Motorhome News from North America 33

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Motorhome News from North America 33 13th January - 23rd January 2007

Around the Florida Panhandle to the Deep South.

Janice heard it first. A very faint tap, tap, tapping…. a squeak - the squeak of a small rubber toy. It was 7.45am. It was cold. A very cold January morning on the Panhandle. The temperature had dropped dramatically overnight from 75 to 40 degrees. We arrived at daybreak, listening, alert, whispering, shivering, watching for the slightest movement in the open pinewoods of our campground at Ochlockonee State Park - as the shallow light of a morning sun cast its first long shadows on the wispy golden grass. She pointed. “There…. David; there!” she said, in a hushed voice, electric with excitement. “On that tree……there…over there!” Our persistence had finally paid off. A Red-Cockaded Woodpecker had shown itself. I would be lying if I said we saw three. We actually saw four before the hour was out, all within a hundred yards - a clan as it’s known.

New birds of last week were exciting enough: the Crested Caracara, bold, big and bright - and the Painted Bunting, so wonderfully colourful. The Red- Cockaded Woodpecker is dull by comparison: small - a little bigger than a blackbird perhaps, and black and white with a very barred back, its red cockade barely visible. The excitement of seeing this little bird is in the scarcity of its specific habitat and its rarity - the chase! We started searching for this little pecker at Okefenokee Wildlife Refuge in Georgia - at dusk and again at dawn at the end of November you might remember (Newsletter 29). This one makes it 17 of North America’s list of 22 members of the woodpecker family. Seventeen down, five to go! Problem is, their territory is also somewhat specific and some areas we have already passed.

Our journey took us around the panhandle through miles of managed pine forest, skimming the beautiful deserted silver beaches of Florida’s north-west coast beyond the Suwannee river, her banks swathed in dense woodland: southern magnolia (we’ll not get to see it in flower), bluff oak, pignut hickory and saw palmetto, then west on a route taking us south of Florida’s capital, Tallahassee.

The southern coast of Florida’s Panhandle is rather special. Islands and peninsulas have formed offshore along this fringe of the Gulf of Mexico; long strands of silver sand, remote and as yet undeveloped.
St George Island State Park, four or five miles offshore, has been connected to the mainland by a long bridge since the 1960’s, providing easy access to recreational facilities - and much needed tourist income. The island offers twenty-eight miles of deserted, dazzling, icing- sugar white sand, nine miles of it safe in State Park hands; nine miles of sand dunes rippled by the wind in watery waves; nine miles of pristine white beaches washed by the crystal waters of the Gulf - and every inch, bathed in sunshine! Now, that’s our kind of beach. You can keep your Miami, your Palm Beach and Fort Myers, your smart people, their smart homes, their smart boats and their smart dogs!

There was yet more to come. A short distance away, St Joseph’s Peninsula juts acutely out into the Gulf - and there we found heaven. The campground was adjacent to the beach, only a hundred yards along the boardwalk. At a guess it would take a couple of days to walk the length of the beach, and you might just get to say, ‘Hi, how y’all doin?’ to a handful of people on the way if it was a busy holiday weekend. Our camp host was from Indiana. We met her whilst on our two-hour walk on the shore where she was collecting seashells.
“This is the way God intended beaches to be,” she said. “No condos, no hotels, no malls, no neon signs, no houses, no crowds.”
This was her second year as host on the site and the broad smile on her face told the story. Here we shared the shimmering sands with snowy plovers, a lazy loon riding the Rollers, Brown pelicans skimming the waves and Royal terns diving dramatically into the sea. Ribbons of shells marked the pristine waterline: browns, greys, yellows and whites, as we walked in tune with the gentle lapping of the placid surf, its bubbles like sparkling foam on the ebb and flow under the bluest of skies and searing sunshine. Locals know the sand as the ‘singing’ sand. Formed from silicon and quartz crystals washed down from the Appalachians to the north, it squeaks when you walk along the beach!

Away from the beach the rolling dunes were topped with stately pines - and a wise great-horned owl rested in the shady treetops. It had been a while since we swam in the sea - and many years since we flew a kite, one of my many Christmas presents, you'll remember! We sat on the sand, soaking up the sun, reading, and watching the world go by. For the moment we were on holiday, instead of ‘travelling’.

But talk here is of real estate as it is everywhere else across Florida - talk of land, property values, interest rates and building costs. The island of St George has a number of tasteful pastel houses around the small township, laid haphazardly amongst the sand dunes away from the secluded beaches of the park. St Josephs has the same mix of attractive, stilted homes, zoned beyond the confines of the park. The writing is on the wall however. Right along the forty miles of the coast road, the signs are out, ‘Land for Sale’, ‘1acre plot for Sale’, ‘Development Opportunity’, ‘Bay front Plot’. For the moment it is all rather wonderful. It will not be so for long. Right now, we can say we particularly love that little bit of Florida.

January 14th came and went a little more slowly than most days. Unbeknown to us, we had crossed a time-line as we drove west, somewhere around Mexico Beach we think, and we gained an extra hour for walking on the shore. Beyond Mexico Beach and on Central Time to the west, the hub of urban life returned. Another anomaly, Panama City, reared its head above miles of giant hoardings, malls and fast food outlets, moving us on past a never-ending chain of multi-storey, multi coloured condos and homes hugging the seashore along Panama Beach. We were back in ‘resort land’. They also sneaked another public holiday on us; ‘Dr Martin Luther King, Jnr. Day’, filling the campgrounds with families for another long-weekend fling in the winter sunshine. With a bit of fast chat and refined English, the park warden was persuaded to let us squeeze into an unreserved tent site with just enough room to open the slide-out!

Early Monday morning we took a leisurely drive past the Eglin Air Force Base - 728 square miles and 21 runways, stretching seemingly forever along the highway to the outskirts of Pensacola; the City of Five Flags as it is otherwise known. The town’s fine stock of historic houses offers secrets of the past, from the first Spanish landfall in 1559 to the turmoil of French and English occupation and reoccupation in the 18th century. Pensacola passed back to the Spanish once again in 1781 and finally the Stars and Stripes flew over the town when Florida joined the Union in 1845!


As is now our custom when the chance occurs, we took a guided tour of downtown Historic Pensacola Village. As is also our custom we checked out the discounts on admission prices. “Are you a AAA members?” the lady asked.
“No,” we responded in unison. “But we are RSPB, Good Sam and Family Motor Coach Association members. We’re members of the National Trust and David used to be secretary of the Shankers Golfing Society,” Janice added for good measure. “Are any of those any good?” The lady was not sure about that. We settled for a ‘senior’ one-dollar discount.
Whilst on the walking tour, I remarked on the picture of Robert E Lee on the wall of a house built in 1871 after the end of the Civil War. Our host, a volunteer guide, let us into a little secret. “Many homes were still displaying his picture up to the end of World War II, would you believe? He was a bit of a hero, you know”. I guess they’ll eventually get used to the idea that they actually lost the Civil War to the north. Evidently some latent friction still exists if you listen to those from the north - or those from the south. Perhaps it’s just good-natured, though I doubt it. The remarkable thing is, it’s 140 years since Robert E Lee surrendered the South at Appomattox in Virginia, way back in1865. Memories are long indeed here in the south!
Many of Pensacola’s historic houses are owned by the State, but they are meticulously cared for under the stewardship of the West Florida University. The décor and furnishings are the finest we have been fortunate to see anywhere, and whilst few homes match the splendour of those in Charleston or Savannah, this port town should be congratulated for the high standard of preservation it has achieved against all odds - hurricanes have worked hard to demolish every inch many times since 1559! After leaving the tour we ventured into town on our own to check out the Historical Museum. “The museum is upstairs, Sir,” the lady said. “Take the elevator to the second floor.” We took the lift - to the first floor.

Our route through town was blocked by a police car, parked unattended across the middle of the road. It was parade time. The floats and marching bands were out, celebrating the memory of Dr Martin Luther King, Jnr., who gave his life for his dream, in the cause of true equality. That battle is still only half won, the matters of equality and income still to be totally resolved in some areas, particularly the south - the playing field still deep with furrows.


Most boys are surely fascinated by aeroplanes. This one is, for sure, and I would have opted for the Fleet Air Arm before the RAF given the chance. As it happened, the Fleet Air Arm were not recruiting at the time and conscription left me with little choice. C’est la vie. That didn’t stop me dragging Janice to the National Museum of Naval Aviation at the Naval Air Base in Pensacola to check out some of yesterday’s US Naval aeroplanes. A large number of the guides were veterans of the US Navy, Marine Corps or Coast Guard, generously showing their age but lacking nothing in enthusiasm, humour, and a passion for the 300 spectacular exhibits. “This one might be old, but it’s been painstakingly restored," one of them told us. "If you fuelled it up you could fly it today. But that might be a bit like using the Mona Lisa as a dart board!”
An F14 Tomcat, (made famous by Tom Cruise and Top Gun) takes pride of place at the entrance to the museum. Outside, they have a TA4J Skyhawk, a Super Constellation, a Marlin Flying Boat, a Catalina PBY-5A - and a Hercules TC 130G they actually landed on an aircraft carrier! There are 130 beautifully restored planes under cover, all gleaming and polished - and a great Imax theatre we both enjoyed, showing four different films during the day. It proved a good place to visit on a cold wintry day. Locals tell us the current cold snap is quite exceptional, and reports are coming in from California this week that frosts have ruined three quarters of their orange crop. We’re long enough in the tooth to know you have to take the weather on the chin if you’re travelling with a schedule like ours. Hopefully it will warm up again in a few days - we are planning some golf.

It has taken us six weeks to wind our way through Florida. The State has many faces. There are surely places we’ve missed, but it wasn’t always for the want of trying. Most of Florida’s peninsular lies on a flat bed of limestone, a fragile layer of soil scattered with trees a few feet above sea level, chamfered at the edges where sand and swamp merge with the sea. Many glorious beaches line the peninsular, often hand-in-hand with modern development and its outrageous appendages of grotesque highways, concrete condos, sprawling malls and giant advertising hoardings. (Exceptions can be found if you have the time to seek them out - try Fernandina Beach on Amelia Island, or St Augustine) Its saving grace is its climate, warm in winter and extremely hot in summer. Then, you would be well advised to get yourself insured and wait for the hurricanes. The Everglades was very special for us, for its abundant wildlife and wild places - free of mosquitoes and no-see‘ums during our stay. Disney is surely an experience not to be missed by anyone - we both loved it, along with the earth-moving experience of the shuttle launch at the Kennedy Space Centre a short drive away. Our favourite spot was the south coast along the Panhandle, as yet undeveloped, remote, and away from the crowds. But, then, we’re not normal holidaymakers with normal tastes. It’s hard for us to find the spark in Florida that says, ‘This is different’ or ‘We could live here’. We won’t rush back until they get some mountains, but we’re blessed to have been.
Meanwhile, it's off to Alabama.

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Alabama. We all know something about Alabama and the Deep South: most of us through the graphic history of Birmingham’s violent struggles for equality of the 50’s and 60’s, the infamous Ku Klux Klan or the subsequent demonstrations in Little Rock over continued segregation. To find out more, we set off for Mobile’s historic old town. Our visit to the Museum of Mobile unfolded the story through Spanish, French and British occupation; the story of the Civil War battles, cotton and slavery, ship-building, lumber, Civil Rights, devastating hurricanes and fires. They have all played their part in the generation - and de-generation of Mobile. There are many remnants of attractive antebellum architecture, white timber clad houses, cast-iron verandas, and a poorly reconstructed fort, in need of a heavy coat of yoghurt to give it more realistic age. Offshore in the Bay, the gas and oil-rigs pump their fortunes ashore, oblivious to the sight of boarded-up downtown shops and crumbling streets in dire need of help and regeneration. There is poverty in Mobile, showing through the dusty exterior of yesterday: town-centre shops now boarded up, littered streets and cracked paving, peeling paint and burnt out buildings - with little sign of hope of change tomorrow.
Here in Mobile we heard those dreaded words we know so well, ‘keep your hand on your purse’. We’re accustomed to petty theft in Europe, particularly in Spain, France and Italy, but, whilst always vigilant, we had not been consciously aware of the problem in the USA before. Sister Mary stopped for a chat as we walked around town. “You may be in the Bible Belt,” she said, “but you should take care here in this part of Mobile.” Sister Mary came to Mobile from the north some years ago to serve the needs of the many sons and daughters of Catholic French, Spanish, and Irish immigrants. She engaged us in conversation and cheerfully walked us through town - our guide and protector.

Along the coast, Dauphin Island faces the Gulf some twenty miles south of Mobile, a long bar of sand, dunes and shady trees that welcome the birds of early spring as they head northwards, exhausted from their long flight across the gulf. As ever, that’s something else we’ll miss as we continue our relentless march across this continent. Much to our surprise, the Island campsite had only one spare pitch! Saturday was Mardi Gras time, the first parade of the season - a whole month before ‘Fat Tuesday’ and all the locals were there with their trailers and motorhomes to party! Crowds lined the roadside, regaled in green, gold and purple, waiting patiently for one o’clock and the start of the parade. Family groups gathered with their picnic baskets and barbecue’s, scenting the air with burning burgers. Long rows of trucks spread through town, parked either side of the road under the watchful eye of the sheriff, cruising the route ahead of the performance. It was well worth the wait.
Led by mounted police, the brightly turned-out groups passed us by, floats of fancy, clowns, and dancers, marching bands and dressed up trucks, in festive mood on an overcast but warm Saturday afternoon. The strange objective of the performers is to throw as many rows of brightly coloured beads, bags of peanuts, soft toys, Frisbees, sweets and moon pies at the crowd as they can. It is the duty of the crowd to catch them! We came away with smiling faces, a number of new friends and too much of everything. Todd and Sue liked wearing their new strings of colourful beads - and Janice looked lovely as ever.


Questions have been asked about why we’re advertising Winnie for sale when our journey’s end is still somewhere over the rainbow. Well, you might be surprised to learn there is some logic to it - we think. We are advertising in the UK, at (www.onlinemotorhomes.com), testing the water to see if there are others back home with the same ambitions as us. Winnie comes complete with all the bits: cutlery, crockery, bedding, maps and books, ready to roll so-to-speak, and it seems to make sense to pass it all on to someone else! Offering it now will give any prospective UK buyer the time to plan, save and prepare, and pick up wherever we leave off. Our present thinking is to stay here until the end of June. If Winnie is sold around the end of March, we intend to go on to New Zealand to see June out. That possibility has always been in the margins. Any more questions?


There are silver-sand beaches you might dream of, stretching 25 miles along the Mississippi shores of the Gulf of Mexico between Biloxi and Bay St Louis. Silver-sand beaches where, through the years, children have played, and lover’s footprints walked hand-in-hand on summer days. Summer days before the two bridges connecting the highway at either end blew away when hurricane Katrina struck in August 2005. Many hundreds of homes, dozens of hotels, garages, bars and clubs, a lifetime of dreams, photo albums and family memories of laughter and tears - all vanished from the face of the earth in a tangle of shattered timber, broken glass and twisted iron that day, as 130mph gales swept off the sea towards New Orleans. A handful of $multi-million homes have been rebuilt and a few hotels and cash-rich casinos resurrected from the ashes, but for most, the future remains bleak; they have left town for the foreseeable future or are housed in temporary trailers, looking out over a bare concrete pad that was once a place called home. For others there is no future here - their land is for sale, but the price will remain a pittance until the tidying process and rebuilding programme breeds new life. There is little sign of hope, and progress is slow indeed.

Tomorrow, in New Orleans, we shall witness that famous City’s unique culture; the consequences of Hurricane Katrina, and the city’s plans for recovery, as we continue our journey west.


David and Janice. The grey-haired-nomads

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Photos

The elusive red-cockaded woodpecker
Gotcher!

St George Island
Brown pelicans preparing to roost

St George Island
Gorgeous white beaches

St Joseph
We walked for hours

Seaside Village
Nearby Grayton Beach. One of the nicer oceanfront developments

Big Lagoon by Pensacola
The sea mist rolls in

Pensacola
One of many fine interiors in the Historic Homes of Pensacola

Pensacola
An enjoyable guided history tour

Pensacola
The Blue Angels -
National Museum of Naval Aviation

Mobile
David with Sister Mary. He'll talk to anyone.

Mobile
The 'mock' old and the new

Dauphin Island
Mardi Gras time!

Dauphin Island
The Red Hat ladies on their float

Dauphin Island
David with new friend Bud. He's an old hand at Carnivals!

Dauphin Island
Janice (plus Todd and Sue) with loot from the Carnival

Biloxi
The devastation is beyond belief. And this one survived!