Friday, June 7, 2013

Friday's : They're Not What They Used to Be

  Sitting in class, looking out the window wondering how many people are at the blue hole. The hole is about 5,000 football fields long and 200 wide. Cliffs range from 300+ feet. We had a few cliffs we named. One was called 3 point, because of the way the rocks stuck out. You were pretty bad if you dove off 3pt. We taped it at about 56 ft. Then there was "first drill bit." Its obvious of a name and easily found. Its 78 ft. You better wear your shoes on this one. It wouldn't be that hard to cut class.
  It was about 11 am when I got out of there. The seats were hot as hell as I slid into my 1968 Opel Kadett Hell, the cassette worked just fine. I punched in Molly Hatchet as I made my way down US 431 to get to the blue hole. You can see it a mile away. The good thing about it was the trail, it was a bitch to navigate all the way to the end. That's when you can see who all is there cause you can't see it from the highway. There must have been a dozen of my buddies, there. Everybody had nicknames. There was Road Whore, Cornbread (my brother), Pig, Zak, Porky (my oldest brother), Dawg (my youngest), Spotdog (me), Kilo, you get the point.
  Most were floating on their rafts with one raft designed to carry the beer. There was always music blaring from a stereo. It was mostly southern rock. The mid seventies tops all eras of music, if you asked me. A big hole in the side of a mountain with the bluest water I have ever seen, hence, The Blue Hole. A great place to be on a warm early May.
  You would not believe the people that would come buy and had never been there before. They would ask about the cliffs and where to launch yourself off the ledge. I was a show out. I'd set my big inner tube out and do a one and a half off the rock and land through the tube.
  We did have a guy that decided he was gonna jump off the top. We tried to talk to his friend to get himk to abort. "He's squirely," his buddy kept saying. "Well, I hope he's a flying squirel." I'd say. All our talk didn't change his mind. When he climbed to the top, he finished his beer, and off he went. All of my buddies headed towards their car. Someone had to call it in. (No cell phones). Me and Cornbread was sitting on three point when he jumped and as he fell, he slowly drifted to his back. The sound was something I've never heard, before. It was like a rifle shot.
  We sat there and waited on the rescue squad to direct the guys in the boat where the dude hit the water. They found him on a ledge in 70 feet of water. We had at least one a week drown. Where the path hit the water you had about 15 ft. before the bottom dropped out. I loved that place. Can't get to it, anymore. It's been commercialized and made into a dive shop.It's what we did. Smoke weed, drink a few cold ones and pick our party spot. That seems ages ago. Hell it was! I'll have more stories, later. theblogmeister