ENDLESS SKY REMNANT LICENSE ARCHIVE
ENDLESS SKY REMNANT LICENSE LICENSE

At one time, the pass was a natural channel, as much as thirty feet deep in some places, that cut across the width of the island and separated Padre from Mustang Island, which runs north from this point 23 miles to Port Aransas. The access road led to the beach just below Corpus Christi Pass. I headed off north, to access Road 3, an old haunt. Here, near the tip of the island, the tidal flats were overgrown with condominiums, and the island road was lined with sales offices, convenience stores, and windswept shell boutiques.

ENDLESS SKY REMNANT LICENSE LICENSE

I had a Sears tent designed by the great mountaineer Sir Edmund Hillary, a few cans of Sweet Sue Chicken ’n Dumplings, four bottles of Gatorade on ice, and a fishing license that I had sworn out at a local 7-Eleven. Since I was going to journey down the length of the island, over dicey shell beaches and stretches of soft sand that could ingest a car up to its headlights, I had rented a four-wheel-drive Blazer. My circumstances that April day were pretty good. It is, in fact, a sandbank, half desert and half mosquito-ridden grass flats, a wayward spit of land that, depending on your circumstances, could be either a purgatory or a paradise. She got her head blown off, though.”Įven so, “island” seems too grand a term for the place. I was able to cure them all but one, and I married her. They’d send me their toughest patients, the ones they couldn’t help. I’ve worked with the finest psychiatrists in the world. “I’m a doctor too,” Half-Acre was saying. “I was here just after spring break and a few weeks before the summer tourist season, and so South Padre Island had a downtime feel-not appealingly logy like a genuine coastal town, just a shade vacant and remote.” Ahead, where the road touched down again, was Padre Island. Its surface was marked by oyster reefs and spoil islands, and to the south the mild, milky-blue water bled into the horizon.

At the top of the new bridge I let my eyes drift from the road and looked out over the Laguna Madre-the Mother Lagoon. Up ahead was the Intracoastal Canal, and soaring above it was the elegant span that replaced the swing bridges I had known as a kid. I wanted to ask Half-Acre if he had ever gone across on the old causeway, whose wooden pilings were still visible in the shallow water, but he was busy talking about Russian submarines, coded messages, and something about a Walther handgun that he had stolen from Hitler. Behind the bird a board sailor was hotdogging in the shallows, riding with his feet on the rim of the board and pointing the sail ahead of him, clew first, like a weapon. Still do, in fact.” He looked out the window as a great blue heron that was standing at the water’s edge spread its wings, executed a deep curtsy, and shoved itself aloft. “I worked for Army intelligence during the war. “They call me Half-Acre,” he said as we started across the laguna. His face was badly sunburned, and he wore an old corduroy sport coat and a cap with gold braid on the bill.

ENDLESS SKY REMNANT LICENSE ARCHIVE

Read more here about our archive digitization project.Īn old man who was hanging out at a bait stand in Flour Bluff asked me if I was driving to Padre and if I would give him a ride across the causeway. We have left it as it was originally published, without updating, to maintain a clear historical record. This story is from Texas Monthly ’s archives.

Endless sky remnant license