The Floating City
There are those who love beaches, and
those who love mountains. But who’s to say that you can’t love both? I’ve spent
most of my life going back and forth year after year, trying to decide which
popular vacation spot I’ve enjoyed the most. Ultimately, the two have become equals in a limited selection of locations. My view on the endless, blue
water is no more superior or inferior to my view on the mastiffs that are still
being transformed by nature today.
Something that I grew very
accustomed to during any family vacation was the idea of having a “free” day. I
always found it funny that we called them that, oh the irony! Because it seemed that whatever we did on that day was never free. But it was
precisely the day that greeted me as a naïve teenager spending an exuberantly
warm summer on the beaches of Destin, Florida. Destin is a very popular spring
break town for many college students, but once summer came along it was
inhabited by laid-back beach goers that weren’t too keen on spending their
vacation in a fast-paced, tourist environment. Needless to say, this was a
perfect destination for the Kruse family who were longing for a relaxing
vacation. It was decided early on during breakfast that we were to be renting
paddleboards and kayaks from a local business within the full harbor.
Reluctantly, my parents decided to accompany their relatives on a paddle boarding trip, in order to catch a
glimpse of what a “relaxing” vacation might be.
When all of the paperwork was said
and done we were on our way to a local hangout dubbed Crab Island. This was to
be two-hour trip for any experienced paddler, which seemed daunting to the
ambitious ones from Iowa. The Kruse kids operated paddleboards with no experience, as for the parents, a two person kayak. Nevertheless we made our way with one sweeping swing of the oar to another. The
harbor we set course out of was an immortal maze that only the savviest
navigator could comprehend. There were sailboats, tugboats, and houseboats.
There were yachts, replica pirate-ships, and wave runners. There were even
small cruise ships, dinghies, and fishing vessels, all of which were laid out in
the harbor like a beginner playing Battleship. No pattern or strategic
placement was found. And although we were the most vulnerable wave farers, the
larger ships rarely acknowledged our existence.
As we paddled our way out of the
labyrinth we were greeted by a towering trestle, which created a bewilderment
of currents underneath its shadow. An obstacle for any knowledgeable seafarer,
but for the Iowans, it presented no issue. It was there, on the antagonistic
side of the span, where we first caught view of our objective. Ahead there was
a vast collection of houseboats and pontoons floating on the pale green and
blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico. No sight of land was apparent, making the
name of Crab Island more of a description surrounding the city of vessels
parked in the area for recreational activities. Upon each platform was an
assembly of friends and family, which included some of the friendliest people
outside of Iowa, their skin sun kissed by the strong, Florida UV and never
without a red Solo cup in their hand. Boat after boat, it seemed to be an
ongoing theme, and a spectacle at that! You could hear music playing aboard
every ship that crowded the ambiance with a mixture of genres. The smell of
grilled cuisine, added to the atmosphere creating a genuinely American setting. There were those who were eating hot dogs, those with brats, and those with burgers looking to share their creations with anyone. The lack of movement by all of the ships created a stable surface that I was
able to balance my paddleboard on. I began to feel the sun start to tenderize my skin
that I would later have to sooth with Aloe Vera. I mentally noted the necessity
of sunscreen if I were ever to partake in a similar voyage later in life. My
surroundings were consuming me and I was entranced by the spectacle that was
Crab Island.
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