Katrina blows them all away

By Chris Sweigart

When ranking the top-five U.S. natural disasters of all-time, Katrina wins by a wide margin. I can’t think of another disaster that had as many far-reaching effects as this hurricane. It’s not necessarily the death toll or reconstruction costs, but the effect it had on the lives of those who live in New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The area hasn’t been the same since.
Here’s my list:

1) Katrina—This 2005 Gulf hurricane cost an estimated $84 billion, left thousands homeless (many still are), and opened up a can of worms and confusion and distrust among our government response teams and the population. FEMA is still scratching its heads over trailers and ice. Storm preparedness was botched all the way from the City of New Orleans government all the way to Washington.

2. Galveston Flood—It’s called the Galveston Flood, but waters around this coastal Texas city didn’t rise in 1900 because of heavy rains or dams breaking—it was a full-scale hurricane with massive storm surge. Flooding and storm surge are two different things to me. Flooding seems gradual. Storm surge is powerful. Regardless, about 10,000 people perished.

3. Mount St. Helen’s—Its 1980 eruption killed only 57 in Washington state, but when this mountain blew its top, ash was spread over 11 states. Much of the area around the mountain was destroyed by fast-moving mudslides. The landscape hasn’t been the same since.

4. Andrew—The insurance business in Florida hasn’t been the same since this 1992 hurricane swept south of Miami and destroyed Homestead. You would think a nuclear weapon was detonated here after Andrew’s arrival. Andrew, caused $26.5 billion in damages and is the second-most destructive hurricane in U.S. history.

5. San Francisco earthquake—An estimated 5,000 were killed when the Bay Area suffered a massive earthquake in 1906. Some recorded this ground-shaker with an 8.3 on the Richter scale. Another quake struck the area in 1989 with similar force, killing 57. Thousands, however, were injured.

Honorable mentions: The Johnstown flood, tornado outbreaks (pick one), the 1928 Okeechobee hurricane, and 1980 heat wave.

Next week’s top five: Best television shows.

Tales of moonlit fishing from a salty dog

By Chris Sweigart

This week’s archived column comes from 2006

Moonlight dances and sparkles across the choppy water. In the distance, an orange channel marker flashes on, then off, on, then off. The salty breeze whips against your face. You squint to protect your eyes, breathe deeply to fill your lungs.

Your boat’s hull thumps against the relentless tide. The vessel bobs up and down, over and over again - a harmonious symmetry choreographed by Mother Nature.

Senses and worries are swept away, slowly flowing out to sea, carried by a current that cleanses the soul.

Here there is no war.

There is no hate.

There is no terror.

There is no pain.

There is no corruption.

There is no stack of unpaid bills.

There are no screaming kids.

There are no flaming liberals.

There are no neo-conservatives.

There are no finger-pointing hypocrites from either side.

There are no crooked politicians or slanted talk show hosts.

No televisions. No cell phones. No grass to cut. No obligations. No expectations.

Just a rod, a reel, a boat, the world and its sweet, albeit salty, surroundings.

It’s where the Halifax River collides with the mouth of Spruce Creek, just a few stone’s skips south of Daytona Beach, Fla. Where salt and fresh water blend. Where mangroves flourish half under the water, half above of it. Where pelicans glide above the river’s surface, neatly tucked one behind the other. Where oyster beds rise at low tide, then slowly disappear as the tide flows in. Where Ponce Inlet, the Atlantic Ocean and the rest of the world lie to the east.

It’s one of my favorite places. Every now and then, I close my eyes and go fishing there again.

On one side of the boat, you can cast a line close to the bank where schools of mangrove snapper await to nibble your live bait. Mangrove snapper aren’t big, but what they lack in size, they make up for in taste. You’re pretty much guaranteed a nibble with each cast. Hooking the little devils is another story.

On the other side, you can cast toward the channel, where dozens of larger options hide at the bottom. Bites are fewer and far between, but if you’ve got patience, hard-fighting reds, sheepshead and snook are ripe for the taking.

Which are you? Do you aim low in life and go for the easy catch, or aim high and go for something worth mounting?

An industrious man will fish from both sides of the boat.

The great thing about fish, once you get past the smelly part, is they taste pretty darn good when you fry ’em up and they won’t cuss you out for sticking hooks in their mouths.

Night fishing is best. You can cast sunset to sunrise without a bite and still go home fulfilled.

The sun sets beyond Rose Bay, where the creek’s path grows narrow, palm trees are outlined in the twilight, sandpipers hunt upon the island shores and pesky little no-see-um sand fleas peck at your skin. The sky morphs from orange in the west, to peach, to violet blue, then to black in the east, where the first star of the evening shines bright above the coast.

You hear lonesome boats putter nearby, wait for their wake to gently rock your boat, then listen as the man-made waves softly crash against the shore. From time to time, mullet splash out of, then back into, the water. Mullet are a lot like flying fish, except they have no wings, so they must fall back into the water. At least they’re ambitious.

Winds blow the scattered clouds away and the moon peeks out. Its reflection waltzes again across the choppy water. You gaze at its wonder and inhale the night air.

It’s a salty, serene slice of heaven.

Joe McAdory is editorial page editor for the Opelika-Auburn News. He can be reached at 749-6271 ext. 2549 or

I now pronounce you ... way too early

By Chris Sweigart

Ever been the first person to show up at a wedding? Bet you weren’t as early as one guy. Check this story out:

LONDON, England (Reuters)—Teacher Dave Barclay flew thousands of miles across the Atlantic to Wales to attend his friend’s wedding, only to discover he was a year early.

Barclay, 34, was told about the wedding earlier in the year and assumed it was to take place in 2007.

It was only when he had flown into Cardiff from Toronto, Canada, and rang the bridegroom seeking details of the venue that he discovered the wedding was in 2008.

“I am a year early—yeah, my mates are loving it, aren’t they,“ he told BBC Radio Wales.

The groom, Dave Best, had emailed his friend at the start of the year.

“He just said July the 6th and I assumed it was this year because if you tell the guy July 6th, they’re going to think it’s this year,“ Barclay said.

Barclay, who has been teaching in Toronto for three years spent £500 ($1,015) on his premature flight.

My car is possessed

By Chris Sweigart

OK shade tree mechanics, got a curveball for ya.

My Chevy Impala will not crank after the engine has been running a while. It must rest no less than 15 minutes (it took 90 minutes Monday) before she finally gets going. This is a problem that has gotten chronic and frustrating. Stops for gas are made without turning the motor off. Anyone suggestions?

Mechanics in two states have gotten under the hood and remain bedeviled. Lots of guesses. So far, none have panned out. It wasn’t the fuel filter. It wasn’t some fuel system modulator, whatever that is. It wasn’t the fuel pressure regulator. Whatever the problem is—it’s fuel related. The car runs fine once it’s cranked.

Two remaining candidates to solve this mystery include the ignition switch, which I’m told has something to do with igniting the fuel pump, and the fuel pump itself. I can’t afford to keep replacing auto parts, especially the ones that are not faulty. Please send donations.

Daytona: Speed, politics and lucky numbers

By Chris Sweigart

DAYTONA BEACH, Fla.—After watching Jamie McMurray score a photo-finish victory in Saturday night’s Pepsi 400 from my traditional perch in the DePalma grandstand (view from above, but please excuse my cheap cellphone camera photo) at Daytona International Speedway, I’ll offer a few observations of my night at the speedway:

Second place is first loser: I’m glad Kyle Busch didn’t win. Never cared for his attitude. Seems like a primadona to me. For a driver who leads a lot of laps, he hasn’t won a lot of races. He will, in time, and I hope he matures along the way.

Campaign trip: Republican presidential candidate Rudy Giuliani used the NASCAR weekend to do a little campaigning at the speedway, addressing the crowd of 150,000-plus before the race. Daytona has seen its share of politicians over the years—all Republicans to my recollection. Ronald Reagan visited the Pepsi Firecracker 400 in 1984 to watch Richard Petty score his historic 200th victory. He beat Walter Mondale in that year’s election. President George Bush, Sr., rode in the pace car at the beginning of the 1992 Pepsi 400. He was defeated in the election that fall by Bill Clinton. In 2004, President George W. Bush served as grand marshal, commanding the drivers to start their engines. He defeated Democratic challenger John Kerry that fall.

Lucky Sevens: Too bad Clint Bowyer didn’t win Saturday night. The date was 07-07-07. Bowyer drives the No. 07 Chevrolet and started the race in the No. 7 pit stall. He led a good portion of the first half—through lap 77. Ignition problems cost him for the lead and he was not a factor for the win in the final lap. So where did Bowyer finish? Seventh, of course.

Stewing Stewart: Tony Stewart clipped teammate Denny Hamlin as the duo rode first and second on lap 14, sending both drivers into the wall and out of contention. It was clear that Stewart’s car smacked the rear of Hamlin’s, igniting the incident. But Stewart chastised his teammate on national television—calling him out claiming Hamlin caused the wreck for “checking up.“ In other words, Hamlin wasn’t fast enough for Stewart’s likings. Poor tact, Tony. Perhaps one day Stewart will fess up and take responsibilty for something. Was the crash Hamlin’s fault? Maybe. But Stewart should have a bit more respect for his teammate.

Hasta la vista from Daytona.