OK, I’m back. Was a helluva trip. The gator wrangling was a lot less exciting than it seemed going into it, and I got away without a scratch. Can’t say the same for Squirrel. The worst thing that happened the whole trip, besides the gas station bathroom in rural Georgia, was when we forgot the DEET and we got eaten alive by mosquitoes as big as ravens. Between the malt liquor and the blood loss from being drained by these swamp beasts, I nearly lost consciousness twice and ran the air boat up onto an embankment.
All went well, and my pockets are lined with more cash than I had hoped for, or deserve. The tax lawyers say I have to declare this one, but even after Uncle Sam takes his cut, it’s enough to fund some of my ventures.
We got back late Saturday night. My apologies for not posting, but when I got up Sunday I realized it was Easter. Not having any suitable material, I skipped a day of providing literature. I may be on the road to hell, but there’s no reason to tempt anyone to turn up the thermostat, so to speak.
It’s good to be back, in my own home, with my own guns, and my own Macallan, ready to head off to my own bed.