Sunset on an early December day creates a changing scene across Estes Bay down the coast from Rockport, Texas in this panoramic photo.
The end of November arrived and suddenly we had a decision to make. Since we left the Black Hills in September, the day after our campground was blanketed with six inches of snow, we had been skipping around the Great Plains and not working.
We headed for the Gulf Coast after about six weeks of catching up with personal and family business in Nebraska and Kansas with a couple weeks of goofing off mixed in.
These stretches of not working are a little unnerving, especially when you’ve become accustomed to that weekly paycheck for four months. The traveler’s on-line connections become spotty and temporary too. Part of our discomfort comes not just from needing the cash to carry on. We’re workers, and we come from a long line of people who placed a high value on “the job.” We’re happier if we’re making some kind of contribution.
Now, we’re on the Gulf Coast. We’ve kept our eyes open for campground jobs and even considered the option of working at a grocery store or a coffee shop or the like, but with the pandemic surging, and being quite close to the age of vulnerability, we’re not too keen on rubbing elbows at work for minimum wage.
Toss in another factor: Our current spot, an RV park/fishing camp along Estes Bay provides a vista that would cost a lot more just a short distance away. The people here are friendly. But on the job front, the RV park has all the help it needs.
We saw an ad for camp host jobs at an RV park just a few miles away. After we checked it out, we decided to pass. Despite getting a provided camper site, the paid work hours were limited, and it seemed that we’d be on call more than we wanted. The park was closer to a parking lot than a resort and was surrounded by a wetlands - a no man’s land. Signs on the park’s border cautioned about the presence of alligators and snakes.
“Stay away from the water,” the sign concluded. Access to the bay was a half mile away, and it didn’t appear to be quite public. The place also didn’t receive enough flattering reviews.
Angie had asked a few times: Why did we come down here?
It certainly wasn’t to be the campground cops, another role we’d have at the prospective park.
During the summer, our Black Hills campground roles required us to “encourage compliance” with dog leash rules, curfews on generators, unauthorized water use and protecting the ponderosa pines from drunks with axes.
One of our managers described it as babysitting toddlers. Our only authority was the ability to call the sheriff or Forest Service authorities. The forest surroundings were a decent tradeoff for the round-the-clock responsibility. Most of the campers wanted peace, not trouble.
During calm days on the bay, anglers can take out their small craft to try their luck.
We thought about the job offer as we walked along the bay. The tide was low so we walked out on what we call “the beach.”
Angie asked again: Why did we come down here?
Here, we have a panoramic (and sometimes blinding) view of stunning sunrises and sunsets over the bay. A parade of pelicans drift by, stopping to dive for their dinner, and dolphins cruise along the Intercoastal Waterway for theirs. Sure, it’s December and the sun sinks lower on the horizon every day, so it’s not exactly tropical, but the clouds roll along the coast and provide a palette of changing colors at the end of the day.
Clockwise from top right: An older boat heads across the bay at high tide. Sunset silhouettes two of the park's palm trees. At low tide, Angie stands on "the beach" an area east of our waterfront after a windy high tide drove the masses of sea weed up on the shore. Sunrise over a wind-whipped bay.
A lucky shot captures a surfacing dolphin that is cruising along the Intercoastal Waterway for its food. A bay boat carries anglers out for a day of fishing at sunrise. Boats moored in the cove next to the houses in the adjoining subdivision. A pelican fends off a gull that wants its perch on a marker along the Intercoastal Waterway. The camper rooftop view looks over the waterfront southwest toward Port Aransas. The park's waterfront during one of the few times when anglers aren't fishing in the Intercoastal Waterway.
Our park’s proximity is good. We’re 40 minutes from Corpus Christi’s attractions, and just a few miles from Port Aransas and Rockport beaches. Yet the waterfront is at the end of the road – no drive through traffic.
We finally decided that December was going to be all ours. Our priority is to enjoy our present circumstances while we can and still be standing when this horrible pandemic is over. We need to invest our time in Third Quarter Nomads and roll forward. We'd love to hear from you, and you can reach us at larry@thirdquarternomads.com.
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Anglers head out just after sunrise on Estes Bay.
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