Howdy shellers,

I just got back from the grand tour, the shelling grand tour and oooooooooh,
did I score.

I owe thanks to Claire Beckman, Ron Nixon and Phyllis Sharp for hosting me
and showing me the ropes of predawn Sanibel shelling. If you are ever on a
shell trip with them, you will have a blast. But be warned that when
snorkeling, Ron is a positive demon when it comes to finding tritons.

Let me interrupt for a moment to offer an apology to the people at the
Bailey-Matthews Shell Museum. It was I who left the nose and fingerprints all
over the Xenophora display. Sorry about the steamed glass. I couldn't help
myself.

I now have whelks aplenty and those spiffy little striped tulips and a
virtual rainbow of fighting conchs. There were scads of them and I had
trouble passing them by, which wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that
those little strombs are heavy.

Shelling on Sanibel is weather dependent and the weather was apparently way
too good for the pickin' to be primo, but I wasn't complaining. As I was
heading back to beautiful but chilly Flagstaff, I was just as happy to enjoy
leisurely strolls on balmy beaches and to soak up the sunrise.

I am not usually so mellow about shelling. I have to admit I'm usually
frantic. But I had spent part of the previous week on Eleuthera and had come
back with shells enough to scratch the shell itch. Folks who know me, know
I'm a Xenophora freak, no, a Xeno PIG actually. And I found the Xeno
graveyard. Not all were stellar, but I found enough that I think I have the
start of a growth series. Lace murex galore, tons of tulips, all manner of
bivalves, jewel boxes and egg cockles of dazzling color, a lovely flame
helmet, a tritons trumpet with terrifically clear markings, a
banded-butterscotch hawkwing conch, smooth bonnets and I don't know what all
else. I shipped several boxes home to Arizona once I got to Florida and won't
know exactly what I have for a while.

But if you are thinking of Eleuthera in January, let me warn you, the water
on back side of the island is COLD. Snorkeling in Tarpum bay was barely
tolerable. After an hour I would start to shiver, and it would not stop until
after I had been out for quite a while. Mind you, I was wearing neoprene; 2
ml ankle to wrist with a 2 ml vest over it, booties under my fins and a
tropical hood. Even so; brrrrrrrrr. Plan to beachcomb or bring a 5 ml suit.
The deeper water on the East coast was more tolerable.

But the most amazing part of my trip was my visit to the Cordy's and the
Astronaut Trail Shell Club show. Bobby and Jim were kind enough to put me up
in their home. They really made me feel welcome. (I'd post the recipe for
Bobbi's "Mexican Meatball Soup", if I could think of a way of making it
remotely on-topic.) Their shell room is  a museum. There are shells in this
world that I could not have imagined in a million years. The diversity of
Volutes was a revelation! And I never would have guessed that California's
chilly waters would have such marvelous shells. I was especially taken with
the wavy-lined topshells; gloriously hefty things encrusted with no-nonsense
periostracums. The whorls had edges like crimped pastry and, golly, they must
have the bestest, grooviest operculums in all the world.

Jim went to a lot of trouble to show me so much, pulling out books when
necessary to answer my questions. I fear I was exposed to move than I was
able to absorb during my visit. But he sure gave me material to get my gray
matter working.

And if this all wasn't enough, I attended my first shell show. I know there
are other shell clubs and other shell shows, but I can't help but suspect
I've seen the shell world at its best. I have been in clubs in my day, and
run them, so I know the usual dynamics. The Astronaut Trail Shell Club is
extremely unusual. These people really pull together and everybody works. The
motivation is a mutual passion for their hobby and everyone genuinely likes
each other. I've seen clubs at their gnarliest where people seemed to be
motivated by ego or some strange idea about social advancement. None of that
at this club.

The reason I am going on about this, my fellow shellers, is that the result
of this good energy and teamwork is an absolutely crackerjack shell show. If
you live in Florida and haven't gotten around to attending a shell show,
especially "The Space Coast Shell Festival", you a missing something way
cool. Do it. If you live in that general area of Florida, I can't urge you
strongly enough to join this club. Heck, I just joined and I live in
Flagstaff, Arizona. I'll be lucky to get in for one meeting a year, but I
have already met people who have enriched my life. If you are reading this
and are lucky enough to live on the East coast of Florida, what are you
waiting for?

And the show? The effort involved in planning and staging it is most
impressive. But the end result of the work of both the hosting club and the
exhibitors puts many a museum to shame. I spent a good part of the show
wandering around in a daze. There was so much to see; fabulous scientific
exhibits, gorgeous crafts (I used to be a little snot about shellcraft. Then
I got whacked over the head - not literally - by the sailor's valentines.)
The dealers' tables were a dangerous drain on my pocketbook. There marvelous
woodcarvings and whimsical sea beans. And for us lucky exhibitors, a
lunchtime spread that undid the good of three months of harsh dieting. Did i
mention the silent auction? Fun, fun, fun! I know I was only marginally
helpful at this last show. I keep wandering about in a shell buzz. I resolve
to be more disciplined next time.

I learned loads. Mostly I learned how little I know and how much more I want
to learn. I'm determined to start keeping better data slips, to save those
operculums, to try learn not just Latin names, but authors, to read, read,
read.

A big thank you to the Astronaut Trail Shell Club. And to everybody else, a
hint, even if you have to fly in, go to their show next year. It's SOOOOOO
worth it.

Ellen