Great Blue Heron Nursery

It was up and out fairly early today to hunt up some new trail caches not far from here. They're in an area of woods I've only entered at night, so it was interesting, to say the least, to view the area in daylight. It's very primitive, more so than most of the woods in the Greensboro watersheds—very marshy and dense, and it was rather surprising to find an actual trail, and well-maintained at that. I managed first-to-finds on the caches, but most impressive was discovering what the cache owner called "The Great Blue Heron Nursery." Never seen so many herons in one place. Really beautiful, and thanks to Mr. Isenhour and Ms. Stevens to placing the new caches. This is the reason I started geocaching in the first place.

Click on the pics below to enlarge.

Carpet of ferns on the way to "The Trail Dawgs Mark Their Territory" (GC2VR9A)

A surprisingly well-maintained trail through the wilderness

Lots of blue herons nesting in the trees

More herons on high

Old Man Riv...er...Rodan on the Hunt

Kicked off the long Memorial Day weekend with a bunch of caching. Yeah, shock of shocks, right? Last night, I headed up to Danville; went after a few relatively new hides, including an excellent, four-stage multi called River Overlook (GC2NM75); and then stopped off for sushi at the Tokyo Grill, which I had tried once before and was suitably impressed (their spicy tuna roll is awesome). Then it was on to Mum's in Martinsville for the night, and this morning, I ventured out to Fairystone Park to hit the trails and find the last few caches out there that I hadn't already claimed. It was only about three miles total distance on the trails, but it's some serious terrain with major altitude changes—especially when one veers off the trail and goes bushwhacking. In the end, I was successful on the hunt, and claimed those last four caches I needed. Well, there are three more in that area, actually, but they're on islands, and one needs a boat—or to be a good swimmer—to get to them.

Last week, we had Employee Appreciation Day at the office, and I won a gift card to Fleming's Restaurant, so tonight, Ms. B. and I availed ourselves to some mighty fine dining. I gotta tell you, that carpaccio (raw dead cow) of theirs just can't be beat, and the white chocolate bread pudding for dessert was one of the best things I've ever tasted. Fleming's is one of those places I'd need to take out a second mortgage to go on my own dime; but the food is about the best in town, and the servers treat you like royalty. I tell you, I really could stand to frequent this place, but I'd have to write a best-seller every night.

A few new trail caches here in Greensboro were published over the weekend, so I've got some new ones to go after tomorrow. I'm already getting antsy to hit the woods. After tonight's dinner, I've got most of a cow to work off.

Twin bridges over the Dan River in Danville


View of the Dan River from the River Walk trail

View of Fairystone Lake beach from Stuart's Knob trail

Entrance to one of the old iron mines off the Stuart's Knob trail

Caching Post-Apocalypse

Salem Lake is looking more like Salem Plain these days.

To celebrate surviving yesterday's obviously devastating apocalypse, I set my mind on some trail caching today—which, to hunt any I haven't already found, required going a little distance. Thus I headed over to Salem Lake, near Winston-Salem, put in about four miles, and then another mile or so around the town of Kernersville. Quite hot out there, and the old man is now pooped.

One of the few downsides of geocaching is when individuals don't get permission to hide their caches on someone else's private property. The rules of Geocaching.com clearly state that caches may be placed on private property only with permission of the property owner. Alas, too few cachers pay sufficient mind to that little stipulation. I ran into that situation today for the umpteenth time; fortunately, the property owner who confronted me was civil and reasonable. Others have been far less so when they discover something has been hidden on their property without their knowing it, and that people are coming around with some frequency to find it. I confess there were times in the past when I was guilty of being lax in securing permission for some of my hides, but I have long since learned better. Nowadays, as more people are geocaching, it's imperative to follow the rules—this one in particular—or individuals, businesses, and communities that are currently open to geocaching won't stay that way. So hey, you cachers out there: get permission.

I did spend a most enjoyable day of rapture yesterday. Got in a bit of hiking, and then Ms. Brugger and I headed up to Eden to the drive-in theater to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie, which I enjoyed a lot, and I Am Number Four, which was no great shakes but still highly enjoyable...because, hey, it's the drive-in theater. The cheeseburger, fries, big honking cookie, and Woodford Reserve really hit the spot.

G'night.

FAMOUS MONSTERS Reviews THE GAKI

And it's an okay review. I smile.

"This outstanding collection brings together some of Mr. Rainey’s previously published works and six new tales. These stories are varied, dark, frightening and very well written. The myriad styles and scope of these tales covers everything you could want in a horror fiction collection, I don’t think there is a weak story in the book." (Peter Schwotzer)

Check out the entire thing here: Famous Monsters of Filmland Reviews The Gaki by Stephen Mark Rainey

The Gaki is now available in trade paperback from Dark Regions; I believe a few numbered copies remain; the lettered edition is sold out.

"Strange shapes hiding in the shadows cast by the moonlight. Eerie noises drifting out of the forest and rising into the night. The sound of inhuman footsteps approaching from somewhere in the darkness. A pair of gleaming eyes peering in through your window at midnight....

This is the nightmarish, haunted world you will enter in this new collection of 17 tales—including six never before published—by Stephen Mark Rainey, longtime editor of Deathrealm magazine and author of such acclaimed works as Balak, The Lebo Coven, Blue Devil Island, The Last Trumpet, and Other Gods. Enter willingly…and prepare yourself for a chilling journey through some of the most frightening literary landscapes you have ever experienced."

More info on The Gaki here.

BLUE DEVIL ISLAND Paperback Now Available!

Hooray for Marietta Publishing, who has released my novel, Blue Devil Island (originally published in hardback by Thomson Gale/Five Star, 2007), as a trade paperback. With gorgeous cover art by M. Wayne Miller, neat interior graphics (including insignia for the Navy and Marine units in the novel—a nice touch I did not know about), and a reasonable price ($15.99, but many vendors offer discounts), this has got to be one of my favorite book releases ever. It's in stock (online) at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, Books-a-Million, and other vendors; may be available at select brick-and-mortar stores.

Here's a synopsis:

Autumn 1943: the beginning of the American offensive against the Japanese in the South Pacific. Just west of the Solomons lies a remote desert island called Conquest, where the U.S. Navy stations a new fighting squadron, led by Lieutenant Commander Drew McLachlan, an ace pilot and veteran of the Battle of the Coral Sea. The Blue Devils soar into combat against their enemies—both known and unknown. The squadron's island home may not be secure, for in nearby volcanic caves, McLachlan finds evidence of habitation by unknown natives—natives that resemble no known living race. As the Solomon campaign enters into its final skirmishes, the Japanese at last turn their attention to Conquest Island. Now the Blue Devils find themselves the target of an overwhelming assault by the desperate Imperial Japanese forces—and a mysterious, predatory force that leaves mutilated victims as the only evidence of its presence.

More info is available at my website: Blue Devil Island at The Realm of Stephen Mark Rainey

If you enjoy any or all of the following, this one is for you: historical fiction, scary stuff, action-adventure, engaging characters, a bit of blood and guts, monsters, perhaps a hint of social commentary, not even a whiff of fluffy friggin' romance. Do check it out — you can order it from Amazon.com here.

Decree Received

Le temps de bonheur, 1986

I keep this blog as much as for me as for any interested readers, and today, I'm writing one primarily for me. I received the official court decree in today's mail, which means the divorce between Mrs. Death—my wife for 23 years—is indeed final. I figured I'd post a few pics and reminiscences from years gone by to reflect upon.

Peg acquired the name "Mrs. Death" back in the 1990s, when I was editing Deathrealm. I received mail addressed to Deathrealm all the time, but one day, a Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes envelope arrived addressed to "Mrs. Deathrealm." Needless to say, this drew a few chuckles—it would have been interesting to claim that prize! Anyway, the name stuck, and over time, it got shortened to Mrs. Death, and even now, Peg still uses the moniker for semi-official purposes.

Apart from our wedding, which really was the happiest day of my life, one of our best times together was going on a cruise to the Caribbean in 2002 with our friends Wayne and Sharon Euliss. We celebrated Halloween on the high seas, went snorkeling in Key West, smoked Cuban cigars in Mexico, ate quantities of excellent food like we'd never eaten before, and drank damned Bloody Marys like a bunch of famished vampires.

Things were rough in 2008, both between us and in various other ways, but early in the year, we discovered geocaching, and for a couple of years, it was a wonderful, fun way for us to bond and forget about some of the troubles that had overtaken us. If you've popped onto this blog even once, you've no doubt surmised that I'm still an avid cacher, and I will go so far as to say it's been the most vital, energizing activity I've known in my entire adult life. Mrs. Death isn't able to get out and do it the way she used to, but I cherish the memories of the good times we had out on the hunt. There were quite a few of them.

Perhaps the greatest legacy of our time together is our daughter, Allison, who has grown up and is living out her own dream in New York City. Allison is Peg's natural daughter, but I adopted her when she was a just a wee young 'un, and for all intents and purposes I'm her dad as surely as if the relationship were biological. Way back when, particularly right after the wedding, it was very difficult for both Allison and me—I'm not exactly known for my overwhelming paternal instincts, and I had become an instant husband and father; to say I was ill-equipped for this role is a gross understatement. But over time, Allison and I became close, and somewhere along the line, I believe she managed to forgive me for my mistakes and my sometimes outright wrong-headedness. I'm glad that Peg and I were together as she developed from a strange little child to a far stranger adult; I'm quite certain that, today, despite the emotional storms we had to weather, she's better off for us all having been together as a family during her formative years.

Peg and I have both made our share of grave mistakes, and whatever pain we caused each other, particularly during those past couple of years together, I hope we both can move past it all and be happy as life takes us where it will. For my part, in my heart, I've forgiven her for what I perceive as the wrongs she committed, and I hope she can find it in hers to forgive me for mine.

"When love is young and love is fine, it's like a gem when first it's new,
But love grows old and waxes cold, and fades away like the morning dew."
—The Water Is Wide

Click on the images to enlarge.

Gods of Moab

If you've been following ye olde author's escapades here and on Facebook, you're probably achingly aware that I've been working on a new novella for the past couple of months. Well, the damned thing is finally finished and has been tweaked, busted up, duct-taped, polished, and sent to the editor. Early on, I had slapped the working title "The Demon of Ice Valley" onto it, but now that it's done, its honest-to-god given name is "The Gods of Moab." The story quite overtly ties into both my novel, Balak, and several of the tales in my short-fiction collection, Other Gods. When I know its status, I will post a corresponding status report. Rest assured, my poor dear readers, it will be inflicted upon you.

There has geocaching in the bargain as well...as if you couldn't have guessed. The pic above was taken yesterday from the Lake Brandt Greenway, shortly before dark, as mist moved in over the lake. I must say, it was pleasantly eerie out there. Managed a few first-to-finds over the past several days, including one this afternoon. Not too shabby for Friday the 13th, but then I usually have very lucky Friday the 13ths. Unclean living, don't you know.

Just for giggles, I've been on a Hammer Dracula bender the past couple of weeks, thanks to Netflix. Tonight, it was Taste the Blood Dracula, which I saw as a teenager, but my recollection of it was very hazy. Turns out, it's one of the better ones in the series, despite a weak ending. Apart from his portrayal in Jess Franco's Count Dracula, I always thought Christopher Lee was wasted as Dracula, since he mostly just hisses and looks wild-eyed, but in this film, he actually has a few lines, and the story holds up remarkably well. Next week, I look forward to Dracula AD 1972, another one I haven't seen since my slightly addled teenage years.

Oh, and yes...there is a cache in that tree.

The Orange Jacket!

A fun evening in Burlington, finding a few caches and attending Geoputt (GC2QDVH)—yes indeed, a geocaching Putt-Putt event! In my younger days, I used to play real golf regularly, but I haven't even picked up a club in a couple of years, and it's been at least 25 years since I tried my hand at Putt-Putt. Apparently, it's kind of like riding a bicycle, only a lot different.

The afternoon had been fairly beautiful until I arrived at the event, and then the bottom fell out. Quite a storm! A bunch of us hung out under cover at the pro shop until the rain let up. Then it was out to the links with teammates Bridget "Suntigres" Langley, Christopher "Ranger Fox" Hall, and event organizer Mr. Robbin "RTMLee" Lee his own self. Fortunately for the rest of us, Mr. Rob entered the tee box first and made it his business to show us how it's done. Following his lead, I managed to sink a few holes-in-one (which actually became known as "Pulling a Rob," since he dropped a few spectacular putts) and even save a few utterly disastrous first shots. At the end of it all, our most benevolent hosts awarded me the orange jacket, and I have to tell you, I am humbled, honored, excited, and...kind of hungry, now that I think about it.

Unfortunately, www.geocaching.com, which has always been about most user-friendly site one could imagine, has undergone a major overhaul, and it is an unmitigated disaster. They're still addressing issues with the site since the update, and thus I'd like to reserve judgment, but this is an absolutely frustrating case of a bunch of evidently bored programmers deciding to fix something that was never broken—to the point of nearly destroying it. There had gotten to be some real performance issues with the site, but those could have been addressed without Groundspeak taking the place apart and putting it back together with duct tape. What a freaking waste of time, energy, and money. Last I heard, updates were supposed to ultimately improve a site, and given what it's going to take just to fix what was mucked up, actual improvements look to be a long way off. Big sigh.

A few pics from Geoputt....

RTMLee about to "pull a Rob."


Ranger Fox about to knock one out of the ballpark.

Suntigres lining up for a stunning double-bogey putt.

Unrest in the Planet of the Apes

It's kind of cool to have Osama Bin Laden dead for my birthday, but my satisfaction is tempered by a certainty that there will now be much unrest in the Planet of the Apes, and the pissed-off among them will deal us some unpleasantness as a result. Still, all things considered, it's a better world without that particular creature breathing on it.

On another note: I have discovered that other people have the same birthday as me. WTF?

Spent a very nice day off doing some geocaching, which netted me three miles of hiking, four caches, and a rattlesnake. Since the rattlesnake—which was quite small, probably only a few days old—was far more interested in getting away from the big dude than messing with me, I call that a good day. Made great progress on the novella-in-the-works as well. The end is near....

My Not-Yet-My-Birthday Party

 Okay, not so much a party as a hike. Well, a pair of hikes, actually. Just as much fun as a party—unless you count those parties where people throw money at you, but since that never happens to me, just never you mind. My birthday isn't till tomorrow, but since birthdays and Mondays are essentially incompatible, the weekend has been properly utilized for the celebratory functions. I must admit, for the most part, I'd just as soon forget about these silly landmarks, since, in the end, the only thing they mean is that the old man is another day closer to the crematorium. Then again, since I'm not there yet...what the hey...on with the celebration.

Headed out pretty early today to hunt a handful of geocaches on two different trails—Lake Kammack and Haw River, in Alamance County—as well as hide a new cache of my own in the bargain. Trails with caches I haven't yet found are few and far between in this area, so it's necessary to venture farther afield to get to them. The downside of this is that I have to save up for weeks to afford the gas anymore. The upside of it is that I always find some really beautiful places and add to my total cache finds. The Haw River, I swear, is one of the most appealing settings in the southeast. Every time I find a new place to hike along the Haw, I'm utterly taken with its primal beauty. Even when there are plenty of signs of human habitation along its banks, there's something about it that seems ancient and serene. To be sure, much of the south's history is exemplified in this locale—a few miles north of Burlington, NC—and in my old age, I find such areas fascinating. Not to mention that, corresponding to this sense of antiquity, there's a subtle, inherent eeriness that stimulates and appeals to my imagination as a writer of scary things. A couple of times out there today, alone, the rush of the river and the stillness that otherwise prevailed in the woods made me feel as if I were walking into the setting of a Lovecraft story. What a deep and frightful pleasure!

Last night, Ms. B. took me out for an evening of old-age revelry, which included going to the theater to watch Insidious—which I thought was a hoot; kind of the Fright Night of poltergeist films—then drinks at Vintage 301 and dinner at Zen Sushi on Elm Street in downtown Greensboro. The transformation of Elm Street in recent years from a dying commercial district to a small nighttime entertainment mecca is both surprising and appealing; in some respects, it reminds me of Rush Street in Chicago, back in the 80s. I dont' spend much time down there—being that I'm all old and everything—but it definitely has its allure. Particularly because...yes, you guessed it...there are caches.

Enjoy my birthday, if you please. (Click the pics to enlarge.)

A bridge too far. Yep, caches nearby....

There were lots of these little doods hopping around.
 

A feeder, of sorts — or some kind of alien construct, perhaps.

Jess Franco's COUNT DRACULA

At some dimly remembered point in my past—probably the late 70s—I happened upon the 1970 Spanish-Italian production of Count Dracula, directed by Jess (Jesus) Franco and starring Christopher Lee, and since I seem to have gone on a vampire bender lately, the craving to give this film another look has been flung upon me. Fortunately, it's available from Netflix, and the Dark Sky DVD is currently in stock at Amazon.com. I sat down with a martini and the movie tonight, and I must say, while it's flawed in a bazillion ways, it's actually better than I remembered. As a reasonably faithful adaptation of Stoker's novel—and the vehicle for Christopher Lee's best performance as ye vampire—Count Dracula is a noteworthy horror flick.

The film begins as virtually all adaptations do, faithful or otherwise, with solicitor Jonathan Harker (Frederick Williams) traveling to Transylvania to deliver to Count Dracula the deed to a certain property in England (inexplicably, Carfax Abbey is not mentioned in this script), which the Count has purchased. Harker finds himself confined in an intensely creepy setting, with a grim, moody host, who is shown right from the get-go to cast no reflection in a mirror. Apparently, this is an insufficient red flag, as Harker continues to go about his business, but very soon, the infamous trio of female vampires introduce themselves to him, followed by the Count himself insisting upon a blood donation from Harker. This done, Dracula moves on to England, leaving a frail and somewhat deranged Harker to make his own way back westward. At this point in the novel, and in most adaptations, fiancée Mina Murray (Maria Rohm) pours out all kinds of misery, though in this version, not so much. It actually works to the film's benefit to spend minimal time on the characters' romance so that more of the film's running time can devote itself to some much-needed action. The usual shenanigans involving Lucy Westenra (Soledad Miranda) ensue—Dracula feasting on her before turning her into a vampire—and soon enough, Professor Van Helsing (Herbert Lom), Harker, Dr. Seward (Paul Muller), and Lucy's fiancé, Quincy Morris (Jack Taylor; there's no Arthur Holmwood in this version), are forced to drive a stake into poor Lucy's heart. The hunt for Dracula is on, culminating back at Castle Dracula, where ye vampire finally meets his demise...not by stake this time, but by flame.

Though Christopher Lee had already become well-known as Dracula, his interpretation in this film is quite different from his others, even in Horror of Dracula, which derived from the same source material. Unlike the hissing, leering, animalistic vampire of the Hammer films, Lee's Dracula here far more resembles Stoker's original, with much of the dialogue from the first half of the novel remaining intact. Most effective is Lee's makeup; just as in the novel, he originally appears as an aged, white-haired, mustachioed man, bereft of much energy. As he feeds on others, he gradually becomes more youthful, until, near the end of the film, his hair and mustache are black, and he gets about with considerably more vigor. During the scene in which he murders Lucy, his appearance—with bloody fangs and red-tinged eyes—is genuinely disturbing. I do find Lee's distinctive British accent almost disconcerting; one fully expects him to speak with a strong eastern European accent, a la Lugosi.

Herbert Lom makes for an adequate, if unremarkable, Professor Van Helsing. While Lom is a fine actor, he plays Van Helsing as needlessly enigmatic, frequently withholding information from his compadres, or speaking only in ominous riddles, until he is "certain" what he is dealing with, although he clearly understands Dracula's menace from the start. Before the climax, he suffers a cinematic stroke, which prevents him from taking part in the vampire hunt, in which he is a principle player in the novel. One would expect more from the renowned Van Helsing!

Soledad Miranda, as Lucy Westenra, is quite the standout—to my mind, the most seductive Lucy in any Dracula adaptation. Her finest moment comes when, as a vampire, she lures a young girl to her; she then smiles and exposes her fangs. She appears beautiful and frightening. It may be the movie's most haunting moment. Klaus Kinski plays our Renfield, this time mute, which works to varying degrees. At one point, he appears to chomp on an actual fly; here, he puts on a very thoughtful expression, as if genuinely contemplating all there is to contemplate about devouring an insect. It's quite an effective scene. At other times, his expression is simply inscrutable, and when Mina visits him in the asylum, he attacks her, at Dracula's psychic command. At this point, one really wishes for the pathos of Tom Waits's Renfield in Coppola's version, or even Jack Shepherd's maniacal poetry from the 1978 BBC production starring Louis Jourdan.

Count Dracula showcases all the excesses of most western European horror films of the 60s and 70s: lurid cinematography, with lots of primary colors; camera shots that linger too long at the end of a scene; loud, overbearing music (courtesy of Nicolai Bruno, who frequently conducted the orchestras for various Ennio Morricone film scores). Deeply shadowed, very gothic sets seem to hide all kinds of menace even during the story's more innocuous moments, creating a grim and sometimes surreal atmosphere more characteristic of D'Argento or Fulci than Terrence Fisher—which helps put more distance between this film and Hammer's Dracula pics of the same era.

Unfortunately, Franco's budget exhausted itself before the film was finished, and in places, it shows—particularly during Dracula's death scene. It's a lackluster ending to an oftentimes impressive little piece of filmmaking. All in all...three out of five Damned Rodan's Dirty Hot Pepper Firetinis. I'd call that worth a look.

Dead People in the Woods

It's always fun to find dead people in the woods. Today's geocache outing included hiking at Philpott Lake, VA, not far from the dam. Ms. B. and I undertook a moderately strenuous trek into the woods for a challenging little hide called Dogwood Trail Cipher Cache (GC2JW41). We ended up at a tiny family graveyard out in the middle of the woods—obviously well-maintained—with graves going back to the late 19th century. Didn't encounter anything spookier than Ms. B., but it was quite an atmospheric spot...and there was a cache. Happy day. From there, it was over to the new trail at the Martinsville City Reservoir, where we met up with Scott & Chandres (yes, the inspiration for the character of Chandres Tessier in Dark Shadows: Blood Dance) Pickett & family, a.k.a. Krazy Tribe, and hunted up another one.

On the writing front: "The Demon of Ice Valley" is nearing its finale. Don't know that it will be finished this coming week, but it won't be too far down the line. Is scary.

Tonight...it was dyeing Easter eggs. Or maybe "dying" is more like it. After we got done with them, I'm sure they're on their last legs.

S'wonderful.

Cache In...Weeds Out

Geocaching Weed-Eaters

Geocaching isn't all just going after containers hidden in the woods and under light pole skirts. A fair part of the caching experience is to leave the environment better than we found it. Periodically, groups of cachers get together for Cache-In, Trash-Out (CITO) events, to clean up trash in locations that might be otherwise overlooked. Sometimes it's the woods around the local watershed lakes, or a community park, or a neglected trailhead. This afternoon, a number of us got together at the fairly new downtown Greensboro Greenway to do some cleanup, in coordination with the city parks and recreation department. Turns out, the landscaping at the site has about been overrun with weeds, so at the suggestion of the parks & recreation department folk, we ended up going a little greener than we had anticipated—we dug, pulled, and tossed a reasonably awesome amount of stubborn botanical pestilence. Afterward, the event's coordinator, Mr. Steven "Bear Oak Druid" Hinkle led us to a new, as-yet-unpublished cache for a first-to-find opportunity. Frankly, picking up trash is the easier job, but I gotta tell you—the greenway is now, unquestionably, a much finer shade of green.

Damned Rodan making a fancy tossed salad.

Coordinate Crossing

The old dude in the photo is thinking, "I have to climb up that?"

Mercy...it's been such a week that blogging hasn't been much in the cards. Work, work, work, and write, write, write; a productive week, to say the least. I did manage to get in a bit of caching and a spot of socializing this weekend—Ms. B.'s parents were in town, so we got together a couple of times to visit and share embarrassing Kimberly stories. We also fit in a brief trip to Martinsville yesterday to have lunch with Mum. Tonight, it was homemade Thai spring rolls, courtesy of Ms. B. I tell you, sometimes, she's all right.

Last night, I got together with Ms. Debbie "Cupdaisy" Shoffner to hunt a few caches, and then it was over to her place to jam on guitar with husband Pete Scisco and some highly talented friends. I haven't made a racket on guitar in so long, before I knew it, my fingers were on fire—and not from any impressive instrument-playing on my part, I can tell you. Today, it was out to Gibson Park in High Point for some caching, where I had to perform a few complicated treetop acrobatics to both find and hide a cache or two. Created a new puzzle cache called "Coordinate Crossing," which proved to be challenging both mentally and physically to set up. All very gratifying, to be sure, but now, the old dude is pooped. And tomorrow...it's back to the salt and pepper mines.

On the mixed emotions front, I've learned that my divorce—assuming there are no unforeseen complications—should be final as of May 9. It'll be a relief, yet at the same time, I am all kinds of sad. Most of the pent-up anger that consumed me for so long has, over time, subsided, and I'm able to remember many better times and emotions. I hope Mrs. Death can do the same.

On a very sad note, yesterday was the fourth anniversary of kitty Charcoal's death. I miss her as much as any critter I've ever known.

Without going into detail, also...please send good wishes to my daughter, who is having a bit of a hard time at present. I'm sure she'll be fine, but things are kind of dicey at the moment.

Oh, yeah. The old dude did, indeed, have climb a ways up that.

Ten Years After

Today, it's ten years since my dad passed away. A while back, I found this photo of the Midget League Basketball team I was on—1968 or 1969—which my dad coached. I still remember standing for this photo very clearly, those few years back. I don't remember the names of only two of the guys in this pic; the others I still do.
I sure was a shrimp back then. (Don't say a damn word.)

Here We Go Flying Again

If you are particularly fond of flying through the air on cables suspended from treetops, like I am, then ziplining is just the activity for you. Today was another caching event—"Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah" (GC2NTBJ)—sponsored by Rich "Night-Ranger" Colter, at Richland Creek Ziplining Tours, just outside of Asheboro, NC. This afternoon, I made sure my life insurance premiums were paid up and then got together with Ms. B. and my friend, Bridget "Suntigres" Langley, to truck on down to the event. Very well-attended function, I must say; I'm hearing 60-plus attendees is the official estimate. The course featured 15 stations, each run ranging from a dozen to about 50 feet above the ground, with some runs nearly a quarter mile long. As always, the company was great, the event very well-run. Afterward, Ms. B., Suntigres, and I snagged a couple of quick caches in Asheboro (only to find ourselves being heckled by cachers Ranger Fox and David & Diana), then availed ourselves to pizza and drinks at Bill's Pizza Pub.

It's the only way to fly.

Ms. B. and Suntigres contemplating their mortality prior to takeoff.

Flying through the air is the easy part. Walking the plank...not so much.

Ms. B.: "I'm not going! I'm not going! I'm gooooiiiinnnngggg!"

Keith McCoy about to flare for landing.

Taking five at the scenic creek underneath the zipline course.

Look out below....

Blood at Southern Rail

Today was the day for girlfriend Ms. B. and I to make another pilgrimage to Carrboro/Chapel Hill for caching, shopping, and dining. Based on the weather report from yesterday, we were expecting the temperature to be balmy. "In the 70s," they said. Woops. Wrong. Downright cold it was, since I didn't take a jacket with me. Regardless, the old dude logged a few caches (while grumbling, of course). We had lunch at a place that is something of a landmark for me—the Southern Rail restaurant, which incorporates a couple of passenger cars from the old Southern rail line. Back in the mid 1990s, these same cars served as the offices of Green Monk film studios, run by my friend Storm Williams, and I had paid them a visit or two back in the day while working on an indie vampire film called The Immortal. At the time, I was enamored enough of the idea of using the cars as the setting for a business to incorporate a reasonable facsimile of them into my story, "The Devil's Eye" (sequel to "The Fugue Devil"; both stories appear in my short story collections, The Last Trumpet and Other Gods). If you've read "The Devil's Eye," you might recall the train cars being the setting for some significant carnage.

Alas, there was no major carnage there today, but I must tell you, they do serve a mean Bloody Mary at Southern Rail. It'll light a happy little fire in you.

Just to be fair, I'll leave you here with this handy fact about the Fugue Devil: If you know about it, it knows about you. And if you see it, it will come for you.

That would be bad, yes.

The Shado Knows

Back in the early 70s, I was hopelessly enamored with the 1969 Century 21 series, UFO (a.k.a. SHADO), produced by Gerry and Sylvia Anderson (Thunderbirds, Fireball XL5, Stingray, Captain Scarlett, Journey to the Far Side of the Sun, Space: 1999). After having seen nothing of it for over three decades, a few years back, I received the entire 26-episode series on DVD from a late and very good friend, and recently, the hankering to jump back into the show has hit me fast and hard. Just a week or so ago, I finished watching the entire run of the original The Prisoner, starring Patrick McGoohan, so I think it's safe to say it whetted my appetite for quirky British TV serials. UFO certainly qualifies on that count. Alternately groovy and grim, the show is about an alien race from deep space that periodically sends its spacecraft to Earth, for reasons unknown—at least at first. Shado (an acronym for Supreme Headquarters Alien Defense Organization) is the entity charged with defending Earth from the alien attacks. Shado boasts an impressive arsenal of weaponry and resources, including a submarine outfitted with a supersonic submersible aircraft (Skydiver), a moon base with a complement of heavily armed interceptors, a satellite equipped for tracking objects from deep space (SID, or Space Intruder Dectector), a variety of armored all-terrain vehicles, and a host of beautiful women wearing miniskirts, purple wigs, and glittering tights. Shado's terrestrial headquarters is located beneath a movie studio ostensibly run by American film producer Ed Straker (Ed Bishop, arguably best known for his minuscule but memorable role as Klaus Hergerscheimer in Diamonds Are Forever); in reality, however, Straker is Shado's CO, and he's a platinum blonde, rather willowy, no-guff kind of tough guy, with a chip on his shoulder. His sidekick, Col. Alec Freeman (George Sewell), is a middle-aged playboy, who enjoys his whiskey and frequently asks beautiful young female scientists out to dinner before asking their names.

For their day, all of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson's movies and serials feature sophisticated special effects, courtesy of Derek Meddings, and the effects work in UFO—along with the scantily clad, very attractive cast—elevate the series from an exercise in pure cheese to an often impressive spectacle. Make no mistake, while the acting is usually wooden and the plots minimal, most episodes feature some startlingly realistic model effects and, plotwise, a handful of surreal, adult-themed twists and turns that keep the drama engaging. Longtime Anderson-series music composer Barry Gray turns in one of his most memorable scores, providing a unique and atmospheric musical identity for the show. The music and visuals for the show's end credits remain to this day absolutely haunting, and for your edification, I'm including a video of the ending sequence below.

If you are a nut for quirky, surreal, visually spectacular science-fiction and you've never checked out UFO, by gummy, you really oughta. Go on and do it.

To the Ancient, Forbidden City of Selma and Back

Gathered my courage and my GPS to make the journey to the forbidden city of Selma, NC, yesterday, to visit the old high priest of Cthulhu himself, Doktor Robert M. Price, and the slightly less venomous Ms. Carol Selby Price. Joining us, Stephen and Elizabeth Stiles and their pair of young 'uns—who about floored me with their extensive knowledge of Toho's daikaiju movies. We watched that rarest of animal, a Toho fantasy flick I'd never seen before, Yamato Takeru (1994), which featured a monstrously cool monster—Orochi, the mythological eight-headed dragon, on which King Ghidorah's design was largely based. Some very decent monster SPFX, for sure, though the movie as a whole didn't always hold up so well, particularly the climactic Hydra-vs.-MechaSamurai battle. Pizza and other goodies were included in the bargain, so it still made Mark a mighty happy old dude.

Stopped off for an even dozen caches along the way, and the same number coming back today. Happily, I managed to snag a few that had eluded me on previous trips, though there was still one in particular that proved frustrating. Eventually, I will conquer that little rat bastard of a hide....

Many thanks to the Prices for their hospitality. Will hope to do it again soon. Next time, I shall endeavor to be more offensive, as I must infer that I failed rather dismally this time. Alas.

Coming Soon: BLUE DEVIL ISLAND From Marietta

Just received a cover proof of Blue Devil Island, which is due from Marietta Publishing as a trade paperback in the next few weeks. Pretty awesome art by M. Wayne Miller, and the whole package looks like it's going to be killer. Will post more details about the release itself ASAP. (Click on the pic to enlarge.)

Here's a teaser for you....

"Autumn 1943: The beginning of the American offensive against the Japanese in the South Pacific. Just west of the Solomon Islands lies a remote, desert island called Conquest, where the U.S. Navy stations a new fighting squadron, led by Lieutenant Commander Drew McLachlan, an ace pilot and veteran of the Battle of Coral Sea.

With his group of air warriors, who call themselves the Blue Devils, McLachlan soars into frequent combat with the Japanese, inflicting serious casualties upon the enemy. However, on the squadron's island home, signs appear that it may not be entirely alone, for in nearby volcanic caves, McLachlan finds evidence of habitation by unknown natives—natives that resemble no known living race, and that may yet exist in the mysterious subterranean catacombs. As the tension on the island mounts, McLachlan is forced to fight on two fronts: against their known enemy, the Japanese, and an unknown, predatory force that leaves mutilated victims as the only evidence of its presence.

As the Solomons campaign enters into its final skirmishes, the Japanese at last turn their attention to Conquest Island. In the final conflict, the Blue Devils find themselves the target of an overwhelming assault by the desperate Imperial Japanese forces—and McLachlan must face the reality that the key to his men’s survival lies deep in the dark and deadly caves of Conquest Island itself."

You can read an excerpt from my website here: Blue Devil Island—Chapter 3 Excerpt

"...An enjoyable World War II adventure with a science-fiction plot twist. Readers nostalgic for the era's war movies and pulp fiction will enjoy the ride."

—Publisher's Weekly

Twisted...But Memorable

In the past, I've posted about a few of my experiences at Camp Cheerio (such as Wampus Cat), and after yesterday's experience with a shotgun-wielding dude, I figured it would be enjoyable to relate one of my most treasured memories from that picturesque and occasionally traumatic venue....

Today's pussyfoot parents would surely have a conniption, and there'd be lawsuits and media outcry and all that bullshit, but if that were the case back in the 60s, I'd have been robbed of an admittedly hellish but ingenious prank played on us kids by a bunch of camp counselors.

It started out on a nature hike, where one of the counselors (whose name I recall was Jeff something) was going to teach us how to build a campfire with a single match and only a bare minimum of flammable materials. Jeff was a little unstable, it seemed, for he had blazing black eyes, yelled a lot, and carried a pistol out on the trail with us. For me, that was a first, and I will admit I was a little scared. When he was instructing us how to gather materials for the fire, he was absolutely adamant that we find twigs of pine. "I want PINE!" he'd roar at us, and he had one poor little wretch in tears (not me—not yet). Eventually, we each had a fire going, and we thought that would please him. Nope; we hadn't thought ahead and gathered bigger wood to keep it going—PINE, of course—and this infuriated him enough to start popping shots off in the air. More tears, and this time, I think I might have leaked a few, since by now I was reasonably certain we were all going home dead.

Well, by the grace of God, we survived the nature hike and returned to the camp. Jeff went on his merry way, much to the relief of our little band of campers. That evening, right about sunset, the group from my cabin (the Navajo cabin, if I recall) went out to the lake for a picnic supper. We had just put our fire-building lessons to good use when, up on the ridge that overlooked the lake, silhouetted against the setting sun, we saw a figure holding what appeared to be a rifle. He yelled down at one of the counselors who was with us, accusing him of stealing his collection of handmade leather belts.

Yep. It was Jeff up there on the hill. "I could tell that guy was crazy," said one of the nearby kids, obviously about ready to wet his drawers. "Crazy!"

Our counselor, a red-headed chap named Mike, I think it was, hollered back that Jeff was mistaken. Nobody had stolen any of his belts; if Jeff had been robbed, he needed to take it up with Murphy Osborne, the camp director. This infuriated Jeff all the more, and he said that Mike had made his last smart remark. He raised his rifle...and BOOM. Damn thing sounded like a cannon going off. All us kids hit the deck. Mike hit the water, for he'd been standing on the dock.

Mike didn't come up, and a pool of red began spreading over the surface of the lake.

Yes, much screaming ensued, and next thing we knew, our other counselor was yelling for us to get in the van, GET IN THE VAN, and we did this with no little haste. He jumped behind the wheel and in seconds had us barreling back toward our cabin—but to get there, we had to pass the ridge from which Jeff had fired, and as we drove by, we saw that crazy mother in the distance aiming his rifle at us....

We were sure we were dead. But no shot came. Soon, we were back safely indoors, but we knew that if Jeff intended to come after us, he could be upon us in no time. Some of us wanted to head for the hills, but our remaining counselor said no, we needed to sit tight because even a crazy fucker like Jeff wouldn't come after us with lots of other people around. We fussed and fidgeted amongst ourselves for a seemingly interminable time. And then...the door burst open.

It was Jeff and Mike, arm in arm, hooting and hollering, embarrassingly pleased with themselves, obviously having set the whole thing up from the get-go, including Jeff's insane behavior on our nature hike.

Yeah, it was scary, and no doubt, that was one pair of twisted and somewhat sadistic rat bastards, but at eight years old, I'd never felt so alive or so close to death. To be sure, today, I'd never pull such a prank on a bunch of unsuspecting kids...well, probably not....but hey. In the end, it left me with a priceless memory from youth, and if nothing else, I learned early on just how I'd react in a traumatic situation.

I can say, with confidence...at least I didn't wet myself.

Chili Con Cache

Geocaching is about my favorite way to spend a Saturday, especially when it's a beautiful day and there's a caching event down the road apiece. Today, it was Tadabailey's Chili Event in Randleman. Lots of cachers, good food, socializing, and fun. Beforehand, I met up with my friend, Bridget (a.k.a. Suntigres), and we made short work of quite a few caches around Randolph County. The photo is from "Where the Water Falls," which was perhaps my favorite of the day. Unless it was the one where a dude with a shotgun came after about a dozen of us. No, really. Just a misunderstanding, as the property where we were caching belongs to Duke Power, but sometimes it's best not to press a point, especially when you don't have a bigger gun. (At least the fellow was not trigger-happy, and to be fair, he was actually quite reasonable; just taking no chances.) But after our experience, that particular cache is now archived, gone, kaput, which is the best thing for it. Or perhaps it was the one where I climbed out onto a bunch of rocks into the middle of the Deep River, only to come up empty-handed. That one will require a return trip....

I'm not even going to mention that my caching partner for the day took a nice little tumble into a creek. If I'd known she'd shed some blood in the process, I wouldn't have laughed. Or at least, not as hard. But she was laughing too, so what can I say...?

Came home with a dozen finds today, and that was most satisfying. Almost as satisfying as the excitement, the good food, and the good company.