vituperation

April 26, 2004

Last Sunday, I left the house with a book in hand, intent on finding a nice outdoor spot to hunker down and do some reading. Before I was even out of the neighborhood I’d decided where I wanted to go: Rainbow Mountain, just around the corner from our neighborhood. By the time I reached the parking area my plans had changed. No longer did I want to sit and read in the woods, I wanted to go for a hike. And hike I did.

Roughly one quarter of a mile in, I remember why I normally only hike during the winter. It’s not the heat, not the sweat of straining.

It’s the webs. Jesus. Spider webs and inchworm webs. I swear there were times I was so wrapped up it was impeding my speed.

To my credit I didn’t freak out a single time, even though I wanted to.

Highlight of the hike (other than getting out of the woods and wiping all those damn silk strands off me): I saw a gorgeous black racer, maybe three or four feet long, crossing the trail just below me at one point. I was going across a series of rocks, stepping from stone to stone, and when I was on the last one I looked down and there he was.

He hauled ass when he spotted me, going underneath the rock upon which I stood, or I would’ve tried to catch him. Snakes? No problem. Spiders? Heebie-jeebies.

And also, why is it that when I go on hikes, I can make it the ENTIRE trail without seeing a single person, but if I have to take a few steps off-trail to pee, someone shows up and throws me into an I-hope-they-didn’t-see-me panic? Is it karma, or what?

And speaking of snakes, I got the kayak out of storage Saturday and headed to Decatur and the backwaters of the Tennessee River. Spring is a fine time to kayak, I found — flowers blooming everywhere, trees all vibrant and green, it’s pleasant and warm instead of sticky and hot, and best of all, the creepy dead-people-hiding lily pads haven’t started dotting the surface of the water yet.

Alas, I didn’t take the camera with me or I’d regale you with boring pictures to accompany the boring text.

I paddled my happy butt around for about an hour and a half, exploring and whatnot, before pulling the kayak into the lee created by a mostly submerged section of old highway out in the middle of the water. In the winter, you can see the old roadbed because the water’s down so low, but by spring the only visible thing is a tiny section of bramble-covered ground ending in a big concrete block. I was on the backside of this, in the shade and out of the wind, kayak butted up between two rocks to hold it in place.

I called Robyn, mostly just to tell her how nice it was out there, and after I’d hung up the phone and was trying to get it back into the plastic bag (dry cell phones work best, in my experience), I happened to glance up and spotted the prettiest brown water snake swimming along the shoreline toward me.

Except I didn’t recognize it as a brown water snake. I thought it was a cottonmouth, which looks almost identical except for being a little more, um, thicker. You know, kind of stubby and short, instead of long and sleek.

Oh, and poisonous.

I pushed away from the shore, not scared but definitely respectful, images of a water moccasin flopping around in the shell of my kayak and biting the family jewels. The minute I moved, the snake freaked out and dove, which just fed my overactive too-many-horror-movies imagination.

Turns out that’s another big sign it was a brown water snake (also, those are a lot more common than cottonmouths), because water snakes are really scared of people, while cottonmouths will stand their ground. Or even be downright aggressive.

Biggest freakout of the day? When I went under a big cypress tree hanging out over the water and drifted through a spiderweb the size of Nantucket. I just about flipped the kayak on that one.

Two thumbs up for the kayaking, all in all. I’ve missed it — and if you have some extra money lying around and a good source of water, it’s a fun way to spend an afternoon.

The spud, for the record, still hasn’t gotten the whole you need to put the vehicle into drive after backing up if you want to go forward thing down yet.

We call it his mood ring. Stanley wears his feelings like a banner. Wears his feelings right out for the world to see, out there for everyone to take notice of and admire.

I speak, of course, of his ass. His mood ring.

When he’s calm — sleeping, for example — his ass is a flat, pale gray, similar to his fur. As he grows more and more excited, like he does when we’re playing chase or someone’s in the kitchen (especially Dinah), his ass grows rosier and rosier. And it starts to pooch out a little, a tiny pink protuberance poking perkily from underneath his tail.

His mood ring. Watch his ass, and you can read him like a book.

Thank my wife for the fact that there are no photographs with this section of the entry.