like structure. As quickly
as the top, off came the bottoms. They were flung to the same
destination.
Linda slowly strutted her moonlit frame towards me. She
grabbed me by my strong forearm and led me to our little
hideaway. Stopping just prior to our arrival, she dislodged
my shorts, this time throwing them ten feet or so outside
22
of the boats. We made our way to our nest. The possibility
of getting caught was extremely arousing. I felt my skin and
felt the familiar bumps upon it. As we entered the area, I
scanned the horizon one last time, to ensure we were not
being spied upon. Perhaps, the most surprising fact was that
Linda didn't even bother to check again. She was really
enjoying this risky adventure.
As we sat facing one another, she placed her hands
slightly below my well defined chest. ( I was no Mr universe,
but I lifted weights regularly and had substantially above
average muscle tone ) She moved each finger apart from the
other. With her palms flat, slowly her hands moved through
my abundant black chest hairs. She loved the hair on my
chest.
As they arrived to my neck and shoulders, she stopped.
Lifting
just
her
palms,
she
lightly
dug
those
long
fingernails into my tough skin. Downward her nails went,
working their way to the upper portion of my pelvic hair.
The tiny ripples about my skin were, now, much more
pronounced. She, once again, placed her palms flat against
me.
She began to work upwards, again. Linda stopped her
roaming fingers at my chest. She started putting more
pressure against me. I realized that she wanted me to lie
upon my back.
23
This time, she took control.
up" energy.
time.
She too felt the "bottled
We had restrained ourselves for a very long
However, the reward was well worth the wait.
I,
now,
acquired
the
conclusion
that
sexual
compatibility would not play a negative role in our
relationship. My eyes were closed. My mind was completely
relaxed. My body was floating on the cool ocean breeze. I
had totally forgotten about the risk involved. Only the
passions and pleasures would I let penetrate my brain. It
was safe to say that I was fully at ease.
A loud thud echoed between the boats. Linda jerked up.
Before I could even blink, she was wearing the tee-shirt.
Something had hit the outside of the boat, or more probable,
someone. My heart was beating like a rabbit. I quickly found
myself short of breathe. Linda was cuddled up under the boat,
hiding from the intruder. Then, it struck me. Actually, it
was more like a major blow to the forehead. My shorts were
outside.
I
couldn't
believe
it,
on
my
honeymoon,
nonetheless.
Some more noise came from the darkness. These were more
like rubbing, or maybe even, scratching. I was a nervous
wreck. What kind of trouble were we about to encounter? I
quietly cleared my throat and whispered in a troubled tone,
" Linda, hey, my shorts are out there."
24
My expression suggested that she should be the one to check
it out, since she was clothed.
" Are you nuts! You don't expect me to go out there.",
she whispered in a more directive manner.
Of course, I knew, she was right. I was the man. I held
my hand out in a way to signal that I would investigate the
premises. As I started to make my way to a kneeling position,
the sounds haunted us, once again. What in the heck was that
noise?
My plan was to move swiftly towards my shorts, while
identifying the culprit. With my back stooped to prevent
smacking my head, I dashed towards the exterior. The sudden
exertion of energy made me a bit light-headed. It also caused
a slight miscalculation in my footing. Or more likely, I just
scuffled my steps, like usual. Whatever the reason, my right
foot caught the corner of the boat. It seemed as though a
whole minute passed by, while I was in the air, but it was
only a short instant. My mouth was wide open, when I landed.
Face first, of course.
The sandy grit between my gums was very unpleasant. I
spat, what I could, out. Now that, whomever was there, could
see this man lying face down in the sand with his rear poking
up, the most embarrassing part was over. I lifted my head
from the grainy earth.I sat up. There was nobody within
25
sight. As far as my eyes could see, there was nobody. I took
the back of my wrist, and dragged it across my teeth to remove
more sand. As my eyes veered toward the stars, I jerked back.
On top of the sailboat, just standing there, was a pelican,
a Brown Pelican to be exact. He was simply minding his own
business. In fact, he had no idea that I was there.
Linda crawled out, to sort of check up on me. She saw
the big bird. She noticed the sand all over my physique. Her
eyes turned back to our new friend. She, then, let out a
little laugh. She voiced another giggle, and another. Her
laughs were, no longer, subtle. Mr Pelican heard the
chuckles and flew off. What was he doing out this early,
anyhow? Looking over at Linda's joyful face, had informed
me of the comedy in the whole situation. I commenced into
some healthy laughter myself.
We went swimming to cool down and clean the sand off.
A short time after, we got dressed and sat near the tide.
There were more sea gulls, and the breeze was a bit stronger,
but all in all, it was still peaceful.
We sat and watched the sunrise over the horizon. We
observed it, as it placed an invincible red blanket over the
calm ocean. It was, almost as if, the sky was smothering the
sea's mighty waves.
26
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER THREE
LIGHTS..
CAMERA..
REACTION
27
DATE: MARCH 19, 2007
And now, I'm looking at the same vision twenty-five
years later. 1982 vs 2007. It's staggering how much the two
portraits compare. The similarities are astounding. I am a
very lucky man.
As she displays her wonderful physique, a noticeable
difference strikes my mind. Her facial expression tells a
different story. No, those innocent blue eyes haven't
changed, but behind them is a feeling of confidence and
certainty. She holds an undeniable power, as if she's
saying, "catch me if you can, take me if you dare." On our
honeymoon the statement was not the same. She was pure. Her
eyes presented great trust, yet at the same time, they asked
me not to take advantage of that trust.
28
Linda turns toward the window and slowly roams in that
direction. The side view, in which she displays, exposes
very little contrast to that of her early twenties. Her legs
are smooth and firm as always. I credit most of that, to the
way we both have approached this new age automated era. With
all the modern robotics and lack of space, we could have
easily gotten caught up in the race.
One of the few places to jog is the old Marion County
Fairgrounds. We both jog three to four times a week. It costs
nineteen dollars apiece, but with the prices these days,
that's not all that bad. Besides our health is worth twice
that amount. The only thing that bothers me is the fact that
they don't accept cash anymore. Everyone is transferring to
those new CC ( computerized currency ) cards. Anyhow, back
to the subject. Through all of Linda's exercise, she has
managed to keep pretty much the same figure. A few
uncontrollable wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, when she
smiles, is one of the few signs of aging. Mother nature has
to step in a little, I guess. In fact, she stepped in quite
a bit more on me. She has stripped me of half my hair and
left the other half with prominent streaks of gray. I could
use that fancy ointment that everyone's using, but I go for
the natural look. I still refuse to wear an ear ring, too.
That puts me in a minority right there.
29
By this time,Linda has reached the window. She leans
up against it, placing her hands on the clear polyvinyl
material. Twisting her upper body in my direction, she says
in a stimulating nature, " Well, big boy, you are going to
take me? Or, are you going to let me stand here and give the
neighbors a thrill?"
If I need any time to contemplate over this, then there
is definitely something missing upstairs. Wasting little
time, I clear my throat and in a sturdy voice say, " Windows
off, please."
All the windows, including the one Linda is leaning
against, turn a dark blue. No more, can I see the hundreds
of lights in the city of Marion. The system came out a few
of years back. Instead of using blinds, intense lines of
light penetrate the window. Deflectors disperse the light
throughout the surface plane, removing it's transparency.
I approach Linda with eagerness. Placing one arm across
the shoulder blades and the other halfway down her thighs,
I hoist her above my waist. As we proceed to the bedroom,
my eyes study the floor, practicing caution. To this day,
I still drag my feet.
A high pitched sound emits from across the dim room.
It's the sound of my computer alarm. Earlier that day, I had
programmed my computer to print out the score of the game,
30
as the buzzer sounds. The bulls were playing the first place
Cavs. A victory over the Cleveland Cavaliers would take the
Bulls out of last place in the division. Most everyone here
is a Cavalier fan, but being born and raised in Chicago, I
just can't seem to give up on the lowly Bulls. In most cases,
I would run straight to the printer, however, the thought
didn't even cross my mind. There is something much more
important in my sights. Yes, more important than sports.
Making it to the bedroom without tripping is success
in itself. As gentle as a floating Autumn leaf, Linda is
lowered to the soft bed. My hands, giving in to temptation,
follow the contour of her well-rounded buttocks. She is
absolutely gorgeous. For a moment, I gaze at her beauty. My
brain ponders the thought of leaving her untouched. Why ruin
this heavenly portrait? It, then, hits me. What better way
is there to remember such an occasion? This moment must be
captured on an action packed video!
" Honey, where's the Autocam at?", I say in a sort of
inquisitive manner. Linda looks mildly confused.
" In the closet Tony.", she replies hesitantly, "You're
not going to record this, are you?"
" Why not?", I answer.
" What if someone gets a hold of it?", Linda states in
a concerned mode.
31
" I'll code it.", I come back.
The answer relaxes her fears. I start towards the
closet to retrieve the video disc camera. While in the back
of the closet, I grab the tripod as well. The first step is
to set the tripod in front of the bed. Now, the mounting of
the camera is done. I load it with the small flat disc, in
which it requires. As my fingers punch out a neat little
code, to prevent unauthorized viewers, a buzzing alarm
sounds from the machine.
" Honey, the coder doesn't want to work. Have you had
any problems with it?", I ask.
" Not really, are you sure you're programming it
correctly?", she says, almost as if to toy with me.
" Yes, I'm sure that I programmed it correctly.", I
reply rather sternly.
" Maybe, you should read the directions.", she taunted.
Now, she is definitely playing around with me. Nonetheless,
I want a picture of this.
" Tony, why don't you use the old 35 mm? There may be
some film left in it. The fifteen minute photo lab on the
corner of Oak and Main still develops it.", she suggests.
I had forgotten all about that camera. But, right when
she mentioned it, I knew exactly where it was. On the shelf
in the very same closet is my old camera bag. I grab a
32
stepping stool ( to be more exact, a chair ) and reach for
the black case. The Nikon N2000 looks to be in good shape.
A couple of scratches from yesteryears, but still all in one
piece.
There is no film in the camera. I search the bag moving
a lens, flash, and other accessories to locate some film.
A small, yellow box appears. The little Kodak box is my last
hope.
I open it. The cylindrically shaped roll of film has
been used. The portion of film that sticks out of the
cartridge, when the product has not yet been exposed, was
not there. The anticipation, in which I was feeling just
moments ago, has dispersed. My fingers place the film, in
a less than cautious manner, onto the dresser top.
" I tried, honey. It's either uncoded video, or just
the images, we hold in our memory banks. What do ya say ?",
I convey.
Linda stares in some sort of trance. She didn't even
notice that I had spoken. It simply did not register. She
slowly lifts her right arm. Her fingers are shaking
slightly. She clenches her hand, leaving the index straight
as an arrow. She is pointing at the dresser.
" T-T-Tony ", she stutters, " Do you realize what that
is?"
33
" Yeh, a useless roll of film. What's the big deal?
Getting a picture isn't that important. I'll just turn the
Autocam on for a second and photo your lovely bod on disc,
and I'll shut it off.", I conduct.
" Look again.", Linda directs, confusing me all the
more.
I veer back to the spent cartridge of film and......
Oh my Lord! My jaw drops to it's full capacity. A sharp pierce
cuts through, just above my stomach. The pounding of my heart
can be felt from my hips on up. This isn't just any film.
It is ISO 400. I can only remember one time in my entire life,
which I used this particular speed. But, it can't be. I had
searched everywhere for this roll of film. I had looked for
months.
The significance of this has not even started to dwell
within me. But, the memories, oh the memories. Once again,
it was just like it was yesterday.
Linda is no longer gazing at the reminder before us.
She is staring at emptiness. Her eyes are not needed, at this
moment in time. For she, as well as I, is letting her mind
reminisce.
Why didn't I find the roll earlier? I, then, notice that
the film package is for ISO 64. Thinking that it was, merely,
a new roll of film, I must have never checked it. This is
34
completely unbelievable. Still, these thoughts were not
that substantial to me. I could not focus on the present.
The memories are flowing in like two rivers joining to one.
That was many years ago. I had not forgotten, but the
recollections haven't been this vivid, since it happened.
It all started on that same trip, on our honeymoon,
twenty-five years ago. And, what a trip that was...
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER FOUR
LETTING
35
OFF
STEAM
DATE: MARCH 21, 1982
PLACE: DAYTONA, FL
Our original plan was to have a sort of two part
honeymoon. We were going to spend about four days in Daytona
and, then, drive down to the Everglades for three days. I
36
had been going to college for about two years, and even
though I gave it up, wildlife photography was still my
favorite hobby. I had been taking courses in Zoology and
Forestry, as well as photography and writing classes.
During the past year or so, Linda and I have been on
numerous expeditions. Most of them located at national
refuges and parks. Linda was getting quite proficient at
spotting and identifying birds and other critters. The
Everglades of southern Florida were always a small dream of
mine. Many gators had been trapped by my loaded lens, but
there was something about the mystic of those wetlands.
As stated earlier, we had hoped that we would beat the
springbreak crowd. Well, I had never seen so many people in
one sandbox, in all of my life. There were bikinis as far
as the eye could see. It would be a good time to add that
not one set of legs held a candle to Linda.
We would walk down the beach during the afternoon, just
minding our own business, and some jerky college freshman
would make gestures not worth mentioning. So, it became
obvious that a change in schedule would be required. Since
we stayed up to watch the sunset the night before, we had
the perfect resolution.
We would sleep from morning to mid-afternoon. At that
time, we would shower and dine. After a short digestion
37
period, we would adjourn to the swimming pool. The cool dip
was followed by a moderate workout in the hotel's health
facility.
Somewhere between one and two AM, the beach population
took a severe nose dive. And by three o'clock, we were, once
again, on a deserted oceanfront. We would remain in the
tranquil breeze past sunrise and into part of the morning
sun. It was around ten, or so, when the youngsters would
start supplying the sands with new footprints. We would make
one pitstop at our favorite sailboat each night. Our
feathery friend didn't pop in for anymore surprise visits,
although he was perfectly welcome.
The enchantment of the moonlit night had a certain grip
on us. Each evening, we would be lured out by it's powerful
appeal. The stars would create a vast universe, for which
to store our thoughts. We would race to the boats with new
expectations, similar to children dashing to the end of the
rainbow to capture the pot of gold.
Needless to say, four days was not enough. We decided
to stay one additional day to recover and return to a normal
schedule. It was inconceivable to go to the Everglades. We
both had to be back to work in three days. The next best place
within travelling distance was the Okefenokee National
Refuge. I had been there once before. It offered some good
38
alligator and wading bird challenges. The plan was to leave
the next morning, after a full nights rest, and arrive at
the Laura S. Walker State Park to sleep. I should have known,
by this time, not to plan things.
Linda was using the mirror on the back of the sun visor
to put on lipstick. I was going through a final checklist,
to ensure nothing would be left behind. It was a shame that
the majestic sunset and ocean breeze couldn't be on that
list. We were as ready, as we were going to get.
The two door Bonneville ( burgundy in color ) was on
the road. In no time at all, we were heading north in the
direction of Jacksonville. There wasn't a whole lot to do,
except listen to the radio and comment on the poor animals
that weren't fortunate enough to " get to the other side ".
I was somewhat surprised by the amount of armadillo. The
natural ability of this bony mammal to cross highways was
common knowledge, but this was a tad bit ludicrous. One of
there critters stuck in my mind above the others. At first,
I thought to be mistaken. But, up ahead, was an armadillo
lying on his back with all four legs reaching for the sky.
Someone had placed a beer bottle between his frozen legs.
Linda found considerably less humor in this antic. Thinking
back, it was a sort of demented idea.
We were thirty miles short of Jacksonville, when
39
"Billboards"
countdown
was
approaching
the
nation's
number one song. Linda and I had a ten dollar bet on the top
tune. Ten bucks would get you a good half tank of gas. Of
course, in 2007, just one gallon of gasohol will soak you
for that ten spot.
This was a routine game for us. Linda would usually have
the upper hand, because she listened to the radio a lot more
than I did. However, on this occasion, a little research was
done. The song " Centerfold " by the J. Giels Band had been
number one for the last four or five weeks. I noticed that
it was not played, since the radio was turned on. That meant
that it would have had to drop about seven slots. It was my
turn to go first. I quickly chose it. Linda didn't even
flinch. She wasn't going to pick it, anyhow. She went with
" Ebony and Ivory " by Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder. That
Casey guy ( for some strange reason, his last name eludes
me ) was about to put on the most popular single in the US.
As the overpowering percussions of the Blackheart's
drums bombarded the car's enclosure, it was relatively
obvious, we were both wrong. The lead guitarist reached for
his weapon. He extracted it's high pitched voice, as if
engaged in a screaming match. With a small twist of the
wrist, the volume was elevated to a punishing level. The
echoing rhythm was exhilarating.
40
Suddenly, we were overflowing with energy. Linda was
pounding
her
hands
against
the
dashboard
in
a
drum
simulation. I was darting my head back and forth, while
remaining fully attentive to the road, of course. A few
minutes ago, we were drained of all fuel. The changing
schedule and early start left us weary, physically and
mentally. But now, we were refreshed and ready to greet the
new day. The song was providing us with an emotional lift,
which was sorely needed.
As the music pumped into our ears, the seductive vocals
were being anticipated. The lead singer, whom appears as a
teenage runaway, began to display her provocative style, "
Saw him dancing there by the record machine...Knew he must
have been about seventeen..."
My foot was a little over anxious. Veering toward the
speedometer, I had observed our velocity to be 70 mph. My
mind withdrew from the music long enough to slow down to a
lawful speed. With a quick glance via the rearview mirror,
to ensure no highway patrol interaction, I rejoined the
music. Joan Jett continued her gutty lyrics, " And you could
tell that it wouldn't be long,.. that he was with me, yea
me....Singin, I love rock and roll, so put another dime in
the jukebox baby..."
The music was so loud, and the beat so strong that the
41
noise from the engine could not be heard. As the song neared
it's last few words, I noticed that the alternator light had
energized. My hands were swiftly reaching for the volume
control. The ringing in my ears was from the music, but there
was a similar sound issuing from beneath the hood. It was
a hissing noise. The red indicator, associated with a high
temperature, joined the alternator light. Within seconds,
the large Pontiac set motionless on the side of I-95.
The severity of the problem hit me all at once. My mood
swung, as fast as a slamming door. It wasn't fair. This was
my honeymoon. I pushed the door open in a nonchalant manner,
completely ignoring the oncoming traffic. My legs were quite
cramped from driving, which just added to the aggravation.
It was obvious that the car was overheating. The pressurized
sounds of the boiling water raised my temperature as well.
I contemplated kicking in the grill, as the steam rolled
through it. Mother always said to count to ten before
reacting. Somehow, it worked, at least momentarily.
I definitely was not thinking clearly. With my fingers
gripped below the hood, I strained, attempting to raise the
it. I, then, registered. The hood lever had not been
released. Frustrated at my oversight, I proceeded to take
it out on my wife.
" Linda, hey, pull the hood release.", I shouted.
42
Rarely, did I refer to her as Linda. It was always honey.
She noticed my temperament and rather quickly moved over to
the driver's side.
" OK, Tony, it's pulled.", she answered in a very
harmless voice. The large hood did not pop off it's latch.
" Are you sure you pulled it hard enough?"
She attempted, once again, and made eye contact through
the windshield, " How's that?"
" God damn it! Can't you do this one simple task?", I
screamed, moving towards the side door. The window was
already rolled down. By the time I arrived, Linda had already
scooted to the passenger side. She had her hand covering her
forehead, as she faced downward. Although not crying, she
was not far from it.
" Honey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be taking this out on
you.", I apologized, " Which one of these did you pull?"
Linda hesitated for a moment. She, then, pointed at the
parking brake release lever. Her glassy eyes were so
innocent.
" That's for the emergency brake. This is the one for
the hood.", I said, pointing at the proper handle, " I'm
really sorry. This has been such a great trip. It really got
to me, when this happened."
She broke a small smile, but it was clear that her
43
feelings had been hurt. Not wishing to over apologize, I
leaned through the window and grabbed the correct handle.
With one brisk pull, the hood popped. The engine hood
screeched a little as it was lifted. The news was not good.
The fan shaft had sheered off at the point where it joins
the water pump. That's why the alternator light came on. The
belt, which drives the alternator, runs around a pulley on
the fan's shaft. But, the worst news was ahead. The fan had
flown into the radiator. The extent of the damage to the
radiator was apparent by the large puddle of fluid under the
car. The fan was not in sight and the least of my worries,
anyhow.
Up ahead was an off ramp. We were about five miles shy
of Jacksonville. I decided to take a chance. After shutting
the hood, I briefly explained to Linda our dilemma. My
fingers tightly held the ignition key. With a sudden twist,
the key was in the start position. The engine turned over
and started with no immediate malfunctions. Based on the
minimal amount of cooling water, the time available was
limited. The car travelled at a speed of 30 mph. It began
to issue steam at a faster rate, as the incline of the ramp
increased it's workload.
A pleasant sight appeared ahead. The gas station at the
top of the hill had a service center. It was about a hundred
44
foot away. I told myself that if we made it, I would never
yell at Linda again. Well, the promise as unachievable as
it was, must have been a worthy offering. We made it.
The poor, injured car hadn't even come to a complete
stop, before the ignition was placed in off. The pistons
stopped compressing. The rotor stopped turning. The fuel
stopped flowing. The engine was still. It's metal body, far
above normal operating temperatures. No longer, did the
vapor seethe from the radiator. There was no more water left
in the system.
The station was quite busy. The morning traffic was at
it's tail end. A rumble echoed from the distance. It wasn't
from the highway, as first thought. A dark cumulus cloud
rolled in. It wasn't the thunderhead type, but it possessed
that
deep
blue
color
that
meant
precipitation.
The
unmistakable smell of rain filled the air.
I made my way towards one of the workers. He was
standing outside the bathrooms. His frame sported the
typical service station outfit, in this case, bearing the
name Keith above the left shirt pocket. His beard was long
and untrimmed. My guess, six foot-two and two hundred fifty
pounds. When I initially made eye contact, he stared
straight back. I could never look a person in the eyes for
more than a few seconds. My head veered away. I noticed his
45
oversized belly. When my eyes returned, I noted that his were
still fixed. I, then, became aware of the redness. His eyes
were bloodshot to the extent where there was little white.
And now, but two foot away, the odor of last nights
refreshments invaded my senses. This was just my luck.
First,
a
breakdown.
hangover.Still
not
Next,
an
breaking
angry
eye
mechanic
contact,
he
with
a
gave
a
trustworthy smile. His teeth were not well kept, to put it
nicely.
" Hi there, what can I do ya for?", he said, carrying
a strong southern accent. His voice was squeaky
and in great contrast to his appearance.
" Yes, sir. I need some major repairs. Probably a water
pump, fan, and radiator patch job.", I replied, still
startled by his voice.
" I'll check our stock in just a sec. Gotta take care
of my own radiator first, if ya know what I mean.", he
answered with a chuckle.
As I walked back towards the car, a raindrop landed upon
my head. The little droplet ran down my forehead and to the
bridge of my nose. Soon, it was hanging on the end of my
snout. I wiped it off with a gentle swipe, realizing that
soon it would be raining.
Luckily, they had all the required parts. There was a
46
diner on the opposite side of the corner. I figured, we could
waste an hour or two there. But first, I had something to
take care of. I told Linda that I was going to call around,
to check on water pump prices. I entered the nearby phone
booth. Being only a few short miles from the city, it was
a cinch to find a flower shop that delivered. Using the visa
card, a half dozen roses were on their way.
We had a bite to eat and a less than productive
conversation. She was still upset. She tried not to let it
show.
The rain didn't amount to much more than a steady
sprinkle. When we returned to the station, the flowers had
arrived. I paid an extra ten dollars for the "special
delivery". The roses did the trick, letting me off the hook.
Yelling at Linda wasn't my only miscue. That Keith guy
was a very hard worker. He would have had us back on the road
by noon, if it weren't for the radiator. They had to send
it down the road to a welding shop. Keith was a very
considerate person. He offered to drive us to a nearby mall
to help pass the time. I had no right to prejudge him. I
learned a couple of lessons that day.
It was six o'clock, when we were able to get back on
the road. We were sort of tired, but had three hours of
driving ahead. Moving west, we cut over to highway 301.
47
The thumping on the windshield began to be much more
pronounced. Soon, the wipers were running at high speed. I
slowed our vehicle considerably to make up for the reduced
visibility. My eyes were working overtime, trying to
concentrate. I could barely see fifty foot in front of the
car. We decided that we were close enough to the refuge. The
next available hotel had our name on it.
I cut off of 301 onto 94, figuring the town of St George
would have a place for a nice slumber. This was not to be
a good day. There was a couple of hotels in the little town,
but both exhibited the glowing sign that stated "no
vacancy". I pulled into a parking lot to rest my eyes and
look at the map. Linda offered to drive, but she hated the
rain, and besides, another town was about ten miles further
west.
The sign up ahead read "Moniac County line 2 miles".
My mind started to wonder off, imagining a nice soft pillow.
My eyelids massaged my pupils with darkness. How relaxing...
" Tony, that sign says hotel vacancy.", Linda blurted.
My eyes opened widely. I shook my head. I couldn't
believe it. I fell asleep at the wheel. My heart was
pounding, as I pondered the thought. There seemed to be no
reason to tell Linda of this slip up.
" Tony, it had an arrow pointing to the right.", she
48
said excitedly.
With the rain pouring as it was, I didn't need to slow
the car down much to make the turn. The road was a bit
narrower than anticipated. However, beggars can't be
choosers.
After three miles, we crossed the St. Mary's river. The
road was no longer paved. It was barely wide enough to
support one car. The rain would not let up. The trees were
scratching both sides of the car. The sounds created by this,
were enough to totally break my concentration. I was quite
convinced that we were not about to find a hotel. Linda was
a nervous wreck.
A very unexpected sight approached. A small river was
close. However, there was no bridge. I closed my eyes and
reopened them. There was still no crossing. The car came to
a stop.
Linda didn't say a word. What was there to say? The back
window was fogged over, and besides, with the downpour it
was impossible to back up. I rolled the window down. The
raindrops splattered in my tired eyes, and the foliage
blocked my view. We were stuck. I would have to wait for some
daylight and dry weather.
" I'll get the sleeping bags.", I stated. Linda issued
a disappointed expression. It was kind of like, she expected
49
my words to bring a solution to the problem.
The
car
door opened about six inches and, then, some resistance was
felt. The trees were thick. I pushed the door with medium
effort, and the branches gave way. My foot sank a couple of
inches into the mud. I raised my arm to cover my face. The
wet soil was gripping my shoes. By instinct, I bent over
reaching for the shoe. The wet leaves drenched my face. The
branches annoyingly tickled my weary skin. I sacrificed my
shoes, slipping my feet out of them. I pulled my socks off,
leaving them on the ground. The damp soft earth, actually,
felt comforting to my feet. The same could not be said for
the rest of me. With all this happening over the period of
less than a minute, I re-entered the car with the lightly
moistened sleeping bags
As warm and muggy as it was in the car, blankets were
not needed. However, the sleepers made for good pillows. The
scene was quite different than that of the beach. The two
of us laid together for hours deep in thought. I think, we
were just too emotionally drained to speak. My mind
wandered, as I began fading off. I wished, we hadn't followed
that sign. The town was just a couple miles away. But then,
the realization appeared. If that hotel sign had not
emerged, and Linda had not noticed, I would have run us off
the road. Was this meant to be?
50
Sometime during the night, the rain stopped. Waking up
with sweat dripping along most of my body, I became aware
of the humid atmosphere within the car. Placing the key to
"accessory", I lowered the electrically operated windows
about halfway. The mild breeze cooled my damp forehead. My
eyes closed and found sleep, as if never interrupted.
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER FIVE
SECLUSION
The buzzing of the chainsaws could be heard from the
distance. The razor edged teeth of the mighty machines
destroyed in seconds, what nature took years to produce. The
revving of the engines was disturbing to my ears. I could
feel the gnawing pain, as if I, myself was the victim.
51
The shredding action of the saw had sliced through the
giant tree. As the majestic plant fell to it's new
destination, it let out a roar of protest. The screeching
sound
bellowed
throughout
the
forest.
The
cutting
continued. The trees fell one by one, each voicing it's
displeasure.
I looked up to witness what had to be the largest tree
in the entire woods. It's trunk must have been ten foot in
diameter. It demanded respect from all, who dwell in it's
presence. The clouds appeared to be moving at a rapid rate.
This made my head quite dizzy.
I, then, realized that the clouds were motionless. As
the mighty branches travelled, I had perceived the clouds
as moving. However, it was the tree that was moving. It was
plunging towards the earth. The woodsman must have made a
mistake. The giant tree was falling in my direction. I had
to flee from this spot.
My legs were straining. Looking down, I noticed my feet
to be buried in the muck. The ground had taken hold of me
and had refused to let go. Why was I being punished? What
was my wrong doing? As the tree closed in on me, the sound
of the chainsaws grew louder and louder. I was soon to be
crushed...
My eyes shot open. A feeling of bewilderment came over
52
me. Where was I? There were no chainsaws, no screaming trees.
I had been dreaming. My hand jerked in the direction of an
insect on my cheek. The tiny creature had pierced my skin
to rid me of a little blood. As I slapped at the irritating
mosquito, it became evident that this was the source of the
buzzing chainsaws. The bellowing yells of the falling trees
had been nothing more than some nearby bullfrogs, welcoming
the new day. What a relief.
My body remained still, as my pupils studied the soggy
forest. I, then, noted that this was the first rain, we had
gotten in quite a while. Although it was only mid March, most
of the state of Georgia was significantly behind in
rainfall. Maybe the mini drought was over.
As I focused on the slim pathway, in which the car set,
the events of the prior night had reentered my memory banks.
I stretched out my arms and wiped the sleep from my rested
eyes. Linda was still in dreamland. She looked so peaceful.
The soft sleeping bag offered cushion between her curled up
body and the door, to which she leaned. Her tender lips
formed a faint smile. She was the portrait of an angel,
although she would have said that her face and hair were a
mess.
Quietly, I sat up in my seat. My neck was tight and
somewhat sore. My back cracked, as I straightened myself up.
53
All in all, considering the awkward position, my body felt
good. My brain was free of any cobwebs and quite refreshed.
My pupils had finally adjusted to the morning light. Through
the dirty windshield was a long stretch of evergreens. Each
tall pine was straight as an arrow. I must have been tired
the night before. The leaves that scraped my face were merely
the leaves of some wild shrubs.
There was a hand painted sign just to the right of the
car. I didn't see it last night. I squinted slightly to
better my perception. The sign stated "Moccasin Creek". Now,
I remembered why we had to stop. Directly in front of us was
a stream. The car had parked so closely that it was hard to
see over the vehicle's front.
A gentle sigh came from across the car's interior. It
was followed by a significantly deeper yawn. Linda's eyelids
lifted to uncover her lovely blue eyes. Her pupils remained
fixed, as if confused of her whereabouts. She was staring
right at me, but not seeing me. The trance only lasted a
couple seconds. Soon, her eyes were darting all around. As
she extended her arms above, she smiled.
" Good morning, did you sleep well?", Linda asked.
" Yea, I did.", I replied, looking at my watch, " You
know, we got a good eight hours?"
" Are you going to back up to the main road?", she
54
offered as a suggestion.
" Yea, that looks like our only solution. The road
continues ahead. I wonder why there is no bridge on the
creek. But first, I got to go to the bathroom.", I stated.
" Well, you're not leaving me alone out here.", Linda
informed me, as her hand grabbed the door handle.
The two of us opened our associated doors in a
synchronized manner. My tennis shoes were still outside. I
was somewhat surprised about the condition of the road. It
was sandier than it appeared the night before. The ferns and
shrubs that blanketed the forestry were wet. Water droplets
formed and fell off of their green leaves. But, the road was
quite dry. This was probably the result of the lack of rain,
during the spring.
We both stood up out of the car. My legs felt revived.
Linda and I sidestepped to the front of the car, thereby
limiting our contact with the saturated plants. There was
barely enough room for us to meet in the front of the
Bonneville. Linda wrapped her arm around my waist, as we
studied the waterway.
There was a bridge, if that's what they call a bridge.
Whatever it was, it surely was not very settling. No wonder
I didn't see it earlier. The crossing was obviously not
designed for major traffic. It would have been safe to say,
55
the structure had not been designed at all. The construction
was basic. It consisted of only four railroad ties. The
builder paired them up and buried the ends in the sand. This
did not look inviting.
I moved towards the bridge. My bladder immediately
reminded me of its restricted capacity. I walked over to
the bushes and relieved myself. My tightened abdominal
muscles could finally relax.
When I turned around, Linda was inspecting the
shrubbery on the side of the road. She pointed out that they
were called inkberries. They exhibited their tiny cream
colored flowers. Many of them were unfolding their delicate
petals, exposing the golden yellow nucleus. Linda was the
plant expert. She had obtained an Associates’ in agriculture
at Trident Technical College in Charleston, while I was
enjoying my stint in the navy. She was a horticulturist. She
worked really hard to establish her own landscape design
business, when we moved to Danburg. As with most any venture,
the beginning was not too profitable. But, it's starting to
take off real well.
My eyes moved back to the questionable bridge. I
proceeded to walk across, simulating a gymnast on a balance
beam. Linda watched from safer ground. The length was only
a tad bit longer than ten feet. The creek below was flowing
56
to the south. It widened to about twenty feet to the north.
As I gazed at the wider portion, a male Red-winged Blackbird
sang in the cattails. " O-ka-Leee", he said, as he showed
off his brilliant red shoulder patch. He flew off, noticing
the human presence.
I, now, stood on the other side. A quick observation
was all it took to come to the conclusion that Linda did not
want to cross the bridge. Her eyes were darting back and
forth, studying the work of art. She was very hesitant.
" Come on over, the weather's fine.", I gestured.
She forced a fake smile that quickly disappeared.
Actually, the task was not that dangerous. The wood was a
foot and a half wide and plenty sturdy. ( at least for a
person. I still wasn't sure about a car. ) And besides, if
she did happen to lose her balance, it was only a four or
five foot drop. The concern on her face was too much for me.
I stepped back and helped her across.
Just beyond the bridge was a small clearing. The
thickets of inkberry shrubs had blocked it from view, when
standing a short distance away. With little delay, I was
examining the small area. It was definitely large enough to
turn the car around in. The ground level was slightly higher
than rest of the forest. Therefore, I concluded it was dry
enough to support the weight of the vehicle. There was only
57
one question left, did I feel lucky? That bridge scared the
heck out of me. However, the thought of backing up for three
miles didn't appeal to me, either.
The clearing was overgrown with ferns. Near the back,
some pink flowers stood out, and beyond that, a huge clump
of inkberry bushes. Linda wanted to identify the attractive
blossoms. As we waded through the waist-high ferns, a few
mosquitos introduced themselves. I was surprised that there
weren't a whole bunch more. It was early in the spring and
most of the population had yet to hatch.
Linda studied the plant for a brief instant. She
classified the fragile pink flower to be a Dwarf Laurel. As
she held a small group of the blooms to inhale their sweet
fragrance, I investigated the area beyond the flowers and
shrubs. Something was missing, like another clearing. It was
difficult to view past the thick wild shrubbery. But, behind
the foliage, there appeared to be trail. Curiosity had
gotten the best of me. Soon, I was trampling through the
natural barrier. Linda heard the commotion and picked her
head up, to see what I was doing.
"Be careful, there could be snakes in there.", she
shouted. ( Linda hates snakes )
I stopped and acknowledged. At this point, I stood on
my tip toes and analyzed the scene. It was a trail. A very
58
thin one, but nonetheless, it was a trail.
" Hey, honey.", I whispered. ( why was I whispering?
who was there to hear me?), " There's a pathway going back
along the creek."
" Probably a fishing hole back there.", she suggested,
not sounding nearly as interested ,as I had hoped.
My mind was perplexed. Was this venture a good idea?
Or, was it an invitation for trouble? The ground was moist,
but plenty sturdy. It seemed, as if to contain a high
percentage of sand. However, according to the map, we were
only a few miles from the southern border of the Okefanokee
swamp. So, how far could I go before my knees would be buried
in the muck? Another small detail was snakes. Linda was a
right. There were a few species of dangerous snakes in these
parts. But, what were a few risks? The inquisitive side won.
"Let's check it out!", I said
Linda looked upset. She turned her head away, as if not
wanting to face me with the next offering. " I don't know
we're not out for this kind of stuff. We're city kids, not
Grizzly Adams.", she related in a concerned manner.
She did have a point. Between the two of us, we could
probably identify anything the eye could catch. But, we had
never gone this deep into the wild. Sure, we had visited many
refuges, but this was much different. This was so primitive,
59
completely untouched. Out here there was no forgiveness.
There were no guardians, watching over to protect us from
danger. Perhaps, those conditions were what intrigued me.
What was beyond these thick bushes. Where did the path go.
" I'll get a stick first.", I told her. She rolled her
eyes in disapproval. I wasn't sure if this was an objection.
It may have been more of a way to "pin the blame on me", in
the case that something did occur.
It longer than expected to find an adequate branch. (
as if there was such a thing, as an "adequate" branch to fend
off poisonous snakes and man-eating alligators ) I stroked
it through the air a couple times, following with a slash
through the dense ferns. It was safe to say that, judging
by her unimpressed look, Linda was not convinced that the
stick would be a satisfactory weapon.
We shoved our way through the concentrated branches of
the inkberries. It was a bit more of a struggle for Linda,
but she too, completed the task. We, now, stood smack dab
in the center of the narrow trail. It became immediately
apparent why the path had been so thin. Down at my feet,
hoofprints appeared. There were so many of them, it was
difficult to locate a single print that had not been marred
by another. This was a well travelled avenue.
As Linda looked to the east, she anxiously offered an
60
explanation, " Look, the trail heads straight for the
stream. I bet, the animals use this pathway to get to their
drinking hole."
Linda was a relatively quiet woman, but she enjoyed her
share of the credit. She seemed proud of the fact that she
came to the conclusion first. It was a good thing, though.
Because, Linda's face no longer expressed fear and concern.
Her involvement brought out her curiosity.
" Let's see where this thing leads.", she suggested,
while nudging me in the back. It was rare for her to be so
impatient.
" OK, OK, We gotta be careful. Perhaps, you would like
to lead?", I offered. She took a small step backward,
defining her bravery. I let out a mild chuckle and turned
to begin the journey.
The trail headed north. Although not that dark, it
became apparent that the inkberries required more light than
the thicker part of the woods had offered. The sandy soil
was covered with an abundance of ferns. The perpetual
covering of the rich green ferns carpeted the earth's floor.
" What kind of pines are these, Linda?", I asked in
astonishment to their numbers.
" I believe they're pinus palustris.", she answered in
a positive tone.
61
" Pinus pa-what?", I questioned. Linda loved to drop
scientific names on me.
" Palustris, a longleaf pine. I'd have to look it up
to be one hundred percent sure."
Each tree was straight and tall. The trunks seemed to
be as wide near the top, as at the ground. The bark was rough
and sort of two-toned. The majority was of a grayish tint.
The other color was a yellowish brown or tan. It made for
an interesting contrast. Although there
were literally
thousands of these trees, there was still significant
lighting. It wasn't dark and gloomy like a jungle. While
scanning the pines, I noticed that the branches began thirty
foot or so from the ground. The needles were sparse in
comparison to most pines. This provided enough sun to
support the ferns. It,also, allowed us to see our way
through.
The bullfrogs continued their chant in the background.
A robin could also be heard. His rich and harmonious song
was always a comforting experience. An occasional mosquito
or fly would buzz by, but it was certainly not enough to
complain about.
The path ran near the edge of the stream for about a
quarter mile. Just as the thought of turning back entered
the picture, my curiosity reappeared.
62
" What's that up ahead? Does it look like a clearing?",
I asked.
" There sure is a lot of light. Maybe, the swamp is
nearby. Hold on to that stick.", she warned in an interested,
but cautious voice.
The ground was still solid. If it was the swamp, the
ground would have been soggy, wouldn't it?
I didn't realize it at the time, but we were moving much
faster than before. In no time, we had reached the clearing.
" Wow.", Linda exclaimed in complete astonishment, "
This is incredible. Look at the view of the stream."
I looked over, catching sight of a pair of mallards as
they fed. She was right. It was incredible. The opening was
about a hundred foot in both directions. It was like a
miniature sand dune. There were no ferns or trees on it. The
ground was considerably sandier than the forest trail. This
was probably the reason for it being barren. The hill was
possibly three or four foot higher in elevation, just enough
to give it a mound-like appearance.
By this time, we were standing in the center of the well
hidden area. Linda and I slowly turned around, to perceive
this secluded hideaway from all different angles. To the
south and to the east was similar to the roadside. It had
the numerous longleaf pines fronted with inkberry bushes.
63
Their flowers, probably due to the additional sunlight, were
more vivid. To the north, there were some of those engaging
pink laurels. There was also another flower. It had four
white petals with long dangling, yellow stamen. Linda,
later, referred to them as Meadow Beauty. As well as to the
other directions, the pines continued.
To the west was the most intriguing of them all. The
stream was about thirty feet wide at that point. It looked
to be quite shallow, maybe knee deep. On the other side of
the creek was some tall grass mixed with ferns and dense
woods. The sand continued down to the water on the clearance
side of the stream. It looked much like a beach. As I studied
the stream with it's cattails and occasional rock, the pair
of mallards flew off without muttering a sound. It, then hit
me. Why did the trail start at the creek, when there was a
perfectly adequate drinking hole here? Perhaps, the deer and
other critters used the pathway for travelling purposes.
Linda swung in front of me, clung to my hands, and in
a child-like style said, " Can we spend the night here, you
know…camp. Oh please, come on Tony."
I was already thinking of the numerous photos that
could be taken. The possibilities far outmatched any park
or national refuge. But, since she was the one that brought
it up, I had to sound undecided.
64
"Well, if we do, we can't go to the refuge. We'll have
to leave for home tomorrow morning.", I stated, pretending
not to be as excited as her.
"That's fine. Oh Tony, you're such a sweetheart.", she
replied.
We hiked back to the car. We moved much faster than the
first
leg.
Linda
crossed
the
bridge,
this
time
not
requesting aid. As the two of us approached the car, a
difference in opinion was evident. Linda had went directly
to the trunk.
" What are you doing?", I asked.
" We have to get the sleeping bags and tent.", she
answered, innocently.
" Yea, but we gotta park the car over there, in that
turnaround.", I came back, pointing to the other side of the
questionable bridge.
" You're crazy.", she stated.
" Honey, what if someone drives down this road? We're
blocking it.", I explained.
" Who's going to come down this road?", she said.
" We did.", I declared, rather abruptly.
She was about half convinced, but she also knew that
I wouldn't give in on this one. She sidestepped the car and
soon was near the passenger door.
65
"I'll need you to stand beyond the bridge. You can give
me directions," I directed.
Linda walked across the boards to the opposing side.
She gave a few hand signals. Soon, the front tires were lined
up with the railroad ties. The car moved cautiously ahead.
I glanced at Linda. She had her teeth clamped tightly
together. I, myself, was mighty nervous. The car was now
fully supported by the bridge. Linda motioned for me to
continue straight ahead. The bridge was plenty strong, and
within a short minute, the Pontiac stood motionless in the
temporary parking spot. My muscles relaxed and a sigh of
relief slipped out.
" I still say you're crazy.", Linda said, as she greeted
me at the door with a big smile.
It took two trips over the period of an hour to get all
the equipment to our campsite. We had a wealth of food, since
we were already planning on camping at the state park. We
had a couple of gallon jugs of water. I put those in the
trunk, after that last breakdown. By noon, the tent,
sleeping bags, camera equipment, utensils, and food was at
the site.
Before setting up the tent, we felt like exploring, so
the two of us went down to the widened stream. To the left
(north) you could only see a few hundred feet, before it
66
veered away. To the right, though, you could see all the way
back to the road. As I squinted, my eyes could barely make
out the bridge. I seen a Great Blue Heron and a couple Snowy
Egret down a ways. I'm sure we were being too noisy, at that
point, to see them up close.
On the opposite side of the water, the shell of a box
turtle slowly moved towards the waters edge. As he neared
the stream, his head poked through the grass. He was a
Three-toed Box Turtle. The orange head was a dead give away.
He spotted me immediately and jerked back into the grass.
The box turtle is strictly a land dweller, therefore he was
there merely for a drink.
Meanwhile, Linda was looking at the flowers. She was
checking out the scent of the Meadow Beauties. Suddenly, I
heard her yell out a frightened scream. I ran over to her
aid. She was pointing towards the bushes. As I pinpointed
the problem, a mild sigh left my lips.
"Man, don't scare me like that. I thought you had been
bitten by a snake or something.", I said excitedly.
The culprit was a large Orb Spider, commonly called a
garden spider. He had spun a substantial web between a small
pine and an inkberry. She (the spider) in the center of this
masterpiece, awaiting an unsuspecting victim. A deer fly
flew into the transparent web. She acted uninterested. The
67
fly struggled to get free.
I went back to the camera bag and grabbed my Nikon,
along with the flash and macro lens. With the macro lens,
I was able to get within a couple of inches of the arachnid.
Through the special optics, she looked like a monster. Her
legs were long and powerful. The black markings throughout
her yellow body were so well defined.
A grasshopper lit onto her domain. This time, she
reacted much differently. She commenced to wrapping the prey
with her silk instantly. And when finished, she pierced her
mighty jaws into the trapped insect. The poison secreted
would kill the grasshopper, and she,later, would extract the
liquid from it's dead body.
We worked together on the tent. It was a medium sized
tent, sleeping four or five. The thing I liked about it was
the height. It allowed me to stand fully. This tent was also
my photo blind. With the aid of a seamstress, namely my wife,
I was able to design a pretty unique blind.
Linda and I constructed our shelter about twenty foot
from the creek. The front of the tent was where the camera
would stick out. This would be the end facing the stream.
The rear contained the entrance. The tent could be entered
and exited without being seen from the water.
On the front, I had cut out a slit about four and one
68
half feet up. This would serve as the hole for the lens. Linda
had sewn a Velcro strip on it. When not being used as a blind,
we would just press the two ends together. A plastic sheet
would be draped over and tied down in the event of
precipitation. Also on the front, we fabricated a large
viewing window. On the lower section, we cut a two foot high
by four foot wide hole. Again, we used Velcro strips. This
time, fastening a semi-transparent plastic sheet. The
plastic was very smoky. From the outside, nothing could be
distinguished within the tent. From the inside, since the
eyes are close to the window, we could identify movement on
the outside.
And
for
when
the
unit
was
not
being
used
for
photography, a piece of canvas would be fastened for
privacy. The logic behind the design was quite simple. We
could watch a large area via the window. When a bird flew
in or rabbit hopped by, it would be detected. At that time,
I would locate it on my telephoto lens and photograph it,
if applicable. The magnification would make it hard to spot
things without the aid of the window.
We put the last stake into the sandy soil. We had yet
to set up the photo equipment. A lengthy growl erupted from
the midsection. The day had brought so many offerings that
time was the last thing on our minds. It had been almost
69
eighteen hours, since our last meal.
" Honey, Let's eat. I'm starving.", I suggested.
" Sounds good. White or wheat.", she asked.
" White is fine. We should put everything in the tent
and eat in there. The sooner we get hidden, the sooner the
animals will start showing their faces.", I directed. We
brought our stuff into the shelter. There was ham and cheese
sandwiches and chips.
It was time to set up the equipment. My tripod was a
Bogen model 3021. It was extremely sturdy. This being
necessary to support the weight of the heavy lens. The next
step was to mount the lens onto the tripod pad. I had a
Vivitar 120-600 mm zoom lens. I wanted a Nikon of equal
range, however, the cost was near three grand. So, I settled
for the cheaper brand at just over five hundred. Besides,
it took excellent pictures. After cleaning the end of the
lens, I placed a skylight filter on it, to cut down on the
glare. I, then, stuck the lens through the manmade opening.
It was time to twist the camera onto the mount. My
camera was a 35mm Nikon N2000. It had all the automatic
functions for Linda. I always used it in manual for better
results. The next step was to hook up the electronic release.
This allowed me to snap a shot without physically touching
the equipment. This was important, because of the large
70
amount of
magnification.
The
subjects
size would
be
multiplied by twelve at 600mm. The subject's movement would
be increased by the same amount. With the film I used, this
was particularly essential.
I removed the film from it's cylindrical container. It
was Kodak ISO 64 slide film. This film was very slow. Because
of this, more light, less movement, or a combination of the
two was required. Despite the difficulty in it's use, the
picture quality was incomparable. It produced a deeper, less
grainy color. The film was loaded and barring any problems
with batteries, we were ready.
It was time to sit and wait. If there was one thing I
had learned, it was patience. When my photo status was that
of a mere beginner, my impatience was excessive. I would try
to stay in one place, but if it took over half an hour, I
was out stalking. Very few animals will allow a human to get
within "photo distance", no matter how large the lens. And
whenever I did get close enough, by the time my finger was
ready to push the button, the creature was gone.
That was something that people could never understand.
Just because I packed a high magnification, they thought
pictures could be taken a quarter mile away. In reality,
twenty foot was the maximum for a small bird.
There was nothing to do now, but wait. I heard some
71
birds in the distance, but none were within reach. It would
probably take a while yet. We, more than likely, caused more
commotion than the wildlife was accustom to.
Once again, I could hear those robins. It was always
uplifting, when the rich caroling notes of the American
Robin could be heard. It was like they were telling me to
cheer up. They would sing, "Cheer-up, cheerily, Cheer-up,
cheerily."
A much louder sound bellowed over the song of the
redbreast. It was quite unmistakable and brought anxiety.
If I could photograph the Sandhill Crane up close, it would
make the whole trip worthwhile. The loud rattling of this
majestic bird carried so far, that guessing it's location
would have been impossible.
"
Is
that
a
bird?",
Linda
whispered,
looking
interested, if not a bit scared.
" Yea, do you wanna make a guess?", I quizzed. I was
quite sure, she hadn't heard this one before.
" It must be an awful big one. It's not the Whooping
Crane is it?", she guessed.
" I wish. No, but that's a good try. Crane was correct;
but, it's the Sandhill. The Whooping sounds more like a
trumpet.", I stated quietly.
The bullfrogs were, once again, leading me to believe
72
that the critters would soon be coming out. Another noise
shot it's way into the air. It sounded like the shots from
a .22 caliber rifle. Not deafening, like a shotgun, but sharp
and defined. I knew at once that a woodpecker was the
culprit. The noise seemed to be coming from behind. I poked
my head out the entrance, which was already unzipped. About
halfway up a pine was a Red-headed Woodpecker. His brilliant
red head outlined him from rest of the forest.
As I studied the tree clinger at work, harsh cries
filled the air. A Blue Jay had spotted me. As usual, he was
tattling on us. I jerked back inside, and a few seconds
later, he flew off. Or maybe, he just shut up!
I walked over to the camera and started scanning the
area through the viewfinder.
" Do you see anything, honey?", Linda asked.
" No, it'll take a little longer, maybe, a half hour
or so.", I answered, moving down to watch through the window.
" Well, come on over and relax, then.", she suggested
in a slightly romantic voice.
I scouted the stream for any action.
A little breather would do me good.
kneeling frame.
It was silent.
I moved towards Linda's
I sat down in front of her.
My physique
slowly leaned back and nestled in her comforting softness.
Linda began to massage my shoulders with a relaxing
73
grip.
Her tender lips caressed my tired neck.
Her lovely
voice filled my ears with a soothing melody.
Her body
gently swayed, as I slipped into a welcome sleep.
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER SIX
RECEIVING
EXPOSURE
The mid-day sun dispersed it's warm rays through the
thin canvas material. It's gentle heat soothed my resting
body. My eyelids shielded the brightness from my napping
eyes. The comforting darkness was relaxing.
74
An unfamiliar noise barked from outside the enclosure.
My eyes opened widely. I immediately covered them with my
hands. After a half minute, the pupils had contracted
sufficiently to conform to the new lighting conditions. My
head was fuzzy. I sat, contemplating on another hour of
sleep. I didn't even realize that something had awakened me.
The sound blurted out, once again. This time, the sound waves
entered my brain and registered. I moved to the camera's
viewfinder. Linda woke up, during my short travel. I moved
the lens slowly, as it pivoted on the tripod. Soon, the
offenders were spotted.
There was a White Ibis wading near the front shoreline
side of the stream. A Tri-colored Heron was standing on the
sand near the ibis. It looked as though the ibis had found
a good fishing spot, probably a school of minnows. The heron
seemed to want a part of the action. He would take a few jerky
steps in the direction of the ibis. He would, then, poke at
the white bird, apparently missing on purpose. All of a
sudden the heron let out a deep croak. He screamed out two
more of the strange words.
Meanwhile, I was setting my shutter speed and aperture
for the birds. Due to the quick actions of the heron, I
selected a fast speed. I would have to sacrifice the depth
of field. The background focus was not needed for this shot,
75
anyhow. I set the aperture to it's largest point. The f-stop
was 5.6. Now, all that remained was a minor focus adjustment.
Just as my hand grabbed for the shutter release, the
ibis had lost his patience. He uttered an aggressive grunt
followed by a short growl. The far from fearless heron flew
off immediately. His long white legs dangled in the air, as
his powerful wings carried him to a safer location.
I readjusted my camera settings, focusing on the single
white subject. His legs were red, as was his beak. The bare
face was more pinkish than red. Everything else was white.
This particular species of ibis had prominent black tipped
wings. However, this could only be viewed, when the bird's
wing was unfolded.
I started releasing the shutter, trying several
different speed and aperture combinations. This process was
called
"cascading".
It
allowed
for
error
in
light
measurements and subject movement. In other words, if my
shutter was too slow for the first picture, the animal would
have a blurry appearance. But, since I had also taken a
picture at a faster speed, this one would come out much
sharper and more detailed. The same held true for pictures
that were too light or too dark.
The ibis may have heard the mild sounds of my camera,
but they didn't bother him. He jerked his head slightly and
76
remained still. With one complete, single motion, his bill
was charging into the shallow water. His remarkable patience
netted him a tasty surprise. It was not a minnow. Once I saw
the crayfish, I realized why the ibis would not allow the
heron to approach. Crayfish was a favorite among ibis
colonies. With the live crustacean securely clamped, the
ibis began raising his wings. The black tip exposed. I
thought about setting up for an action shot, but I quickly
learned that the roll was spent. Normally, a beeper would
have informed me of this condition, but I had it silenced.
There wasn't nowhere near the time, needed to reload,
available. So, I just watched the bird's legs bend halfway
into a crouch. His upper body strength launched his body,
as
his
muscular
wings
started
pounding.
Soon,
he
disappeared.
Linda was rubbing her eyes. She let out a noticeable
yawn. I looked at my watch, figuring I had slept the day away.
However, the time was a pleasant relief. It was only two
o'clock. I should have noted this by the suns position. While
I was shooting pictures, the sun was to the right and
slightly behind. This was an excellent condition. There was
probably only two hours of perfect lighting left. After
that, the sun would be in front of us, creating a major glare.
This would have resulted in silhouettes. I proceeded to load
77
the film.
" Hey honey, we're starting to get some action here.",
I spoke softly.
" Really, How long have I been sleeping? ", she asked
in a befuddled tone.
" Not very long.", I replied.
As I sat down watching out the viewing port, Linda
joined me. She smiled and moistened my cheek with her soft
lips. She sat indian style next to me.
All of a sudden, a cloud appeared to move in front of
the sun. Not long ago, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The
large shady figure quickly floated across the plastic
window. And, then, an identical shaded portion flew across.
That was not a cloud.
I stood up, too quickly. I began to feel severely
light-headed. Dark spots tingled within my sights. The dots
rapidly increased. I could no longer see. Realizing the
possibility of passing out, I bent to my knees. My lungs
expanded fully. I inhaled deep breathes. Within a few
seconds, ( minutes maybe ) my eyesight returned to normal.
This time, I raised my frame more carefully.
My heart began pounding harder. Standing before me were
a
pair
of
Sandhill
Cranes,
only
twenty
foot
away.
Immediately, my fingers were moving, adjusting the camera.
78
They were both about four feet tall. The red fore head and
gray body filled the viewfinder. However, they kept moving
to one side or the other. I had problems keeping them in the
frame.
As they move about, I witnessed truly quite a sight.
The two birds faced each other. Almost at the exact same
time, they leaped into the air. Their feet were pushed
forward, as if they were sitting on the air. The incredibly
long wings were fully extended. Out of nowhere, they began
screaming these loud croaking calls. They were mating. This
was much different than the voice, I heard earlier that day.
The two, then, bowed to one another. This was absolutely
unbelievable. Poor Linda wasn't able to see any of this. I
pondered the idea of letting her look, but I couldn't chance
it. If they would just hold still for ten seconds, their
image would be mine.
I had just completed the finishing touches. I took an
extra second to allow them, to define their area. I, now,
had
them
centered,
permitting enough room
for their
magnificent mating dance. The sounds were very loud from
where we stood. I moved to grab the shutter release, which
was dangling by it's cord.
" Kip, Kip!", screeched a newcomer, " Kip, Kip, Kip,
Kip!"
79
They stopped right in the middle of their performance.
Both of them moved a few feet to the left. Just as I was ready
to shoot the picture, I noticed they were out of the frame.
I, speedily, shifted the camera to the left. As my fingers
anxiously fumbled with the equipment, they stood perfectly
still with their long necks stretched high into the air.
Before the cranes were fully in focus, they flew off out of
sight. As the huge wading birds escaped, one of them yelled
out the familiar rattle.
The sounds of the Sandhills vanished, but it was
anything but silent. The intruders voice was clear and
decisive, " Kip, Kip, Kip, Kip!"
My body felt uneasy. I knew that it was important to
keep myself together. I was so close to photographing one
of the truly remarkable acts of the animal kingdom. Anger
wasn't the feeling inside. Depression would better describe
it. There was little, I could have done. It was difficult
to keep them in the picture. In fact, I had zoomed down to
120 mm. It just never occurred to me, how large this bird
actually was.
" Kip, Kip, Kip, Kip!", once again, came from beyond.
I knew exactly who the "bad guy" was. He had taunted
Linda and I, once before. About a two years back, we were
stalking some Wood Storks in the marshes of South Carolina.
80
This gossipy bird would tell on us. He would fly along the
edge of the marsh about fifty foot ahead. Screaming at the
top of his lungs, he would warn all the swamplife with that
sharp alarming call. He would make it very difficult to
approach anything.
I
sat
down
in
disgust.
The
crane
episode
was
discouraging, but I wasn't giving up either. Besides, very
few people had ever been lucky enough to witness such an
event. It, then, dawned on me that I was so taken in by the
dramatic display, I had yet to mention the situation to
Linda. For all she knew, it was merely a couple of birds
fighting. As soon as I sat down, Linda got up and commenced
to viewing.
" Kip, Kip, Kip, Kip!", said the tattle tale.
" Tony, Tony, that's one of those tattling birds. You
remember, with the long legs. They have a funny name, oh yea,
stilts, right?",she excitedly stated, while keeping her
voice down to scarcely above a whisper.
She was right. I didn't have to look. However, for
Linda, I looked. There he stood. There that little bastard
was. Actually. this specimen is rather interesting. His
black and white body was very well defined. His sleek black
beak was as glossy, as the rest of the black portions on his
form. Those long legs looked about twice as long, as they
81
should have been, hence the name stilt. The full common name
was the Black-necked Stilt.
He was too far away for a descent picture. And secondly,
it would have seemed more like a consolation prize.
As I tossed around the idea of scaring him off, ( to
prevent more mishaps ) he left on his own. I proceeded to
tell Linda the whole story.
While I was explaining the incident, Linda spotted
movement through the plastic. It came from the other side
of the stream in the form of a large rodent. That's precisely
what it was.
An adult Marsh Rabbit fed on the grass blades. He was
an easy target. I focused in on the cinnamon coat with little
problem. He seemed so tranquil, but I knew that he was
constantly
aware
of
the
surroundings.
His
tail
was
practically nonexistent, as with all Marsh Rabbits. Those
short legs and small, broad ears differed him from the
majority of the Leporidae family. The rabbit was slowly
enjoying his mid-afternoon meal, when something caught his
attention. Suddenly, his relaxed frame stiffened to a tense
condition. He, then, exhibited a characteristic that sets
he and the Swamp Rabbit apart from the others.
With one fluent motion, the animal was in the water.
As I retreated my zoom lens to 120 mm, I was able to view
82
a much larger area. I could see his eyes and nose barely
exposed above the water. As he gradually swam against the
current, a shadow sailed across the creek. Linda informed
me of it's size. She had been watching through the window.
In her own words, " it was big and fat ". The worst predators
to the rodents were hawks and owls. The bird eventually lit
high above. It was one of the most furious of all the hunters
of the forest. His luminous yellow specs projected through
the tree branches. A picture would have been impossible. The
limbs covered a major portion of the body from our viewpoint.
I could not believe how prominent those glaring eyes were.
His long ear tufts were widely spaced upon his mighty head.
He was a combination of brown, gray and white.
Linda had been left out of a lot of the action. I
motioned for her to look through the scope. She stood up,
squinted her left eye, and watched with her right.
" That's a Great Horned Owl, isn't it?", she whispered
in a anxious, but quiet manner.
" Yep, see his ears?", I guided.
" Yea, he's massive. What is he doing out in the
daytime?", she asked.
" Oh, they come out in the day, sometimes. Do you see
what he's looking at?", I questioned.
" He's definitely staring at something, but I can't
83
find it.", Linda replied, after moving the lens to several
positions.
" He's watching that rabbit in the water.", I stated.
" What rabbit.", she asked, almost too loudly.
I stood back up. Linda gave way, allowing me to use the
camera. Where had he gone? The owl continued his dedicated
watch, but where was the rabbit. The search persisted until
I found the furry guy. The reason, he was hard to locate,
was that he had changed directions. The rabbit was heading
back towards his enemy. He, then, started turning again. I
realized that he was paddling around in a circle. Every
couple revolutions, he would he would go closer to the edge.
My guess was to allow his
feet to touch bottom, thereby giving him a breather.
The owl had not missed a single glimpse of his hopeful
prey. I prepared my camera for an action shot. The light
meter on the Nikon indicated insufficient light for the
speed required. The minimum setting for a clear shot would
have been 1/125 of a second. With the type of film I was
shooting, even with a fully opened aperture, the picture was
unobtainable. It was times like these, I wished I carried
a roll of ISO 400.
The mighty bird of prey dipped somewhat. His shoulders
shrugged. He was preparing to attack. I was glad, Linda would
84
not see this. She loved bunny rabbits. I had to decide, if
this should be mentioned. It was probably better left alone.
However, she would know that something went on out there.
I decided that I would tell her that the owl missed, even
though this
was highly
unlikely,
given
the
rodent's
predicament
The owl leaped with one forceful push. Each thrust of
his powerful wings displayed the ultimate strength, in which
the creature possessed. Soon, he was gliding. His bearing
was straight and distinct, heading directly toward the
unfortunate critter. Just as the horned owl began to reach
out his razor-sharp talons, the rabbit's snout disappeared.
It was gone, as if never there. The rabbit must have went
down deep.
The soaring bird tried to pull up. He raised his legs
and began to rapidly flap his giant wings. But, it was too
late. He had already committed himself. His feathers only
skimmed the top few inches of the stream. However, due to
the size and momentum, a considerable splash developed. The
giant owl never really lost control. As quickly as the crash
transpired, he was flying back to a sturdy branch. I hoped,
he would land into a clear area. I had yet to photograph this
spectacular species. This would not be the case, though. The
owl did not land at all. He continued on above the trees and
85
out of sight.
My lens quickly moved to find the victorious critter.
I zoomed in and out in a vigorous search. At last, he had
surfaced. His entire head was above the water, as he neared
the shoreline. He appeared very tired, perhaps, just
relieved.
The rabbit must have found a deep hole. That was the
purpose of his circling. At least, that was my deduction.
The owl didn't even attempt to stab his talons into the
water. The rodent must have been a good couple foot below
the surface. From my point, it was all speculation.
I looked down to Linda. She apparently had lost her
patience. She was fed up with missing the action. I could
not blame her. She had taken a jack knife and cut a small
square out of the plastic window. It was just big enough to
peek through with one eye ( about two square inches ).
" Did you see that?", she questioned in a very happy
tone.
I paused before answering. My mind was still arguing
on whether I should have been upset about the newly
constructed "peephole". The fact that it didn't disrupt the
animal's normal routine drove me to a generous conclusion.
Besides, last time I got angry, it had cost me a bunch of
roses.
86
" It was exhilarating, eh?", I said continuing, " How
long ago did you do that?"
" Right when you took the camera back.", she responded
without hesitation.
It was quite inconsiderate for me not to have done
something before. Originally, I contemplated using clear
plastic, but I figured that it would influence the animals.
Maybe, the little hole would work. Only time would tell.
Over the next two hours, I obtained good closeups of
a Great White Egret and a Yellow-crowned Night Heron. They
both stayed a while, proving that the small hole did not
irritate them. I enlarged the hole to about six inches. This
would eliminate the required squinting. The birds were still
unaware. Or, they just didn't care.
The sun had moved in front of us. I could no longer
obtain highly detailed photographs. Any picture, in which
I took, would have a silhouette appearance.
The long sharp bill and slender neck of an Anhinga
glided through the water. The snakebird was submerged
halfway up his long neck, proving that the water had at least
significant depth. He was slowly moving, in search of small
fish. Suddenly, his head darted below the surface. When he
returned to his initial position, he displayed the catch.
The Anhinga had stabbed a minnow. With a short, quick stroke,
87
he flung the fish upwards and swallowed it whole. According
to the books, they eat their food head first. However, from
this standpoint, it could not be determined.
The bird continued on, until he was no longer within
vision. I was hoping, he would entertain us with his
fascinating drying technique. In this case, his stomach was
probably, not yet satisfied.
I remembered back to the time, we watched the peculiar
antic. He had climbed upon a large rock. Holding both wings
out, he had shaken the excess water off. After a few seconds,
he had stopped. Turning against the hot sun, he had continued
to hold out his wings. It had reminded me of a "flasher".
The wings were not fully extended. In my estimation, they
had been outstretched about two thirds of the way.
The Anhingas, as well as the cormorants, do not have
the glands that secrete oils. This oil allows the many birds
to dry by the process of "preening". So, the Anhingas must
use the sun to radiate upon their wet feathers. The length
of time required, I will guess, would be, as little as, a
half hour to, as long as, two hours.
Anyhow, getting back to the tent, Linda and I were about
to call it quits. But then, a Tri-colored Heron flew in. He
landed on this side of the creek. His back faced the camera.
A rasping noise came from the throat of this medium-sized
88
wading bird. The sounds were similar to the fellow, whom
engaged in battle with the ibis. I decided to get a picture
of the bird ( also known as the Louisiana Heron ), since I
missed him earlier. It was obvious that the lighting would
create a dark image, but I was tired and hungry.
After snapping a half dozen shots, I dropped the
shutter release and sighed.
" Hungry?", I asked.
" Starving. Do you think it's alright to have a fire?",
she requested.
" Well, I think so. I'll have to see, if I can't gather
up some wood.", I responded.
" OK, I'll prepare the food.", she offered.
There was plenty of dead branches in the woods. Within
ten minutes, I had enough wood to burn through the night.
Rocks were hard to come by, so I improvised. With a small
retractable spade, a campfire sized hole was dug. The sandy
soil made the task a breeze. It could have been done,
actually, with my hands. Grabbing the newspaper that we had
purchased back in Florida, I placed a layer
on the bottom.
( saving, of course, the sports section ) Some small branches
were the next item to be loaded. Five minutes later, the fire
was ablaze.
Dinner was comprised of tomato soup, fruit pies, and
89
a nice warm coffee. The fruit pies were made with canned
apples ( fruit pie filling ). It was one of those pie makers,
where you put the slice of bread on the maker. Then, you put
a glob of filling and the other slice on. After clamping it
shut and scraping away the excess crust, it's stuck into the
red hot coals. They sure did taste good that day.
" We need some marshmallows.", I stated, while drinking
the instant coffee.
" I picked up a bag of roasted peanuts. They're not
marshmallows, but it's the best I can do. I'll go fetch
them.", Linda said.
While she was searching the bags for the nuts, I gazed
up at the setting sun. It was still warm outside. My guess
was seventy degrees. The trees blocked most of the sunset.
A light shade of reds and blues could be seen among the tree
tops. There were no bugs to speak of. Although, I feared that
would change with the darkness. Maybe, the fire would ward
them off.
An active noise sprang from the inkberry bushes. I
turned my head to see, what I expected to be, a small bird.
I was wrong. A chipmunk crouched near the bottom of the
bushes. He was looking directly towards me. Linda opened the
tent door and returned with the snack. The chipmunk was
startled. He scurried back into the protective foliage.
90
No sooner did Linda sit down near the soothing fire,
chippy was back out. He approached to within about ten foot.
I tossed a couple peanuts half the distance between us. With
little hesitation, he had them packed neatly in his
pouch-like mouth. He, abruptly, retreated to the wooded
area. After a minute or two, he returned. The same routine
followed. Three or four of these cycles repeated. Linda
asked if I would get her a picture of this "cutie".
Since the distance was short, I was able to use a flash.
I attached a 150 mm Nikon lens and shot several photos of
the furry critter. Chippy hung around a little while after
the last peanut. After he was thoroughly convinced that the
supply had depleted, he scampered away. There was a lot of
work to be done.
91
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER SEVEN
FULL MOON
TONIGHT
92
The moon had relieved the sun of it's duties. The
mid-night shift had just begun. The flawless circular shape
was peeking through the tree tops. Soon, it would complete
the climb and display it's radiance above the clearing. The
glowing brightness was toned down by a thin gray sheet. The
sky was clear, and a few of the night's early stars had
emerged.
The small flames from the crackling fire assisted the
moon in lighting the secluded campsite. The warmth of the
red hot embers reached out and massaged our skin. The rising
smoke floated straight upward, justifying the calmness of
the air. The breeze could not penetrate our protective
barrier.
Linda retreated to the tent. She returned with the two
sleeping bags. She tossed the roll in her left hand to the
side. Instead of using the other as a seat, as I had
anticipated, she unrolled the goose down material. She
unzipped it and spread it out near the fire.
Not needing a verbal invitation, I stood up. I
carefully stepped around the fire. Linda was already
relaxing atop the soft blanket. I selected a couple of large
pieces of fuel for the dwindling fire. As I sat down next
to my wife, the fire greeted the replenishment with a hearty
93
blaze. The increased brightness lit up Linda's smiling face.
Her innocent blue eyes sparkled, as the wood snapped in a
sort of rhythm. A choir of crickets joined in. Their
instruments played a soothing melody. The succession was
occasionally
broken
by
the
vocals
of
some
woodland
creatures. The bass was created by the thundering bullfrogs,
while the tenor was provided by a distant owl.
I cupped her chin in my palm and felt the warmth of her
soft cheeks with my fingertips. The flames reflected off her
eyes like a mirror. My masculine fingers streamed through
her silky blonde hair. I pulled her head towards mine. Our
eyes gently closed, as our lips met. I had barely started
to taste her delicious tongue, when she pulled away.
" Lay down.", she romantically demanded.
Soon, my body was resting on the comfortable blanket.
Linda slipped the top button of my shirt through it's
associated opening. Her eyes studied the button, until it
was ready to leave the small slit. She gazed into my eyes
with a seductive stare and a naughty grin. Before long, every
button had been unfastened.
She took my hands and led me to a sitting position. My
shirt was, within seconds, setting next to the rolled up
sleeping bag. While standing behind my back, Linda pulled
my
shoulders
back
onto
the
94
ground.
She
gripped
the
waistbands of both my sweat pants and jockey shorts. With
one fluent motion, they had joined the company of my shirt.
As she stood above me , fully clothed, I felt helpless.
" Stay right where you are. I've got a surprise.", she
stated in a very directive manner.
I began to sit up. She threw me a punishing stare. I
explained to her that I wasn't going anywhere.
" Do not move.", she pointed out.
I remained in my position, awaiting her return. She
came out of the canvas tent in the same clothes. I was
expecting her to be in some sexy lingerie. She was holding
something behind her back. I had no idea what it was. She
held the object in front of me.
" We couldn't make use of this at the beach. I'd hate
to let it go to waste.", Linda suggestively responded.
" Suntan lotion?", I asked.
She did not speak another word. Her knees nestled up
against my hips, as she knelt over my naked body. Her hands
squeezed the bottle. She laid a thick trail from my navel
to my neck. The oily substance felt very cool. My muscles
tightened, as it touched my sensitive skin.
Linda filled her cupped hand with the lotion. After
setting the container aside, she lathered her hands. They
began rubbing the liquid into my skin. She started with my
95
tummy and worked up to my chest in a massaging technique.
She gripped harder, when her fingers reached my well-built
chest.
My
body
remained
motionless,
accepting
this
stimulating treatment.
She proceeded to the attention of my legs. She worked
the cocoa butter into my thighs. Soon, she was placing her
fingers between my toes.
I noticed that many more stars had presented their
brilliance in the lucid sky. The fiddles continued their
nightlong encore. The fire had died down and was no longer
producing those crisp sounds. No sooner did the thought
enter my head.
Linda was placing more wood onto the fire.
The musical beat had returned.
" Turn over.", Linda directed.
Within seconds, the weight of my body rested on the flat
surface. Linda wasted no time. She, promptly, oozed another
solid ridge, this time from my lower spine to the back of
my neck. My shoulders swayed, as it's chill sent shivers
throughout my entire upper body.
The friction created by
her travelling hands heated the oil to a soothing degree.
My muscles loosened their grip. My eyelids covered my vision
with a quiet darkness. I directed my perceptions to her
pleasant caress.
She continued until my entire body had received the
96
soothing treatment.
It was over all too soon.
My relaxed
muscles were greedy for some additional attention.
" Close your eyes.", Linda provocatively ordered.
I shut my vision off, as I imagined the possibilities.
The warmth of the fire made it difficult, to keep from
falling into a deeper state.
The arousal helped keep me
awake.
" Now open them.", she said.
As before, she was kneeling at my side.
this occasion, she was unclothed.
skin a tint of orange.
However, on
The flames painted her
She lifted the bottle above
allowed one droplet to escape.
and
It lit upon the lower
portion of her neck. I studied the trickle. It was like one
lone drop of blood, escaping Dracula's lips. It, soon,
picked up velocity, as it travelled downward. The drop
slowed, as it followed her sensual curves. The liquid
adhered to her delicate skin.
I lost interest in the drop, when I noticed Linda
squeezing the bottle again. This time, the liquid formed
many branching lines about her chest, similar to an oak's
limbs, reaching for the sunlight. She leaned down near my
face. I immediately immersed my hands into the greasy
lotion. I began to slowly work the liquid into her soft skin.
Linda received the same procedure.
97
She seemed to
enjoy it equally as well.
I used the entire container.
There was no use in wasting the valuable oil.
As the night moved on, we shared our love.
As we
expressed ourselves, I noticed that I could no longer hear
the woodland sounds.
It was almost as if, they had stopped
to listen.
The moon was slipping past the treetops.
short hours, it's shift would be over.
for a full moon.
98
In a few
It was a good night
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER EIGHT
POISON
STRIPES
The gray coals smoldered, as dawn approached. I rolled
to my side, pulling the covers over my shoulders. The fluffy
goose down brought comfort to my naked body. A thick layer
of stratus clouds replaced the once clear sky. The brisk air
surrounded my rough cheeks. The two day growth helped reduce
the mild chill. The dim light of the early morning was
99
blocked by my resting eyelids. My mind was at ease. My body
remained in a state of slumber. Neither a sole image, nor
a passing dream, entered my brain.
A deafening sound echoed through the campsite. My
serene horizon was disturbed. My dilated pupils quickly
adjusted to the dismal light. The sharp cracking noise
persisted, sounding like the splitting of a large log. A few
more blasts occurred, before I was able to distinguish it's
origin. The source was obviously a woodpecker. Only one type
could produce such intensity. It had to be the pecking of
a Pileated Woodpecker.
I uncovered myself to the hips. My disturbed frame
jerked to a sitting position. I turned to check on Linda.
She was not there! Had she decided to retreat to the tent
in the middle of the night? Both sleeping bags were being
used. Where was she?
A brief click, followed by a winding sound came from
behind the tent. It was the recognizable voice of my camera.
I noticed that the lens was no longer protruding from the
front of the blind. Another picture was taken. I searched
for the loud bird. I quietly looked about. This was a very
timid bird. To spot one was a rarity, in itself.
The banging stopped. I scouted the trees. A thought
came to mind. The lighting conditions were poor. Unless the
100
woodpecker posed in a still form, a clear picture was not
possible, especially with that slow film. Linda must have
been really excited. She knew that I had been unsuccessful
in my past attempts with this tree clinger.
A large blot passed through my line of vision. The
flying technique was definitely that of a woodpecker. The
lack of light must have interfered with my perception,
though. He was larger than anticipated. In fact, he appeared
bigger than his cousin, the Northern Pileated. As the
silhouette vanished among the trees, the pointed tail caught
my eyes. I had remembered back to a few of my sightings of
the Southern Pileated. The memories included a forked tail,
during flight. It seemed funny that I would remember such
a thing, but most of the times I encountered one, he would
immediately fly off. Hence, the only image that I received
was that of flight. Did the northern species own pointed
tailfeathers? If so, did
they
increase
their
range?
Perhaps, my vision was blurred. Before pondering on the many
more possibilities, I shrugged it off. It was insignificant.
The bird was gone, fleeing in a northerly direction.
It was safe to move about. I stood and stretched my well
rested torso. I placed my sweatpants on and proceeded to the
tent. From around the corner, I could see the long lens,
sticking out through the entrance. Linda flung the canvas
101
flap open. She slid around the tripod legs and was, now,
standing outside.
" Did you see that? I got Woody!", Linda expressed,
holding nothing back.
The "Woody", she was referring to, was Woody Woodpecker
( the cartoon character ). She knew the proper name, but
chose this as a substitute. Anyhow, the saturday morning
personality looked much like the Pileated.
" Yea, I just caught a glimpse, as he departed. How did
you get to the tent without scaring him off?", I asked.
" I was already inside the tent, getting some warmer
clothes. I walked halfway back out and seen him land. Do you
think the pictures will come out?", Linda wondered aloud.
I strolled into the tent, holding the flap open. The
camera had been converted for automatic control. This meant
the camera would determine the required adjustments. The
only problem was the low level of light.
" Was he moving a lot?", I questioned.
" He was pecking the whole time. But, I was in auto.",
she stated, pleading for a positive response.
" Well, we will just have to wait and see.", I replied.
The chances of a good picture were low, but there was no
reason to ruin her day
The thought of a nice hot coffee was inviting. However,
102
it wasn't worth the effort required in starting a fire.
Besides, we had to get back on the road, soon. There was a
good five hour drive ahead of us. The granola bar less than
satisfied me. My stomach still growled, as we began breaking
down the tent.
The shrill sounds of a katy-did replaced the cricket's
violins. A nearby vireo sang a musical tune. A few warblers
provided some contrast. After shaking the sand off the
sleeping bags, they were tightly rolled and tied. The
backpack was loaded with odds and ends. We wandered down to
the stream for one final viewing. I caught a flash of the
distinct spots of a Leopard Frog, as he leaped from the
opposing bank. The small splash created a plop. Within the
scattered cattails, another displayed his pointed nose. The
overcast sky began to give way to the warming sun. It was
time to leave.
I donned the backpack, while Linda grabbed a sleeping
bag and the camera case. I knelt down to pick up the folded
tripod and the lens case. ( the large zoom lens required it's
own carrying case ) I entered the trail.
" We need a stick.", Linda warned.
Personally' I didn't think that we would need one, but
what could it hurt? I set the case and tripod down. She set
her things down as well. We joined in the search for the
103
"great stick". Linda trotted towards me with an anxious look
on her face.
" Honey there's a lizard on the bush. He looked right
at me.", she exclaimed. Linda pulled me to the inkberry
shrub. There he was, a little Green Anole. He was a shade
of light brown with a slight hint of green. She was correct.
The reptile stared directly into my eyes. He cocked his head,
somewhat, to get a better view. I returned to the camera
case. Linda recommenced the hunt for a sufficient weapon.
She past the shrubs and penetrated the woods.
I slapped on my 50 mm and macro attachment. I taped a
reflector on the top of the flash component. ( it was nothing
more than a piece of cardboard wrapped with aluminum foil
)
Slowly,
I
approached
the
cold
blooded
critter.
Surprisingly, he did not flee. I reached to within two inches
of his slender body. The details of his coarse, leather-like
skin was remarkable. But, something was different. He was
dark green. His skin changed colors in that short span of
time.
I held my hands completely still and gradually
increased the pressure on the shutter release. The sudden
intensity of the bright flash illuminated the small figure.
His head jerked, but his feet remained frozen. I changed the
aperture to favor a better depth of field. The camera was
104
held steady. My finger pushed down on the button, once more.
As the flash lit and the animal fled, the usual camera sounds
were overcome by louder ones. Just as I snapped the shot,
Linda screamed. It was the loudest, I had ever heard from
her. The pitch was ear piercing. She ran through the thick
shrubbery, as if it weren't there.
" Snake! Snake! I got bit by a snake! ", she cried. Her
eyes were puffy. There were tears running down her red face.
Her arms trembled.
" Let me see. Where did it bite you.", I nervously
asked.
She opened her left hand. Below her little finger was
a drop of blood. The small indentation was barely visible,
but the snake had penetrated the skin.
" What kind was it! ", I yelled in a very worried
manner. I certainly wasn't helping matters.
" I don't know.", she pouted, " It was all different
colors, red and black and.."
" Are you sure! ", I interrupted.
" Yes, it had a bunch of colored stripes.", she
answered.
As Linda clutched the painful wound, I ran to my tripod.
It was the only weapon, I could think of. I had to find the
snake. The Coral Snake resided in these parts. If that is
105
what it was, we were in trouble. This snake possessed the
most potent venom of all the snakes in the country.
I tramped through the fern covered forest in a frantic
search. I swung the heavy weapon through the thick ferns,
hoping to spot the bastard. I heard a rustling sound. It was
a snake. I could tell by the way it bent the ferns. The
movement was heading straight for the clearing. The snake
was probably scared. There were few things more dangerous
than a frightened poisonous snake.
" Linda! Get over by the water! ", I wailed at the top
of my lungs.
She didn't respond verbally, but when the inkberry
branches cleared from my face, she was already there. The
snake slithered in the sandy soil, bearing it's prominent
stripes. The Coral Snake was heading directly to the water,
and Linda!
My legs carried me at full throttle. My mind was on one
thing, only. Linda discovered the incoming serpent. She
released an emphatic screech. The volume brought pain to my
ears. The snake pulled up. It attempted to turn around. The
skinny reptile's eyes caught sight of my much larger frame.
It coiled up and stood still. I reached the two foot snake.
I stood before it. I raised the sturdy metal tripod
above my head. My breathe was heavy. For that moment, I had
106
forgotten everything that I had learned, nothing mattered.
All that was important was that I smashed the son of a bitches
brains in! My shoulders and biceps hardened. I began to pour
every ounce of energy into this one motion. But, wait. It
hit me.
" Red on black; poison's lacked "
" Red on yellow: you're a dead fellow"
That was the old saying. How could I have forgotten?
There was another snake. One that greatly resembled the
Coral. My eyes studied the thick red stripe. It was
surrounded by black on both sides.
" Red on black; poison's lacked "
My hands released the former weapon. I took a deep
breath. My mind returned to reality, or maybe better put,
to sanity. The physical and mental exertion became apparent.
I felt exhausted. With my shoe, I nudged the terrified
animal. As my body paced itself to another side, it retreated
to the wooded land. I captured Linda's eyes, as they stared
off in some sort of trance.
" A King Snake, honey, a harmless King Snake.", I
107
stated, continuing to pant profusely.
Linda didn't say a word. I walked to her and embraced
her shaking body. Her arms held me, tightly. A tear rolled
down my sweaty face. The relief was undescribable. I was
nothing without her, absolutely nothing. That was the first
time, the thought had came into the picture.
The sticky adhesive clung to her delicate skin. As the
bandage was applied, my heart slowed to it's normal pace.
We made the two trips without delay. After leaving the
forest for the second time, I removed my shirt. The hot sun
and strain from the hike left the cotton fabric drenched.
Linda still wore a troubled face. The pain in her hand had
subsided. At least, that was what she told me.
The car made the bridge crossing with no trouble. We
stopped briefly to view the St. Mary's river. The heavy
downpour precluded us from this pleasure before. Soon, the
Bonneville reached the main road. I took a right, heading
for the nearest telephone. The first gasoline station had
a booth on the corner. I pulled into the full service lane.
As the attendant pumped the petroleum, I proceeded to the
phone.
Using my calling card, I contacted Linda's physician,
Dr. Jay Scott MD. His secretary put me right through. I
discussed our dilemma. He checked a few things, putting me
108
on hold. If there was one thing, I could not stand, it was
elevator music. Luckily, he knew I was calling long
distance. The wait was brief. The doctor explained findings
with me. After the short conversation, he wished me a
pleasant trip.
" Thank you, sir.", I replied in a respectful tone.
The receiver was placed back to it's resting position.
My index finger probed the change return, searching for any
forgotten coins. It was a weird habit, but one that stuck
with me. I couldn't remember the last time there was actually
any money in it.
Linda paid the serviceman. She talked to him for a
minute or two, about something. My guess was directions. I
reached over to buckle my seat belt. Linda entered the car
and buckled as well. With the transmission in drive, the
two-door vehicle gripped the pavement.
" Well? ", Linda inquisitively stated.
" Well, what? ", I teased.
" Did you get a hold of Dr Scott? ", she elaborated.
" Yes, I did.", I continued with the torment.
" Come on, what did he say? ", she pleaded, while
quickly losing her patience.
" He said you are up to date on your tetanus.", I
explained. He also said, the only way to get the toxin (
109
tetanus ), was if the wound got dirty. But, I asked him to
check, for Linda's sake.
" What about rabies? ", she inquired.
" Nope, only warm-blooded animals carry the virus.",
I defined.
Linda paused a moment. Then, a bright smile illuminated
her more cheerful face.
" He did say that you were lucky to be with an expert.",
I bragged.
" Yea, right.", she laughed, sporting an expression of
relief.
" You don't believe me? ", I sarcastically questioned.
" He probably said something more like: You city
slickers are lucky to be alive.", she exaggerated.
I looked down to her bandaged hand. She was moving it,
much more freely.
" How's the hand? ", I asked in a concerned manner.
She produced a mild fist. She released it, spreading
her fingers, widely.
" Fine. The pain is gone. How far are we from home? ",
she requested.
" Oh, about five hours.", I said in an unsure voice.
With the aid of the air conditioner and a quick stop
at Burger King, the ride was enjoyable. The sign, stating
110
"Danburg-5 miles", was a pleasant sight. As the honeymoon
reached it's final minutes, an ironic thought crossed my
path.
I thought people got married in order to "settle down".
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER NINE
111
MISTAKEN
IDENTITY
" Hey Tony, breaktime! ", yelled Jim in a powerful
voice. He had to overcome the high pitched wheel grinder.
Jim was the shop foreman. I released the trigger, shutting
off the air supply. The rotating disc came to an abrupt stop.
I climbed out of the turbine's bearing housing. With Jim's
help, we placed the temporary, plywood cover over the large
opening. If any foreign object ever got into the turbine,
the result would be catastrophic.
As usual, I was the last to enter the breakroom. Most
of the guys would set the alarms on their watches, to go off
five minutes prior to breaktime. But, also as usual, Mike
had saved me a seat kitty-corner to his. He was my long time
spades partner.
" It's your bid, Tone.", Mike informed. My nickname was
Tone. For some reason, I can't remember how it started.
112
I noticed that a coffee was already awaiting me. So,
I slowly inspected the thirteen cards. The first card, to
show it's face, was the ace of spades. My lucky day? The next
twelve were trash. A king, queen of hearts and a jack of clubs
were the only high ones. Beside the ace, the only other spade
was the three. And, best of all, I had no diamonds.
" Nil.", I proudly stated.
" Good, that'll match your sex life, now that you're
married.", Mike joyfully added.
Mike was a great guy and my best friend however, he
spared nobody, when it came to a wise crack. Sometimes, he
would go too far. This time, it was harmless, and to be
honest, quite funny. All four of us chuckled. Mike laughed
the loudest. He admired his own comedy. Paula overheard the
joke, as she strolled by on her way to the coffee pot.
" Oh, that's right. Congratulations, big guy.", she
said in a deep, but feminine voice.She gave me a hefty pat
on the back.
" Thanks, Paula.", I returned with a smile.
She was one of only two girls on the day shift. Anybody,
who disagreed with woman in the work force, never met Paula
Sanderson. She was an attractive gal, although a bit on the
chunky side. Not chunky, as in overweight, but as in
muscular. One day, she had come over to help me move a journal
113
bearing. It must have weighed a good hundred, or so. We both
placed our hands near the center of the moon-shaped piece
of metal. As we moved it toward the rotor's shaft, my foot
slipped on some lubricant. My hands remained on the bearing,
while my knees broke the fall. She was, in actuality,
carrying the object by herself. The surprising thing was
that she didn't even grimace. She was one strong lady and
an excellent mechanic.
Steve and Dave decided on a bid of "team eight", and
Mike stated that he would pick up four. They always stopped
me from making nil, but this time, Andy ( Steve's usual
partner ) was on vacation. Dave, his fill-in, wasn't exactly
what you'd call a genius. Mike and I traded one card. Of
course, I got rid of the ace of spades.
" How's Amanda? ", Steve asked Mike, as I led out the
two of hearts.
" She's as hot as ever. You'll see on Friday night.",
he added in a bragging tone.
He was speaking of the party, he was throwing the
upcoming weekend. It was his girlfriend Amanda's birthday.
She was turning nineteen. Mike was twenty eight, but he
didn't seem to care. He had problems, keeping girls. Yes,
it was true, he always had a girl. But, it was a different
one every other week. Along with that great sense of humor
114
came a "not knowing when to quit" problem. He took very few
things, seriously. He had been going with Amanda for quite
a while. In my opinion, the only thing that they had in
common, was immaturity. At the same time, she was a very
sweet and attractive girl, and I hoped the best for Mike.
" How long have you two been together? ", Dave asked,
as he played the ten of hearts.
" Three months.", Mike boasted, yielding an eight of
hearts. Dave took the lead.
" Ooh, sounds like true love.", Dave exclaimed, while
leading the five of diamonds. I took advantage of the diamond
and tossed out my jack of clubs. ( I had some low hearts to
cover my king and queen ) Steve gained the lead. He offered
the six of hearts. After Mike's card, Dave through out the
ace of hearts. I chuckled silently, discarding the king.
Steve's eyes rolled, as he interrogated him, " Was that your
ONLY heart? "
Dave viewed his hand and remained soundless, for a
moment. " Hey, somebody turn that song up.", he barked in
an effort to change the subject. " I like that song." Jim
reached over and raised the volume on the little AM/FM radio.
"Jessie's Girl", by Rick Springfield, was playing.
A few cards later, I got into a bit of a jam. The only
heart in my hand was the queen. Steve was very crafty, and
115
there was little doubt that he knew. However, Dave had the
lead. Steve smiled and spoke, " Burn him, Dave."
Dave hesitated. He scratched his head with his dirty
hands. He rarely washed his hands. This included, while he
ate. He tossed his card onto the tabletop. It landed upside
down. Quickly, he jerked his paw out to flip it over. I
couldn't believe. Who's side was this guy on? Was I actually
going to make nil? My heart began to increase it's rate, as
I stared at the card, which possessed a brand new greasy
thumbprint in the corner.
" You stupid shit! What's the matter with you. He
doesn't have any diamonds! ", Steve blared harshly.
" Hey, no table talk.", I interrupted. I didn't really
care about the "table talk". It just didn't seem fair. Dave
was a little on the slow side, but that was no excuse for
humiliation. Steve shook his head a couple times.
One trick was all that separated me from my first nil.
Mike led the five of spades. I proudly displayed the three.
Steve threw his card, whizzing it by a couple heads. It
landed on the floor.
" Steve it's just a dumb game.", Mike added, " Don't
be thinking that you are that smart. Hell, I've been reading
your cards for the past two months.
" What? ", Steve requested in a demanding tone.
116
" Yea, those thickass glasses reflect your cards like
a damn mirror.", Mike stated, bursting into laughter. Like
I mentioned before, he rarely took anything too seriously.
And, he didn't know when to quit. Any fool could see that
Steve was losing his temper. Mike had pushed him past the
limit. Steve walked out of the large room. Steve was quite
level-headed, but not this time. After all, it was monday.
The rest of the day went normal. Steve apologized to
Dave on the afternoon break. In fact, they came back and beat
us at our own game. The second shift came in, and I was ready
to hit the showers. The hard days work felt good, after
taking the short vacation ( honeymoon ).
I hopped into my Ford truck, a blue F150 to be exact.
It was ten years old, but as dependable as they come. I waved
to the overweight security guard. He was always smiling. It
kind of gave me the creeps. However, he was always a pleasant
sight. His chubby face signified that I was only twenty
minutes from being home.
The old truck's thick treads turned onto Apple Street.
The brakes were slowly applied, as the machine neared the
mailbox that baring the numbers 671. I entered the driveway.
Our house was a soft, country blue color. The aluminum siding
was trimmed with deep brown shutters. The gutters and doors
matched the shutters. It was your standard two story home.
117
A large portion of the roof was made of double pane glass.
This served as Linda's plant room. The glass could only be
seen from the backyard.
The
yard
was
very,nicely
landscaped.
It
was
approximately one half acre. We had lived in it for six
months. We lived in an apartment prior to that. We had been
living together, since I left the navy, a year and a half
ago. It was hard enough, holding off on sex until getting
married. But, to succeed, while living together, was
absolute murder. I should probably add that, when saying
"holding off on sex", I mean
"not going all the way".
Speaking of that beautiful woman, there she was. She greeted
me at the door.
" Hello, Mr White.", she welcomed.
" Hello, Mrs White.", I contributed with a smile.
" Oooh, I like the sound of that.", replied Linda.
We kissed, as our warm bodies embraced. I looked into
her innocent blue eyes. My mind was savoring her gentle
beauty, until it was swiftly interrupted by a pleasant
smell.
" What's cooking? ", I asked in an interested manner.
" Chicken and Dumplings! ", she stated. Linda knew that
it was one of my favorites.
Dinner was excellent. It always is. I helped Linda
118
clear the table. She was going to help me develop the slides.
Actually, I was going to teach her how. She had been bugging
me for the last year. However the timing and temperature
controls were very stringent. But, now, I had the process
down to a science. I could break my concentration without
ruining the film.
" Well honey, are you ready? ", I asked her.
" For what? ", she wondered.
" To develop the pictures. You didn't forget did you?
", I requested, knowing fully well the answer.
" Of course not.", She shyly stated. Actually, It
shocked me that she overlooked the event. She had been
considerably excited about the pictures, she had taken of
the woodpecker.
I changed into some raggy clothes, a tee-shirt and
sweatpants. I strolled to the spare bedroom, where the
equipment was stored. The upstairs bathroom was used as the
darkroom.
The conversion was quite simple. The first stage
in the set up was to cover the window. First, I pulled the
shade. Then, I placed a pre-cut piece of black felt over the
opening. The window trim was fabricated with a ziplock type
fastener. Plastic strips were wedged into the fastener,
sealing the dark material. Next, a square table was made by
119
setting a section of wood over the bathtub. The tray warmer,
funnels, chemicals, and other equipment were placed here.
The sink counter was rather large. This is where I set
the timer, film processing tanks, and viewbox. A tygon hose
was adapted to the faucet. The hose possessed an in line
water filter. The purity of the water was very critical.
The first step in the procedure was to load the
processing tanks. The two tanks, I owned, allowed for three
rolls per container. The tanks resembled a thermos. The film
had to be loaded onto the spirals in complete darkness. Once
the spirals were loaded into the tanks, the lights could be
energized.
Since the loading was done in the dark, I showed Linda
the motions in the light. With everything in place, I flicked
the bathroom light switch. Linda shut the door, as she left
the room. There was little sense in her standing in the pitch
black.
The five rolls of Kodak were set in a line to my left,
and the two tanks to my right. I stood directly in front of
the sink. Some scotch tape and scissors were set in the sink
basin. I firmly tapped the cartridge onto the countertop.
The outer skin of the roll was removed. With the scissors,
I cut a tapered end. It was inserted into the spiral lugs.
After transferring it to the spiral, I snipped off the spool
120
and taped down the loose film end. I was, now, ready to move
on to the next roll. Two more and I could place the spiral
into the processing tank. I tapped the next cartridge. The
film was exposed. I reached for the scissors.
I continued my work until all five rolls were properly
loaded. My hands began to fumble for the little black night
light. This enabled me to ensure that everything was
complete, prior to filling the room with full intensity.
My
pupils were fully dilated, so it took a little time to focus
on the area. Everything was properly locked into place.
All of a sudden, I felt a mild sensation on my waist.
It startled me. I realized, it was Linda. She had been in
the room the whole time.
She began tickling me. I grabbed
her hands and pulled them down and away. I was quite
ticklish.
" Hey, You scared the crap out of me! ", I stated in
a half surprised, half chucking tone.
" You had no idea, did you? ", she quizzed.
" No, I didn't, what made you do that? ", I wondered.
" Oh, I figured, I'd pay you back for yelling at me,
when the car broke down.", she answered, " We're even now."
" Yea, I guess we are.", I said. My mind remembered the
flowers that I presented to her. I had a suspicion that they
would not be sufficient.
121
" Hey honey, could you hit the switch? ", I suggestively
asked.
She did not respond, at first. Then, the door opened.
The faint sound of the light switch sounded. The brightness
attacked my eyes. My eyelids shielded away the pain. As sight
was regained, the image was of an empty room. Linda had left.
She left the door slightly cracked. My eyes focused on the
new level of illumination. The rest of the processing
procedure would be done with the 100 watt bulb on.
I lined up the glass containers, which would hold the
various chemicals. Each small jar was labeled and marked for
a particular chemical. I carefully poured the liquids into
their associated containers.
" Tony, did you want a drink, before we get started?
", Linda asked, as she returned to the darkroom. I shook my
head to simulate a "no". She acknowledged and entered the
bathroom.
I had a plastic basin half full of water already
warming.
The
heating
element
was
set
at
45
degrees
Centigrade. I placed the glass jars into the warm tub of
water. Each had a thermometer set into them. The required
temperatures varied from 33 to 39 degrees. As the chemicals
neared 35 celsius, I lowered the warming pad's setting.
My hand twisted the dial on the timer. The indicator
122
pointed at the six minute mark. I studied the thermometer.
The first developer was ready. I poured the chemical into
the
canister.
As
soon
as
the
liquid
was
entirely
transferred, the timer was started.
" Tell me, when there is only ten seconds left.", I
instructed.
" OK, what does that stuff do? ", Linda inquired.
" This is called the developer. It takes the invisible
image that was created by the light exposure, and it converts
it into an image.", I explained.
As I inverted the canister, I interpreted to her that
this was to agitate the liquid. It was important to prevent
any air bubbles from coming in contact with the film. Linda
informed me of the time left. The chemical was slowly poured
down the drain. The timer was set at two minutes for the next
stage. I throttled the faucet. The water flow was controlled
to establish 35 degrees C. I stuck the hose into the
processing tank, which rested in the sink. The timer began
to move. The filtered water overflowed, as expected.
" This is called a wash. It's done basically after each
step. It removes the chemicals that don't come out, when the
container is drained.", I discussed. Linda listened with the
determination to understand. The two minutes were up. The
next chemical jar was emptied into the processor. This step
123
would not require the aid of a time keeper.
" This is the stop bath. It is used to stop the
developing action.", I stated.
" I thought that the wash removed the developer
solution? ", she intelligently quizzed.
" That's true it does. However, an extra stopper is
needed. The bath is an acid. The developer is a base. Not
only does the stop bath halt development, but it neutralizes
the solution.", I explained.
Upon the completion of the bath, I repeated a wash and
a two minute reversal bath. The timer was, then, set at seven
minutes. The precisely warmed liquid flowed into the tank,
and the seven minutes commenced.
" Tell me ten seconds before, again, OK? ", I requested.
" Sure.", she agreed.
" This is the color developer. It combines the light
sensitive
crystals,
that
were produced
in
the first
developer, with the couplers.", I spoke.
" Coupler? That must be the part with the color.", Linda
stated.
" You're absolutely correct. When formed with the
silver crystals, it creates a dye.", I expounded.
After the color developing was complete, the film was
conditioned and washed. A bleach, to prepare for toning, was
124
added next. This followed by an additional wash. The next
major step had approached.
" This is called the fixer. It is used to fix the image.
It makes the photographic picture permanent. This is done
by making the undeveloped crystals water soluble, so they
can be removed.", I said.
After five minutes, the dissolved crystals were poured
out with the liquid solution. A two minute stabilizer was,
then, introduced. This stabilized the unexposed silver
crystals. It also accelerated the process. The film was now
ready to be removed and dried. I removed the three rolls of
film. With a clip,I hung them into my drying cabinet.
Actually, it was the linen closet. With an abundant
thickness of newspapers on the bottom, I clipped them on the
temporary rod.
As the film dried, the complete process was repeated
for the other tank. I allowed Linda to do some of the simpler
parts. She did the agitating, washes, and stop bath. When
the timer had ended for the stabilizing, I withdrew the film
and suspended it, to dry. The previous three rolls would be
ready soon.
We were both anxious to see the results. However, I had
learned from past experience not to handle wet slides. We
adjourned to the kitchen and enjoyed a hot cup of coffee.
125
Just as I began to relax, a ring sounded in the background.
" I'll get it.", Linda offered. She talked on the phone
for a couple minutes and hung up.
" Who was that? ", I quizzed.
" That was Mike. He wanted to know, how many folding
chairs we have.", Linda replied. Mike was pretty psyched up
about his party. Originally, it was set up as a surprise
party. But, Mike couldn't keep his own secret.
We finished our coffee. It was time, to learn how well
we did. This was always an exciting time. Especially this
time, since the pictures were taken in such a primitive
setting. I turned the switch to "on". The brightened surface
on the viewer was glowing. I slowly opened the cabinet door.
I unclipped the first dry strip. The column of photos was
held near the illumination.
The Orb Spider came out suitable. The spider's yellow
body was slightly bleached from a mild over exposure. The
White Ibis turned out perfect. I was very pleased with the
results.
" Where's my Woody picture? ", impatiently asked Linda.
" Hold your horses. It's coming. ", I replied.
The next couple rolls included the Marsh Rabbit, White
Egret, and Yellow-crowned Night Heron. The rabbit was extra
nice. The detail of his furry exterior was superb.
126
I checked the other two strips of film. They were still
somewhat wet. Linda looked, as if she could wait no longer.
I decided to handle the moist exposures. As long as the
slides were kept an inch away from the light, they would be
alright.
The first image to appear was the Tri-colored Heron.
As anticipated, the backlit sun created a silhouette
impression. Still, they had merit. The coerced chipmunk was
the next face to pop up. Once again, I was quite satisfied.
The last batch of photographs hung inside the cabinet. I was
as nervous as Linda. I was hoping so very hard, the
woodpecker did not move too much. The answer was only seconds
away.
The band of images was gently held by my fingertips.
The semi-transparent material was placed above the light.
We viewed all three attempts. Each one fell short of success.
They
were
blurred
past
the
state
of
recognition.
I
considered telling Linda that I goofed, during a stage of
the
developing
procedure.
However,
the
needles
and
branches, to which the bird had clung, were in perfect focus.
The creature's large head just didn't stay still enough for
the slow film. The lizard photo also was in excellent
condition. There was no way she would have believed me. I
hated to see this. She wanted so badly for these pictures
127
to succeed.
" He was too jerky, honey. At least, you got to see
him.", I consoled. My right arm wrapped her shoulders. The
look on her face made it apparent that she was disappointed.
" Hey Linda, How come there's no red on the crest? ",
I asked. The head was not distinguishable, but there still
should have been a red tint to it.
" There was no red. It was a female.", she answered.
" A female? What do you mean? ", I requested.
" Yea, a female. She had a black crest. The female isn't
colorful like the male, right? ", she came back.
" No, the Pileated Woodpeckers are almost identical
between the sexes. They both have red crests. It had to be
red.", I explained.
" It was black, I'm sure. Are there any birds that look
like the Pileated? ", she asked, hoping for a response.
I paused for a moment. There was only one bird that was
similar. It was a slightly larger bird, but the female had
a black crest. However, this bird had been extinct for over
ten years. The last sighting was in the late sixties, or so.
It just couldn't be. The large woodpecker must have had his
head cocked in a manner, to block the red from view.
" Nope, that's the only thing that I know of.", I
fibbed.
128
" Maybe, it was a baby. There heads don't turn red for
a while, do they? ", Linda asked, searching desperately for
an explanation.
" I believe the young have red right from the start.
Besides, that was no baby. It was definitely an adult.", I
added with some emphasis.
Linda did not want to give up. She had really been
looking forward to this. I considered telling her that I
could have done no better. But, she didn't want to hear that,
although it was true.
I couldn't tell her of this other bird. Linda didn't
deserve to be set up for another disappointment. A funny
feeling crossed my mind. I felt a chill about my shoulders.
They shivered for a short instant. What about the pointed
tail? Could it really have been the.........
No, it couldn't be.
129
NOTE:
PAGES
133
THROUGH
FOLLOWING PHOTOGRAPHS:
130
138
RESERVED
FOR
THE
Tri-colored Heron
Marsh Rabbit
Orb Spider
Yellow-crowned Night Heron
Great White Egret
Green Anole
White Ibis
Chipmunk
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER TEN
131
LET'S PARTY!
" Hey man, you don't have a beer, yet.", Mike slurred,
as he greeted us at the door. He had obviously been drinking
for a while.
" Not yet, bud. Where's the tap? ", I inquired.
" In the utility room. Hey, get me a refill, while your
there.", Mike stated, while prominently stumbling.
I carried in four folding chairs. I leaned them up
against the wall in the hallway. Linda followed closely
behind. I could see that we were close to the last to arrive.
Most of the guys from work were there. Steve and Paula doing
shots of Tequila. Steve was in for a rough night. A few of
Amanda's friends were there.
" Here's your beer, Mike. Hi, Amanda. Happy Birthday.",
I cheerfully exclaimed.
" Thanks, Tony. Hi, Linda.", Amanda returned.
" Hi, you look good tonight.", Linda replied.
Linda didn't really like Amanda. She never thought that
she was good enough for Mike. Linda told me once; she treats
him, more like he's her servant. Nonetheless, Linda was
140
polite to her.
" Thanks, Linda. I like your dress. Blue looks nice on
you. Come on, I'll introduce you to some of my friends.",
Amanda suggested in a childish pitch. Linda reluctantly
followed her to the living room. My eyes observed Linda's
slight wiggle. Her feminine stroll was truly graceful. I
compared this to Amanda's style. Her movements were much
more deliberate and mechanical. Almost as though, she knew
somebody was watching.
I looked to Mike. He had already finished off the large
plastic cup of draft. I poured a portion of mine into his
glass. His eyes were bloodshot. His whole body swayed in a
small circular motion. It appeared, he would not last the
entire party. He stuck out his tongue, licking the suds off
his moustache. Quickly, he yanked it back in, as a powerful
hiccup shot out.
" What did ya get her for her birthday? ", I asked him.
" A ruby ring. Ya wanna see it? ", Mike offered.
" No, I can wait until she opens it. Sounds serious,
though.", I concluded, fishing for a response.
" Yea, I guess it is. I'm thinking about asking her to
move in with me.", he added in a more sober speech.
" Well, congratulations, big guy. I hope it works
out.", I said truthfully.
141
We walked toward the keg. Actually, I walked. Mike
stumbled. The beer was starting to taste real good. We
entered the kitchen. Steve and Paula were facing each other
at the table. Paula set down her empty shot glass. Steve
stared at his full one. His eyes were locked into a fixed
position. His jaw hung considerably.
" Hey, Stevie Boy? You're not going to let a girl beat
you, are you? ", Mike obnoxiously continued, " If you lose,
I'll never speak talk you to, again." His speech was greatly
altered by the alcohol consumption. Mike's legs started
taking him backwards. He lost control. The stove stopped his
reverse journey. His hand released the half full container
of beer. The spilled liquid covered a small area on the
floor. Mike exerted a drunken laugh. As he continued with
the hideous cackle, he pulled an over abundance of paper
towels from it's roll. He tossed the wad of absorbent to the
linoleum. They completely missed their target. I'm sure for
Mike, it was a moving target.
" Come on Ste , ink it! ", Mike slurred.
Steve's eyes finally moved. His head shook, as he sat
up straight in his seat. He cupped the glass in his right
hand. He lifted it to his mouth. Steve's chest expanded. It
returned to normal, after exhaling. His eyelids tightly
covered his bloodshot eyes. With no further delay, he
142
accepted the challenge. The glass was instantly emptied. His
head quivered. A sharp bang echoed, as the shot glass firmly
met the tabletop. Steve's eyes remained closed. A relieved
smile replaced his once blank face. His eyes opened to the
vision of Paula tipping the bottle of Tequila. A fresh refill
sat inches away, awaiting it's consumption. His impression
changed, once again. An unhappy groan emerged from his
breath.
I looked over to Mike. He was standing, but only because
the range was in between him and the floor. It was time to
get him to a comfortable and safe chair. I helped him into
the living room. The music was loud. They were playing Van
Halen. Mike fought me the whole way. He kept blurting out
that he wanted another beer. But, as soon as his scrawny but
was buried in the recliner, he quieted down.
On the other side of the room was Linda, Amanda, and
another girl. Amanda and the unknown were both smoking
cigarettes. Neither one of the young girls inhaled. The new
girl was very young looking. My guess was seventeen years
old. She was wearing wire-rimmed glasses. She had short
curly brown hair. Her body was slender, although her hips
were wide in proportion. There was something odd about the
way she carried herself. She stood only a couple of inches
from Amanda. Her shoulders moved side to side, as if she was
143
flaunting her more developed chest. My eyes veered back to
Mike. He seemed content on his new location. I decided to
see, if Linda needed a rescuer.
" Hi honey, need a refill? ", I spoke loudly to overcome
the rock and roll music.
" No, hey dear? This is Tina, Tina this is my husband,
Tony.", Linda introduced.
" Hi.", I greeted. Tina responded verbally, but her
eyes only threw a quick glance. They were immediately back
on her friend.
" Hey honey, Mike's in some pretty rough shape. Let's
go sit on the couch and keep him company.", I suggested.
Linda nodded in agreement.
" Excuse us, girls.", I stated, as I held Linda's soft
hand.
Mike's condition seemed to improve a little. He had
settled down a great bit. I got up and changed the album.
REO
Speedwagon seemed more
appropriate.
I
also
took
advantage of the situation and turned down on the volume.
" Hey Tony, c-could you do me a favor? ", Mike said with
less trouble than before. He was still quite intoxicated.
" Anything, bud.", I returned.
" Amanda's gift is in my left top drawer. Could you g-go
g-get it for me? ", he asked.
144
" Be right back.", I promised.
The light emitted through the crack underneath the
door. Some faint noises could be heard. As I approached
Mike's bedroom door, the sound of giggling emerged. There
was a distinct difference between the two voices. I entered
the room. My body came to an abrupt halt. My eyelids lifted
to their full extent. My mouth remained opened and froze.
I could not be seeing this.
The initial instant was slightly blurry, since I had
yet to fully focus. When the image became clear, I saw Amanda
and Tina. Tina had jumped back from Amanda's half naked body.
Amanda had grabbed a pillow to cover her small breasts.But,
before they could be hidden, I discovered the red markings
on them. It was lipstick.
All of a sudden, my mind was placed in a major dilemma.
Should I ruin Mike's party? How could I keep this from him?
Would he believe me?
" I was just getting a birthday present.", Amanda
stated, pleading her innocence.
I didn't say a word. My legs carried me to Mike's
dresser. As I fumbled around for the gift, Amanda put her
shirt on and ran out of the room. Tina followed. I obtained
the package. Reluctantly, I returned to the living room.
As Mike presented her with the offering, my mind
145
wandered. It, then, hit me. He was going to ask her to live
with him. But, he would never believe me. Amanda held the
deep red stone into the air. She acted happy. In fact, she
was able to force out a tear or two. As she carried on with
the award winning performance, I realized that there was
proof. The lipstick! She had gotten dressed, so quickly,
that she wasn't able to remove the evidence.
A commotion erupted from the kitchen. Paula had
finished another shot of Tequila. Steve's companions were
coaxing him on. A chant of "Go Steve Go" vibrated the walls.
Everybody, but Mike and Amanda, left to the kitchen. Linda
went to the ladies room. The timing was perfect.
"
Mike,
Amanda
has
something
to
tell
you.",
I
instructed, throwing a stern look at Amanda.
She just shook her head. She was not going to tell him.
" I have proof.", I stated to her.
" What proof? ", she responded.
I just pointed my eyes to her chest. She knew exactly,
what I meant. Mike had a confused expression on his face.
" If you don't tell him, I'll show him! ", I threatened.
" You wouldn't dare.", she said.
" Try me.", I, once again, threatened.
A short pause followed. It seemed much longer. I hoped
that she would confess. What if she took me up on my little
146
dare? What if Linda walked in, just as I was lifting Amanda's
shirt. What would Mike think? He would probably belt me in
the chops and ask questions later. Linda wouldn't talk to
me for weeks. Mike would be too drunk to notice the lipstick,
anyhow. If he did see them, she could tell him that they were
fake, and she was playing a joke on him. It became obvious
that, if she didn't take the bait, there was little I could
do.
My expression held it's ground. Amanda gave in. I stuck
around long enough, to ensure she was telling the truth. It
was time to get Linda. For us, the party was over!
147
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MY LUCKY DAY
148
It had been over three weeks, since the party. He had
taken the news pretty hard. I finally convinced him to come
over for a Braves game. The season had just begun. Being an
Atlanta Braves fan, the start of a new season meant hope.
Usually by mid-season, they were all, but mathematically,
eliminated from the race. It was a Saturday afternoon game.
Mike's
favorite
beer
was
Miller,
so
I
loaded
the
refrigerator in anticipation of his arrival.
He was late, as usual. The Braves had just made their
final out in the second inning.
" What's the score? ", Mike asked, while entering the
doorway.
" Still scoreless, come on in, bud.", I replied,
ignoring his late status.
We commenced to drinking some brew. At first, we would
make a pitstop once per inning. But, as the game progressed,
the beer poured easier. It's smooth taste brought a relaxed
condition to my brain. Soon, we were visiting the Frigidaire
every half inning. Maybe, it was because our team was losing.
I reached over to the remote control and raised the
volume on the television. The announcer's voice filled the
room, " Two out, two on, a two-one count on Templeton. Neikro
looks in to get his sign from Benedict. The knuckle-baller
holds it at the belt.., he pitches.., he swings.., it's a
149
line drive heading for the gap in right center.., Butler
dives..,he's got it! What a sensational catch by the rookie
center fielder, to rob Templeton of extra bases and the
Cardinals of a couple runs! So, after six and one half
innings, it's St. Louis-three and Atlanta-one."
Mike and I exchanged high fives. The Braves had started
the year with twelve consecutive victories. Most people felt
that it was just a fluke. I wasn't much of a baseball fan,
until the winning streak, myself. Mike, on the other hand
was a die hard Atlanta fan. He accused me of "jumping the
bandwagon". That was the term for people, who only cared,
when their team won. He was right, though. But, the beer was
cold, the day was young, and the bathroom was only a few feet
away. Today, I was a baseball fan.( normally, I stuck to
football and basketball, only ) I reached over to lower the
sound. Those commercials always seemed to be louder than the
program.
" I've got a date, tonight.", Mike stated, right out
of the blue.
" You do, Who is it? ", I asked.
" Her name is Cindy, she's twenty-nine, divorced, but
no kids.", he described, " blonde hair, brown eyes, and one
beautiful babe."
" Wow. What time are you picking her up? ", I inquired.
150
" Eight o'clock, why? ", he wondered.
" We better cut down on the booze, eh? ", I recommended.
"" What? And give up on the Braves. This is America's
team were dealing with here.", he proudly stated.
I could see that he was not going to be rational. In
fact, it appeared as though, he had taken it more as a
challenge. He began drinking, more rapidly. By the start of
the ninth, he was completely tanked. It was obvious that he
was taking this Amanda thing a bit too hard.
As he sat immobile in the Lazyboy, his eyes stared at
the television. The Brave's were still losing, and it was
their final at bat. His face showed no change in expression.
The events were not being registered. Soon, his eyelids
blanketed his obviously blurred vision. He had passed out.
It was time to get him home. If I had let him sleep, he would
have blamed me for missing the date.
I called Linda, whom was sewing in the spare room down
the hall, " Hey honey, could I talk to ya? " I spoke loud
enough to be heard above the TV.
" Just a minute.", she said.
I began collecting Mike's belongings, which only
consisted of his hat and shoes. Linda walked into the living
room. She stopped, as she caught sight of his condition. Her
eyes rolled mildly.
151
" Let me guess. He needs a driver.", she stated.
" Well, yea. I've had too much myself. I can't drive.",
I explained apologetically, " Hey honey, try to get this
Cindy's phone number. OK? "
" Yea, yea. God, I hate sports.", she exclaimed.
My right hand gripped his shoulder. The slight shaking
was insufficient to wake him up. I gripped the other shoulder
as well. As I yelled his name and his head pivoted side to
side, he began to show signs of life. His eyes opened, but
the trance persisted. A few seconds later, he snapped out
of it.
" Who won? ", he asked.
" It's not over yet. You need to get home, to get ready
for your date.", I explained. I knew, he wasn't going on any
date. However, if I could convince him to let Linda drive
him home, his Bronco would remain here. (and safe)
" Linda's going to drive you home.", I informed.
" But, the game's not over. What about my truck? ", he
reasoned.
" You call me, when you're ready, and Linda and I will
bring your truck over.", I expressed.
" No, nobody can drive my truck. It's a stick shift.",
Mike added, losing his grasp on reality.
" OK,OK, we'll come pick you up, then.", I offered.
152
" Alright, you call me, when you hear the score.", he
agreed under that stipulation.
" Yea sure, you've got it.", I said.
" You promise? ", he asked.
" Yea, I promise.", I repeated.
I helped him to the passenger side of the Pontiac. With
a small kiss on Linda's soft lips, the car was leaving the
two car, attached garage. I returned inside the dwelling.
There was a mess to clean up. Whenever a clutter was left,
Linda would go off the handle. I couldn't 't really blame
her. She put in, at least as many hours as I. So, we shared
most of the housework. To be honest though, she still did
significantly more than I.
A loud cheer could be heard. It was emitting from the
living room. As I entered the room and viewed the twenty-five
inch screen, Dale Murphy was jogging around third. The whole
team was greeting him at home plate. What do ya know, they
won. The Braves were 13-0.
My hands were submerged in the hot soapy water. I was
done with dishes, except for the silverware, when Linda
pulled in. I hated doing the forks. The knives and spoons
didn't bother me too much.
" Tony, could you help me with these chairs? ",
requested Linda. She must have picked up the folding chairs.
153
It didn't take much to get me away from the dishes. My hands
were wiped dry in seconds.
" Coming.", I answered in an upbeat voice, " Did you
get that woman's number? "
" Nope, he said he would be ready.", she stated, knowing
fully well of his chances.
" Yea right.", I concluded.
Linda unlocked the trunk. With a twist of the key, the
large lid swung open. Four padded folding chairs appeared.
One by one, I leaned them against the garage wall. I pulled
the keys out of the slot. My outstretched arm began to lower
the trunk's cover. I, then, noticed a clod in the trunk. It
was near the right quarter-panel inside the spacious
compartment. It looked almost like a rock. But, it's texture
resembled that of clay. I reached inside and clutched the
object. It was indeed clay, dry clay at that. It was the size
of a baseball or better.
" Hey, Linda honey, Look at this. I wonder, where this
came from? ", I expressed.
" I know.", she offered.
" You do? ", I responded rather puzzled.
" Yea, I picked that rock up out of the water, when that
snake was on the loose. I was so scared that I held on to
it, until we reached the car. I just threw it in the trunk
154
with the sleeping bag. Don't ask me why.", she expounded.
" Oh really, well, it's not a rock. The water made it
heavy, but now that it's dry...", I said, as I let it fall
to the cement floor. The lump broke into many small chunks.
" You can see that it's clay.", I finished.
" Oh OK, well now, it's a mess.", she elaborated.
I knelt down to pick up the numerous pieces. A small
shiny glimmer caught my eye. The lustrous object was nestled
in one of the little clumps of clay. With the clay resting
on my middle and index finger, I rubbed with my thumb. Soon,
all the dry soil was carved away. It couldn't be! My lungs
felt short of breath. I thought about the amount of alcohol
my body had consumed. I could feel the pulsations from my
heart in my fingertips.( the same fingertips that held the
polished nugget ) My thumbnail buckled, as I attempted to
penetrate the metal's surface. It was close to the size of
a pencil eraser, yet it possessed significant weight.
" Hey honey? Look at this.", I said in a scratchy voice.
" What is it? Solder? ", she asked uninterestedly.
" It came from that chunk of clay. I think it's a gold
nugget.", I whispered.
" Oh Tony, grow up. That could be anything.", she
concluded.
Linda did not believe me. But, I was already half
155
convinced. I knew little about metallurgy. However, the
color was so rich. How could she look at it and just shrug
it off?
I knelt down to the remaining bits and pieces. I gave
each
one
the
same
treatment.
Two
more
nuggets
were
discovered! Both being much smaller. I was astonished. All
of a sudden, I felt the world was at my fingertips. At the
same time, there was a feeling of helplessness. There was
a fortune to be had, but could I acquire it? Was there
anymore? Who was the true owner of these nuggets? Was this
really gold?
My mind determined that it was best, to take this in
a relaxed manner. It had to be done, one step at a time. I
could tell nobody. Linda didn't believe it, but that may have
been for the best.
The first step was to properly identify the possible
fortune. But, how? For starters, it was 6:00 PM on a
Saturday. A recent memory came forth with a potential
solution. He said that if I ever needed anything, don't
hesitate to ask. That was what Mr. Johnson said. He was the
one, who sold me the engagement ring and wedding bands. In
fact, he once bragged about being able to determine the
number of karats on sight. But, could I trust this man?
My fist detained the nuggets. My feet scuffled toward
156
the entrance door. I retrieved the thin phone book. My eyes
focused on the small print. The buzz, which I felt earlier,
was gone. Adrenalin had replaced the alcohol in my blood.
According to the residential pages, Mr. Johnson lived about
five miles away. It was far too long to walk. Linda would
never have allowed me to drive. And, I just couldn't wait.
" Honey, could you do me a favor? I need a ride to
someone's
house.",
I
pleaded,
trying
not
to
be
too
conspicuous.
" Where in the world do you need to go? ", she quizzed.
" The jeweler's.", I answered, bracing myself for the
reply.
" It's the weekend. Have you lost your mind? ", she
added.
" Yea, but he owes me a favor. Come on, let's go.", I
stated in a more directive attitude.
She didn't want to go. She believed that I was drunk,
and the beer was doing the talking. As infrequent as I drank,
she didn't know how to react. This was one of the very few
times, I drank without her. A few minutes passed by. My puppy
dog face finally won her over. Perhaps, it was just too
pitiful to bare.
The Bonneville pulled into the driveway that matched
the listing. It was a large two-story, brick house. It was,
157
without a doubt, a six figure home. Either I was at the wrong
house, or jewelers make a lot more money than mechanics.
My finger depressed the button. A ring sounded from
within the dwelling. The curtain to my right was pulled over.
A head popped through to view me, the visitor. It was the
face of Mr. Johnson. I don't think, he recognized me, at that
point. The door swung. He threw an initial confused
expression. A second later, he smiled.
" Aah, Mr. White. How are you? ", he greeted.
" Fine, thanks. How are you doing? ", I asked politely.
" Just dandy.", he answered, awaiting the meaning for
my presence.
" I was wondering, if you could check something out for
me? " I nicely requested.
" If I can. What do you need? ", he returned in a
cheerful tone.
I handed him an envelope. Inside was one of the smaller
nuggets.
" Thanks a bunch. Just give me a call with the
results.",
I stated,
while
walking
back
towards
the
passenger door. Mr. Johnson had a somewhat bewildering look
upon his face. His receding hairline created a rather
prominent forehead. As he flexed his eyebrows, The wrinkles
that generated stood out. I didn't want to confuse him, but
158
it was important not to tell him anything else.
We arrived home with little delay. The harsh sounds of
the telephone greeted us, as we entered the house. The
annoying pitch was usually an aggravation, but this time,
the noise brought excitement to my ears. I rushed to the
receiver. My nervous hands forced the phone from it's mount.
" H-Hello? ", I hesitated. My heart rate jumped, as I
anticipated a reply.
" Hi Tony, is Linda there? ", the female voice asked.
A mild disappointment flushed across my state of mind.
I should have known. It was too early, to expect a call from
Mr. Johnson. I was never one to use rationalization, during
a crisis. I replied with a hello, as I held out the phone,
to signify that it was for her. My eyes threw a convincing
stare to Linda, " It's your mother." Linda understood, what
the stare meant. She wasn't the type to spend much time on
the phone, anyhow.
I retreated to the living room. The soft Lazyboy wasn't
even sufficient to relax my anxious body. I checked the TV.
There was nothing on that interested me. Between the three
networks and PBS, there rarely was. Danburg was slated to
receive cable service in a few months. I couldn't wait.
Although, Linda previously stated that we would not be
getting it. She feared, we would turn into a couple "couch
159
potatoes". She was probably correct.
The newspaper crumbled, while I attempted to read the
sports section. My shaking arms could not maintain a steady
hold. My mind could not concentrate on the fine print,
anyway. I felt like a hyperactive child. I couldn't set
still. My enthusiastic body started pacing the floor. I
noticed that Linda had gotten off the phone.
The clock
indicated the time to be 9:00 PM. It dawned on me that Mike
had yet to call. I was sober now. I would go check on him,
as soon as I received the important phone call. What was
taking him so long? Could I trust this man?
I exited the room, heading for the garage. The sudden
demand for some fresh air arose. The air was a few degrees
cooler. My wandering eyes studied the many tools and gadgets
hanging on the walls. I stopped to examine the old, push from
behind mower. I was quite amazed that I had not yet used it.
There was little need for it at that particular time. The
only rain we got the entire Spring was that, which we
received during our honeymoon. It hadn't rained since that
day.
The
entire
state
was
in
dire
need
of
some
precipitation.. My grass was a bland shade of yellow.
A faint sound interrupted my train of thought. It was
the telephone. I moved quickly to the entrance door. Through
the window, I could see that Linda had already answered it.
160
My frame stood still. She didn't call for me. An occasional
smile was formed. I inhaled a large breath. Whom was she
talking to? It appeared to be a friendly conversation. I
silently begged for her to hurry it up. She must have heard
the mental prayer. The phone left her smiling face. She
didn't hang up, though. Linda looked at me.
" Here honey, it's for you.", she said cheerfully.
It must have been Mike. Who else would she have been
talking to? My parents? The door swiftly swung to an open
position. My sweaty hand grasped the telephone. My arms were
trembling lightly.
" Hello? ", I uttered in a question form.
" Yes Mr. White, I checked out your sample.", Mr.
Johnson declared precisely.
" Yea.", I said, asking him to continue.
" Where did you find this? ", he requested.
Damn, why did he say that? I had to think of something
quick. What could I tell him?
" My buddy from work got a bunch at one of those tourist
traps in Wyoming. He said it's probably just fool's gold.",
I lied, hoping he'd accept the poor, but spurious reply.
" Well, he took them for a good one. This is real gold.
In fact, it's about 925 fine.", he exclaimed.
" What does that mean? ", I asked, as my heart began
161
to beat rapidly.
" It means that this is close to pure gold. Any
significant sized nuggets would be worth considerable
amounts.", he explained.
I thought about asking him, how much "considerable"
was, but I didn't want to arouse any suspicions.
" I thank you much for your time, sir. Will that nugget
be enough for your troubles? ", I offered.
" Well, I couldn't...", he began.
" Have a nice weekend, sir.", I interrupted, as I hung
up the phone.
The thought occurred that I shouldn't have given him
that nugget. But, I wasn't thinking too clearly. Besides,
that was the least of my worries. As I peeked over to my wife,
a decision had to be made. Should I tell her the truth and
risk her telling somebody?
She never could keep a secret.
How could I lie to her. Then, the perfect solution popped
into the picture.
" Honey, what did you and Mr. Johnson talk about? ",
I requested.
" He asked me how the wedding went, and where we went
for our honeymoon.", she answered in an innocent tone.
Oh my God! He was a very smart man. He knew that I must
have found it on my most recent trip. Was this man trying
162
to get a piece of the action, or was I just paranoid?
" What did you tell him? ", I inquired in an anxious
demand.
" I told him that the wedding was lovely, and we went
to Daytona and the Okefenokee Swamp.", she answered with a
puzzled expression.
" You didn't tell him anything about the campsite, did
you? ", I continued.
" I'm not going to tell anybody about that place. It's
special.", she said with her arms wrapped, to symbolize it's
significance, " Why? What did he tell you? That's not real
gold, is it? ".
" Well, yea it is, but he needs more to determine, if
it's purity is substantial enough to be valuable.", I
greatly exaggerated.
" So, what's that suppose to mean? ", she demanded an
answer.
" I need to see, if I can't get a little more.", I
hinted.
" Are you nuts! You mean to tell me, you're going to
go tramping on somebody else's land and steal what's
rightfully theirs? ", she exerted rather loudly.
" How do you know it's not owned by the state? ", I came
back.
163
" Because, I asked the gas station man. He said that
the land west of the river is privately owned.", she
explained.
" Why did you ask that? ", I curiously requested.
" I just wanted to know, if we were trespassing on
someboby's land.", she concluded.
This was perfect. If I found enough gold, I would make
a generous offer for the applicable land.
" Well, I'm going to go check on Mike.", I said.
Mike had not moved an inch. His mouth was delivering
booming snores. I placed the covers over him. I also searched
for that phone number. I didn't want to snoop too much, so
I just checked the places, out in the open. The number was
not to be found. Mike was pretty good with numbers. Perhaps,
he had memorized it. After writing a quick note, I was off.
The note stated that we would drop the truck off in the
morning.
I drove by the library. Of course, it was closed. A few
pieces of information on gold were needed. The worst thought
presented itself to me. It provided me with an awful feeling.
I could imagine myself, breaking into the library. Even
though, the place would open tomorrow, I considered such a
deed. Had this new possession changed me? Did I lose my sense
of priorities? I exhaled deeply, shook off the whole idea,
164
and drove directly home.
Sunday morning greeted me with an unpleasant ache, in
between my temples. The dehydration had left my arms and legs
somewhat short of energy. A couple coffees and a Tylenol
later, and my body returned to a humane state. Linda was in
a much better mood than I. She had no pity on my condition.
" I've got to go to the library. Do you want to come
along? ", I offered, fully expecting her to turn down the
proposal.
" That sounds fun. I'll be ready in about five
minutes.", she replied.
We stepped onto the pavement of the less than roomy
parking lot. The Danburg Public Library was nothing to brag
about, but they usually had the books, which I was looking
for. I pulled the entrance door open. Linda strolled
through. I followed.
There were three books on the subject of prospecting
for gold. One was strictly on panning. Another was a
prospector's handbook. The third was a beginner's guide.
After finding an empty table ( which was quite simple in the
vacant room ), I sat down to find out, which book was suitable
for my needs. Due to the limited resources, two books was
the maximum checkout.
The type of gold, in which I found, was termed "placer
165
gold". According to the book, this gold originated near the
surface of the earth in veins. These were called primary
deposits. Through years of geological changes and erosion,
the veins were exposed. Floods of rain washed the veins
downhill. The gold continued it's descent, until it could
no longer do so. At this point, many times, it would end up
in streams and rivers. The currents would push the precious
metal, until it found an area that overcame the water's force
of flow.
The beginner's guide showed a map that highlighted all
the major gold concentrations in the U.S. Most of northern
Georgia was determined to be rich in gold deposits. But the
southern half displayed no deposits whatsoever. Could this
gold have started in the Appalachian Mountains of northern
Georgia?
There
were
flowing
rivers
within
the
vast
Okefenokee. Was it possible that these nuggets were carried
down the entire length of the state? Or, was there a primary
deposit near the area in question? An entire vein unknown
to man, except for me? I was becoming more intrigued by the
second.
Linda set a couple books on the wooded surface. She took
a seat opposite of me. I looked up, quickly, to acknowledge
her presence. I inspected the top book in her pile. It was
something written by John James Audubon. My head promptly
166
returned itself to it's buried position. I turned the page
of my material.
" Hey Tony,", Linda whispered, " Look at this."
" I read a couple more lines, before fulfilling her
wishes. With my finger marking my spot, I viewed the picture,
to which she was referring. I gazed at it a moment, prior
to it's registering. My mind was still on the nugget. When
I saw the painting, my arm jerked.
With my hand no longer
holding my book open, the binder forced the pages together.
Why was she showing me this? It was quite coincidental. It
was the same bird, to which I resembled the Pileated
Woodpecker to.
" This is the gal I saw, right here. They're called
Ivory billed Woodpeckers.", she explained with confidence.
She pointed to the female. I noted that the crest was black.
" Are you sure? There hasn't been a sighting of that
bird in years.", I quietly asked.
" How could I mistake something like this? ", she
reasoned.
I didn't want to tell her, it was nearly impossible.
It would break her sensitive heart.
" It says that their numbers were hindered due to their
value to the indians and hunters. The indians would make
coronets out of their bills and crests. The hunters would
167
sell them overseas for great profits. That poor animal. Why
were people so terrible? ", she inquired in a saddened tone.
" I doubt they knew of it's low population.", I guessed.
( the greed of man was probably a better explanation )
" Mr. Audubon says here that, while mating, they "sound
like the false high note of a clarinet".", Linda read.
I nodded. She really believed that she located this
extinct species. We both paused for a moment. I concentrated
on my gold rush. She, more than likely, was pondering on the
"what if that picture came out better".
" Oh Tony, wouldn't that be great, if I had another
chance to see it? ", she stated with a dreamy expression.
" Yes, babe. That would be swell, but I've got to tell
you, the chances of this thing happening again are...", I
stopped. The greatest idea flashed. This would work out
ideally.
" How about, we go down to the "campsite" this weekend?
We can set up the blind and give it a shot. While we're
setting up camp, I can quickly check the stream for
nuggets.", I proposed.
Her eyes lit up like the north star. Her shining teeth
accented her open smile.
" You mean it? Oh, I'm so excited.", she exclaimed, a
bit too loud for a library. However, with the exception of
168
a couple workers, we were the only ones there. I knew I was
setting her up for a fall. But, If she wasn't given the
opportunity, she would have always wondered. Besides, if
fate be it, we would soon be rich!
I studied the three books. The beginner's guide seemed
to have all the necessary information. Linda also checked
out one book. Her's was from the reference section, so it
had to be returned in seven days. We both left the building
with towering expectations. The next time we were to step
in this structure, we hoped to have those dreams achieved.
The next two days were tedious. The work load was
normal, but not being able to tell anyone was murder. I
wanted so badly to tell Mike. However, that could have been
catastrophic. Knowing him, he would have pictures of me all
over the breakroom. He was quite an artist, when it came to
sarcastic cartoons. I also gave Linda a small stipulation.
In order for her to attend this trip, she had to promise not
to tell a soul.
Tuesday night, I began to assemble my gear. The gold
pan was, nothing more than, a huge metal salad bowl. It
wasn't as deep, as most bowls. A black layer of spray paint
was applied. The black tint caused the nuggets and flakes
to stand out more prominently. I also gathered a pair of
tweezers, a small paint brush, my folding shovel, and a
169
magnifying glass. Many of the tools recommended in the book,
I decided to pass on. The various pry bars and crevice tools
seemed unessential. The only thing, I lacked, was some clear
plastic vials. They could be picked up, prior to our
departure.
Thursday evening, Linda started showing signs of the
flu. It was that time of the year, again. She indicated that
her stomach was receiving sharp pains. They were followed
by a squeamish sensation, which induced vomiting. A couple
of guys at work had the bug. Unfortunately, it wasn't the
twenty-four hour bug. They were out of commition for three
full days. I feared, she wouldn't be able to participate in
the expedition. She called the doctor's office Friday
morning, but the earliest she could get in was Monday. What
should I have done? I considered the pros and cons all that
day at work.
Linda did not meet me at the door, after work. This was
unusual, but understandable. She sat in the living room. Her
face wore a discomforted expression. She told me that she
didn't feel weak or sick. It was just, every so often, her
insides would produce an upheaval. Her temperature was
slightly above normal. However, I knew, judging from the
others, the worst was yet to come. I took in a fresh breath
in preparation to speak. I was ready to call it off. I could
170
not leave her alone in this condition. All the gold in the
world didn't carry the weight that she did in my heart. Linda
jumped to her feet, and shot to the bathroom. She hated
anyone near her, whenever she was in a shape like this. I
sat down and read my book, focusing more on my wife.
As the thin sheets of Manila-like paper slipped by my
fingers, a list of figures caught my eye. I hadn't noticed
this page, before. It was the market value of gold, dating
back to the mid-thirteen hundreds. I closed my eyes and
reopened
them.
The
numbers
did
not
change.
It
was
remarkable. It was beautiful. I never realized, how much
gold was going for. In 1972, it was only $38.00 an ounce.
In 1980, only eight years later, the price shot up to $650.00
an ounce! Was this a typing error? Was it for real. The
thoughts of owning a Lamborghini encompassed my brain.
Picturing Linda's slender body in a tight red dress, gave
me goosebumps. I could see it's wing-like doors folding, as
we nestled in it's luxury.
Linda returned to the living room. She looked cheerful,
considering the situation.
" Tony, I don't want you to cancel this trip. I'll be
fine. I'm going to go to the walk-in doctor tomorrow
morning.", she suggested unselfishly.
" Are you kidding? I'm not going to let you stay here
171
alone.", I directed.
" I called mom, this afternoon. She'll be here tomorrow
morning.", she explained.
" That's a three hour drive for her.", I expounded.
" She loves to visit. You know that.", she stated.
" Alright, I'll run down for the day. I won't set up
the tent, I'll just keep the camera ready.", I continued,
" Are you sure, you'll be OK? "
" Yes, I'll be fine.", she said, once again.
" What time is your mother going to be here? ", I asked.
" Somewhere between nine and ten, probably. Don't
worry, everything will be alright. I don't actually feel
that bad.", she conveyed in an urging tone.
I loaded the Ford up that night. We were going to take
the car, but she didn't like driving the truck. For one, it
didn't have air conditioning. This was better, anyway. I
would have more room to store the gold!
Linda got up with me at four in the morning. She made
us a pot of coffee, as I grabbed my last minute things.
Linda's outlook appeared to be unchanged. My goal was to be
on the road by five and arrive at ten. I could see the dismal
gaze in her eyes. She wanted, so desperately to go. I felt
bad, but there was nothing I could say to help the
predicament. As I made my way into the garage, she ran back
172
into the living room.
" Wait a minute, honey. Take this picture with you.
Promise me that you'll keep it with you.", she pleaded in
such a pure form.
" I promise.", I vowed, as my hand accepted the volume
twelve copy of the Audubon Nature Encyclopedia. I could have
told her that I didn't need it, but her assurance was worth
the added weight.
" I love you, Tony. You be careful. Remember there's
snakes out there.", she warned.
" I love you, too. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.
Remember, if anyone asks, I'm taking pictures.", I reminded
her.
" Call me from that pay phone, when you arrive.", she
requested. She always wanted me to call.
" OK.", I promised.
With a tender goodbye kiss, the expedition had begun.
173
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER TWELVE
174
GOLD
The F150 crossed the St. Mary's river. The water was
calm. A fluffy blanket of fog covered the cool surface. The
truck's rubber treads gripped the sandy road. The dryness
was evident, as I studied the rearview mirror. A layer of
dust blocked my view. The drought conditions were quite
apparent. The situation was becoming more serious. The
governor stated, earlier in the week, that if rain did not
come soon, water rationing procedures would take effect.
The vegetation created a narrow passageway, as it did
before. My foot reduced the pressure on the pedal. The
roaring engine slowed it's pace. I rolled the window up to
just a small crack. Due to the slow speed, the dry earth was
entering the cab. I slowed even more. The bridge was in view.
The driver sat much higher in the truck verses the
Bonneville. Therefore, the outlook of the railroad ties was
much more clear. The speedometer pointed at 30 mph. Both
hands were firmly grasping the steering wheel. My body
leaned forward, and my neck stretched fully. My confidence
was indestructible. My mind was too busy counting the gold
175
nuggets, which awaited me. The front tires dropped onto the
sturdy wood. The rear ones followed. As the back tires
regained solid ground, the reality sank in. This was to be
a good day. The shift lever, through it's precise linkages,
converted the transmission to "park". The ignition key
removed the spark from the combustion cycle. Everything was
silent.
I stood still. The brief intermission allowed me to
enjoy the serenity of the majestic country. An interrupting
thought broke my peace. Had I forgotten something? Was this
trip conducted in a haste? I concluded that my nerves were
just worked up. Anxiety was a powerful emotion.
My plan was to take the minimum load, initially. I would
make a second trip for the equipment, I deemed necessary.
The photographic accessories were not a must, but they were
a promise. A promise?! Damn it, the promise. I was suppose
to call Linda from town. That was the intuitive reflection,
I had underwent. It was too late. I didn't want to cross that
bridge too many times. I would have to call later, that
afternoon.
Satisfied
with
the
solution,
I
continued
packing.
The pan was a given. Instead of my backpack, I brought
an old canvas knapsack. It was much less bulky. In it, I had
the magnifying glass, tweezers, the nature encyclopedia, a
176
granola bar, a small flash light, a marble bag, a small
first-aid kit, a compass, two cans of bug spray, a canteen
full of fresh water, and two rolls of film. I picked up Kodak
ISO 400 print film, this time. There would be no excuses of
insufficient lighting. The leather marble bag was to store
my treasure. The plastic vials, which I was going to use,
were harder to locate than anticipated.
The large lens and 35 mm camera were mounted onto the
tripod. The legs were gathered to simulate one post. The lens
would rest on my shoulder, while my hand clutched halfway
down the folded supports. I could leave the lens case and
camera bag in the truck.
I looked into the bed of the truck. The sleeping bag,
canned food, and shovel seemed like unnecessary items, at
that point. However, the rubber wading boots presented
themselves as important. I considered not taking them,
originally. But, the only way to pan was to stand knee deep
in the water. I pulled the tall boots out of the back. My
spine cracked, as I straightened up. The inkberry bushes
were dead ahead. They reminded me of the snakes. Since I was
alone, I decided to wear the knee-high galoshes on the short
journey. It would be difficult for the viper's fangs to
penetrate the thick material. The Nike shoes were tossed
into the bed. The boots were installed onto my feet. I donned
177
the knapsack and lifted the camera.
My free arm pushed away the shrub's branches. My legs
exerted the additional force required to penetrate the dense
foliage. A sharp infliction was delivered to my cheek. Soon,
a similar discomfort was felt on my left wrist. And yet
another found it's way to the back of my neck. My palm struck
the offenders on impulse. I moved quickly to the nature
created trail. The mosquito population had increased, since
my prior visit. With the camera placed horizontally along
the ground, the bag was lowered. A fine mist of insect
repellent issued from the can. The exposed skin was applied
with a generous coat. The deets chemical did it's job. I
could only wonder, how bad the pesky blood suckers would have
been with a normal wet spring.
The thick fern carpet of the forest's floor, once
again, unveiled a rich green impression. It wasn't even
noon, and the bright sun was reaching out it's radiant arms.
Although in the shaded pines, it must have been nearing
eighty degrees. The short journey continued. My forehead
expelled scattered beads of sweat. My dry lips felt the need
of moisture. The perspiration was eliminated with one swipe
of my right forearm. My feet sustained the pace. The northern
glare signified the approaching clearance.
The sandy mound was before me. There were no birds,
178
taking flight, as my presence was introduced. The songs of
the perching birds were missing. An occasional bullfrog was
the only creature that snapped the deep stillness. A sudden
movement captured my attention. The reason for the lack of
birdlife became known. The long wings of an adult Marsh Hawk
pumped, as he flew by. His white rump made the identification
a cinch. The large bird of prey left the hunting grounds,
without uttering a single syllable.
I stood on the water's edge. The tripod supports were
unfolded. The plastic ends dug into the sandy soil. I dropped
the knapsack to the beach-like earth. The heat of the sun's
rays
left
me
somewhat dehydrated.
A
healthy
swallow
replenished my drained body. The cool distilled water
brought new energy and a refreshed outlook. The gas that
filled my empty stomach created a mild rumble. My teeth were
soon mashing the granola bar. The devoured snack was not
filling, but enough for the time being.
The water level had dipped in the past month and a half.
I was standing in the center of the stream. The water fell
a couple inches shy of the top of my rubber boots. The waders
kept my feet free of any intruding moisture. I moved back
to the bank. It, then, struck. Was I an idiot? The metal pan
was back at the truck! When I stopped, to obtain the boots,
I set the pan aside. The frustration built, as my mind
179
speculated the additional hike ahead. A deep voice of anger
escaped my lips. I returned to the truck.
The forty-five lost minutes put me at noon. I removed
my tired feet from the heavy boots and sat on the ground.
Another gulp of water, a fifteen minute break, and a relaxed
brain were sufficient to commence my task. The rubber
footwear slipped tightly onto my rested feet.
The pan dug into the sandy bottom. A couple inches below
the sandy crust was something, offering resistance. It was
a layer of clay. The same substance that found it's way into
our trunk. I bent myself into a squatting position. I lifted
the pan of clay and sand above the water. There was a bunch
of clods of dirt. These were crumbled, one by one.
The pan was lowered under the water's surface. The
flowing stream brought a slight chill to my exposed hands.
It was enough to be considered a discomfort. My arms began
to shake the pan, energetically. Many of the lighter
materials floated to the top of the container. Once they had
reached the lip, the stream's current carried them away. I
carefully lifted the utensil. It was time to remove any
rocks. There were a few pebbles. They were discarded back
to their initial point, after careful
examination. It was
important to "thoroughly wash" the rocks, before removing
them. Small flakes of gold could be deposited on their
180
surfaces. The shaking of the pan resumed, as the guide had
instructed.
The remaining sediment was the heavier particles. In
order to separate this, I tilted the pan forward, while
submerged. I began a circular motion with the metal bowl.
After
several
rotations,
the
portions
remaining
had
dwindled down to about a tablespoon. All, but a small amount
of the water, was carefully poured out. With another
circular action, the sediment was spread thinly about the
pan's bottom. Any gold would now show it's rich color.
A sudden depression came over me. What did I expect?
Success would not come easy. I feared that it would not come
at all. The final results of my labor was a worthless share
of black sand. I retreated to the bank. What did the book
say about; the best places to look? Why, in the name of God,
did I not bring the guide?
I had to calm down and think. Most of this information
was committed to memory. There was no need for the book. I
remembered that a nugget tries to find an area of less
pushing force. (current) Areas behind boulders and curves
were good locations to check. Another likely deposit was
where a stream or river widens. I walked back into the middle
of the creek. My eyes examined the formation to the south.
It was as straight as an arrow flies. The bridge, a quarter
181
mile down, could be faintly distinguished. I sloshed through
the water. My frame twisted, to enable a northerly view.
Bingo! This was it. About fifty foot away, there was a bend.
Within ten foot of the curve, the stream doubled in width.
It was the perfect set up. My legs were soon carrying me
through the shallow water. I ran along near the bank, to
minimize the chances of hitting a deep spot. The memory of
the Marsh Rabbit, diving down, stuck with me.
The gold pan dug into the earth's crust. The complete
procedure was followed. There was a new rush of hope. My
confidence reached it's peak. This time, I would not be
denied. The sun was floating over the treetops. It's
scorching heat did not register. The bright intensity
reflected off a particle within the pan. It's sharp sparkle
caused a blink. The tweezers pinched the fragment. This
time, I would not be denied! The instant surge of energy was
exceptional. My fingers were quivering. I set the nugget and
tweezers into the bowl. My shaking knees felt weak, my head
flush. My lungs took in a large volume of air, in preparation
of a triumphant announcement. Before the air could be
exhaled with the joyous sounds, the dizziness overcame me.
I rested on the bank, staring at the golden treasure.
The gold pan was left on the side of the creek. I went
back to retrieve the pouch. The first load brought four small
182
nuggets. I put them in the marble sack and tied it to my belt
loop. My eager hands were driving the tool back into the
soil. The vigorous shaking underneath the water was causing
some significant splashing.
My shirt was drenched. The
cool temperature felt refreshing. The constant bending in
my knees resulted in spasms to my calves. As my muscles
extended to relieve the ache, I twisted around.
He was looking right at me. Did the splashing attract
him? Should I run? Or, am I better off remaining still. About
ten foot away was a big snake, at least four foot in length.
It was an olive color with dark brown crossbands. It was one
of two possibilities, either a harmless water snake, or a
venomous cottonmouth. These two snakes were very difficult
to differentiate. The only positive way to identify was to
observe the behavior. The cottonmouth was an aggressive
reptile, while the water snake was quite timid.
My heart was pounding so hard, I believed that the
animal could sense my fear. This was not the time to panic.
The power of this serpent could be detected by his flexing
muscles. The snake stood froze. Maybe, he wanted to move by?
Slowly, I back tracked to the water's edge. A few
seconds elapsed. The large snake slithered rapidly through
the water. He appeared as frightened, as I. About twenty feet
downstream, the cold-blooded creature reduced his momentum.
183
The deduction could be made. This was a water snake. He
appeared to be scoping the area for lunch. His sudden lunge
into the cattails aroused my curiosity. As my blood pressure
restored to normal, my cowardice was replaced with the usual
false sense of bravery. I moved towards the slender form.
His head came into view. He had caught something. The legs
of an unfortunate frog protruded from the water snake's
mouth. Soon, the entire amphibious meal had been engulfed.
I reached for the camera. Once again, my stupidity
shined through. I had yet to load the film. The snake
remained in the general vicinity. There may have been time.
Without further delay, the fast speed film was ready to
shoot. The shutter opened twice, before the snake moved his
search down stream. In my mind, I felt the pictures would
be mediocre at best. But, that was unimportant. The pictures
would prove to Linda that I had the camera out there.
Besides, there was a fortune to be discovered.
My panning operation progressed. As I toiled, a small
flock of coots landed in the distance. A silent chuckle
occurred, while watching them take back to flight. These
birds always had to flap their wings a great deal, in order
to become airborne. They appeared, as if they were running
atop the water.
With each pan full of sand and clay came a considerable
184
quantity of the precious metal. My brain tossed around
several questions. How could I approach the owner? Would it
be feasible to obtain just an acre or two? That seemed quite
risky. If I was to make an offer on just a small portion of
land, the suspicions would arise. How would I obtain the loan
for such a substantial section of land? If I captured enough
gold, I could use it for a large downpayment.
Was I doing wrong? Had the greed altered my sense of
better judgement? My mind kicked around the different
arguments, as I filled the pouch with the valuable goods.
( Or, should I have said stolen goods? ) The expensive red
sports car popped back into my head. Everything else was soon
forgotten. One thing was for sure. I would leave this place
with enough gold to make it well worth my efforts!
My watch indicated that it was 3:30 PM. The punishing
sun was delivering temperatures near the nineties. The sack
was half full. The amount of money in the stream was
unimaginable. The pouch was too heavy to hang on a belt loop.
It pulled down on my pants.
The midday heat was beginning to wear me down. I saw
a pair of Green Herons dipping in the refreshing pool. It
looked tempting. I considered lying down in the creek.
Unfortunately, a change of clothes would require a trip to
the truck. But, wouldn't the sun quickly dry them? Probably
185
so, but I still decided against it.
My dry lips needed to be wetted. My overheated body
waded it's way back to the campsite. The last of the water
made it down my throat. I had miscalculated the effects of
the hot southern climate. It normally didn't reach the
nineties until mid May. There was no need to worry. The
gallon jug at the truck was full of fresh drinking water.
A faint noise bounced around the populated trees. It
was not one of Mother Nature's many calls. It was mechanical.
The strength increased, although it was still quite distant.
What was that noise? I had a good guess. It sounded like a
muffler system, in need of repair. They wouldn't stop would
they?
I darted out to
the stream, to ensure that they passed by. The vehicle
slowed. It came to a rest, just prior to the bridge. The sound
vanished. The engine no longer ran. The front of the white
car could be seen. There was something on top of the car,
maybe a bicycle rack. My legs waded through the water. A few
foot downstream offered a better angle. I could now identify
the object. It was not good. I was in deep trouble. The device
was a blue and red flasher! Why were the police out here?
My petrified frame hid behind an inkberry. I scouted
for the officer, never taking my eyes off the bridge. There
they were, two of them. They crossed the bridge. This was
186
too coincidental. I could come to only one conclusion. Mr.
Johnson was behind the plot. He must have gotten more out
of Linda, than she had indicated. This was not paranoia. It
was real. I didn't have time to get rid of the evidence.
Besides, they would find it. This was MY gold! They would
not get it. I had to move north and hope for a place to hide
out. It would give me time to figure something out. At least,
I hoped. What had I gotten myself into?
They were probably already heading down the trail. They
hadn't returned to their car, so I had to assume that they
were approaching. I placed the heavy pouch in the knapsack,
along with everything else. I removed the compass and
deposited it into my pocket. The tripod legs were huddled
together. With the camera setup in one arm, the pan in the
other, and the canvas bag upon my shoulders, I scanned the
area.
There was no visible trail through the woods. The thick
forest granted me with an illusion of an impenetrable wall.
The stream would be the only alternative. My feet shuffled
along the sandy bottom. I kept close to the east bank. The
excitement of my discovery had abandoned me. Surprisingly,
fear was not part of my emotional make-up, at the time. Anger
was the emotion deep inside. This was to be a good day. This
was my treasure, but somebody wanted to take it away.
187
I made the big bend in the stream. It was much narrower,
maybe fifty foot ahead. The level continued to be quite
shallow. The stream now ran east and west, with numerous
small crooks. The woods to my left was not too dense.
However, that would have lead me back to the campsite, which
soon would be occupied. The right bank was steep and
saturated with condensed bushes. They were similar in
appearance to the inkberries, but these contained piercing
thorns. Access would be rough and painful. The winding
channel was the only passage to safety.
My neck and shoulders were increasingly sore. The
weight of the heavy lens grew, as the journey carried on.
The bulky pan had little weight, but it required it's own
hand. I switched hands to give my left arm and shoulder a
break. The current, to which I travelled against, caused the
task to be more difficult as well.
I started to notice a mild change in the surroundings.
The pines were less dense. The bright sunshine was able to
slice through the forest with much less resistance. My tired
body begged for a break. I had only covered, perhaps a mile.
It was too early to take a breather. The police were not
loaded down. They could travel at a better rate. I had to
keep going. The pines were becoming more sparse, as the
seconds ticked away on my wrist watch.
188
What I thought to be another bend in the stream was not
the case. A large batch of cattails had obstructed my view,
from the distance. But, the tall grass-like plants could no
longer hide the vast clearing.My eyes were observing what
is known as a "prairie". It was not a swamp, but more like
a huge marshy pond. I stood in awe. The stream had ended right
at this body of water.
It was probably three to four feet deep. Water lilies
were sprinkled about. Lily pads provided a contrast to the
bluish horizon. Each lily was in full spring bloom, boasting
it's creamy flower with a deep yellow center. Down the edge
of the large reservoir was marsh grass. It, too, exhibited
it's beautiful light purple flowers. Mixed in was another
with white blossoms. To top off the blooming paradise were
scattered wild orchids, pink in color. The unexpected beauty
absorbed
my
emotions. My
weary head
was momentarily
replenished with vigor.
While my mind maintained the state of tranquility, a
small flock of pintails landed. The distinct brown heads and
white necks stood proudly above the surface. A gallinule
displayed it's ability to walk on lily pads, in the
background. The countless voices of the songbirds made it
impossible to differentiate one from the other.
What was the matter with me? The law could have still
189
been right on my tail. I pulled out the compass. The north
arrow signaled my destination. I noted that the marsh veered
to the left. I looked at the semi deep water and thought of
the cumbersome pan. Without delay, the large bowl was
immersed into the water. With the painted side up, the object
was well concealed.
I began my northerly travels. The drought had produced
a card in my favor. The ground was moist, but firm enough
to walk on. There was only a random tree. Most of the area
consisted of grassy shoots, much like the edge of the marsh.
In my estimation, this area was normally quite wet. In the
distance, large trees could be distinguished. They were
majestic indeed. I used one of the huge Bald Cypress as a
landmark. This would prevent me from getting lost, upon my
return. My plan was to reach the cypress. At that point, I
would wait till dark. After they had left for home, I could
return with my flashlight. If they were still there, I would
stash
the
gold
and
explain
my
purpose
as
merely
a
photographer. It was the best idea that I could come up with.
The distracting buzz of a mosquito, entered my eardrum.
A bunch more lit upon my exposed areas. It was apparent that
the spray had worn off. I stopped to reapply a protective
coating. I inspected the marsh to my left. It was already
a good five hundred feet away. The water's edge veered more
190
sharply, than initially thought. My mind was amazed at the
changes in habitat. One minute I was in a forest, the next
a marsh, and soon to be a cypress swamp.
I reached the moss covered trees. My watch indicated
that there was only two hours of daylight available. That
seemed satisfactory. My aching bones needed a rest.
I sat down near the conical base of a Bald Cypress. Once
again, the drought had severely lowered the water level. The
ground was muddy, but there was no standing water. I noticed
there was two different trees in the area. There was a
smaller one. I gathered some needles from each. This way
Linda could identify them, when I got home. The Bald Cypress
needles were closed, lying flat along the branches. ( The
only reason that I knew it was a Bald Cypress was from
previous trips with Linda ) The other tree, which I figured
to be a type of cypress as well, had open needles.
I stretched my arms behind my back. My stomach growled.
Thank god, I was going back soon. I was starving. My lips
were dry as well. Why didn't I fill the canteen at the stream?
The running water would present little harm. Oh well, in two
hours my thirst would be satisfied.
As I scanned the darkened area, a white object caught
my attention. It was a Snowy Egret perching in a tree only
twenty feet away. Was I being that quiet? He was wearing his
191
mating plumage. He appeared so docile. My fingers were soon
twisting the focusing ring. The 400 speed film easily made
up for the lack of light. The still bird made an excellent
portrait.
A high pitched scratching sound alerted the admirable
bird. With little deferral, the large wings carried the
wader towards the vast marsh. What were those peculiar
noises? They were awfully familiar. The recognizable mask
of an adult raccoon became visible. The furry mammal was
climbing a pine tree. It must have been the only pine tree
in the area. It stood in the center of the cypress forest's
outskirts. Following what was presumably the mother were two
young raccoons. The nocturnal animals must have been coming
out for their nightly hunt. I was the intruder, in this case.
I took a couple quick shots and left them alone.
I scanned the clear patch of land to the south. There
was something moving near the stream. Was it a deer? I aimed
the camera's scope to better interpret the unknown form. The
magnification was adequate, however it was hard to believe.
The image that it had enlarged was... It couldn't be. Would
they not give up? The two officers were in front of the
prairie.
I looked into the gloomy cypress swamp. The primitive
features of the spanish moss hung from the aged trees. The
192
soft floor presented a task in itself. The untamed monsters
of the swamp were awaiting. Was it time to give up? Once
again, the image of that sports car arose. This time, it was
pulling into the driveway of a million dollar estate. The
white mansion had pillars supporting it.
I gazed back into the uncivilized domain. This time,
I seen a challenge. I joined the ancient forest. The muddy
bottom caused my boots to act like suction cups. The sunlight
broke through enough to allow navigation, but the visibility
level was low. The mosquitos formed a mist. I quickly sprayed
myself. The sounds in the murk were less enticing. The
bullfrog's roar bounced off the thick trunks. The katy-dids
high pitched chirps were annoying. A frequent dragonfly
would land on my camera. The low winding buzz, to which it's
wings produced, contributed to my disposition.
Not long into the nerve wracking journey, I came to a
wetter section. I attempted to cross the stagnant bog. The
water was shallow, but the bottom provided no support. This
was too risky. The swampy channel was a good thirty foot
wide. To my right it looked, as if to continue. To my left
it did the same, but there was a possible passage, a dry spot.
My legs trudged toward the apparent crossing.
This little section was, at best, three foot wide. The
ground level appeared to be slightly higher. The soil was
193
mushy, but quite passable. While crossing, I noticed that
the channel appeared endless in both directions. I was
fortunate to find this dry spot. I told myself that, if it
got any worse, I would discontinue. That was a stupid thing
to think.
A burning sensation was inflicted upon the back of my
neck. It felt like the reds of a cigarette were sizzling my
skin. I let out a painful yell. My hand swiftly attacked the
insect, forcing it to dislodge it's stinging weapon. A small
swarm of the yellowjackets withdrew from their buried nest.
To them, this was a battle. And like all great warriors, I
decided to retreat. I fled speedily straight ahead. Being
I was standing directly on top of the angry bee's home,
either direction would have been fine. I chose to resume the
northerly hike. The idea of the police was still weighing
heavily in my decisions. If they had went that far, they
probably would have no problem in the cypress swamp.
The swampy forest was as murky, as ever. The dangers
of the wild seemed to be right around the corner. It was time
to stop, time to turn around. I had convinced myself that
the cops had given up. But, what if they knew a short cut
through the pines?
As my fearful brain contemplated the ordeal, another
possible clearing was approaching. The day was near it's
194
close. The light was beginning to dim. Was the opened area
a road? Could I be somewhere near civilization? My legs
started tramping faster. The buzzing insects and croaking
echoes were ignored. The light's intensity was slowly
increasing. Would I soon be enjoying a nice hot meal. At
first, I thought the clearing was near. As the tiring jog
reduced to a dull pace, I realized it was much further than
initially expected. About a mile further, to be more exact.
I finally reached the new destination. My excitement was
greeted with an unwelcome disappointment. My expectations
were too high.
The area was nothing more than a bunch of dead cypress.
As far as I could see, except for the south, was dead trees.
They were so dense that I could only see about two hundred
foot. The trees were attacked heavily by woodpeckers, mostly
Pileated. Their unmistakable excavations into the bark were
everywhere.
I broke off a piece of the bark. Underneath the skin
of the lifeless giant were score of beetles. They were of
the flat headed variety. I was no beetle expert, so that was
about the extent of it's identification. However, I could
tell that the woodpeckers were feasting on these insects.
The amount of chipped away bark and holes was astonishing.
As my hands gripped the chunk of bark, They felt it's
195
peculiar texture. It seemed to be charred. I looked closer.
Indeed, it had. These trees were the result of a forest fire,
probably caused from lighting.
The fact that I hadn't noticed the blackened surface,
immediately was a sign of my weariness. I was beginning to
feel the exhaustion. A frightful concept wedged itself deep
into my inner self. Did I possess the energy to make the trip
that night? Would I have to sleep out here? My fragile body
lying in the wet mud? My limited skills would make me easy
prey for the creatures of the swamp. Once more, my helpless
position forced me to move on. I had to hope for a road to
the north.
The compass directed me through the stripped land. Each
step brought more light on the horizon. I had to rationalize.
It was useless to pray for a way out of this wild region.
The only way was the direction I came from. I would see what
was ahead and make a decision at that point. As suspected,
it was not a saving town or even a street. It was a swamp,
a huge swamp. It was an undoubtedly uncrossable, snake and
alligator infested swamp.
A mighty splash vibrated the ground. It kicked my heart
into a higher gear. A large alligator had spotted me. Not
wanting to make friends, he crashed into the murky depths.
There were a couple other gators within view. They showed
196
more patience. Actually, a basking gator was a lazy gator.
However, most of these creatures had never seen a human
before.
I had photographed many of these unmatching reptiles,
in my life. But, never in such a secluded, untamed
atmosphere. This was their home. They were king here. The
camera began clicking. Here I was, in the worst dilemma in
my entire short life, and I was taking pictures. I couldn't
refrain myself. I was so intrigued. The lens must have
reflected the glare into the animal's vision. He twisted his
mighty body. He didn't dive into the water, though. I thought
best not to disturb the king of the swamp. Not only were they
great, powerful swimmers, they were also quite fleet on
land. They were known to reach speeds of 40 mph for short
distances. Needless to say, I was in no position to test that
theory.
The sun began to set. There was no way, I could make
the return trip. There was also no way, I was going to sleep
next to a twelve foot, razor-sharp toothed reptile.
I
noticed that I had one more picture left on the roll. The
shutter quickly opened, as I zeroed in on an unsuspecting
toad. The roll was rewound and removed. I stuck the roll in
my pocket. The energy needed to take off the knapsack and
stow it properly was just not there.
197
I
started
hiking to the east. As my journey progressed, the ground
began to give way a bit. It was like quick sand, except I
only sank a little past my ankles. My thighs didn't seem to
have the strength to pull them out, nor I the willpower.
The legs of the tripod were driven deep into the soggy
ground. It was able to stand on it's own. I feared that I
could go no longer. Would this be where I would have to sleep?
My thighs strained. My left foot pulled away from the strong
hands of the mucky earth. I placed my hands on my hips and
straightened my back. A slight dizzy sensation started, but
it quickly went away. My eyes were tired. I thought I saw
a.......
198
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
VOICES OF
199
THE NIGHT
I had been so concerned with the sloshy floor that I
had been staring downward the whole time. Was my luck
changing? My head shook forcibly. I squinted to ensure that
this was no mirage. It was really there.
Standing before me was some sort of hut. Built right
in the shallows of the swamp was a man made cabin. It was
surrounded by the dead cypress. In fact, it was built with
the same charred wood. The ash residue was still visible.
The small building looked to be quite sturdy at one time.
But, half of the log stacked walls were whittled away by the
same culprits that attacked the insects in the dead forest.
The chipping action of the bird's bills had created several
weak spots. In some places the holes were pecked entirely
through.
I began to inspect the poorly damaged dwelling. It was
definitely too small to serve as a living quarters. What was
it's purpose? There was only one window constructed. It did
not face the massive swamp, as I would have expected. The
opening was facing the south, overlooking the thousands of
bug infested trees. Why? The answer became rather obvious.
200
This place was built for the intent of wildlife observation.
But, why was there no window to permit viewing of the natural
behaviors of the mighty swamp to the north? What was with
this destroyed by fire section? Did the person erect this
hut before the huge fire? No, it was made with the burnt logs.
The point of all of this was mute, anyhow. I did make one
definite deduction, though. The man, who assembled this
structure, was fearless indeed.
As the evening sky reduced the available light, I
circled the miniature cabin. The east end possessed the
entrance way. The door was missing. That is, if there ever
was one. My feet felt a more firm substance beneath them.
I looked down. The lost door mystery was solved. I was
standing on, or at least, what was left of it. Somehow,
whether by human action or violent storm, the door had been
extracted from it's proper place. The wooden door was
rotted, beyond practical use. This brought up an interesting
question. The bottom log around the six or seven square foot
hut was quite rotted as well. This signified that the normal
water level was higher than the bottom of the structure.
I set my already filthy knapsack onto the muddy soil.
My trusty flashlight was removed from the clutter inside the
bag. With it's acceptable beam, I entered the opening. The
answer to the water level puzzle became immediately defined.
201
A
raised
deck
was
constructed.
It
was
done
with
significantly smaller diameters of the cypress lumber.
There was no material used to seal the floor. The cracks
between the woody lengths revealed the miry bottom. It
became apparent to me that only the tops of the giant trees
could have been used. An ax was the probable tool. The ends
of each log were rounded to a mild point. The monstrous
trunks of the axed conifers must have been lying closely by.
However, they undoubtedly met the same fate as the decaying
door.
Inside the shack was a small desk. The legs were made
from the same source, as the rest of the lodge. But, the
little tabletop was actual plywood. It had to have been
carried from civilization. This drew me to another question.
Why didn't he use more manufactured articles? Such as
treated lumber? It, then, occurred to me how difficult the
travelling was in this soggy land. The fewer things to carry,
the better off. For a chair, the owner of this broken down
hut used a fat chunk of stump. There was nothing located on
the top of the desk. The simple design consisted of no
drawers.
I shined my flashlight around the rest of the room. A
minor disappointment was felt. I noted that there was no
place to sleep. Not any form of padding whatsoever occupied
202
the floor. My mind was then reminded of my dilemma, only a
few moment ago. Suddenly, sleeping on top of some sturdy
twigs, inside a less than secure shelter, didn't sound all
that bad. It was certainly better than being buried alive
in the sinking mush. That was, if I would have been fortunate
enough to survive the predators.
The light penetrated the floor's crevices. The moist
foundation presented a glistening black background below
the simple deckboards. But, another color peeked out. It was
a flat brown object. The cracks were too thin to reach the
object. My fingers were to thick. I could fit one through
the slit, but not two. Therefore, I couldn't grasp it. The
edge of the cardboard like item was only an inch from the
crack. But, since my second finger wouldn't fit, I couldn't
get a grip on it. Just like the switch on the flashlight,
a bulb illuminated in my brain. The tweezers.
The knapsack was still outside. My tired, but curious
frame quickly moved towards the pouch. I lifted the bag over
my left shoulder. The bag was soon setting on the desktop.
The room was dark. Even though dusk had yet to give way to
night, the cabin blocked the little amount that was
available.
In order to unzip the bag, I needed both hands. The only
means of sight was with the use of the flashlight. So, my
203
mouth opened widely. The rear end of the plastic shaft was
gripped by my teeth. That was, when it became clear just how
dry my lips were. The stretching of my dehydrated mouth put
stress on the cracks upon my lips. The pain was shallow, but
still annoying. I needed water. The thought of a small gulp
of the murky swamp entered. The idea was abruptly tossed out.
The organisms, which inhabit the stagnant liquid, were a
major risk to my health. It was better to wait, until the
running stream was reached. I could easily go one night
without water.
My hands located the large pair of tweezers. I grabbed
the bug spray, since the mosquitos would soon be very thick.
The synthetic fog filled the small enclosure. It stung, as
it absorbed into the swollen bee sting. My teeth clamped down
on the light source to help deal with the distress. Soon,
the pain had subsided. I removed it from the temporary
holder. ( my mouth )
I remembered the used roll of film. The plastic
cartridge was retrieved from my pocket. I stored it in it's
air-tight capsule and tossed it into the knapsack.
I knelt down on the surprisingly secure floor. The
light was held with my left hand. A careful aim was
conducted. The tweezers were slowly lowered through the
crack. If they slipped out of my hands, they would be gone
204
for good. Plus, my curiosity would not be satisfied. The
three inch long pinchers clamped the unknown material. My
forearm flexed, as my index finger and thumb clinched
together, tightly. The lifting began. The sweat on my
fingers caused a short slip. As the weight of the object
increased, another little jerky slide occurred. The object
was completely suspended. My other hand would be required.
Once again, my mouth opened. This time, I ignored the
pain in my chapped lips. The flashlight was inserted. My head
twisted to properly guide the beam. One chance was all there
would be. My lungs inhaled a full tank of fresh air. If my
fingers slipped any more, or the tweezers lost their grip,
the object would fall. If it landed flat on the ground, it
would be unobtainable, without tearing apart the floor. The
attempt was made. In one smooth action, my right arm yanked
the tweezers upward. A small portion of the light brown
material projected. My left hand arm swung towards it. My
fingers grasped the object, just before the tweezers gave
way.
I placed the pinching tool in my pocket. Both hands were
now gripping the leathery substance. The crack would not
allow it to pass through. Was my tired body too weak? My
stubbornness would be to my advantage. There was no giving
up. With one intense exertion, the object was free. As the
205
floor's vice-like grip lost it's hold, my bent frame plunged
to the deck. But, my most recent possession was in my lap.
I placed it onto the table. It was made of leather,
rectangular in shape. All four borders were sewn with a
darker leather lace. It formed a protective, as well as
attractive, edge. The entire surface was pasted with a gummy
substance. I rubbed a fingertip along the flat area. It was
a type of glue. It must have been fastened to something. At
that point, I believed it to be a book cover.
As it was turned over, I noticed that the center was
quite flexible. It was indeed a book cover. The front picture
startled me. It was an etching of a woodpecker. The Pileated,
to be more precise. The "big picture" started to unfold a
bit. The man, who used this observatory, studied the
woodpecker. The hundreds of holes in the trees were evidence
to that. This was why, the window was pointed to the dead
cypress. It was the bird,s feeding grounds. He must have
built the shed sometime, after the forest fire, when he
noticed the signs of their feedings. The drawing was
detailed, using some sort of a burning tool. It was excellent
workmanship.
It dawned on me that the nature book was in the
knapsack. I had to compare the picture. This was starting
206
to be quite a coincidence. I fetched the volume from my bag.
My light was soon displaying Audubon's painting of this
large woodpecker. I observed a discrepancy. The markings on
the crest and head were different. The amount of effort taken
into this cover was obviously great. This was not done by
an amateur. This made me question the lack of proper detail.
The strangest thing happened. On the previous page was
another painting, this one of the Ivory-billed. The markings
matched perfectly with his leatherwork. Had this area, once
been the home of this elusive bird? Did this person get the
privilege of watching this now extinct species?
On the next page, there was a descriptive drawing. As
my overworked eyes viewed, my heart skipped a beat. Was this
for real? My lids squinted to obtain another look. I moved
the book closer. The book was exhibiting a major difference
of the two very alike birds. It explained that the Pileated,
when flying, had a forked tail. Now that, I already knew.
The shocking news was this: The Ivory-billed flew with the
tail pointed! My mind was confused. Could it have been true?
Did Linda and I see the presumably extinct bird?
The encyclopedia stated, the Ivory-billed woodpecker
was so elusive that there was a minuscule chance of their
survival. With that, the reality stepped in. This species
was, supposedly, more timid than the Pileated. Even if that
207
was an Ivory, I would never be lucky enough to see it again.
The setting sun had left for the night. An early star
twinkled through a small gap in the roof. My portable light
illuminated a portion of the less than waterproof ceiling.
Between the branches, which the roof consisted of, was a type
of sealant. The texture resembled that of a mud and grass
mixture. Either the drought, or aging itself, caused the mud
to dry. The blend had broken down. There were several holes
through the seams. The sky was clear, so rain was not a
factor. ( although, rain was desperately needed ) This
reminded me of my camera. It was still standing outside. I
wanted, so badly, to rest.
I started counting the many dollars, I had spent on the
equipment. Soon, I was heading for the doorless opening. My
feet sloshed into the mud. It was much darker than the night,
which Linda and I spent together. The moon was but a slit.
There was no comforting fire to brighten the background. The
beam of light soon spotted the big lens. With the darkness
upon me, it became obvious that I could not have travelled
into the night, anyhow. The intensity of the portable
illumination was no match for the obscurity of the night.
The legs of the tripod were shortened, to their most
compact form. It was situated with the knapsack onto the
desk. The batteries were beginning to show signs of
208
weakening. There was still significant capacity available,
but the remaining stored energy may have been needed later.
My hand slipped into the bag. It felt around. Just as I became
concerned, the gold-filled pouch was located. My wrapping
fingers inspected it. The small fortune was still intact.
It was time to rest my exhausted body.
The bumpy floor was uncomfortable on my back. My soaked
feet absorbed the air. The waders caused them to perspire
profusely. I hung the drenched socks from the desk. It felt
good to have them removed. A vibrating rumble erupted from
my empty stomach. Sharp pains seemed to pierce through my
diaphragm. Still, my hunger pains were minor, compared to
the effects of my thirst. The chapping of my lips was just
the beginning. I could actually feel the dryness in my
throat. The extended venture had produced a great deal of
perspiration. This must have accelerated the dehydrating
process. I knew that my body required water. The next day,
I would need to reach the flowing creek. It had to be my
first, and only priority. I dreaded the thought of the trip.
My muscles were already becoming weak from the lack of food
and water. My willpower would have to be strong.
The echoing frogs brought chills to my bones. As they
continued their form of communication, it prompted me to the
fact that I was alone. I mean, really alone. There was nobody
209
to talk to. No friendly ear to enjoy my company. No soft voice
to furnish music to my ears. Some comfort was delivered, when
I pondered on the fact that Linda was thinking about me. But,
it only lasted a brief moment. With the loneliness came fear.
I was helpless.
The deafening echoes did not originate from a bullfrog.
The thundering power behind the deep-toned burst came from
a much greater beast. The sheer strength vibrated the aging
hut. My run down muscles were trembling. I cupped my hands
and covered my terrified ears. My eyes were forced tightly
shut. Not to eliminate vision, but in an attempt to hide from
the roaring monster. The king of the massive swamp would not
let up. My mind pictured the open doorway. The gator could
effortlessly enter the wooden shelter. I closed my eyes,
tighter.
The nocturnal animals began to join in on the torment.
The distant owl exposed his resonant hoot. The excessively
high pitch of a occasional bat would sound. But, each time
the great reptile spoke, silence would spread throughout the
land. All, who dwelled in the primitive region, respected
the emperor.
The snarling sounds of a raccoon chattered near the
insecure shed. He could only be a few foot away. My muscles
tensed, as I readied myself. The raccoon was one of the chief
210
carriers of rabies. That would have been all I needed, to
compound my already troubled situation. I prayed for him to
find another hunting location.
The scratching on the outside wall alarmed my uneasy
state of being. Why couldn't he leave me alone? The
scratching noises progressed. The raccoon was digging near
the base of the lodge. He was probably searching for grubs.
This was among the favorites of the masked critter's menu.
The animal started a frustrated growling routine. I
began to sense a disturbing smell. I pinched my nose to
prevent receiving any more of the foul odor. The nasty musk
informed me of the improper identification. This was not a
raccoon. The pesky skunk added yet another discomfort, to
my so far sleepless night. I decided to scare him off. Skunks
were very shy. There was little danger of getting bit. With
flashlight in hand, my bare feet attentively stepped onto
the lumpy deck.
My
frame
neared
the
doorway.
The
weapon-like
flashlight was held out in front. I twisted myself around
the entrance. The stink producer's eyes froze in the
brightness. His form remained stiff. As the frightened
animal awaited my next move, I realized that I was wrong,
once again. I had forgotten about the other animal that
shoots out a skunk type product. This one was much more
211
fierce, than the mild tempered skunk.
The chocolate brown fur of the sleek-bodied rodent was
very misleading. The innocent looking mink would attack most
anything. The small mammal was no match for my size, but a
defensive bite could bring rabies. The furry mink began to
hiss. His sharp teeth detailed his angered appearance. I
banged the flashlight lightly against the wall. The startled
animal fled immediately. He left a constant reminder of his
stay. The raunchy odor lingered on.
The overpowering voice of the alligator slowly became
less frequent. However, everytime I concluded, the beast had
turned in for the night, he would taunt me again. I moved
the stump over to block the opening. The large chunk of wood
gave me a false sense of security. But, nonetheless, my body
was slightly more at ease.
As my eyes grew tired, the loud bellows seemed less
threatening. My mind would allow my guard to relax. I was
safe. The Lord would protect me. I had a beautiful wife,
waiting for me. I had to make it back. She was depending on
me. She would be so excited, when she found out about our
fortune. Her lovely frame would fit so well in the shiny
sports car. That was incentive enough, to make it back to
civilization.
An alarming noise shot through my ears. It was only
212
inches away. It was coming from under the floor panels. The
rattling call was that of a rattlesnake's tail. He was giving
me a final warning. How did he get inside there? Why didn't
I see him earlier? Could he attack me from his present
position? Or, would the floor form a shield? The vigorous
motion of his tail continued. My mind was puzzled. Should
I have fled the shelter? This would have made me vulnerable
to the roaring giants of the swamp.
My eyes jerked open. The pitch darkness caused me to
wonder of my whereabouts. Where was I? The only sounds were
those of some crickets. It was dream. There was no snake
trapped under the floor. Another sound presented itself. The
constant hum of the returning mosquitos greeted my eardrums.
One of the sharp pokers pierced my skin. Another layer of
the moist repellent took care of them, for another round.
My body was completely exhausted. The echoing voices
of the night could no longer prevent me from finding peace.
The air was cool, but not enough to be noticed over the many
discomforts. If the mighty gator was to strike, I would let
him. My body was too tired to fight back.
Sometime, during the wee hours, the buzzing pests
recommenced their attack. The can of spray, to which I was
cuddling, was empty. My weariness had finally established
serenity. I wasn't going to get up, to fetch the other can.
213
Soon after finding sleep, the blood sucking insects
covered every inch of my exposed skin. It was too much to
endure. My hands fumbled around for a fresh supply. The
deterring substance would last the night's final term.
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ROAD BLOCK
214
A loud crack echoed in my otherwise peaceful dream. The
sudden interruption transferred my brain to reality. As I
gained consciousness, my mind became more aware of the
present events. My eyes remained closed. The sound waves
delivered to my ear drums became more defined, more clear.
I was still a little fuzzy on my whereabouts. It was time
to make the days first attempt at vision. My eyelids reached
their midpoint. The intensity of the morning light was too
urgent. They reshut over my dilated pupils. I tried again.
My eyesight steadily came forth, as I throttled the incoming
glare.
Where was I? The blaring sounds continued to break the
silence. My vision returned to clarity. I realized my
position. The sun's early rays penetrated the cabin's
various ruptures. The disturbing volume of the snapping
noise brought sharp pains. With my location determined, the
origin of the deafening sounds was obvious. But, what type?
Was it the Ivory-billed? Could I be so lucky?
My stomach muscles tightened. My frame shifted to a
sitting position. The soreness about my back and shoulders
215
became apparent. The wooden bed had dealt it's punishment.
Considering the circumstances, I couldn't complain. Soon,
my body was standing. My legs darted toward the opening, to
capture a glimpse. Was Linda right? Was it really an Ivory?
Although my brain recollected most of the night's
events, it did forget one small detail. The large stump was
still in the doorway. My first indication of this fact was
my left toes crushing into the unforgiving wood. Several
small bones cracked at the joints. Were they broken? The
agony registered quickly. The pain was too great to hold
back. My vocal cords erupted. The emphatic scream carried
through the primitive land. Still in significant distress,
I peeked out the broken down shack. At least ten birds had
taken flight. As they flew beyond a recognizable distance,
I was able to focus on a couple stragglers. They both
possessed forked tails. None of the large woodpeckers
offered a sound.
A more conservative crack emerged from the dead cypress
trees. I noticed the pain in my foot had ceased, as I searched
out the culprit. It was the sound of a another woodpecker,
chipping away at the insect covering bark. My sights zoomed
in on the animal responsible for the noise. It was a Red
Headed Woodpecker. This bird was much less timid, than his
larger cousin. The difference in volume between the two gave
216
me a certain respect for the power behind the Pileated's
bill.
As I returned inside the old shack, a stinging
sensation was felt. It was coming from my left foot in the
arch area. The pain was not excessive. I moved to the stump
and sat down. I inspected the swollen redness. It was the
size of a nickel. Since the wound had already swollen, it
must have been administered during the night. The infliction
could have been the result of a number of insects. With the
hurt being tolerable, I decided to drop the matter and begin
my preparation for departure.
My watch indicated that it was 8:00 AM. I noted that
my hunger pains had subsided. However, the dryness in my
throat had worsened. Though rested, my arms and legs felt
considerably weak. My thighs and calves were strained from
the previous day's over exertion. As I pondered the upcoming
venture, I realized that this had to be ignored. There was
only one way out. The pain could be dealt with later.
My eyes veered toward the desk. The dangling socks were
still there. I inspected the dirty cotton material. The
day's first good news had arrived. My socks were dry. This
was important. The rubber boots would have eaten my feet
alive without the aid of soft, dry socks. I reached over and
snagged the two foot warmers from the desktop. I fetched the
217
waders from the corner. As the boots were pulled from their
resting place, evidence of human presence was uncovered. An
empty pack of cigarettes was stuffed between two logs. I
retrieved the crumpled up plastic and paper. It was an old
pack of Camel non-filters. I placed the trash into my back
pocket and proceeded to the stump.
I covered my overworked feet with the soiled, but dry
socks. I put the first rubber wader on. The rawness on the
back of my heal became known. The pain declined somewhat,
when the boot was completely on. A similar blister appeared
on the other foot. My eyes closed and teeth clenched, as I
struggled to get my foot snuggled into position. Once again,
the
pain
went
away,
at
least
for
the
time
being.
I took a short sigh. The pause was intended for the
mental preparation of packing and commencing the trip. The
last minute breather did not serve it's purpose. There was
something inside the shack. Something which was hidden by
the darkness, the night before.
I immediately threw everything into the knapsack. The
book cover, spray can, tweezers. It was all heaved into the
canvas bag in a hurried effort. My trembling hand clutched
the bag. The other snatched the camera set up. My frightened
brain directed my shaking legs out of the dwelling. From a
safe distance, I turned around to view the unwanted guests.
218
The cause for the sharp burning pain in my foot was no longer
a mystery. The culprit was known.
Hanging from the ceiling near the rear corner was a
bulky hornet's nest. Cluttered about their home were
countless hornets. They appeared to be quite active. The
large nest, which was made by the chewing of wood pulp, must
have loomed inches from my head. The thought of this was
enough to bring shivers throughout my skin.
If I had known about the hanging residence, I would have
taken my chances with the alligators. I had been stung one
time before, by these bad guys. One sting from a hornet was
comparable to ten by a yellowjacket. I must have been in a
deep sleep, when I got nailed.
I remembered the incident well. In my childhood days,
my immaturity cost me a whole lot of agony. My friends and
I were playing near an old oak tree. I caught sight of a nest
in the tree. My friends dared me to climb up and touch it
with a stick. They were all a year or two older. To fit in,
I decided it was worth the risk. The burning pain was not
worth one hundred friends. I was fortunate that I got nabbed,
before I reached the proximity of their less than humble
abode. My wrist had swollen to twice the normal size. My
tolerance for pain was much less then, but still, this would
have brought a grown man to his knees. I had lost movement
219
in that hand for a few hours. Ever since that day, I have
fearfully respected all stinging insects.
I shook my head back to reality. The dangerous bees were
a safe distance away. It was time to consider the journey.
The sky was not as clear, as the day before. The few cumulus
that occupied the atmosphere were scattered about. Once
again, there were no hints of possible precipitation. There
was a calm breeze. It was just windy enough, to bend the
assorted marsh grass blades. It created mild ripples atop
the swamp's waterways. These were only noticeable under
close inspection. The young day had yet to yield it's high
humidity and scorching temperatures. That was sufficient
reason to begin the hike.
I opened the bag, to ensure the gold-filled pouch was
still there. It was. The zipper was refastened. The knapsack
was mounted on my aching shoulders. As I turned to grab the
camera, another trace of man appeared. It was a bunch of
footprints. They were from a pair of boots a good two sizes
larger than mine. They were heading to the east. ( the
opposite direction, from which mine came ) Where did the
tracks lead? Was there a better course to take? A shortcut?
Was it worth the risk? Like too many times before, my
curiosity got the best of me.
The tracks split into two sets. Running a few foot apart
220
and parallel, they led to the swamp. They both stopped at
the same point, where there was a large indent. It dug much
deeper into the ground. It was the result of a boat's bottom
scraping the soft earth. The user's of this shack must have
travelled by boat.
Standing before the vast kingdom of the swamp was
completely overwhelming. The poor lighting conditions of
the day before hindered my depth perception. The miles of
waterways were totally untamed. From the point I stood to,
what seemed like eternity, was "no man's land". Out there
humans were the intruders. Any risk taken would be dealt with
no second chances. Perhaps, the undescribable danger was the
reason for it's alluring charm.
The motionless gators were basking in the sun rays.
Although, they appeared to be dozing, the giant reptiles
were alert and cognizant of their surroundings. Numerous
egrets and ibises populated the shallows. An occasional
heron would drive his sharp beak into an unsuspecting frog.
The shoreline was patched with assorted sandpiper species.
There was a blue and white bird hovering and diving into the
water. His well defined hairy blue crest was a dead giveaway.
But, for the life of me, I couldn't recall it's name. It was
an easy one, too. The name was on the tip of my tongue. It
started frustrating me a little. However, I knew I would have
221
to worry about it later. The running stream was the top
priority.
I turned around, facing the west. A peculiar thing
happened. There was an alligator about thirty foot away. She
had her body pointing at me. She was as straight, as an arrow.
She kept her distance the whole time. But, when I took a few
steps, her powerful body swayed. I took a few more forward
paces. She did the same, keeping her body continually
pointing directly to me. Her eyes were fixed. They displayed
an understood warning. She would not allow any closer
confrontations. The reason for her, staying in line with me,
was to maintain a condition of readiness. The grounds for
this were obvious, as I spotted her babies. They were
swimming near her mighty tail. I wasted no time. My feet
quickly increased the distance between the two of us.
The journey had begun. As my rested, yet sore body
passed the hut, I was shocked at it's appearance. It was in
worse shape than the dim sky exhibited the night before. The
cracks and holes were much more pronounced. The wood that
was still intact showed signs of decay. What a difference
a nights sleep made.
The pesky buzzers reminded me of what, I had forgot.
A quick stop to spray became a requirement. After the
application was complete, I shook the aerosol can. It was
222
half full at best. I would have to ration the remaining
chemical spray. It was just another setback in the challenge
ahead.
There was one significant advantage on my side. The
tracks from the previous hike were quite visible. This would
prevent, my getting lost. In an attempt to keep my mind off
the many hazards, I concentrated on stepping into each
footprint.
The
infinite
dead
cypress
reminded
me
of
the
woodpeckers. If I hadn't stubbed my toe, I would have been
able to witness the interesting birds. The thought crossed
my mind that I botched the chance to see the Ivory. I threw
the idea around for a while. The concept came up that,
perhaps, I just wanted it to be true. Was I merely trying
to convince myself? After all, the odds against the Ivory's
survival were astronomical. And, the chances of seeing this
marvel, if it existed, were astronomical on top of that. My
mind switched to the heavy pouch inside the canvas bag. The
bird may have been a fantasy, but this was for real!
The brightness subsided to a small degree. Not because
of a cloud, but due to the fact that I was entering the moss
covered giants of the cypress forest. The burnt wasteland
was behind me. The dimmer horizon made it more difficult to
spot the footprints. But, with a mild squint, the sightings
223
were made.
The blisters on the back of my heals began to bother
me. I tried walking on my toes. This kept the boot from
rubbing against the tender sores. However, it added stress
to my already strained calves. The solution became a mixture
of the two. It may not have alleviated the pain, but at least
it traded off, where it came from. I considered taking off
the boots. Although the ground was mushy, there were
numerous root growths protruding the earth. This was a
characteristic of the Bald Cypress.
My mind was, once again, intrigued by everchanging
habitats. As the forest thickened, the darkness could be
detected up ahead. I caught sight of what was probably the
last inkberry bush, before entering the deep gloom. My
stomach momentarily took over my rationality. Why would
there be any berries in the spring? And, if there were, was
I stupid enough to eat them. I would not have to worry about
the temptations. There was no fruit, poison or not, dangling
from the shrub. My stomach growled in protest.
Still, the pains of hunger were petty, in comparison
to my dehydration. It was difficult to ignore the lack of
energy. A mental picture of the running stream was my only
power supply. The fortunes that the gold would bring was,no
longer, a driving force. At this point, I feared for my life.
224
Although there was nothing edible in the bush,
something was inside it's foliage. A few brown objects hung
in a still manner. My first perception figured them to be
just a bunch of dead leaves. Upon closer observation, it was
learned that they were living creatures, namely bats. The
long-eared,flying mammals were taking part in their daily
sleep. Whom was I to disturb them.
I proceeded to my hike. My tired feet began to pick up
the pace. I could afford no more distractions. My fatigued
legs and weighted down back severely needed a break.
However, the only worthwhile break was one that included the
replenishment of liquids.
The squashing sounds of my steps echoed through the
ancient trees. The deep murky land magnified the volume of
all it's inhabitants. An infrequent mating call of an egret
was enough, to send my heart into a full sprint. The high
pitched hum of the katy-did sounded, like I was standing an
inch away from a high voltage transformer. Whenever a Fox
Squirrel would present me with his chatter, I would stop and
dip my body. The paranoia had settled in. Any surging noise
was handled, as if it were an attack.
" Cuk, Cuk, Cuk, Cuk! ", blared an authoritive voice.
My sweating body stopped. It did not duck, to evade an
assault, this time. The caller was easily identified. It was
225
so potent that, the direction of it's source, could not be
distinguished.
" Cuk, Cuk, Cuk, Cuk! ", screamed the Pileated
Woodpecker.
My frame twisted to a easterly bearing. One more time
was all I needed to decipher it's direction.
" Cuk, Cuk, Cuk, Cuk! ", the apparently joyous bird
erupted.
It was mating season. The birds were building their
nests. The several courtship rituals had begun. The pair of
lovers would toil for hours, days. They would not conclude
their labor, until they were complete. Within their home,
they would rear a family. Home? Family? The reminder of the
task at hand had me back into high gear. The small crossing
would be soon.
It was within sight. The thin pathway was only a hundred
foot away. The yellowjacket nest came to mind. There was no
other dry crossing. Trying to span the wide swamp was to
risky. The depth and firmness were both in question.
The mosquitos were unbearable. I set down the knapsack.
The load off my back was a relief. In fact, it felt so much
better, I considered discarding some of the heavier goods.
However, the only weight bearing belongings were the gold
and the encyclopedia. The gold was too precious. The book?
226
I tossed it in the mud. With a few handfuls of mucky soil,
the nature book was covered. It then dawned on me that it
was a library book. It was too late. Besides, if I made it
out of this mess, I would have gratefully paid them twice
it's value.
I put the gold pouch back into the bag. I retrieved the
spray can. I gave myself a light coat of repellent. There
was probably only one more good spray left. My spine cracked,
as I donned the knapsack. It was, as if my backbone was
pleading for a longer rest. However, the luxury of a time
consuming pitstop was unavailable.
The bees nest was dead ahead. The stream was about a
mile away. Most of which was the easy travelling grassy area,
surrounding the water prairie. My feet carried me at a faster
rate. It felt like I was sprinting, although my punished legs
were only moving at a moderate jog.
At first, the thoughts of the cool stream provided my
legs with an added boost. However, as I neared the small dry
patch, between the two swampy channels, the exertion
overcame the excitement. Was this the end of my fuel? Could
I endure the final mile? My body was still moving at a decent
clip. I couldn't stop. If I could just make it past the
yellowjackets, my body could take a short pause. An image
of the swarming bees stabbing my helpless flesh emerged. The
227
mere thought was enough, to give me one last push. My sore
feet continued the torturing pace.
The narrow passage was upon me. The lethal stare of a
new comer exploded into view. The rubber waders dug into the
muddy soil. They skidded to an abrupt halt. My startled frame
stood froze. Those blood thirsty jaws were within striking
distance. Had I not seen the huge reptile, I would have went
right by, untouched. But now, my motionless body was
trapped. The alligator was lying on the bank near my feet,
only two foot ahead and a foot to the right.
The crossing could not be made. My only alternative was
to back up. I would be alright. Slowly, I would retreat.
There had to be another crossing. My weary body wanted to
rest. The fixed position was soothing to me. As I focused
on the enormity of the beast, I reconsidered. My legs began
to flex into action. My first reversing step was commenced.
The initial backing stride was done in poor judgement,
or better put, with bad luck. A little baby gator fled from
the grassy section, inches from my foot. Soon, there were
three more scampering about. Now, I had done it. The mother,
of which was over ten feet long, jerked to a ready position.
Her deathly stare became even more intense. Her leathery
back dipped. Her legs bent, and her belly slightly skimmed
the earth. She was preparing, as a snake coils inorder to
228
strike.
I had to run. The giant species was known to be
surprisingly quick. I would have to execute a zig zag
pattern, to avoid being caught. Chances were the angry
mother would not chase me over a long distance. She would
not stray far from her kin.
The mighty jaws of the fierce animal opened widely. The
razor-sharp teeth were exposed. They were considerably
larger than expected. She blurted her first sounds of
protest. It was unlike the bellows, heard deep into the
night. It was a violent hiss. Why wasn't I moving? Where was
the fear? Remaining in the present position was certain
death. It was purely suicidal.
At this point, my mystery was immense. My dehydrated
body had nothing left to give. The irritated king of the
swamp would be doing me a service, a favor. My raw feet would
feel no agony. The constant aches in my entire muscle
structure would be massaged to a painless condition. The
emptiness in my forgotten stomach would be filled. My
depleted body would be replenished with boundless energy.
My beaten soul would be comforted with soothing thoughts.
But, apparently, the Lord did not agree with this. He
would grant me a second chance. He would offer me another
perspective.
229
One of the foot long critters didn't pay attention to
it's course. The baby gator walked directly over the
mother's lower jaw. The small reptile was actually inside
her gaping mouth. This was enough to make her hesitate. Her
entire body jerked to a frozen state. The event seemed to
make her even more angry, but with the youngster there, she
could do nothing about it. The little baby quickly scurried
off the giant's mandible. The brief instant was sufficient,
to interrupt the trance that I was in.
The other factors came to mind. My wife, our marriage,
our someday children, my friends, the gold. Yes, the lovely
gold! There was plenty worth suffering for. I would have to
move soon. Everything seemed, like it was moving in slow
motion. However, the whole chain of events took place in a
matter of seconds.
My mind didn't even consider the best direction. I
jumped into motion. My body was immediately heading in
reverse. Her powerful jaws clamped together. A crisp snap
was heard. The protective reptile lunged forward, but well
short of my escaping form. She would go no further.
She could have caught me and shattered my brittle bones
with her invincible grasp. Or, she could have instantly
killed me with one crushing blow of her mighty tail. But,
I, no longer, opposed a threat. If my body would have
230
remained stationary, my life would have ended.
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NO CROSSING
231
ZONE
The close encounter gave me a new respect for the mighty
alligator. I pondered on the many times that I photographed
them. I was always at ease, safe. The camera seemed to give
me a false sense of security. They always appeared to be so
docile.
There had to be a narrow spot along the swampy channel.
It was at least thirty foot wide at the point I stood. The
murky, stagnant water was black in color. The water's
darkness made it impossible to determine the depth. The only
alternative was to search for a section, which I could leap
across. I began my easterly hike.
The rapid heartbeat from the recent episode slowed. The
adrenalin created was quickly spent. The wear and tear
continued to accumulate. A drink of water was the only thing
on my mind. The weight on my shoulders grew increasingly
heavy. I considered tossing my camera, but I just couldn't
bring myself to doing so.
The boggy runway did not get thinner. In fact, it
expanded to nearly a hundred foot. My poor body had travelled
about a mile, looking for something that wasn't. If I hadn't
232
seen the gator, I would have probably been to the stream.
If I would have just continued running, the gator would have
not had a chance to strike. Or, would he have? My weary brain
was running out of ideas. Was this worth it? Was the gold
really worth all of this heartache? What if I do somehow make
it back? Will the police be waiting for me? Were the Braves
still undefeated?
There was only one logical answer. I had to try. The
sinking ground was so hard to travel through. Every step took
significant energy. One mile was easily equal to a good
three. My thirsty blood cells would allow no more setbacks.
This would be it. This was the place. If the water was
too deep, I would sacrifice the camera and swim across. There
were no other choices. My throbbing back was ready to give.
I removed the backpack from my aching shoulders. The only
thing of notable weight was the gold pouch. I decided, I
would carry it in my hand. My back badly needed the breather.
The canvas bag was zipped and mounted upon my sore frame.
It would not matter if the bag got wet. It was water
resistant, for the most part. And besides, it was the least
of my worries.
The camera was held over my shoulder by my left hand,
the gold in my right. If all went well, in an hour
my tired
physique would be swimming in the cool freshness.
233
I
eyed
the
dingy
water.
The
dragonflies
were
everywhere. They were mating. They would sometimes connect
rears in mid-flight. The bullfrogs raised their intensity,
almost as if to dare me to cross.
" Cuk, Cuk, Cuk, Cuk! ", said the red crested bird.
I couldn't see him, but he was very near. His voice was
friendly. It was like, he was on my side. Perhaps, it was
a trick. Was I being lured into a trap? Were the swampland
creatures
cooperating
together?
Would
they
share
my
carcass? Was I going crazy?
My right wader carefully ruptured the surface. The
bottom was only a foot down. It gave slightly, but allowed
enough support to continue. My left foot united with my
right. A small relief was felt. However, it was much too
soon, to announce success.
The second step added another foot to the depth. The
water was at the rim of my waders. The bottom was softer.
I looked behind myself. The bank was still near. I could
retreat. Perhaps, the alligator changed her post. Maybe,
there was a dry area to the west. Was it worth the chance?
Was this option really available. No, it was not. This would
be it. One way or the other, this was it.
My thighs tightened. The effort needed, to pull the
rubber boots from the murky bottom's strong hold, was
234
great in itself. But, I was able to free them. The next step
put warm water to near my hips. The boots were immediately
filled with liquid. What about leaches? I continued walking
through the mucky water. Finally, the powerful grip of the
muddy floor was too much. I was buried to near my knees in
the swampy depths. I was near the center of the channel. I
could not free my trapped legs.
I did not want to give up the boots. I pulled with
incredible force. It was to no avail. The waders would have
to be next on the list of expenses. I dreaded the idea of
finishing the trip barefoot. My feet felt snug. The earth
that surrounded my ankles and feet conformed to them. I
couldn't budge them.
My tired eyes glanced at the midday sun.
It's heat was
excessive. I retracted the legs of the tripod. With the pouch
in my mouth, I heaved the camera set-up with all my might.
The soft ground on the water's edge gave a bit, however, the
extent of the damage was unknown. I had other problems to
worry about. I grasped the pouch with my right hand. I
proceeded to jump up and down, profusely. My struggling body
could
not
release
my
anchored
feet.
The
thought
of
attracting attention did not occur. At this point, I had to
do what I could, to break free.
The splashing commotion did not go unnoticed. An
235
unfriendly visitor slithered atop the blackened surface. As
it
approached,
the
brownish
crossbands
became
more
distinct. It was at least four foot long. Would I be lucky
again? Was this the cowardly water snake? Or, had my good
fortunes run out? Was it the venomous cottonmouth?
The slimy reptile was but a few foot away. The olive
colored skin and darker belts floated gracefully. Belts?
That reminded me of something. Now I knew the name of that
bird, I couldn't determine before. What a weird time to think
about this. I had come face to face with the most aggressive
snake in the country, and THIS is how I reacted! It was a
Belted Kingfisher. But, who cared? I would not allow my weary
brain to fail me. The ridiculous image was wiped away.
Unfortunately, I wasn't able to wipe away the image of the
long reptile. It remained.
The snake wasted little time in announcing it's
identity. The hostile actions spoke for themselves. The
angry cottonmouth began to rapidly vibrate it's tail. The
created splash echoed a sharp slapping sound. This was just
the beginning. It's head was lifted above the waterline. The
water moccasin held it's head upward and backward. The rich
white liner within the snake's mouth was exposed. My body
was shaking considerably. It's hollow fangs were taunting
my terrified vision. Even the full poison sacks in the upper
236
palate were visible. The furious predator was ready to
strike.
With a split second prior to impact, my mind swiftly
contemplated my two alternatives. Either I could remain
somewhat still, or my body could be submerged. If I remained
motionless, there was a possibility of the snake retreating.
And, even if the venom was injected, the poison was not
deadly. I would have plenty of time to reach a hospital. If
I tried to hide underwater, the snake may have become even
more disturbed. On the other hand, if my breath held out
longer than the snake's patience, I would prevail.( unless,
he dove under, too )
The bright sunlight sparkled on the tip of the sharp
fang. The thought of it's piercing effect made my shivering
skin crawl. I hated pain. The decision was made. My lungs
inflated with a large volume of air. With my eyes shut, my
knees were bent forcefully. My entire frame was plunged
beneath the murky surface.
The rotten taste of the wetness on my dry lips was my
first perception. The moist stagnant liquid felt pleasant.I
wanted so badly to take a gulp. The putrid taste would be
overlooked by the comforting replenishment. But, my mouth
was holding in the oxygen bearing air. Besides, the assorted
bacteria
would
have
resulted
237
in
certain
disease
contraction.
As my mind fought to remain in hiding, my body began
to rise. The canvas bag contained an air bubble. My left hand
reached to grasp the boot lip. I pulled myself downward, in
order to stay submerged. The right side of my body twisted
toward the top. I needed to pull down with my right hand as
well. I gripped my right boot with one finger. I refused to
release the gold. I had gone too far and went through too
much, to lose it now. My mouth allowed a major portion of
depleted air to escape. I was extremely cautious not to
ingest any of the infested liquid.
My lungs could wait no longer. It was time to receive
another breath of life. My hand would be the first, to exit
the water. If I was to be bit, this was my preference. My
left hand was lifted above. The answer would come quickly.
The excruciating pain of the ruptured skin was
unforgiving. My right hand reached for the penetrated flesh
on my left wrist. The golden treasure sunk to the dirty
bottom. This was insignificant in comparison to the immense
pain. My entire upper torso was rapidly surfacing. The
undescribable burning sensation caused my vocal cords to
issue a shrilling scream. The pressure of the injected venom
shot through my whole arm.
My vision returned. The slithering son of a bitch was
238
fleeing. The poison dealing snake was soon long gone. The
heavy pressure quickly subsided. But, the blistering pain
from the poison remained. The torn skin began to slowly
extract my hungry blood. Within a minute, the torture
lessened. Though still aching, the wound was soon tolerable.
The bleeding was nothing to be alarmed about.
The gold! Oh my God! The gold was gone! Could I find
it? What about the open skin? If it came in contact with the
swampy gunk, it would become severely infected. Was it worth
it? Yes, it was. I prepared to submerge. But, wait a minute.
Another swamp dweller approached. This one much
larger. This one much stronger. The bulging eyes of the
nearing gator floated above the water. The gold no longer
seemed that important. In one fluent motion, I vaulted
towards the bank. The imposing threat must have been the
difference. My feet seemed to easily slip out of the boots.
There was no time, to sit and wonder why I wasn't able to
do this before. I was free. That was all that counted. My
legs moved so swiftly, they didn't sink into the mucky soil.
The remainder of the channel was of the same depth. Soon,
I was crawling towards the channel's border. Was I safe?
The giant serpent swam by without showing interest.
Within minutes, he was out of view. I studied the now vacant
swampy waterway. With the exception of a multitude of
239
dragonflies, there was no other signs of life. I looked at
my punctured wrist. Only a couple drops of water were
situated in the area. I must have been able to keep my hand
above the water, during the episode. I was lucky.
Was it too risky to go back and search for the lost
treasure? What about the wound? What about the running
water? The stream was full of gold. Getting a fresh drink
of water was more important. I already knew where the gold
was at. I looked down at my feet. I lost my socks as well.
The camera was a little muddy. No significant dents
were observed on first glance. The complete damage report
would not come, until the next shooting, which I didn't plan
on
in
the
immediate
future.
There
was
no
time
for
photography. My exhausted body needed water. The affects of
the snake venom
would not be apparent for several hours,
according to my college studies. Even without the antivenom
injection, very few people had died from a water moccasin
bite. My top priority was to follow the channel back to my
tracks. At that point, I would head south to the stream.
The soggy ground felt comforting on my sore feet. I
would have to be cautious, now that I was travelling
barefoot. The many roots from the ancient Bald Cypress would
produce painful blows to my already abused bones. My mind
made a conscious effort to direct my legs properly. My
240
terrible habit of scuffing my feet would surely result in
a couple stubbed or broken toes. My eyes scouted the area
for a good landing spot, during each step. My thighs
concentrated on picking each foot off the ground, one by one.
My wet skin made my brain reflect on the thirst inside
of me. My aching muscles desired the replenishment. My weary
mind considered trying a little bit of the nearby water. How
ridiculous would my dehydrated carcass look, lying next to
a body of water? So what, if it was stagnant. That was what
they made antibiotics for. My delirious state of mind was
making the mucky liquid more inviting by the second. The
running stream, which was about a mile away, seemed like an
impossible feat. I stopped and turned around. I had only
moved a couple hundred foot. If I would have checked my
watch, it would have become known that less than five minutes
had elapsed. Instead, I figured that my life would expire,
before I could ever reach the saving flow.
A blaring sound erupted from the ancient forest. My
body froze, as the call was repeated. My mind recollected
on what Linda had said. She stated that it's call was similar
to that of a "false note of a clarinet". I was no musical
genius, but that was the best way to describe the blaring
call. I began to feel dizzy. My head spun. As my sights aimed
toward the treetops, the many branches began to rotate.
241
Though my stomach was empty, nausea started setting in. The
sounds in my ears were probably a figment of my fatigued
imagination. However, the feelings of light-headedness were
very real.
My body staggered in the direction of a half decomposed
log. With the camera at my feet, my dizzy body perched on
the decaying chair. My hands covered my failing vision. The
scattered spots began to increase in size. A fuzzy response
covered my horizon. My perception became total darkness.
Deep spasms emerged from my contracting stomach
muscles. The cramping sensation caused a form of dry heaves.
My lungs attempted to gulp extra quantities of air. The
cramping subsided, but the darkness remained. A tingling
localized at my forehead. It brought a sort of pleasure. The
more I gave into it's soothing effects, the more it spread
out. Soon, my arms and legs felt the familiar feeling.
My mind was being hypnotized. My body was being rocked
to sleep. The needed rest would do my body good. I was not
giving up. I was merely taking a short afternoon nap. Right?
242
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IVORY
The dark space was slowly filled with scattered spots
243
of light. My vision was recovering. The bright sunshine
seeped between my fingers, which were covering my eyes. A
clear receptivity replaced the earlier fuzzy sensations. My
lungs were satisfied with the inflation of a fresh batch of
oxygen. The woodland sounds played, as the dull buzz in my
ears vanished. A tiny breeze tickled my forehead, as it dried
my slightly moist face.
How long was I out? My hair was still wet, so it
couldn't have been long. I had never blacked out before. The
feeling was that of confusion; where was I? This question
took little time in answering. One small glance of the giant
cypress and the gloomy distance was all it took. The memories
were quickly returning to my puzzled mind. A throbbing
response issued from my left wrist. I examined the flesh
wound. The bleeding had stopped. Being on the wrist, the
rupture was not very deep. This led me to believe, the snake
had less time to inject the venom. This was pure speculation.
Nonetheless, it was somewhat of a positive way to view the
dilemma. The added motivation reminded me of the task at
hand. The running stream was within a miles walk.
My left arm stretched over to grasp the tripod. It would
be a good prop, to aid me in regaining a standing position.
My lungs inhaled an added boost of octane. My arms and legs
flexed. I looked towards the ancient treetops. A moving
244
object caught my eyesight. I focused in on the jerky
spectacle. It was a Pileated Woodpecker. He was swaying his
red crest from side to side. He was only forty foot or so
away. Why wasn't the timid bird fleeing? How could he not
be aware of the human presence?
I thought about the lost gold and going home empty
handed. A picture was worth far less than the heavy pouch,
but it was still worth something. For many years, I had tried
to isolate this species on film. Due to the circumstances,
it wasn't nearly as exciting, as I would have anticipated.
I split the metal legs apart. I didn't want to stand.
The intimidation would have surely scared off the prize. So,
the shot would have to be taken from a sitting position. The
camera was setting in front of my dirty face. Slowly the lens
cover was unscrewed. The majority of the lens and camera was
covered with mud. Fortunately, the glass and view finder
were acceptably clean.
The realization smacked me right between the eyes. The
film was still in the knapsack, which was still on my back.
There was little chance that the bird would remain, while
I recovered the film. On the other hand, I had already went
this far. I looked up to the feathered figure. He was still
there, as if watching me. The canvas bag was lowered to the
muddy earth. The zipper made a noticeable sound. I unzipped
245
swiftly to minimize the possibly disturbing noise. The
contents were dry. Even with it completely submerged, the
canvas material ( with it's special coating ) kept the water
out. The roll of film was removed from it's box and plastic
container.
The small "leader" was loaded onto the spindle.
The automatic winder advanced to the proper location.
Everything was in order.
My squinting eye veered in the direction of the
viewfinder. The camera swiveled around in an attempt, to
locate the bird. Had he left? Was the noise too much? No.
There he was, in the very same place, as before. The light
meter indicated insufficient light. I opened up fully. There
was now enough light, to take the picture. Using the 400
speed film made a world of difference. If I was using the
64 speed, the picture would not have been obtainable. The
bird was moving, too rapidly, for the slower film.
My fingers made the final focus adjustments. Wait a
minute. What was that behind the woodpecker? I took my head
away from the camera and gazed upward. Ooh, it was another
Pileated. Was it possible to get them both in the same shot?
First, I snapped a frame of the lone bird. There was
no way, I was going to go home empty on this one. Then, I
tried to get both bird in focus. It was of no use. The later
bird was too far away from the other. As I focused on the
246
centerpoint, it became apparent that the second one was
significantly larger. I attempted to concentrate on him. The
adjusting ring spun, as the animal's details became defined.
Each feathery hair of the thick red crest could be
distinguished. His vivid yellow eye stood out, like the
night's first star. The black and white body filled the
entire frame. That rich creamy bill........... Oh my
Lord....., Oh my dear Lord..........
I closed my unbelieving eyes. My muddy knuckles rubbed
them. My eyes reopened. He was still there. My fingernails
penetrated my sensitive skin. The sharp pain, which was
delivered, assured me that it was reality. Displayed before
me
was
the
most
wonderful
thing,
the
Ivory-billed
Woodpecker!!!!!
A species, supposedly extinct, was clinging to a tree
not fifty foot away from my astonished eyes. Was this for
real? Did I really wake up? Or, was this just
a continuing
dream? A loud crash sounded, as the Pileated's bill crushed
into the tree's skin. The noise was so crisp, so exact. My
reception was clear. Between this and the sharp pain from
my digging nails, I was convinced. This was no dream.
My pounding heart produced heavy pulsations, throughout my
trembling limbs. The significance of the situation began to
register. Linda was right. There were Ivories in these
247
woods. But, how many were there? The man, who watched them
from the hut, knew of them. But, did the authorities? Either
they, or he was keeping this a secret. My anxious brain threw
around the many possibilities. I decided the debate was
worthless. I needed to get this on film.
The male Ivory stood fairly stationary. The focusing
and adjustments were completed without haste. I initiated
the shutter release. Quickly, I took another. Why was this
extremely shy bird smiling for the camera? Perhaps, he knew
that I meant no harm. This was a good explanation for a fairy
tale, but it was highly unlikely, in this case. There was
something keeping them in the area. The Pileated, as well
as the Ivory, stood their ground. It was, as if they were
standing guard. Neither exhibited signs of feeding. I began
to scope the area, while remaining in the sitting posture.
My mouth allowed a wheeze to escape. My lips responded,
by tightly sealing off the sound. A dark spot floated high
above. Before I could zero in on the subject, it vanished
from the clear sky. Some small branches ruffled near it's
vanish point. I studied the needles and scattered moss that
was hanging around the top of the neighboring cypress.
A fluttering pair of wings came out of hiding. The large
bird soared downward from the treetops. I knew immediately
that
it
was
an
Ivory.
For
248
starters,
the
bird
was
significantly larger than the smaller cousin (Pileated). I
couldn't determine if the tail was pointed. However, the
black underside boasted a thick white strip along the rear
portion of the wing. On the Pileated, the center has the
white patch. The majestic bird landed on a nearby tree about
twenty-five foot from the ground.
It was a female. She lacked the red crest. Was this the
very one that Linda observed? Her sleek wings were folded
along her feathered body. There was something in her ivory
bill. The wiggly insect resembled that of the larvae, which
I dug out, along with the beetles, from the dead cypress.
Just as my heart had returned to it's normal rhythm,
something happened to put it back into an uproar. The most
emotionally uplifting sight appeared before me.
Three little heads popped out of a hole in the trunk.
The 600 mm was hurrying in the direction of the youngsters.
My shaking fingers wasted no time. The mother and her
nestlings were soon in focus. I could detect a faint red
patch on two of the three crests. The other had a constant
light black crown. As I snapped the shot, the mother offered
the living food to one of the males. The slender form
accepted the beetle larvae and quickly devoured it in it's
entirety.
The nest was oval in shape. It may have been seven or
249
eight inches across it's longest point. The mother did not
leave. Maybe, she was aware of my presence. How could she
not be? She felt it necessary to stay for protective reasons.
She remained next to the cavity in the ancient plant. Her
head swayed from side to side. This behavior was similar to
that of the Pileated. But, for the life of me, I knew not
what it meant.
My mind began to reflect on the circumstances. I looked
at my open wound. I had a bandage in my first aid kit.
However, it was not recommended to cover a snake bite, unless
it was the result of a coral snake. ( the coral's chewing
action causes very rough lacerations ) There was no pain in
my wrist, anyhow. My continuing hunger, my hammered feet,
my overworked back and shoulders. They were all irrelevant
in comparison to my newly found excitement. Not even, the
unquenched thirst was noticeable. The adrenalin in my system
was
overwhelming.
This
euphoric
state
of
being
was
comforting. Though my perceptions were clear, my body felt
a sense of floatation. My prior worries were replaced with
a relaxed condition. The exhaustion was fed, as my heart
pumped vigor into my starving veins. The overall affect was
a soothing, yet energized status.
I continued to make careful calculations, prior to
exposing the film. My mind kept asking itself; what would
250
go wrong? Was the film properly advancing? Would the sun's
streaky glare interfere? No. Everything was correct. I
couldn't wait to show these to Linda. Would it have been wise
to inform the DNR? Maybe, it would have been better to talk
to the owner, first. There could have been a reason for the
lack of advertisement. In fact it was possible, this was why
the police were tracking me down. Was this area a huge
experiment? It seemed like long shot, but I was ruling
nothing out.
My intrigued eyes scouted the area for additional
action. That clarinet-like noise erupted from close by. It
did not come from the female specimen to my right, nor did
it originate from the male directly ahead. It came from the
east. My sights examined the eastern horizon. No motion was
observed. All that my vision perceived was the abundant
cypress and slowly widening swampy channel.
Over the next few minutes, another female Ivory arrived
to feed, yet another batch of hatchlings. This time, only
two necks stretched into view. Being a good bit further away,
the descriptions were not achievable. As before, the mother
submitted an elongated meal to one of the lucky recipients.
This made me think. Those dead trees were the result of a
major fire. Many insects thrive on burnt wood. No wonder
there were so many woodpecker excavations. I spotted the
251
other female. She was still tending to her nest.
Another food bearer flew in. This being a Pileated. She
had a nest as well. She owned three young. It was difficult
to identify her as a female. It was, for the most part, an
educated guess. She acted quite similar to the female
Ivories. All three mothers remained at their respective
positions. I had nailed the jackpot. This was some sort of
mating and nesting grounds.
Then, one of the most peculiar things struck me. Why
were the two species living together, so closely? Not only
were these characters extremely shy, but they were also
suppose to be "loners". A pair would normally mate and nest
far away from another. ( even of it's own kind ) Was there
a reason for this apparent relationship? The Ivories and
Pileateds were not interacting. However, it was quite
obvious, they were aware and accepting of each other's
presence.
The nearby Pileated let out a loud repetitive voice.
The power behind it was considerably more than the Ivory's
call. The males, which I first sighted, were still clinging
to the rough bark. At this point, the count was: two female
Ivories with nests, one female Pileated with nest, one male
Ivory, and one male Pileated. This was not including the
voice of the distant Ivory.
252
A nearby cracking blurted out. It blared from the east.
My eyes could not pinpoint any movement. I swiveled the lens
around on it's pivot. With the extra magnification, I panned
the area. This technique was difficult, because the enlarged
section in the viewfinder moved, very rapidly.
A hatchet-like action entered my sights. The lens made
the identification, rather simple. A male Ivory was crushing
his mighty bill into the woody material. He was about a
hundred foot away. By the looks of this project, he was
building a nest. The depth of the infliction was much deeper,
than that of a feeding frenzy. His blows were quick and
deliberate. This was not a pleasurable task. This was a
chore.
As I studied the area, another feathered friend
appeared. About five feet above the working male was a
female. She was clinging to the cypress bark. The ivory
colored bill stood out. Even from a hundred foot, the creamy
bill could be perceived.
The toiling male stopped. With little delay, he hopped
up to meet the female. They looked at each other. The male
blared out his now familiar call. The two did some sort of
preening ritual. They continued to rub their own shoulders
with their bills for close to a minute. The female, then,
committed an identical sound. She swiftly flew down to the
253
nest-to-be. Her head swayed side to side for a short moment.
She began crashing her bill into the large hole. Each swing
was as powerful and crisp, as her partner's. The shared
workload was an interesting form of companionship.
Also to the east, but less distant, was a pair of
Pileateds. They were mating as well. I was too intrigued by
the Ivories. So, I didn't spend much time with them. Between
the two mating pairs, the noise was almost continuous. I
twisted the viewing lens back to the closer subjects. They
were all still in the same places. Wait a minute. No, they
weren't. There was one male missing.
No sooner did my mind wonder of the missing bird's
whereabouts, the male returned. He flew to the nearest of
the two Ivory nests. He had an angry insect in his chops.
Just as he had arrived, the male Pileated, which was standing
guard, flew off. It seemed, as though, there was always a
minimum of two males in the area. ( not including the mating
birds to the east ) Any significance to this, at this time,
would have been quite speculative.
My eyes refocused on
the incoming male Ivory. Surprisingly, he did not offer the
beetle to one of the hungry nestlings. The struggling insect
was transferred to the mother's bill. The male swiftly moved
to a vacant tree. Was he replacing the post, which was left
by the recently fleeing Pileated?
254
The mother placed the nourishment into the young
female's begging mouth. The little bird chomped three times
and swallowed the meal. The other two babies sustained their
necks in a fully elongated condition. Their bills opened and
shut eagerly. Soon, the recently fed female joined in. The
immense appetite of the birds was a well known fact. I read
once that a single pair of Ivories required two thousand
acres of wooded land.
The Ivory male closest to me took off. The male Pileated
had returned. The pair of Pileateds completed a different
transaction, than that of the Ivories. The female allowed
the male to transfer the meal directly to the babies mouth.
It was apparent that the small "community" desired two
guards, plus the posting females. This was, more than
likely, due to my presence. When I first spotted them only
the two males were on hand. The three mothers and one father
were gathering a feast. Now, only one would leave at a time.
The relationship between them was unbelievable. Was this one
of the adaptations that permitted the Ivory to endure? If
so, what was in it for the Pileated?
An intruder popped in for a visit. It was a black Fox
Squirrel. The large bushy tail glided up the ancient tree.
The Fox Squirrel was the largest of all tree squirrels. He
had a white tip on his nose and two matching patches of white
255
on the ear tips.
The critter was nearing the nest of the Pileated pair.
The furry mammal consumed strictly nuts and seeds, but his
sharp claws certainly presented a threat. The male joined
the female at the nest. They each stood to one side of their
young. The squirrel's accent persisted. He, probably, just
wanted to pass by. But, the woodpeckers would have none of
that. Still though, neither of the birds showed signs of an
attack. The mammal was only ten foot from the cavity. Why
were they not acting upon this dilemma? The squirrel felt
little resistance. For all he knew, the birds were letting
him pass by. Were they?
The most unimaginable event transpired. I would not
have expected it in a million years. A male Ivory flew over.
He lit just above the climbing animal. There was no wasted
time. His creamy bill was thrust into the bark. A deafening
crack emerged. A substantial piece of bark fell from the
tree. The squirrel retreated a few steps. He stopped. His
body
was
motionless.
The
squirrel
appeared
quite
frightened. The Ivory did not give in to his terrified
outlook. The Ivory's claws released their powerful grip on
tree's skin. He lowered himself down, to within a foot of
the frozen animal. With an authoritive smash, another large
chunk of bark broke away. This time, the crushing bill came
256
to within inches of the furry critter's tiny white nose. The
scared Fox Squirrel tore away from the giant trunk. The
animal continued to run, until he was far from sight.
The male Ivory leaped from the tree. This time, he flew
to his corresponding mate's nest. She began to pat down his
slightly ruffled feathers with a sweeping motion. Within
minutes, the female had completed the grooming with her rich
ivory bill. Satisfied with her work, he found an unused tree
and dug his mighty grip into it's outer shell.
The Ivory was much more aggressive, than the Pileated.
This could have been attributed to their increased size. The
Ivory did not hesitate to come to the aid of the other
species. Once again, the relationship was undescribable.
The Ivory had changed it's nesting habits, to make up for
the limited available space. The two species had learned to
live together. In fact, they seemed to have benefitted from
the arrangement. The Pileated could have populated and
forced the Ivory into extinction. But, they allowed the
Ivory to dwell in the small quarters. In return, the Ivory
had offered extra protection to them. Most of this was based
on limited observation. However, it was true that the Ivory
had adapted. The Ivory had survived.
I looked at my watch. It was noon. I had spent an hour,
watching the marvels of these truly remarkable creatures.
257
As I pondered on the upcoming venture, some of the
discomforts started to reappear. The dryness in my throat
came out of hiding. The weakness of my upperbody was notable.
My stomach growled, as it pleaded for a healthy meal. The
ruptured
skin
on
my
wrist
began
to
faintly
throb.
Surprisingly, the bee sting on my arch started hurting. It
hadn't bothered me, since soon after the day's hike began.
The annoying displeasures were all reminders that it was
time to go. The lengthy rest and joyful sighting would be
the additional boost required to reach the flowing stream.
I had five more pictures left. Since the camera was
already set up, I decided to expose them. The viewfinder was
swiftly centered on a nesting female. It then hit me, I had
no pictures, that proved the interaction between the
species. The Pileated nest was about forty foot from the
nearest Ivory. But, from the angle I was positioned, the
distance appeared much less. With the Nikon set-up zoomed
down to 200 mm, I was able to obtain both subjects. The fine
detail
would
be
lacking,
but
this
was
more
of
a
composite-type shot, anyway. I proceeded to utilize the roll
of film.
The last shot had been taken. The signal light blinked,
alerting me to the fact that the film was spent. The sound
was switched off, earlier, to prevent any alarming noises.
258
The roll was rewound and removed from the back of the N2000.
The cartridge was placed in it's cylindrical, plastic
container and into my pants pocket.
My lungs filled with one final breath of restful air.
My eyes examined the watchful male, without the aid of the
lens. These beautiful animals seemed to hold a sort of magic.
In their presence, my exhausted body found energy. My aching
muscles discovered comfort. The effects of the dehydration
were over-ruled.
The Ivory's fixed eye studied me. It seemed, as though
the birds would know by now, I meant them no harm. Yet, they
proceeded to exercise extreme caution. The reason became so
obvious, the answer so clear. The survival of the Ivory was
no accident. It was not of luck. This place was a secret.
That was the only way that the Ivory could have made it. Man
had hunted this innocent bird to near extinction. The few
survivors relentlessly searched for a better hiding place.
This was it. Why should the Ivories feel comfortable with
my company? It was my kind that caused their endangerment.
It was no longer a question of; who should I tell? This
secluded hideout was their home. Their only home. If
destroyed, it would be their last.
The magnificent Ivory continued his stare down. I was
no longer welcome and probably never was. My aching thighs
259
tightened. My body regained it's standing position. As
expected, the birds did not budge. One of the Pileateds
hopped around the tree, but that was the extent of the
movement. My knees bent, to allow my hand to reach the canvas
bag. The pain in my shoulders was sensed, as I mounted the
knapsack. A silent grunt helped me deal with the unpleasant
agony.
I picked up the camera set-up and folded in the legs.
The pole-like structures were telescoped inward. The set-up
was, now, in the most compact form and ready for travel. It
was time to begin the journey. My bare feet commenced to
sledging through the semi-solid mud.
The clarinets played a rapid tune. My neck jerked back
to the east. Both the male and female were letting out
bursts. The courtship antics were fascinating. The distance
was too far for close observation, but I could easily make
out the actions. The two mating Ivories were preening their
own feathers. But, that was just the beginning.
The female was a good ten foot below the male. Her
powerful bill opened, as she uttered a single cry. She
started climbing towards her partner. She stopped, prior to
coming into contact with his black tailfeathers. She, once
again, let out a harsh cry. The male remained quite silent,
during this display. Whatever she was doing, it appeared
260
that it was "her turn". The female began to preen her
feathers. Apparently satisfied, she proceeded to groom her
mate with her darting bill. The male yelled a similar call.
He burst out with a short series of the
same sounds.
The most remarkable part of the display occurred next.
The male bent down. He lowered his bill near the female. They
clasped their bills together. They did this about ten times.
It may have been much more. It all happened so quickly,
counting was out of the question, as well as unimportant.
During this portion of the courtship, the two made no sounds.
My distance was too great, to hear the clanging of their
meeting bills.
When this was complete, the male flew to the top of an
adjacent cypress. The female stood, silently still. The rays
of the sun intensified the attractive red crest of the male.
He proudly stayed in the spotlight for a minute, or two. As
some kind of signal to end the performance, he flew back to
the cavity. His neck began delivering energetic blows to the
half carved hole.
My head returned to it's original position, facing
west. This was the direction of my required travels. As soon
as my tracks were found, I would continue south to the cool
water supply.
One last look was in order. The watchful Ivory had not
261
moved an inch. The sight, which I was beholding, was
breathtaking. The only person, which I could tell of this,
was Linda. I had to promise myself. That would make only
Linda, I, and the unknown man the only shareholders of this
secret. I would, probably, never meet this man, but that may
have been for the best, anyway. I remembered the tracks
leading to the boat markings. There were two sets of tracks.
How many knew of this?
My vision filled with one last glimpse. The difficulty,
in keeping the secret, would be well worth the cost.
262
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DYING THIRST
263
The constant rhythm of my marching feet placed my brain
into a trance. My mind drifted. I travelled ten steps beyond,
before I noticed the tracks. My tired body halted, as I
pulled my senses back to reality. The daydreaming almost had
me in trouble. But, it didn't. Out of the corner of my vision,
my perception captured the prints. I backtracked to them.
There they were, yesterdays tracks. It seemed like a week
ago.
To the north was the dry patch. Where was the alligator?
The curiosity got to me. I walked to towards the narrow
crossing. My nervous body stopped. She was still near. The
mother gator had moved about ten foot. It would have allowed
plenty of room, in order for me to pass. Should I have waited?
The work and pain involved, merely to move fifty foot, was
depressing. If only the sharp toothed reptile hadn't been
there, I would be close to the campsite, by this time.
My stomach hurt, as I pondered on my bad luck. Was there
a reason, why everything was being done the hard way? The
strangest concept entered my weakened mentality. Up to the
264
time that I had lost the gold, my luck was lousy. It was after
the pouch plunged into the swamp, I discovered the Ivories.
Was there a purpose for this?
My mind was drifting, again. There was little time to
waste. My frame executed an "aboutface". In a southerly
direction, the hike recommenced. The tracks were quite
distinct and easy to follow.
The thick part of the cypress forest was upon me. The
sounds, which before were musical, disturbed my weary ears.
Even the song bird's voice was unwelcome. The dryness could
now be felt, throughout my whole body.
But, there was another pain, a new one. This one began
to over-shadow all the others. My calves started to receive
spasms. The cramping sensation nearly brought me to my
knees. It wasn't just in my calves, either. It was in my
ankles and knees. It was much different than a muscle strain.
My worried brain spun. The dark treetops appeared
nauseating. I released the camera from my grip. My painful
knees sank into the moist earth. My palms followed suit. I
stood on all fours with my eyes tightly shut. The revolutions
in my dazzled head moved faster. My eyelids ripped open, in
an attempt to end the misery. It was unsuccessful. My abdomen
thrust upward. The massive force shot a painful lump through
my dry throat. My stomach was empty. There was nothing to
265
upheave. Still, the agony was practically unbearable.
A few deep breaths later, my disposition improved.
Soon, I was at ease. ( my head, that is ) The pain in my lower
body was immense. Why was the pain beginning in my feet and
legs? I was bitten in the wrist. It didn't matter, though.
The only thing that mattered was that the snake's venom had
started
exhibiting
it's
effects,
much
sooner
than
predicted. Getting to the hospital was of little importance.
The poison was already reacting. By the time I could reach
a physician, the pain would be on a decline. It was apparent
that I would have to "ride out the storm". The odds of
fatality for a cottonmouth bite were virtually zero.
However, the torture would be significant, depending on the
volume of poison that was injected.
I picked the camera out of the mud. It was taking a
beating. The mosquitos reminded me of their habitancy. There
would
only
be
one
more
application.
I
had
enough
discomforts, without adding to the pile. So, I decided to
use it, now. The smelly mist issued from the can. Soon there
was no moisture behind the releasing pressure. The empty
container was placed back into the knapsack. There were no
advantages to ditching the weightless article. My bare feet
were treading through the boggy terrain.
The cramping in my legs made it's way up to my thighs.
266
It was difficult to continue. But, I had no choice. My mind
considered the question, again. Why was the pain beginning
in my lower limbs? I was struck with an acceptable answer.
My legs had been exerting much more, than my arms. The venom
was attacking the more susceptible, weaker portions of my
body. It only made sense. I was not a doctor, but I did know
a few things about animal poison. It was also true that the
venom would cause further dehydration. As if I needed an
added incentive, to reach the drinkable supply.
A glowing horizon was cast into view. The clearing was
near! My exhausted heart pounded profusely. Please, no more
misfortunes. There could be no further interruptions. Would
there be an angry bear in the marshy grass? His loud growl
would be daring me to pass. Or, would there be a group of
basking gators. They would be holding their annual family
reunion in the middle of my trail. Or the worst of all, was
the police waiting for me?
None of the above. The grassy section was quiet and
vacant. I looked up to the bright sky. The sun's radiance
was punishing. It didn't matter, though. The water was only
a quarter mile away. My aching legs were trotting at full
stride. Sweat beads ran down from my forehead. I wondered
where the liquid came from. I thought, I was too dehydrated
to perspire.
267
The continued spasms and drained energy level was not
reason enough to stop. The soft earth squashed, between my
toes. My mind concentrated on this mild comfort. It helped
me drown out the numerous negatives. Countless wading birds
lined the marshes' edge. They were of no interest to me. In
fact, it was somewhat distressing to view them. My eyes were
too tired, to focus on their large forms. My mind was too
run down, to identify them. I looked away, thinking it would
allow my head to relax. I was in a state of delirium.
I didn't even bend over to lay the camera down. It was
merely dropped to the bank of the flowing stream. The cool
water was halfway up my legs. It felt soothing. Almost on
impulse, I assumed a kneeling position. The waterline
reached my naval. I swooped my eager face into the coolness.
Three sizable gulps rushed down my dry throat. The liquid
quickly dispersed throughout my internal organs. The water
brought pain to my chapped lips. The thought occurred that
I should consume, more slowly. However, my excited body
desired an immediate replenishment. Two more volumes
entered my insides. My stomach began to fill. This was not
a good feeling.
My entire abdomen felt stiff as a board. The pain
imitated that of a rupture. This was a normal symptom for
my condition. But, did the quick drinking accelerate the
268
process? A large bulk of the water gushed from my wideopened mouth. The ripping torture removed my desire for the
liquid. The amount ingested was sufficient for the time
being. I sat down to rest.
Was it best to take a long break? Would the agony
continue to escalate? If so, I could not wait out the pains,
out here. That could have possibly meant spending another
night. My body still desperately needed food. ( or so it
thought ) The plan was simple. The truck possessed the
following: food, water, comfort, and security. I would reach
the F150 and allow the sickness to peak out. Besides, I had
went too far, to allow the mosquitos to do me in. No man could
survive a night in the swamp without an adequate supply of
repellent. That reminded me of something. The recent dip,
more than likely, washed away a good portion of the bug
spray. It was in my best interest, to expedite the strategy.
The blaring heat amplified the torment. The extra
resistance, created by the wading technique, caused even
more stress. A loud cry erupted from the cattails. It was
a male Red-winged Blackbird. He was performing a territorial
dispute. He was presumably protecting a nearby nest. My
failure to yield was not to his satisfaction. His shiny black
form took to flight. The irate bird swooped down, to within
inches of my head. This antic was repeated several times.
269
For the most part, I ignored this display. Each time though,
my eyes were shielded, just in case. The unhappy flier
discontinued, when I had passed, what he considered a safe
distance.
The tainted blood in my arteries started affecting my
thought process. There was nothing to decide. The only thing
required was to keep moving. But, for some reason, it was
very confusing. The whole concept of travel was beyond my
grasp. Why was I in the water? Why wasn't
I walking on the easier dry surface? Would I remember my way
back to the truck? Every effort I put into answering the
simple questions resulted in more uncertainty.
A long and slender animal slithered atop the creek. I
was not too far gone, to realize that it was a snake. It
looked big, very big. There was no fear inside. If I ignored
it, the serpent would simply go away. Would the extra venom
put me over the edge? Was I already there? Luckily, I would
not find out. The slimy snake wriggled onto the bank. The
reptilian figure was never seen again.
A
picture
of
Linda flashed by. The image displayed her in the wedding
gown. Those blue eyes possessed such honesty. She was a
portrait of innocence. She would have never gotten into this
mess. Greed would have never been able to take control of
her actions. She, most likely, knew that the gold was pure.
270
Our relationship was substantially more important, than the
risky gold. How come I had to go through this calamity, to
learn such an obvious fact?
The intensity of the midday sun was baking my brain.
Reality was slipping in and out. Something was up ahead. It
was a head peeking above the shallows. The culprit was a
turtle. I wiped my sweaty brow and looked again. This was
no ordinary turtle. It was an Alligator Snapping Turtle, a
very aggressive and intimidating creature, to say the least.
I couldn't stop. My trembling body approached the
aquatic monster. His razor-sharp choppers would surely rid
me of a toe. The half submerged beast stood his ground. It
was waiting for me. It was difficult for him, to hold back
the laughter. I was only a couple foot from the turtle. It
was not a snapper, at all. The dangerous figure, I beheld
was nothing more than a harmless painted turtle.
Would my mind hold out? My brain cells were numbered.
One by one, they were expiring. The mild breeze brought
blaring sound waves to my failing ears. The splashing sound
could not be heard any longer. I prayed to the lord, to allow
my vision to persist. Up ahead, I could see the curve in the
creek. Was this a sign?
After making the turn, things became quite blurry. I
can't remember much about reaching the sandy mound. The only
271
memory was that it differed greatly from the campsite, Linda
and I had enjoyed. Was this an altogether different place.
If so, where did I go wrong? Was this helpless life lost?
I have no recollection of the hike through the deer
trail. The next thing I recall was reaching the truck.
Over the previous twenty-four hours, I thought that the
truck would be an inviting image. However, it brought little
pleasure. My body was on fire. The misery was undescribable.
I had to get to a phone. Linda would know what to do. . She
could help me. My brain was of no value, at this point. Would
I be able to drive? One thing was for sure, I had to try.
The camera was tossed into the cab, with little
concern. It bounced on the seat, but it didn't fall to the
floor. The canvas bag was pulled from my shoulders. It was
thrown into the cab much like the camera. Wait a minute. What
about the pictures of the Ivories. It then somehow dawned
on me, the film in question was not in the bag. It was in
one of my pockets. My dirty hands fished around for it. The
exposed film was in my grasp. I had to hide it, from getting
into the wrong hands.
My weak body sat in front of the steering wheel. Where
were the keys? Dear God, did I lose them?! The only thing
in my pocket was the plastic cylinder, which was now in my
hands. They weren't in the ignition. Did the cops remove them
272
from the vehicle? The little quest became a frantic search.
The ashtray was bare. There was nothing in the glove
compartment, but a few loose papers. Where could I have put
them. The camera bag was left in the cab, during the journey.
It was setting on the passenger side floorboard. Maybe, the
keys were stowed in there. Soon, my fingers were performing
a nervous probing action, through the miscellaneous items.
No keys.
I pulled down the sun visor. A jingle sounded, as I felt
an object strike my head. I had placed the keys in the flap.
I bent over to retrieve the metal ring. A sharp pain emerged
from my stomach. There was food in the back. However, these
were not hunger pains. I had no appetite. The thought of food
was painful, in itself. The keys were inserted into the slot.
The engine rolled over. My blistered foot pushed down on the
gas pedal. The exhaust let out a forceful burst. The
revolving engine produced a low roar. It mildly vibrated the
large truck.
As I reached for the shifter, I noticed that both hands
were empty. What had happened to the roll of film!? How could
this happen? Where did the film go? A pain drilled through
my gut, resembling the bursting of an organ. It was
unbearable. How important was the film? It was in my hand,
when I entered the truck. It must have been within the cab.
273
I could find it later. The agony inside was mounting, as the
clock ticked.
The automatic transmission was placed into "reverse".
The tires gripped the sandy ground. The rearview mirror
didn't present me with a sufficient picture. However, my
neck was too sore, to twist around for a better view. I
basically guessed. Luck was on my side, once again. The truck
was on the road and heading for the bridge. Damn. I had
completely forgotten about the bridge. My eyes examined the
large chunks of wood. I had been successful three times
before. I was simple, just line up the wheels and give it
the juice. Besides, there was no other alternative. Not
unless I wanted to walk. I had to reach a telephone. I was
at least five miles from one.
The F150 was slowly driven to the edge of the creek.
My foot was riding the brake. My confidence was lacking, in
comparison to the other crossings. The front tires dropped
onto the railroad ties. The brake was heavily depressed. My
lungs took a deep breath. My eyes veered over to the stream.
I reached over and snapped the seat belt into place.
The brake was released. Ever so slowly, the vehicle
moved forward. This was easy. My ears would soon be filled
with Linda's lovely voice. I could hardly wait. There was
a car up ahead. I couldn't decide to pull over and let it
274
pass, or not. The road was too narrow for the two of us to
fit.
I chose to move over. The steering wheel was sharply
cut to the right. OH MY GOD!! I was still on the bridge!!
What in the hell, was I thinking? Was it the poison that
altered my judgement? Or, was this simply my destination?
It didn't matter.
The big blue Ford plummeted towards the stream. I could
have only imagined, what the splash had looked like, or
sounded like for that matter. The impact was tremendous.
Help me Linda............
275
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
276
THE FINALE
The steering wheel dug into my chest. My left arm was
pinned in, by the weight of my immobile body. The big truck
stood on it's side in the creek. The passenger side was
slightly submerged. The waterlevel reached halfway up the
glove compartment. I couldn't move. The pain in my ribs was
excessive. It was difficult to breathe. It was only a matter
of time. I was doomed.
But, wait a minute. There was a car coming. They would
surely stop. Or perhaps, there was no car. Maybe, the poison
created an hallucination.
Continuing splashes neared the tipped over vehicle.
The sound of voices approached my trapped body. There was
hope. The audibles stopped. The air was silent. Was I hearing
things? Was this just another hallucination? My blurred
vision scouted for a human shape. Nothing. Not a damn thing.
A loud bang echoed within the partially flooded cab.
The steering wheel, which I was involuntarily resting on,
shook slightly. The voices started up again. This time
louder and more distinct. There were two separate voices,
both men. My anxious heart was beating excitedly. Why
277
wouldn't they show their faces? Where were these people
located?
My vision was getting worse. I could no longer focus
on things in the truck's interior. My head was spinning. I
felt no pain at all. My arms and legs were completely numb.
The only physical sign, which I could note, was my incredible
shortness of breath.
Two large figures appeared in the windshield. I could
not make them out. Were they going to help me? Of course,
they were. But, what were they waiting for? I attempted to
yell. There was nothing there. I simply did not have the
required energy to vocalize.
There was another form moving in my obscured sights.
A worried feeling flushed across, as I determined it's
identity. The long and skinny gadget was a gun, either a
rifle, or a shotgun. Was I it's next target.
It was the gold. They knew about the gold. Or worse yet,
they knew I shared their secret. They felt that I was going
to ruin it for them. They wouldn't kill me, over such a petty
thing, would they?
There was such a small amount of time available. If I
could tell them that I was a photographer, they would let
me live. I could show them the equipment. They could see the
snakebite. I had to gather enough energy, to speak. My lungs
278
inhaled a deep breath. The discomfort was horrible, but this
was my only chance. My abdominal muscles pulled with all
their might. My vocal cords screamed the first word that
entered my head.
" Cottonmouth! ", I yelled.
Did they hear it? Was it loud enough? I repeated it a
couple times. There was no positive response.
My faltering eyes squinted. The figures came into a
semi-focus. The image was horrifying. One of the men was
pointing the gun at me.
This would be the end. I had nothing left to give,
absolutely nothing. There was no blaring sound of the deadly
weapon. The only thing that I registered was the shattering
windshield, as the bullet penetrated. It got black. Not deep
black, as expected, but a nice soft cover of black.
It was over.
GOLDEN IVORY
279
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE MEDICINE
MAN
The refreshing darkness put my mind at ease. My overworked
frame could finally relax. The serene horizon blanketed my
entire body. The sensation was comparable to being suspended
in space. My mentality settled into a state of tranquility.
The comfort was extraordinary. It seemed, I had a choice.
My present condition consisted of a trouble-free world.
There were no worries, no responsibilities. It was a
paradise.
A brief thought entered the void. Linda was not here. She
was waiting for me; counting on me. This peaceful world would
always be there. But, would I have the privilege of choosing?
280
Or, was the decision already made? Was I in too deeply? It's
alluring power was immaculate. Perhaps, I had already made
the selection.
A blinding light pierced the darkness. It's intense beam was
directed towards me. The luminous glare brought pain to my
no longer resting brain. Was this the light from heaven? Was
it too late, to return to Linda?
The brightness went away. The sharp pain left with it. A
voice emitted from the far distance. It was a women's. It
was Linda. She was crying. I wanted so desperately to hold
her. I wanted out. Another voice whispered. This one was of
a man. Who was it? My muscles were paralyzed. They would not
allow me to climb out of this status.
The voices became clearer, more crisp. The blackness began
to lift. My numb body regained it's senses. My soul felt the
presence of life. The blurry image before me started to show
definition.
The picture was clear. I was alive. Above me was a man in
white, holding an instrument. The gadget, which he was
grasping, was used to expel a beam of light for medical
observations. He was, of course, a doctor. On the other side
of me was Linda. Her face was red. Tears were falling from
her cheeks, but she was smiling. She could see that I had
awaken.
281
" Tony, honey can you hear me? ", she anxiously whispered.
Her voice was so pleasant. It seemed, as though I hadn't
heard it in years. It was time to make an attempt. I pulled
in a large mass of air. I had to release it, immediately.
The pain was unbearable. I would have to use a smaller
quantity of air. A second effort was executed. The distress
was noticeable, but tolerable. Would my vocal cords function
properly?
" You sure are a sight for sore eyes.", I stated in a weak
tone. By the end of the short sentence, I was wheezing. Linda
wiped her puffy cheeks with a tissue.
" Thank the Lord. How are you feeling, dear? ", she inquired.
Her lovely blue eyes sparkled a glitter.
" My chest hurts.", I spoke softly, " Where am I? "
" You're at the Waycross Medical Center, young man.", the
doctor replied. His voice was powerful and direct. He was
an older looking man, probably in his late fifties. He was
mildly overweight.The most memorable feature was the amount
of hair on his ears. You could say, he had fuzzy ears. He
wore wire-rimmed glasses on his slightly hooked nose. Even
with all the minor flaws, he had a look that demanded
respect.
" My name is Doctor Stan Lofton. You were brought here
Sunday evening. You've been her for two days.", he stated
282
quite distinctly.
" Two days! ", I yelled. Another painful stab sliced
through my ribs. I decided to speak more calmly.
"Yea, two days. You've been through quite an ordeal.
In fact, you had me quite worried.", he said.
" What happened? ", I asked, not completely sure if I
wanted to hear the answer.
" Honey, I'm going to go get a quick drink.", Linda
politely interrupted. It was obvious that she was excited,
as well as very relieved. She left out the door.
" The
police sent you to Folkston. They treated you for your head
and chest injuries. The problem was they don't have a Poison
Control facility. So, you were transferred to here.", he
explained, " We received the call and had the anti-venom
ready for your arrival."
" How did you know, the type of snake bite it was? ",
I questioned.
" I guess, when the Folkston County cops arrived, you
were
muttering
the
word
"cottonmouth".",
Dr.
Lofton
expounded.
I remembered saying it. But, I thought that they didn't
hear me. They didn't seem to respond. Oh well, maybe, luck
was finally on my side.
" Anyway, we administered the injection at once. Your
283
blood pressure was abnormally low.", he added.
" So, why was I unconscious for two days? ", I asked.
The mild talking must have done my chest some good. The pain
had lessened.
" Well, normally a cottonmouth victim is in pretty good
shape a couple hours after the shot. But, your vital signs
did not improve. In fact, they continued to steadily
decline.", he revealed, " Late that evening, you were
changed from stable to critical condition."
" Did the dehydration have something to do with it? How
about the swamp water? I may have ingested some of that.",
I offered in a frenzy.
" We checked out those sort of things. There was no
bacterial infection in your blood or urine. The dehydration
was significant, but also completely under control.", he
said.
" So, what was it? ", I inquired, beginning to get
overly eager.
" We discovered a tiny bite mark on the arch of your
foot. The inflammation had diminished. That was the reason,
it was missed upon earlier examination.", the physician
clarified.
" That was just a hornet sting.", I informed quite
confidently.
284
" It most certainly was not! This was the doings of a
Latrodectus mactans.", he scientifically stated in an
upbeat tone.
" The Black Widow ?! ", I quickly referred.
His eyelids opened widely in surprise. He wasn't
expecting a response of that sort.
" That's right. The widow has a special talent. It's
called voluntary gland control. I suppose, you know that,
too? ", he quizzed in a sarcastic tone.
He was unpleasantly affected by my ability to name the
spider. Did he feel intimidated by my knowledge? I didn't
want to find out, so I decided to play along.
" Honestly, no I don't. What do you mean by voluntary
gland control? ", I questioned.
" They can control the amount of venom injected. Since
the spider is non-aggressive, the most common cause of bite
is from stepping on one. The widow is usually killed before
it can deliver much fluid.", he continued, "Even when the
spider survives, it rarely transfers a large dose. However,
in your case, I believe you received the arachnid's full
capacity of the highly potent compound."
" Wow, that explains a lot. The spasms started in my
legs. I knew something was strange. ", I realized.
Linda came back in. Her hair was neatly combed. The soft
285
blonde waves floated through the air. Her eyes were no longer
glassy and only a slight hint of redness remained. She was
wearing a joyful smile. She didn't interrupt. Her detailed
lashes threw a deliberate wink, as she sat down near the
bedside.
" We gave you the proper serum along with an IV of
calcium chloride. By the next morning, you returned to
stable condition. And, another twenty four hours later, you
awoke. The reason, you slept so long, was the dehydration
and overexertion. It's Tuesday morning, and I'd say you're
ninety percent from fully recovered.", he estimated.
" Gee, how about the accident? You mentioned something
about head and chest injuries.", I inquired, hoping for some
more positive news.
" Your chest will probably be sore for a week. There
were a couple hairline fractures, but they're mainly just
bruised. There was no extensive damage to your head, just
a minor abrasion. How are you feeling? ", he finally asked.
" My chest hurts, my arms and legs feel weak.", I
concluded.
" Well, that's to be expected. The seat belt probably
saved your life. It definitely made my job easier.", he
exclaimed.
" Yea, It's one of my very few good habits.", I related.
286
" It's a good one for sure. Someone from the Folkston
County Police Department is here. I believe, he needs to
finish up his report. Do you feel up to it? ", Dr. Lofton
asked.
" Yea, send him in.", I said, trying to hide the abrupt
nervousness. The doctor left the room. Linda pulled her
chair up closer.
" Hey, you sure scared me. You were in really bad shape.
Oh, by the way, I called the plant. Everything is all set.
You've got all the time off that you need.", she informed.
She gripped my right hand. The other one had a tube
stuck into it. Her gentle touch was reassuring. I squeezed
back.
" Yea, I was scared, too. I wonder what the police want?
", I pondered.
" Oh, I already talked to him. He knows that you were
just taking pictures. I told him that you were photographing
birds and stuff.", she explained in a sweet voice.
" You didn't tell him about the gold did you? ", I
examined.
" No, you didn't want me to tell anyone about that.",
she came back quickly, " I haven't told a soul a single
thing."
" I wonder, why they were tracking me down, then.", I
287
reflected aloud.
" I asked them to.", she replied.
" You what? ", I said in a stern, but weak voice.
" Yea, you didn't call me, like you promised. I got
really worried. So, I had the operator connect me to the
nearest police department. All I could think about was that
scary snake.", she related.
" And they came right out and checked, just like that?
", I suspiciously interrogated.
" Well, I sort of told a small fib. I said that you were
suppose to be home by then.", she admitted.
So, the police were not checking on the gold. The whole
incident had happened, because of my greed and paranoia. The
entire chain of events could have been
prevented. However,
I wouldn't have seen the Ivory. I decided it best, not to
tell her of the gold. I would only tell her of my fascinating
discovery. She didn't need to hear, about what a stupid klutz
I was.
" Guess what? ", I said not allowing time for a reply,
" The Ivory is there. I seen them up close. It was the most
unbelievable experience."
" I knew it! You'll have to tell me every detail.", she
demanded happily.
288
" How's the truck? ", I asked.
" Not too good. It needs a new quarterpanel and a
windshield. Plus the frame is bent. It's at home now. They
towed it yesterday. I've got a rental. It's an Escort.", she
stated, acting ashamed of the car.
" You didn't happen to find a roll of film in it, did
you? ", I asked, praying for a positive answer.
" I haven't seen the truck, except for a quick glance.
I've been here, since Sunday night.", she explained.
" I sure hope it's in there. I got some pictures of the
woodpecker. I hid the roll somewhere in the truck. For the
life of me, I can't remember where.", my dry lips stated.
My hand loosened it's grip. As I let go of her hand, my eyes
studied a styrofoam cup of water. My grasp retrieved the
container. My strength was considerably greater, than
anticipated. The cool liquid felt refreshing, as it passed
through the straw and into my system.
" You're kidding? I knew, you could do it. Don't worry,
we'll find those pictures.", she assured.
My mind started to ponder the whole situation. Those
pictures could change a lot of things. But, would it be for
the better? They seemed to be doing fine, as they were. It
would have been great, if Linda could have enjoyed the
spectacular sighting. That very thought reminded me of the
289
reason, for which she didn't join me in the expedition. She
was sick.
" Honey, how are you feeling? Did you see the doctor?
", I asked sympathetically.
She threw an incredible smile. Why was she smiling?
" Yea, I did and...", she started, before the abrupt
intrusion. A bothersome knock echoed from the already
propped open door. A man in a blue uniform stood prominently.
It was an officer.
" Howdy, You're sure looking better. Got a few minutes?
", he asked in a masculine tone.
" Sure.", I replied.
" My name is John Harris. I'm the sheriff of the
Folkston County Police Department. I was one of the men, who
found you the other day.", he introduced.
I paused a moment, before offering a word of thanks.
" If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead. I don't know what
to say, thanks.", I stated honestly.
" Don't mention it, son. Part of my job. Besides, we
could have found ya sooner, if it wasn't getting dark. We
tracked you a little ways on Saturday, until dusk.", he
paused for an instant. With a fresh breath of air, he
continued," So, Sunday morning, I went out asking for
volunteers. The forming of the tracking party took a bit
290
longer, than I had hoped. Finally, by mid-afternoon, we were
ready. We were just coming, to begin the mission, when we
found your truck."
His left cheek possessed a large wad of chewing
tobacco.
" I won't waste too much of your time. Your wife
explained the purpose of your trip. There won't be any
trespassing charges. The land belongs to the Okefanokee
National Refuge, as of a week ago. They'll be blocking off
all access, shortly.", he clarified politely.
" Oh, I thought, it was privately owned.", I added,
immediately realizing the stupidity of the statement. If I
had known it was private property, I had no business being
there. The officer made no facial expression that would
indicate that he caught the minor slip-up.
" Yea an old man used to own it, five thousand acres
worth. A couple years ago, he just decided to give the land
away. There was a strange stipulation in the transfer,
though.
The
land
has
to
remain
untouched,
no
human
tampering.", he stated in mild bewilderment.
" Gee, I guess he didn't want anyone destroying the
land.", I said. ( the story was starting to unfold )
" Yea, but his oldest boy didn't like it. He thought
the land should have been divided, between him and his
291
younger brother. In fact, that's why it took so long, to
transfer the deed to the park. He took his old man to court.",
he exclaimed with emphasis.
" To court? ", I questioned.
" Yep, He tried to prove that the old man started a
bunch of fires, dating back twenty years. The judge declared
that there was insufficient evidence. However, he did say
that, if more proof could be collected, he would consider,
deeming the old man mentally incapable.", the officer
stated.
" What does that mean? ", Linda asked, trying to
participate in the discussion.
" Well, The land would be given to the two boys.", he
expounded.
The answers, to my many questions, were coming faster,
than I could explore their meanings. Did the man burn the
trees on purpose? Did he know that this would increase the
Ivory's food supply? Was this man responsible for their
survival?
" Some kid, takes his own father to court. He must have
needed the money.", I suggested in a method to obtain more
information.
" That's part of the strangeness of the whole thing.
The oldest has a very successful business going in Folkston.
292
He owns a couple restaurants and a grocery store. His name
is Steve, Steve Taylor. Greg, the younger boy, works in
Waycross. He's an electrician. The one, who's broke, is the
old man. It's hard to figure.", the policeman explained.
" What about the younger kid? Was he in on all of this?
", I asked.
" As far as I know, he had nothing to do with it. But,
I'm really not that sure.", he warned.
Officer Harris paused a moment. He took an object out
of a bag, which I hadn't noticed that he was carrying. It
was the book cover.
" Is this yours? ", he quizzed.
" No, I found it in an old abandoned shack. It must be
the old man's.", I proposed.
" OK, I'll see that he gets it.", he pledged.
My mind started pondering a good comeback. I wanted to
meet this man. We could talk about the Ivories. I could tell
him, the things I saw. Perhaps, the information would be of
value.
" Sir, do you think it would be alright, if I returned
the cover to him? ", I diguisingly pleaded.
" Well, I don't see no harm in that. He lives at the
Patterson Nursing Home. Just take highway 82 east for
fifteen miles. It's on the left side, as you enter the city
293
limits. You can't miss it.", he directed.
" He lives in an old folks home? ", I inquired.
" Yep, he was living with the oldest, when the family
battle began. Soon after that, he was living in the nursing
center. I don't really know the whole story.", he stated.
" What's his name? ", I requested.
" Andy, Andy Taylor. By the way, he doesn't talk too
much.", he cautioned.
" Thanks for the tip.", I replied.
" No problem. I'll let you get some rest. Good luck to
ya. And one other thing, stay in the city, where you
belong.", he advised with a slight chuckle.
" OK, Thanks again.", I responded with a louder giggle.
I considered mentioning his loud muffler, but decided
against it. I didn't want to push my luck, although he had
a good sense of humor, and more than likely, would have
laughed.
He set the leather book cover onto the tray near the
bed. The man in uniform swiftly walked out. His steps were
precise and deliberate. I thought about some of the things
that he related to me. Had I found myself in the middle of
something? Should I have tried to find out more about it?
I looked over to Linda. She was still gazing towards
the vacant doorway. Her eyes were in some sort of daze. She
294
must have been quite confused. To be honest, I was a little
baffled too. How did the Ivory fit into the scheme of things?
Or, did it?
I had realized that the sheriff didn't spit, during
his visit. He must have swallowed the tobacco tainted
saliva. Perhaps, he just didn't want to be rude.
I proceeded to tell Linda the story of the Ivories.
295
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE
UNWANTED
VISITOR
A wisp of air pressure issued, as the band around my
right bicep loosened it's grip. The glass thermometer in my
mouth felt terribly irritating.
" 130 over 75, looks good.", the overweight nurse
296
stated. She pulled the little glass tube from under my
tongue. Her eyebrows tightened,as she squinted to decipher
the indication.
" 99 degrees. You should be out of here tomorrow.", she
assumed. I smiled in approval. My eyes met with Linda's baby
blues. Her face wore a supporting grin. The woman in white,
probably in her mid-forties, shook the mercury tube. She set
it on the counter, next to the miniature sink.
A young girl, carrying a tray of food, shyly entered
the room. It was breakfast. I was as hungry, as a horse. The
little brown haired girl was dressed in pink and white
pinstripes. She was a volunteer Candystriper. As she placed
the food onto the portable table, I caught sight of her name
tag. The plastic label read "Larissa". " What a cute name
", I thought to myself. Her skinny body exited the private
room. The chubby RN followed.
" Honey, you never finished telling me about your
doctors visit.", I asked, urging on a response.
Linda threw a peculiar expression. The unusual look
quickly transformed into an eager appearance. She paused to
catch a full dose of air. Another interruption erupted from
the entrance to the room. This time, it was the sound of
somebody clearing their throat. It was a man, and a rather
large one at that. He was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt. His
297
hair was messy, and it didn't appear that he had shaven
recently. What did this person want?
He didn't look at me. He veered over to Linda.
" You wouldn't mind, if us men had a private talk, would
ya? ", the harsh voice spoke.
Linda gave a puzzled look. Her eyes asked me, whether
she should stay or leave. I sat in the bed, befuddled. With
a small twist of the head, I motioned for her to wait outside.
I would see, what this extremely rude man wanted.
He waddled towards the bedside. His eyes studied the
hospital room. He didn't say a word. He reached for something
in his shirt pocket. It was a container of Copenhagen. The
lid was removed from the round canister. He pinched a fairly
large portion of the moist substance. The tobacco was
inserted, in between his lower lip and gums. He put the
container back into his pocket. A couple of flakes stuck to
his lip. With an ugly swipe of the tongue, the tobacco
shavings were gone.
" The name's Steve Taylor. I understand, you had an
adventure on the old property.", he stated.
It was the oldest son. Why was he here? I wanted nothing
to do with this jerk. He made me sick.
" How did you find out? ", I asked in an unfriendly
tone.
298
" That stupid sheriff went around, forming some posse
to find you.", he said with little concern. It was apparent
that this man did not care about what I thought of him.
" So, why are you here? ", I continued with the mild
interrogation, hoping he would get to the point.
" Got a little proposition for you. You see, I have this
little problem. My old man has a book that I need.", he
persisted with the explanation, " It contains some valuable
information. The problem is; he doesn't trust me."
I couldn't hold back any longer, " Why should he? You
tried to put him in jail."
Steve emitted an evil smile. " That crazy man took away,
what was rightfully mine! ", he exclaimed in an intimidating
fashion.
" Well then, Why don't you get your brother to help you?
", I relayed in a sarcastic manner.
He displayed a rather confused expression. I'm sure,
he wasn't expecting me to know so much.
" That goody-goody is on dad's side. Look! I'm willing
to pay you twenty-five grand for the book. Are you
interested, or not? ", he shouted in a macho kind of way.
The offer was substantial, but my pride was not for
sale. However, I was intrigued with this. I wanted to hear
more.
299
" That's an awful lot of money. What's so special about
this book? ", I inquired.
" It's his journal. You see, years ago, he had claimed
to be conducting some sort of experiment. He said that he
was trying to save some stupid woodpecker. He thought that
burning trees was required to continue their existence.
Anyhow, the fires were always blamed on lightning. If I could
get my hands on that log book, that one-sided judge would
be forced to classify the old man as a lunatic.", He
explained, exhibiting his own insanity.
" Did you ever think that there might be some truth to
his story? ", I suggested.
" No way, He's crazy. The man was obsessed with that
swamp. He practically lived there. He'd sometimes leave for
a week, before returning home. That's why momma left his ass!
", he yelled.
For the first time, he showed some concern. It appeared
that his mother was a touchy subject. I thought best to leave
that matter alone. He bent over and spit into the waste
basket. The sight of this turned my stomach. My breakfast
no longer seems so inviting.
" What makes you think, he'll give me this book? ", I
asked, expecting a false answer.
" You're a stranger. You could tell him that you seen
300
this corny bird. Maybe, suggest that you could observe it
for him. Convince him that you wouldn't tell a soul.", he
explained.
It was sort of ironic. I actually did see this "corny"
bird. His eyes focused on the book cover. The object startled
him for a second. An almost hideous smirk lit upon his
unshaven face. The cover made him happy.
" Where did you find this? ", he asked in a much better
mood.
" It was under the floor of an old hut, near a huge
swamp.", I told him.
" This is excellent. Perfect. You know? This just might
work. This could be the answer. If you return this to him,
he may believe you! ", he mischievously continued, " I was
just out there, looking for the journal. I took my speed boat
across the swamp. In fact, I broke the propeller on a damn
stump. I had to paddle half way back. I didn't even think
about checking below the floor." He was excited. In his mind,
he felt that I was going to help him. I would have rather
died.
" So, Why are you so interested in this swampland? It
seems to me that it would be pretty much worthless.", I
examined.
" It's what is underneath the swamp that warrants my
301
attention. There is a major deposit of red clay. The massive
bulk of clay, which could be dug out, would bring a healthy
sum of money! ", he proudly expressed.
A terrible ache shot through my gut. This was not a good
situation. The land would be demolished. The Ivory would be
doomed. And, what about the gold? He would surely discover
it. Perhaps, he already knew. The man had no taste. He could
easily have been lying to me. One thing was for sure. Not
only, could I not help him, but I would have to do everything
in my powers, to stop him.
" What's going to happen to your father, if this plan
works out? Won't they put him in jail? ", I asked, preparing
for the next lie.
" He's already crazy. They're not going to do a thing.",
he responded.
" You really think he's crazy, don't you? ", I
exchanged.
" Any man, who doesn't have a penny to his name, that
gives away a small fortune is completely insane.", the
corrupt man described.
An amusing thought filled my rested brain. Wouldn't it
have been neat, if I had met this man a few years ago? What
if he gave the land to me? I could have studied the Ivory.
I could have kept his dream alive. But, reality quickly set
302
in. The dangers of the swamp were great. If anyone knew this,
it was me. I was no match for the primeval land. It was an
interesting idea, though.
The poorly dressed man ejected another burst of brown
saliva. He stared at me, awaiting a response. It was obvious
that he was anticipating my acceptance to his proposal. My
mind contemplated the situation. It was best, to let him
think that I was going to help him. I wasn't in a position,
to see his violent side.
" If the offer is not enough, it is negotiable.", he
added, apparently worried that I was going to turn him down.
" No, it's plenty. I'll give it a try. That's all I can
do.",I distorted.
His face displayed a bright expression. Those were the
words, he was looking for. He pulled out a piece of paper
from his pants pocket. He set it on the little table. His
head performed a prominent nod. He deposited another volume
of spit into the wastebasket, before departing.
I removed the paper from the rollable piece of
furniture. It included his address and phone number. My
revitalized hand crumbled the useless information into a
ball. My mind thought about this for a moment. This data may
have been needed. I decided to hold on to it.
As I pulled the tray of cooled off food over, Linda
303
walked back in.
" Hi honey, I'm going to have some breakfast. Have you
eaten yet? ", I wondered aloud.
" I'm all set. Who was that mean person? ", Linda
requested.
" Remember the sheriff mentioning the older son of the
man, who owned the land? ", I explained in the form of a
question.
" You mean the one, who took his dad to court? ", she
elaborated.
" That's the one. He wanted me to do him a favor.", I
replied.
" You're not going to, are you? ", she questioned, expecting
a negative answer.
" No way, he's an asshole! ", I expounded.
I examined the tray of food. A cup of cold coffee,
jello, soup broth, a juice, a total liquid diet. It wasn't
exactly, what my stomach was hoping for.
" Yech! Let's order a pizza.", I recommended.
Linda smiled, but didn't offer a verbal response. I
doubted anybody was open, anyhow.
" So, tell me, before we get interrupted again, what
the doctor said.", I implored.
The same girlish expression illuminated upon her
304
lovely face. My eyes stared directly into hers. She
momentarily looked away.
" Well, It wasn't the flu.", she offered in an
incomplete statement. For some reason, she was waiting for
to say something. What was it? She just stood there. It
appeared, as though, she was nervous. Her cheeks colored
themselves a soft shade of red.
" Yeah, What was it, some kind of virus? ", I requested.
" Honey,", she quietly stated, " I'm pregnant."
Isn't life great!
305
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
VISITING
HOURS
Later that day, I was able to get around on my feet.
There was considerable soreness in my legs, but the strength
had returned. The doctor said that the mild pains would
linger on for a couple weeks. He also stated that he
306
anticipated a full recovery. My tender ribs slowly permitted
more air to fill my lungs.
The next day, I was discharged. My anxious head had a
lot of traffic. What would this man be like? Would he talk
to me? How about the film? Would I find it? Or, was it lost
in the accident? How about the new life to be? Would we have
a boy or a girl?
The small rental car turned into the parking lot. The
sign read; "Patterson Nursing Home". Linda was at the wheel.
She wouldn't let me drive. My heart began pounding slightly
harder than normal. The little "get together" made me quite
uneasy. What would I say to the stranger? Linda transferred
the shifter to "park". The ignition was cut off and key
removed. She threw a silent wink followed by a hearty smile.
" Well, Are you ready? ", she asked.
" Yea, I'm a little nervous.", I admitted.
She made an impression, to which I interpreted to mean;
don't worry. We both departed from the car. The building was
larger, than I had imagined. It was made of brick with
numerous large picture windows. There was only one story.
In the center of the two long wings, there was a set of double
doors. Linda and I approached the entrance way. My hand
firmly grasped her soft grip. We looked at each other and
presented forced smiles. The automatic doors swung open. We
307
entered side by side.
The reception desk was straight ahead. A nicely dressed
woman sat behind the large counter. She appeared to be quite
busy. Her fingers were typing at a rapid rate. Her mind
seemed occupied on the task at hand. She didn't notice the
human presence. My patience was at an all-time high. In fact,
I was just happy to be alive. It was not necessary to
interrupt. She would have to stop for a break, soon. Either
that, or her fingers would fall off.
The constant chatter of the electric typewriter came
to an abrupt halt. Her talented fingers remained in the ready
position. Her eyes looked upward. Her face, which wore too
much make-up, displayed a surprised appearance.
" I'm sorry. Can I help you? ", she asked very politely.
I paused for a moment. It, then, became apparent to me
that I had forgotten his first name. What was it? My teeth
clenched together in frustration. I could feel the flush of
redness, as it signified my embarrassment. I looked over to
Linda and let out a noticeable sigh.
" Aah, Taylor...umm.", I stuttered. My eyes motioned
for help. Linda noted my predicament. She was good with
names. Would she remember?
" We'd like to visit with Mr. Andy Taylor, if
possible.",
Linda
asked,
saving
308
me
from
further
humiliation.
" Well, I don't see any problem with that. Are you
members of the family? ", she inquired.
" No, I've got something that belongs to him.
The
Folkston sheriff thought it would be proper, if I personally
delivered it.", I stated. Linda withdrew the bookcover from
her purse, so the lady could see it. The receptionist
acknowledged. Linda put the leather material back into her
large purse.
" Oh, OK. His room number is 14B, it's the last room
on the left hand side. He has the bed nearest the window.",
she directed, pointing down the long hallway.
" Thank you very much, mam. Have a nice day.", I
extended.
" You're welcome.", she said in a soft feminine tone,
" Oh, Could you sign in, please? "
After signing, we walked down the corridor. What would
I say? For god's sakes, I couldn't even remember his name.
My mildly cramping legs felt like jelly. We neared the end
of the hall. There was a long couch against the wall. There
was a sizable ashtray on each side. I presumed that it was
the smoking area. The door possessed the number fourteen.
This was it. I knocked. There was no answer. My fist pounded,
more forcefully.
309
" Come on in.", a screechy voice called.
With a twist of the knob, I opened the door. The room
was poorly lit. I noticed that the shades were pulled on the
picture window. There were two beds, as the lady informed.
I cautiously stepped forward.
A skinny old man was sitting in a chair, next to the
first bed. This must have been his roommate. His mind seemed
to be preoccupied. He was humming a tune. I looked at him
and smiled.
" Hi.", I greeted.
He continued to hum the notes. As I turned away, he
responded, "Howdy, howdy, howdy. Nice day, yes it is."
We continued to move toward the second bed. I had hoped
that Andy would be more sane, than this fellow.
There he was. Sitting in a chair, similar to the other
man. He was much smaller than his son. He was not the
masculine figure, I had envisioned. The little hair left on
his head was white as a sheet. His slightly oblong shaped
face contained many wrinkles. Still, he was well shaven and
carried himself well. His overview presented an honorable
distinction. He was wearing a plaid shirt and blue jeans.
His hands shook, but not profusely. There was something
about his eyes. They didn't move. He gave no indication that
he knew we were there. But, they were definitely seeing
310
something. It was like, I could see his mind concentrating.
" Mr. Taylor? ", I whispered. He showed no signs of
acknowledgement. His deep state lingered on. Was this it?
Would I get no information? Perhaps, he truly was mentally
ill.
" Mr. Taylor. My name is Tony White. I kind of got lost
in your swamp.", I explained, expecting a response.
Nothing. The words did not register. I looked over to
Linda. She rolled her eyes. Not in a sarcastic way, but in
a disappointed manner. I would not give up this easily.
" Sir, I saw the Ivories. I saw a bunch. They were
nesting. It was a magnificent sight.", I tried, figuring
this would surely stimulate his attention.
His trance continued. His shaking hand moved to a
drawer. What was he getting? Did he understand? Was this his
way of communicating? The old man pulled out a pipe and a
bag of smoking tobacco. He dug the pipe into the heap of dry
leaves. After packing the load and the flick of a lighter,
he was leisurely inhaling the aromatic smoke. The whole
time, his mind appeared to be somewhere else.
The voice of the roommate blurted, " No smoking in the
room. We all promised, ha ha ha, a promise is a promise. It
sure is, yep it is." The man giggled as he spoke. Andy ignored
the reminder. Maybe, he couldn't comprehend it. I felt
311
deeply sorry for the man.
" Andy, can the Ivory survive? Are there enough trees?
Did you know that the Pileated have interacted? ", I
informed.
Still nothing. There was nothing left to say. I could
have told him about the gold. But, he probably already knew.
Besides, I honestly didn't care about the gold any longer.
If I only had those pictures to show him. Perhaps, I could
have returned, when I got them developed.
A man stepped into the room. He was dressed in a shirt
and tie. He was large. He looked familiar for some strange
reason.
" Oops sorry, didn't know you had company. I'll wait
outside,
daddy.",
the
husky
gentleman
stated
in
an
apologetic manner.
It was the other son. He had come to visit his dad.
Perhaps, he could tell me some things. My legs were getting
tired of standing. There was nowhere to sit. Since I wasn't
getting anywhere in this one way conversation, I decided to
give him the cover and go. The book protector was removed
from Linda's purse.
" Sir, I believe this is yours. It would have been an
honor, to have worked with you.", I truthfully declared.
Something happened. The old man flinched. His eyes
312
darted from their fixed position. I handed the masterpiece
to him. His no longer quivering hands accepted.
He set the cover onto the bed. He stood up and walked
over to a pair of doors. They had a lock, holding them shut.
There were two more sets of doors, each of which did not
consist of a lock. One of them was cracked enough, to catch
a glimpse inside. I saw a stack of blankets and a pair of
slippers.
As he moved, he did not limp, nor stutter. His legs had
sufficient strength. His fingers slowly, but smoothly,
turned the combination wheel on the lock. What was he doing?
Was the returning of the bookcover ample evidence to my
loyalty?
The master lock released it's latching grip. The old
man swung the doors open, widely. There were a few odds and
ends, too difficult to identify. But, in the back was a
generous stack of papers. He grasped them with both hands.
They were brought over to me.
" These must be destroyed.", he demanded, as he handed
them to me. The mysterious man had a deep voice. It had a
peculiar accent. It was different than the average southern
drawl. I grabbed the small pile of work. I immediately handed
them to Linda. She stuffed them into her over-sized leather
bag. Miraculously, they fit. My eyes turned back to the wise
313
old man. I took a deep breath and prepared to speak. His
powerful look stopped me.
" Don't trust him.", he quoted, while motioning to the
door. Was he speaking of his younger son?
" Sir, I will not let you down.", I vowed.
There were so many things to ask him, now that he was
speaking. Where would I start? I paused, preparing to blurt
out a question. It was, then, that I noticed the blank stare
had returned. He, once again, was sitting in another world.
The trembling in his hands had came back. The conversation
was over.
I pointed my eyes at Linda and then toward the door.
We quietly began to leave the room. The roommate started to
laugh, almost uncontrollably. Linda and I stopped to examine
the situation. There was no immediate answer, to explain the
laughter. The lines about his face became more defined, as
his reaction caused the muscles to tighten. His eye sockets
were somewhat sunken and protected by thick glasses. As he
continued to chuckle loudly, I couldn't decide whether to
feel sorry for him, or to be glad that he's happy. ( or, at
least, he appeared that way )
The room fell silent. The man was quiet. He ceased all
movement. His expression changed drastically. A look of
worry covered his wrinkled face. The contrast of the jolly
314
appearance of a few seconds ago, and this new look, was
undescribable. It was like the difference, between night and
day. He wore a mild frown. What was the cause of this sudden
mood swing? Was there, once again, no explanation.
A single tear rolled down his face. It got lost in one
of the deep creases of his aged skin. Another followed. The
confused man began to weep. Soon, the whining voice, from
his skinny frame, vibrated off the walls. His quivering arm
reached for the nurse's call button, which was clipped to
the chair. His hand fumbled. The fastener unsnapped from
it's mount. The little transmitter fell to the floor. Linda
swiftly moved to the dropped caller. She picked it up and
reattached the cord to the arm rest. She pushed the button
for him and retreated to my side. As her glassy eyes studied
the old man, she displayed a troubled appearance. This had
really gotten to her.
This time, an explanation was in order. The strong odor
reached my senses. The stench did not cause much discomfort.
It just made us feel more sorry for him. The poor man could
not control his bowel movement. My arm pulled on Linda. She
did not want to leave him. I assured her that a nurse would
be there, shortly. It was her job, to take care of him. She
finally approved. We left the room. As I exited the room,
I noticed that the room number sign was lit up. This must
315
have been an alert for the nurse. There was no nurse in sight,
as of yet.
The younger son was sitting on the long bench-like
seat. When he noticed us, he jerked up. He stamped out the
cigarette, which he was smoking.
" Excuse me, Are you the man that found daddies book?
", he asked.
" Well, I found part of it.", I returned, rather
suspiciously.
" Sheriff Harris called me yesterday. He said you'd be
returning it. He said you were a photographer.", he
discussed.
" Yea, I had quite a trip.", I related. Linda veered
her eyes down the hallway. She was concerned for the poor
old man. Actually, I was too.
" Tony, I'm going to go check on the nurse, OK? ", she
requested. in a pleading voice.
" Yea honey, go ahead.", I agreed. She quickly jogged
towards the receptionist's desk. The weight of her purse
must have made it somewhat cumbersome. I looked back at the
younger son.
" You didn't happen to get any pictures of anything
unusual, did you? ", he asked.
I looked at the clean cut man. His eyes displayed
316
honesty. But, could I trust him? It was best to see, what
he was up to. Andy told me not to trust him.
" Nope, can't say that I did.", I lied
" Darn, I was hoping you did. You see daddy was
conducting an operation, in order to protect a certain bird.
If I could prove this to the public, daddy would regain his
faith in me. And then, he would come home.", he exclaimed,
like it would be a dream come true.
" Why doesn't he have any faith in you? ", I
interrogated.
" Because of that stupid brother of mine. He got upset,
when daddy didn't will the land to the family. So, he took
it up to the legal system. Anyway, daddy thinks that I was
on his side.", he stated in a regretful tone, " I haven't
talked to, nor seen, my brother, since that day. It's been
over two years."
" Wow, I wish I could help you.", I responded, as I
began to feel pity.
" Yea, When I heard that you had the book, I got real
excited. His journal should contain the whereabouts of his
experiment.", he explained.
" Do you think, it would be wise to give this
information out.", I asked, anxious to receive his answer.
" Yes, The Audubon Society could observe it's progress.
317
Daddy's relentless work will be worthless, if the proper
actions are not taken. However, I fear that the journal is
buried somewhere out in the swamp.", he said, once again,
showing great concern.
Did this man really care? His answers made a lot of
sense. Perhaps, the paperwork would be safe in his hands.
My brain was so confused.
The nurse entered room fourteen. Linda arrived shortly
after. As she stood nearby, my eyes examined the purse, to
which she held. Was it's contents best in this man's hands?
Why would the old man tell me not to trust him? Did Andy
mistake him for his older son?
" Linda can I see your purse? ", I asked nicely. She
handed me the stuffed leather bag. His eyes lit up. Was he
expecting
this?
Was
the
glow
in
his
pupils
from
anticipation? Or, was I just paranoid, again?
Greg noticed my lengthy stare and looked away. He
pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He stuck one
into his mouth and lit it. They were Camel non-filters. A
dull burst hit my stomach. I couldn't believe it. I hadn't
realized it, but I was staring at him, again.
" Oh, I'm sorry. Do you mind if I smoke? ", he
requested, noting my peculiar stare.
I snapped out of it in time to answer, " No, go right ahead."
318
It didn't strike me as important before, but there were
two sets of tracks leading to the boat. Did the second set
of footprints belong to the younger son? Did he travel to
the shack with his brother? The cigarette pack in the lodge
had to be his. His brother chewed tobacco, in fact, so did
the sheriff. Andy smoked a pipe. Was there a simple
explanation for this? Had he placed the used pack there,
before his brother's visit to the shack. Or, was this a two
way plot, a scam?
I had to give him the benefit of the doubt. What could
I ask him, to clarify this mess? My mind contemplated the
possible angles. The perfect answer entered my overheating
brain.
" Hey, Greg? ", I directed.
" Yea? ", he questioned.
" Just curious. Why haven't you ever went looking for
the book, or the bird for that matter? ", I quizzed, putting
him in a position of commitment.
He paused, not answering as swiftly as usual.
" I wouldn't last an hour in that place. It's just so
dangerous. The last time I was out there, I was a little boy.
Daddy use to take us boys out on his flatbottom boat. It was
a lot of fun. Daddy wasn't afraid of the alligators. He
always said; they won't bother you, if you don't bother them.
319
Personally, they scare me to death.", he expounded.
There was little doubt that he was lying. He even
carried on, like he was making it up. The whole plan was
crumbling. He and his brother were working together. Either
I would be greedy and take the money, or I would fall for
the pity. I think, they expected me to give the papers to
Greg. That seemed to be how they were setting me up. The huge
offer of cash was the backup. Thank God, I detected the pack
of smokes. I almost fell for the sob story.
There was still a minor problem. I was holding the
handbag. My mind had come up with a reason, for asking for
the purse. I didn't want him to know that I had it in there.
I was always terrible at spontaneous reactions. I felt a drop
of sweat emerge from my forehead. Would he notice? It tickled
my temple, during it's descent. Finally, a plan arose, not
a good one, but a plan nonetheless.
" I was going to have a cigarette, when I noticed that
you smoke non-menthol. I haven't had one in years. You
wouldn't mind, would you? ", I hinted.
" Not at all.", Greg responded. He shook the pack,
causing one to stick out. I removed it and placed it in my
mouth. A small flame was burning near my face, before I could
blink. I inhaled the awful smoke. I tried not to gag, but
I couldn't help it. It tasted so harsh. A small choking sound
320
escaped my lips.
" Wow, These are much stronger than Salem Lights.", I
explained, as I handed Linda her purse. I looked into his
eyes. He was, without a doubt, expecting something in
return.
" Well, I sure wish I could help you. I gotta go. Have
a nice day.", I said.
I turned toward the entrance, without observing his
reaction. Linda and I walked away. He probably figured that
I was going to accept the bribe. Or better still, perhaps,
he didn't think I retrieved the journal.
Near the exit doors was an ashtray. The raunchy cancer
stick was quickly extinguished. The thought crossed my path
that I didn't introduce Linda, nor I. This may have been
slightly rude, but I was glad.
As we left the building, I considered turning the
matter over to the police. If so, the brothers would get the
land. This was out of the question. Should I have told the
DNR of my sightings? I quickly came to the conclusion that,
if a man's own children wouldn't believe him, who would?
Besides, the old man wished it to be done this way. And that
was the way, it would be done.
The three and a half hour drive home was spent reading
the old man's material. Linda drove. It was remarkable. It
321
discussed the controlled burnings. I was right. They were
done to increase the Ivory's food supply. It mentioned one
fire that got out of hand. Much more area was damaged, than
planned. In fact, by way of the map, much of the surrounding
state land was damaged as well. Thank God, the boys didn't
obtain this document.
It was all there. The mating
habits, the numerous sightings, the hatchlings. I then came
across some encouraging news. The Ivory had adapted his
feeding habits. Between his favorite beetles, fruit and
berries, and even carpenter ants, the Ivory now had an
unlimited food supply. He stated that the Ivory would
survive, as long as the land was not tampered with. That was
the reason for the stipulation in the deed transfer.
I noticed that there was no mention of any gold. Was
I the only beholder of such information? There was no reason
to tell anyone, not even Linda. The precious metal only
brought out the bad in me. If it became known, the land would
have certainly been stripped. The Ivory would perish.
Another thought penetrated my thick skull. What if the
whole thing was an illusion? Maybe, I simply wanted to see
the bird so badly, I convinced myself that I did. Did the
poisons affect my vision? Was it all one big hallucination?
I threw the crazy notion away. It was all too real. It
had to be true. Besides, soon, I would be home. The roll of
322
film would prove it, once and for all.
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BACK HOME
The small blaze picked up it's pace. The increased glow
brightened the dim room. The papers were quickly altered
into flakes of light ash. The fire returned to it's normal
323
intensity.
As I stood in front of the fireplace, I considered the
alternatives. Did I do the right thing? The old man told me
to destroy the log book. But, did I really help the Ivory's
chances. What if the brothers found other evidence against
their father? This was out of my hands. I decided, I would
keep track of the piece of property. As long as it stayed
in the ownership of the national refuge, there was no reason
to interpose. However, if the land changed hands, I would
have to come out with the secret.
To my own dismay, that roll of film could not be
located. I tore that beat up truck upside down. The frantic
search lasted hours on end. It was my only concrete proof
that I came face to face with this extraordinary animal.
The questions began to build into my angry head. How
could this happen? Nothing else was missing. The camera was
a bit water damaged, but it was still in one piece. The camera
bag, which was left in the cab throughout the journey, was
filled with assorted odds and ends. It contained a couple
of rolls of unused 64 speed, but no 400 was found. The
knapsack only possessed one roll, and this was the first
roll, not the one that held the rare images of the Ivory.
All of the articles that flew from the truck, during the
accident, were recovered. Nothing was missing, except the
324
absent cartridge of film. Did I hide it in the bed of the
truck? Did the lost object end up at the bottom of the stream?
Maybe, I dropped it in the span of the returning hike. No,
I specifically remembered holding the roll, while searching
for the truck keys.
Some of the memories were blurry. My frustrations
escalated, as I tried to recall the events. My mind could
not grasp the recollection. There was little apprehension
of the happenings, which occurred, after my reaching of the
stream. The poison had taken it's toll. Was there a purpose
for this?
Was this some kind of punishment for obstructing
nature's balance? Perhaps, it happened to ensure the
continued success of the Ivory. Maybe, it was just my dumb
luck. That seemed to be the best explanation.
After a few weeks of feeling sorry for myself, I dropped
the issue. The truck went to the shop. Insurance covered all,
but the deductible. The Ford never did drive the same,
though. It had an annoying pull to the right.
The pictures on the first roll came out great. As I
developed them, there was a shred of hope that I got mixed
up. That this was actually the Ivories. But, the mild
optimism did not pay off.
Seven months later, I became the proud papa of an eight
pound baby girl. We named her Denise. I, now, had TWO lovely
325
girls in my life. The thoughts of the adventure in the swamp
slowly began to fade. The memories were replaced with new
ones of our brand new life.
The dry season ended soon after my return from the
hospital. It rained on and off for two and a half weeks. My
lawn didn't turn green, until late June, though. Just think
of the money, I saved on lawnmower gasoline.
How
about those Atlanta Braves? Well, they went on to win the
division. They, then, proceeded to get swept by the
Cardinals in the NL Playoffs. They made up for it somewhat,
by making it to the World Series in a few years later. But,
they lost to Jack Morris and the Twins in a dramatic game
seven. I never really got involved with baseball, until I
moved to Georgia. As a child in Chicago, it was just the Bulls
and the Bears. Maybe, that's why I never have cared much for
the Chicago baseball teams. But, ever since I became a Braves
fan, the tomahawk chop has been embedded into my soul.
Mike never did talk to Amanda, after the incident at
his party. A couple years later, he got married. He ended
up with five children, all but one were boys. Unlike me, he
stayed in that small town of Danburg. To this day, he works
at the hydro plant. He was promoted to foreman, shortly,
after I left. We keep in touch every so often.
As I said, I left the plant. Mike had just brought his
326
fourth baby home, on the day which I departed. Geothermal
power seemed to be the wave of the future. I got hooked up
with the Marion, Ohio based power plant, during it's
construction. I worked my way up to Plant Manager. My plan
is to retire in the year 2010. Thank God, I'll have a good
retirement check. Right around the turn of the century,
social security hit rock bottom. The baby booming years
finally caught up with the nation. There were just too many
people retiring and not enough young citizens to pay for it.
The old man? Well, remember that phone number, I
thought might come in handy? It did. I called that jerk (
the older bother ) a few years later. He informed me that
his father had passed away shortly after my visit. His voice
exhibited little to no sympathy. The older son's business
ventures went belly up. With the increased popularity of
I-95 came the reduction in traffic through Folkston on 301.
I felt sorry for the old man, but I honestly could have cared
less about his oldest son's problems. Things seem to have
a way of evening out.
The news of the old man hit me harder than expected.
I felt like I really knew the guy. He took a lot of precious
knowledge with him. As I recalled my experiences with the
Ivory, I began to truly understand this man. It wasn't an
obsession. Although his admiration for the bird was great,
327
there was more to it. The human race had threatened this
species. It was his responsibility to fix man's error. He
was there final hope. It was a challenge. It's success could
not be measured on a monetary level. The profits of the
victory were purely emotional. The sight of a hatchling
devouring a meal, a pair of Ivories romancing in the
treetops, watching them, as they adapt to the surroundings.
These were the rewards. I remembered back to the colony of
woodpeckers. Their alluring powers were strong. It was not
difficult
to comprehend
the reasons
for
saving
this
endangered life.
I continued to monitor the possession of the five
thousand acre lot. As the garbage problems increased, so did
the reductions in the sizes of state forests. The land in
question, however, dodged the bullet, so far. But, if the
current bill doesn't pass, the land will eventually become
a landfill. The proposed bill would allow for the sending
of large vessels of garbage to space. These containers (
termed waste rockets ) would be disposed of at a collection
facility based on the moon. The construction costs would be
large. Most of society would rather give up a little
protected land, than have another tax hike. For this reason,
the bill will probably get turned down in the Senate.
I wonder on occasion about the Ivory. It's been
328
twenty-five years. Did they continue to prosper? Was the
restriction of the limited space too much, to overcome?
These question would never be answered.
My daughter grew up to be a lovely young woman. She
obviously picked up her mother's traits. Denise is in her
last year of college. She's still single and lives at home
in the summer.
Speaking of children, we never had another child. Not
that we didn't try. A couple years after Denise was born,
Linda and I sought professional help. The doctor determined
that Linda could not have a child. The strange part was that
the medical problem was not caused by her earlier pregnancy.
The physician was unable to explain, how she became
pregnant. Was it the magic of the secluded campsite, where
our daughter was conceived? Was it a gift from the Lord, for
doing the right thing? One thing was for sure, Denise was
a handful by herself and a joy to raise.
I bought this house about five years ago. It's quiet
around here now that our baby is gone. On the positive side,
our sex life has greatly improved. Speaking of sex, my
darling wife is standing before me in the most provocative
manner.
Oh, I almost forgot about the gold. Although the pouch
of gold remained on the floor of the swampy channel, I still
329
had the two nuggets from the first trip. I can't remember
the total weight, but they combined for close to a hundred
bucks. We used the money for Christmas
toys for our little
girl. It was a far cry from a Lamborghini. However, the
smiles, they brought to her adorable face, were "worth their
weight in gold"!!
330
PAGES 331 THROUGH 339 RESERVED FOR THE
FOLLOWING PHOTOGRAPHS:
Assorted Raccoon shots (3)
Assorted Alligator shots (4)
Scenic (2)
Water Snake
Toad
Snowy Egret
331
GOLDEN IVORY
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE PRESENT
332
PLACE: MARION, OHIO
DATE: MARCH 19, 2007
Here I am, it's my twenty-fifth anniversary. My
gorgeous wife is seductively dressed in the same outfit, she
wore on our honeymoon. What a time to find the missing roll
of film.
How could I have been so stupid? You see, after Denise
was born, we purchased a little instamatic. The 35 mm ended
up in the closet. In fact, I got so caught up in the raising
341
of a family, I didn't have time for my hobby. So, I never
checked the two small boxes of unused film.
While I was
searching for the truck keys, I must have decided that the
ISO 64 box was a good hiding place. Or perhaps, I simply
dropped the roll into the camera bag, during the hunt for
the keys. I wonder what happened to the roll, which was
suppose to be in the box?
As I held the plastic cartridge labeled Kodak, the
questions attacked my puzzled mind. What was on the film?
Would the resulting images prove me right? Or, would they
deface my memories and destruct my pride? Did the venomous
injections create an illusion? Were the Ivories as real, as
my heart believes? How about the film? Did the effects of
aging damage the pictures-to-be? Would the images be grossly
overexposed?
My eyes concentrated heavily on the object in my hand.
There was a reason for this. Was the Ivory's home going to
be zoned as a "dumping site" ? Would I possess the tools of
rescue? The pictures would be undeniable proof. Many years
ago, a man took on the responsibility of continuing their
existence. Would this become my role?
As I vault out of
my train of thought, my eyes focus on Linda's peculiar
expression. She is in a similar trance. I wonder, what she
is thinking. She returns to reality, to notice my stare. A
342
smile appears on her face. She is no longer lying on the bed.
She is standing near my significantly larger body.
I study her perfected shape. The white lace highlights
her luscious form. The teasing cleavage shows off her unaged
breasts. Her soft blonde hair tickles her naked shoulders.
How can I be so lucky?
Linda eyes the roll of film in my hand. She makes an
expression, which indicates an upcoming statement.
" Tony, what should we do? ", she asks, referring to
the film.
I pause for a moment. What should we do? Were the photo
labs open? Could I not wait for tomorrow? Linda's plentiful
chest jiggles slightly, as she twists her body. Her half
exposed behind flaunts her nicely tanned skin. My body
begins to react, to her seductive features.
I set the roll of film on the dresser. My face delivers
a healthy smile. My strong arms cup around her lovely frame.
As I carry her towards the bed, my scuffling feet nearly
stumble on the rug. I settle her beauty onto the comforter.
" What do you mean; what should we do? It's our
anniversary. I'll show you exactly what, we should do! ",
I explain in a romantic, yet charge taking manner.
As I remove my restrictive clothing, the brightness
within the room becomes apparent.
343
" Bedroom lights dim, please! ", I direct in a
distinctive method.
The lights reduce their intensity to an intimate glow.
There's nothing like a little modern technology, for
a good old-fashioned romp in the hay!
344
" Hey, honey? "
345
" Yes, Tony ? "
346
" Where do we keep the suntan lotion ? "
347
THE
END
WELL HIDDEN
348
The sounding from your ivory bill
bounces off the cypress bark.
Before it reaches ears to fill,
captured by the endless dark.
The giant trees, in which you lurk,
remaining still and hidden.
The deadly swamp and all it's murk,
to man is quite forbidden.
The miles of wet, unstable ground
creates a dangerous test,
to spot your red majestic crown
and mother's blackened crest.
( turn page )
349
Your mighty wings and increased size
that many can't perceive
are not viewed by human eyes,
so very few believe.
They can say that you're extinct.
And add you to their list.
Regardless of what many think,
in my heart, you still exist.
I would like to extend a special thanks to Micky
350
and Diane, for reading some of my earlier work.
Thanks to Keith, for being a good friend and coming
to my birthday party. I also should mention my uncle
Jim. He gave me that little kick, I needed. If it weren't
for that, I probably wouldn't have wrote this novel.
I would like to say that I miss John up in Canada
and Dave in PA. How are you guys doing?
Congratulations to my wife. She is a non-smoker!
351