- Working at KSC
- NASA Old Headquarters building on KSC destroyed.
- Flintknapping points
- Vampires of Kennedy Space Center and the O&C
- Demons of Kennedy Space Center
- Demons of Kennedy Space Center, corpus callosotomy
- Ghosts of Kennedy Space Center, End of Spiders
- Dreams of Kennedy Space Center, lovers and pyramids.
- Witches of Kennedy Space Center
- Cave Bears of Kennedy Space Center
- Aliens of Kennedy Space Center, uninvited guests
- Remembering Kennedy Space Center
- Lake 33 Killing Relic
The Space Center No Motor Zone,
a fishing tale.
I guess you never know what's in the river.......
~
Jasmine
At the Cocoa Village Art Fair, my booth displayed an assortment of flint knives and arrowheads—a result of my flintknapping hobby. Usually, only eccentric individuals and artifact collectors entered my booth, but I greatly enjoyed conversing with both: our topics ranged from dragons and prehistoric humans to the space program.
To my surprise, a strikingly beautiful woman entered the booth. She resembled the women depicted in the 3,000-year-old Minoan frescoes on Crete, as if she had stepped out of antiquity. Was she Greek, Turkish, or Cypriot? Her curly, jet-black hair and tan Mediterranean skin were perfectly complemented by a breezy summer dress.
“How are you today?” I asked as she examined the flint knives.
“I just moved into town and am looking for something to decorate my room,” she replied. “I’ll take this one.”
“That is jasper from Utah, nice blade and handle” I explained, then shamelessly promoted my Florida history novel. “You should check out my book.”
She smiled. “I’m a writer and published author.”
“That is so cool, I said. “How many books?
“I’ve published forty books.”
“Oh,” I stammered. “Then you’re a real writer-my work will pale in comparison.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “You’re already ahead of ninety-five percent of people, since most don’t get as far as publishing.”
“What do you write?” I asked.
“Fantasy and dystopian futures.”
“Do you have a website?” I pulled out my phone. “I’d love to buy one of your books.”
She introduced herself as Jasmine and I fumbled trying to type her name into my phone.
“Here let me,” and with a quick flourish, she typed her author’s webpage into my phone. I scrolled through her titles. Dragons, futuristic cities, epic romances—I said nothing, but inside I was impressed.
On her author’s bio page I saw her in a judo match.
“Judo?” I smiled, “I did Judo in the Air Force, well until beer got in the way.”
Was that a flicker of a smile on Jasmine’s face?”
“You’re a fantasy writer,” I mused, lifting a flint knife from the display stand. “This one I named the Phoenix—lighterknot pine, bird-dragon head, opal inserts. I want you to have it; you’ll do it justice. You might even make it a magic focal point of your next book.”
I wrapped the blade carefully.
“On your author’s bio, there was a photo of you kayaking, “Would you be interested in paddling in the No-Motor Zone?” I asked.
“What’s that?” she inquired.
“It’s at the space center manatee preserve, 10,000 acres of paddle and sail only. The best fishing in Florida. I can get you in as my guest.”
Jasmine hesitated. “Are there alligators?”
“Not that many,” I lied.
She agreed immediately.
“Excellent! Next weekend on the Banana River?”
“Bananas? Are there bananas on the Banana River?”
“Not anymore,” I replied with a grin.
The following week, we arrived at Kennedy Space Center.
Jasmine flinched at the sight of machine-gun toting guards at the gate.
“Use it all for your next fantasy story,” I whispered, trying to calm her nerves.
We drove past the new NASA headquarters, “I call that the Norman Castle,” and pointed to the Space Station Processing Facility. “That’s where I work. Yes it is fantasy.”
“How beautiful,” she murmured as we reached the river.
At the NASA Causeway, I unloaded our kayaks. Jasmine peered at the sand and shells along the shoreline. “Are those alligator tracks?” she asked.
“I doubt it,” I replied, it was not a very big alligator. “You already know how to kayak, so I won’t bore you with instructions.”
“Oh, I’m pretty good,” she said confidently.
“Excellent. But first—remember the stingray shuffle.”
“What?” she froze.
“They bury themselves in the sand. Shuffle your feet so you don’t step on one. They flee pretty quick.”
“I, you didn’t tell me about that!” she protested.
“Think of it as research for your next book,” I said, and we stepped into the blue-green water. She shuffled her feet, clearly uneasy.
“We will paddle to the fishing spots and get out of the boats and wade. Best fishing in shallow water.”
Later, we spotted a three-foot-wide stingray. I poked it, and it glided off gracefully.
We paddled toward a freshwater creek feeding into the brackish lagoon. “This spot has a ton of snook,” I said. “We’ll start there, then try for sea trout in the open lagoon.”
“Beautiful fish,” she agreed as we slipped out of the kayaks.
“Cast over there, by the creek inlet,” I instructed.
“Something just bit me,” Jasmine said, jerking her rod.
“Crabs pinch sometimes,” I offered.
“No, this is different,” she yelped, and then shrieked as a huge, cockroach-like bug crawled out of the water and raced up her leg. She swatted at it, her body shaking in pure terror.
“What is that?” she exclaimed, her voice quavering as she frantically swatted at it. The creature flew a couple of feet before dissapearing into the blue water.
”Where have you taken me?” she demanded, her voice shaking.
“What the heck?” I said.
Jasmine screamed again as the cockroach-like bug re-emerged from the water and clambered up her thigh.
On impulse I grabbed the thing and slammed it against the kayak hull, only to feel a searing, agonizing pain shoot through my finger.
“Ow! Ow! Ow! It bit me!” I yelled, dropping the insect on the kayak. Blood welled around the bite, and a wave of pain washed over me. My knees buckled, my vision fuzzed, and for a moment the world went black.
Jasmine stared in horror. “What is that?” she whispered, looking the insect.
I squeezed my bleeding finger, teeth gritted against the pain. “A giant water beetle,” I gasped. “They’re freshwater predators, they inject a poison that decomposes flesh as they feed. They eat fish and tadpoles.”
My arm trembled. Each heartbeat sent fresh waves of pain to my bleeding finger.
“A giant water beetle?” Jasmine echoed, her voice trembling nearly as much as she was.
I managed a weak laugh between clenched teeth. “In summer, hundreds of these bettles hit the VAB at night and crawl around at daylight.”
“Where have you brought me?” she asked, panic and anger flickering across her face.
I squeezed my finger to stem the bleeding. “Sorry. They’re…kind of cool.”
“Cool? It did not climb on you!” she snapped.
I closed my eyes against the pain, then reopened them with a grin. “We’re not done fishing, not until you land a sea trout. But use pliers—those fangs are no joke.”
“Fangs?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“It’s a pretty good fight,” I said. “Perfect for your next fantasy book.”
She glanced at me uncertainly. “Maybe…as long as there aren’t any more of those things on me.”
I smiled weakly hoping we did not snag a mantis shrimp.
We paddled towards the deeper water, and I could hear a large animal coughing.
“It is a manatee with a virus or cold.”
“I want to see a manatee,” said Jasmine. She smiled for the first time since seeing the river.
I shook my head in frustration. A manatee was a manatee. But sea trout were fun.
We paddled to near where the water boiled and a manatee came to the surface close to Jasmine’s kayak. A big walrus-looking manatee. I heard it cough, it was the sick manatee.
“We are not allowed to get this close,” I said.
The manatee stuck its nose out of the water, inhaled, and then coughed again. It coughed a foot-long snot rope as thick as a banana across Jasmine’s face and chest!
She glared at me because I could not stop laughing and we paddled back to my truck and loaded the kayaks.
“Are you interested in a beer, dinner?” I asked, wincing as I bumped my beetle bite wound.
Jasmine looked at me.
They are pretty cool and do end up at the base of the VAB.
Return Home from the Kennedy Space Center No Motor Zone, a fishing story.
My next book!! "Surviving Kennedy Space Center"
on Amazon.
Peek behind the curtains of the Shuttle and Artemis programs.
(Second to newest) My newest book, available on Amazon
(paperback and e-book)
For pet lovers around the globe, "It's a Matter of Luck" is a collection of heart warming stories of horse rescues from the slaughterhouse.
Available on Amazon
It's a Matter of Luck: Inspirational, Heartfelt Stories of Horses Given a Second Chance.
by Kim Ryba & Lina T. Lindgren
Warning: This book may cause your eyes to water in a good way. (speaking from experience after reading it)
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Author Bruce Ryba at Kennedy Space Center Launch Pad 39B & Artemis 1. "We are going to the Moon!"
Author's discussion (that's me) on You Tube of a book review on Amazon
For the video versions of information, please check out my YouTube Channel (Turkeys, Flintknapping, dive stories etc.)
My fictional series/stories on Florida history:
Freedoms Quest (book one)
Struggle for the northern frontier and other lost tales of old Florida.
Available on Amazon
Desperate times call for bold action.
In a desperate move to retain Florida and protect the treasure-laden galleons on their dangerous return journey to Europe, the King of Spain issues a royal decree offering refuge to all English slaves who escape Florida and pick up a musket to defend the coquina walls of Saint Augustine.
In another bold gamble, the King offers refuge to the dissatisfied Indian nations of the southeast who will take up arms against the English.
Clans, traumatized by war and disease, cross the Spanish Frontier to settle the cattle-rich land and burned missions of Florida.
Follow the descendants of the conquistador Louis Castillo in remote Spanish Florida, a wild and swept by diseases, hurricanes, and northern invasions.
Book Two: End of Empire Available on Amazon!