It’s early morning. The light in the room is dim. I’m surrounded by familiar spaces and objects, but I can’t recognize where I am. I was dreaming about London. Speaking with a British accent. I missed my bus. I don’t speak with a British anything.

This is what coming back from vacation has done to me. I am disoriented. It feels good to be in my own home, but my brain has not caught up with my internal GPS. There is a part of me that is still adrift down in Florida.

Literally.

I can’t quite shake the feeling that I’m still standing on that pontoon boat in the middle of Lake Kissimmee. When I close my eyes in the shower, the floor moves a little. It bobs and shifts, which makes me bend and sway in order not to fall off the edge.

I got my sea legs under me the first day. I know. Don’t make fun of me. I had lake legs, not real sea legs. The wind was whipping us almost every day. There were small white caps out in the main channel. We’d get set up to fish in the shallows among the lily pads, and then some Bass Tracker dude would come by us at Mach-One. The wash from his wake 50 yards away would make our pontoon dance like Boogie Fever.

Sea legs are important for a couple of reasons. One. When fishing, a real man stands as close to the edge of the boat as possible so that he can place his bobber as far away from the boat as he can reach. Mind you, fishing at the edge of the boat and fishing in an outstretched position is only a difference of about 12 feet. The fish still have the advantage.

Second. Serious fishing requires staying out on the lake for hours and hours. The sun is hot, so one must hydrate often. When one hydrates regularly, one’s bladder stretches to the size of a hot air balloon in about the 4th hour, maybe the third. When this happens, it becomes necessary to stand even closer to the edge of the boat than when fishing. “Hang Ten” is a surfing term that applies in this situation.

Sea legs are extremely useful in that particular moment because, very often, there are gator eyes staring back at you.

Gotta love Florida.

One of the things I brought back from my time on the lake is the Captain’s Log. Every ship’s leader keeps a log on the events of the journey. He writes about the ship’s course, the weather, the crew and their temperament, signs of mutiny.

Ship’s log, 20March: Storms at sea. Remained in port. All gear stowed and tied down.

Ship’s log, 21March: Weather breaks. Crew anxious to get under way. No real signs of mutiny, but they have that look. I suspect they are telling jokes behind my back about my sailing skills.

Here’s the best page from the log. This is true. On the way back to camp one afternoon, first mate Marion tapped me on the shoulder.

“Turn the boat around,” she said.

I wondered if a hat blew out, or maybe there was a picture she wanted to get. I looked to make sure Joe was still in the boat. He was in the back seat.

“Look back over your shoulder. See that boat.” She pointed. “They’re in trouble. Maybe we can help.”

Sure enough. Less than a hundred yards to our rear, off the starboard side, I could see a boat in the grass with his motor cocked up out of the water. (I’ve always wanted to say starboard) I made the turn to the open water on our port side (impressive) and came around.

We could see a young couple in a sleek bass boat. She was paddling by leaning over the edge. He had a long piece of PVC pipe and was pushing against the bottom. The grass wasn’t thick. The water was plenty deep. They couldn’t be stuck in the mud.

We eased up close enough to talk. I shut off our motor.

“You folks look like you could use a little help.”

They’re early 30s. She has sandy blonde hair and looks exhausted. His light brown locks curl out from under a ball cap, dark shades, a three-day stubble on his chin, massive smile on his face.

“Boy, you’re not kidding,” he says.

“You’re not just stuck, are you?”

“Naw. I ran out of gas.” He was apologetic in tone. “I knew I was getting low, and I was trying to make it back before I ran out.”

He came up about half-a-mile short.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “I’ve got a trolling motor.” Long pause. “But I forgot to put my battery on the boat this morning.”

His story is that he and his buddies were fishing on the north side of Brahma Island. The other boat broke down. It wouldn’t start. He was on his way to get more gas so that he could go back and get them, but then he ran out trying to take a shortcut through the grass. Something just didn’t seem right.

“Throw us your line and we’ll tow you down to the dock.”

I eased up. He tossed the line. I got turned around. Marion tied his line to the back of our pontoon.

“Hey, I really appreciate this.”

The wife chimed in. “You have no idea how much we appreciate this.”

“We could’ve made it,” he added, “but this’ll be much easier.”

That’d be a lot of paddling. But he does seem to be in good spirits about the whole stranded-at-sea thing.

He makes us an offer. “Hey, y’all want a beer. I ain’t got no gas, but I’ve got plenty of beer.”

This little piece of newfound information served to explain a lot of things.

Here’s a guy going out on a 35,000-acre lake to fish for the day. He doesn’t have enough gas. And come to find out, he doesn’t want to go back to the dock. He wants to go back to another boat ramp where he has an extra 5 gallon can of gas in his truck.

This raises the question as to why the extra can is in the truck and not in the boat.

This could also explain why there is no battery in the boat for the trolling motor. Trolling motors are for fishing. Batteries take up precious space for beer when fishing is not really the objective.

At least he was happy. I’ll give him that.

We moved down the lake slowly. He’s on his phone. I can hear him telling his buddies the story. He reassures them that he’s coming to get them.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a little bit. Yep! I’ll bring more beer.”

It is good to get back to a normal routine. Fishing is great, but one cannot fish forever. There is grass to mow. Pollen to clean up. Clothes to wash. My workshop misses me.

Still, the taste of Florida lingers.

Which might have something to do with the huge bag of oranges I brought home.