54b's Day 6 - Whatcha Gonna Do With A Trunken Sailor
Posted: Mon Jul 13, 2009 7:32 pm
Hey now STJ Sports Fans,
Until Monday Night Football returns, you'll have to settle for Monday Night Trip Reports.
Are you ready for some oddball?
Here we go...hope you enjoy,
54b
Friday, June 11 - Day 6 - Whatcha Gonna Do With A Trunken Sailor
7:47am - Meditating in the shadows of a picturesque 18th Century windmill on the crest of Peace Hill as the warm Caribbean trade winds tickle our noses with the smell of fleeting frangipani and whisper sweet reminders in our ears of the precious impermanence of life…
…is what my wife desperately wishes we were doing right now.
Unfortunately she married Lieutenant Spaz and if you’ve suffered through any or all of trip diaries one thru five, you know full well that I don’t mediate in windmills, I slay them like Don Quixote on acid.
So naturally, instead of enjoying breakfast while experiencing all the solitude and tranquility Peace Hill has to offer, I conscripted my wife into using its tactical vantage point overlooking Trunk Bay to plan our assault on St. John’s most famous attraction…
54b: “Trunk Bay. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.”
Mrs. 54b: “What…oh please no, it’s too early in the morning for movie quotes, especially Star Wars. Can’t we just relax and enjoy life for once?”
54b: “Every man dies, not every man really limes.”
Mrs. 54b: (rolling her eyes) “Not when they go on vacation with Braveheart they don’t.”
54b: “Have rum will travel reads the card of a man, a wife without ardor on a Virgin Island…”
Mrs. 54b: Oh I’m excited to be here all right, just not at wartime.
54b: (marching in place) “This is my snorkel, these are my fins, this is for breathin’, this is for…swims?”
Mrs. 54b: Very nice, Sweetheart, now can we just finish breakfast in peace?
54b: (Sniffing) Well I do love the smell of Napalm in the morning.
Mrs. 54b: “Well that explains why you added jalapeños to your Grotto Sunrise Surprise.”
54b: “Mount up, it’s time to go storm the beach.”
Mrs. 54b: “God help me.”
54b: “And may the Force be with you.”
8:21am – Bypassing the entrance to Trunk without paying the $4 cover charge thanks to my celebrity status…actually, there was no one at the gate, I think the bouncers slept in.
So we proceeded down to the lifeguard stand on the beach, but Mr. Trunk Baywatch didn’t have change for a $20 or as Mrs. 54b noted, room for much else in his uniform (the Hoff would have been proud). Regardless, he didn’t really care that we hadn’t paid and much like a loan from Countrywide, we got some serious a chunk of premium beachfront property all to ourselves for no money down. You think we bit off more beach than we could crew? No, never-never.
9:01am – Snorkeling around the cay at Trunk Bay and coming face to jaws with a four to five foot barracuda give or take a fang. It was just hovering above a rock and quite honestly I thought it was a fake at first, perhaps an attraction on the underwater snorkel trail. It sounds ridiculous now, but that’s what happens when you infuse the most important meal of the day with liquid courage. Hooray Beer!
So I swam a bit closer and almost turned Trunk into Brown Bay when the barracuda opened and closed its mouth repeatedly as if to say, “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Are these jagged teeth as sharp as they look?’ Being as I’m a barracuda, one of the fiercest looking fish in the world, and I could probably bite your hand clean off (or at least break the skin and cause a very bad rash), you’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”
As I’d find out later from the lifeguard, “it” was most likely “Charlie,” and my run-in was hardly unique. If you too would like to get up close and personal with the business end of “Dirty Charlie,” I think you can find him out just beyond the second buoy (the red one if memory serves) on the left side of the cay.
Obviously, the park officials would have relocated the. Tooth-scary long ago if he posed any real threat, but I can promise you this much, Charlie ain’t no tuna and he don’t want to be part of the petting zoo either.
10:30ish – Rush hour at Trunk Bay…one second you have the beach to yourself and the next, it’s Spring Break on the Jersey Shore. Don’t these people know that I called dibs on Trunk during a very audible and incoherent public address announcement at The Beach Bar lat night?
Oh well, we decided to takeoff since the plethora of prepubescent pirates surrounding us didn’t seem the least bit empathetic towards my hangover and deemed my invitation to play the “Quiet Game” as an act of war.
Nothing against kids or noise, but after a few days on St. John, you get spoiled (and intoxicated) knowing you can almost always find another postcard beach that’s practically empty and devoid of “distractions.” Plus, my wife and I felt guilty because the little ones reminded us of our own precious 4-year old pirate who was back in Texas with the grandparents. But he’ll be with us next time and mark my words Trunk Bay, like MacArthur, I shall return.
10:55am – Eavesdropping on the guided tour that was circling the ruins at the Annaberg Plantation just as the guide was giving the group a solemn idea of what a day in the life of a slave was like here…it’s been said many times, but it really is hard to believe such a beautiful place was home to such atrocities.
And it’s not like we were completely clueless about St. John’s sordid past, but I don’t think you really absorb it until you actually walk in their footsteps and feel the heat of the sun on your neck while imagining yourself naked, working nearly 18 hours a day, six days a week, with no relief and no hope.
Of course that didn’t prevent me from sticking my flip-flop in my mouth and whispering to my wife, “They didn’t land on Pelican Rock, Pelican Rock landed on them.” Fortunately, the frown on my wife’s face said it all and we walked the rest of the ruins in reverent silence as if we were visiting a cemetery.
Even if it’s inconvenient, I’ll always choose to learn the truth over remaining ignorant, but it’s hard not to feel guilty when you’re walking a crime scene in a bathing suit. Annaberg is a must stop on St. John and this was not meant to be an emotional curve ball…just a tip for those of you like me who don’t always remember to leave their “happy-go-drunky” mindset in the glove compartment.
And speaking of appeasing my conscious…
We never did pay the Trunk Bay tax, but we did put $10 in the lock box at Annaberg, which apparently works as admission for both places. Hey, when it comes to rules, I play a “bend but don’t break” defense.
11:43am – Ode to Skinny Legs’ Cheeseburger in Paradise (Jimmy Buffett style)…
Tried to avoid my carnivorous habits
Made it nearly seven long days
Losin’ weight hiking Reef - eatin’ Cliff Bars that taste like “sheet”
Snork-lin’ round Waterlemon and soakin’ up rays
But at night I’d have these eatable dreams
About an East End infamous treat
Not sashimi, mahi-mahi, or fish ‘n frites
But a bunch of bleu cheese on a big hunk of meat
Cheeseburger at Skinny Legs
Heaven on earth with a cold Red Stripe
It’s served on island time, so try to be nice
Skinny Legs’ cheeseburger in paradise
Heard about the Cruz Bay vegan crowd
They eat the same thing again and again
Goat cheese salad they say can raise the dead
It reminds me of the menu at the stuffy Westin
Times have changed for tourists these days
When on St. John I get what I need
Not just fritters or painkillers or mahi-mahi
But that Coral Bay creation on which I feed
Cheeseburger at Skinny Legs
Medium rare with cheddar’d be nice
Heaven on earth with a cold Red Stripe
Skinny Legs’ cheeseburger in paradise
I like mine with all of the fixins
Sittin’ under flip-flops, danglin’ in the wind
Surfboard menu waxing specials on beer
Well tell me Pam Gaffin which way do I veer for my…
Cheeseburger at Skinny Legs
I don’t care if the waitress isn’t nice
It’s worth drivin’ blind on Centerline
To eat a cheeseburger in paradise
Skinny Legs’ cheeseburger in paradise
I’m just a cheeseburger in paradise
Do yourself a flavor, next time you’re Coral Bay way, stop into Skinny Legs and order a “54Burger” (naming rights pending) – ask for a Skinny’s cheeseburger cooked medium with a slice of pepper jack and a slice of cheddar completely melted. Ask for all the fixins, a couple of avocado slices if they’ve got’em, and a side of mayo with black pepper mixed into it (you’ll do that yourself as the waitress will be ready to put you on the grill by this point).
And I almost forgot the most important part; spend the morning working up an appetite by hiking or swimming or gallivanting around on a beach. If you really want the “best cheeseburger in the world,” you gotta earn it. Trust me, I know a guy that knows karate.
3:11pm – Spurring off the Peace Hill trail and hiking down to Denis Bay, another lesser-known (or at least lesser visited) St. John treasure. No doubt the locals who frequent it would like to keep it that way and probably consider talking about it tantamount to revealing how a magic trick works, but what’s the point of a trip report if you don’t give readers more than they can find in the National Park Welcome Brochure?
Plus, I’ve written over 10,000 words thus far and have yet to contribute anything more to the forum than frivolity. So if you’re a St. John fan who has never tried Denis or have convinced yourself that a loose cannon like Gerald Singer is trying to lead you Off The Beaten Cliff, here’s the 411 on Denis Beach…
1) Don’t let all the “it’s off-limits and the trail is not maintained” talk dissuade you…the trailhead for Denis is like 20 paces from the Peace Hill Parking Lot and as for the trail itself, let’s just say Hansel and Gretel will get fat long before they get lost on it.
2) You can hike it in flip-flops, but sandals or tennis shoes would be better…some steepness along the way, but there are tons of trees that line the trail that double as handrails.
3) It takes what seemed like 5 minutes to hike (4-1/2 wind aided).
4) The entrance to the beach spits you out on the far left side near Perkins Cay which looks close enough to hock a loogie on…not recommended if the wind is out of the North.
5) The bay is very shallow and the reef runs along the beach. So you’ll want to walk to the right until you get passed the rock scramble and hit the soft sand. The “private” area seems to be all the way at the right side of the beach behind about 8 or 9 piers jutting out into the water that may have supported a dock years ago.
6) You don’t have to be a parrotfish to snorkel it, just walk down the beach towards the piers and enter the water as soon as you see the reef turn from rocks into sand. Swim out 30 or 40 yards and turn left (looking towards Perkins Cay) where the reef drops off into deeper water. As you approach Perkins Cay, it does get pretty shallow, especially at low-tide, but don’t panic, just swim back out into deeper water or until you find your comfort zone, happy place, or a dinghy-dong who isn’t looking where he’s going.
7) A few other “titbits” - There are some neat ruins (or suspiciously stacked rocks) just beyond the beach in the forest. Don’t know if they’re also on what is considered private property, but you can see them through the trees from the sand.
There was also a woman sunbathing topless on the beach in front of the private property and since Melanie Griffith’s family used to own it, I figured it warranted swimming down there to investigate. My wife, however, said, “that would be rude and put your snorkel away.” My first 311 involving a female all week and the Admiral puts me into dry-dock.
So there you go, my contribution to the St. John Forum. Even if just one person reads this and gets arrested visiting Denis Beach, then it will have been worth it. My fellow forumites, I say again, ask not what the forum can do for you, but what you can do for the forum.
I feel powerful yet vulnerable right now…hold me but don’t judge me.
7:36pm – Sitting couples-style (hip to hip) at Rhumb Lines downing sparkling mojitos like Capris Suns after scarfing some grimace Pupu Platter proportions. They’re really tasty but a tip for those of you who are considering the Szechuan Noodles, when they say, “spicy,” they mean “better coat your tongue in candle wax” spicy. My eyes started watering and I singed my napkin trying to blow my nose. Regardless, we really enjoyed Rhumb Lines and will go there again…also recommend the Shrimp & Corn Fritters and Mrs. 54b swears by Scott’s Sesame-Encrusted Tuna.
9:34pm – Grooving at The Beach Bar to the melodic tones of the very provocative lead singer of “The Ish” while watching in amazement as a local carpenter periodically regained consciousness just long enough to restart his unsolicited toast for two newlyweds who were sitting across the bar and had just arrived from getting hitched on Hawksnest Beach. After consuming three or four Lime N Coconuts, I wasn’t exactly Wally Cleaver either, but I’d estimate this dude’s blood alcohol level at somewhere between a point-two-six and Cooter Brown.
On behalf of every other man at The Beach Bar that night, I want to thank Mr. Toasty for setting the bar so low and making the rest of us look like superior breeding stock to our respective spouses, girlfriends, and/or potential hook-ups. And I’d like to honor him now by asking everyone reading this to raise your glasses as I recite Mr. Toasty’s last barely coherent soliloquy just before the bartender asked him to leave…
“Hey…yous guys got married…Con-(yirp)-gratulations! I was married once…best six months of my life. Try to beat that!”
Here-here.
Coming Sooner or latter…Last Full Day On STJ – Once More Unto The Beach, Dear Friends, Once More
Until Monday Night Football returns, you'll have to settle for Monday Night Trip Reports.
Are you ready for some oddball?
Here we go...hope you enjoy,
54b
Friday, June 11 - Day 6 - Whatcha Gonna Do With A Trunken Sailor
7:47am - Meditating in the shadows of a picturesque 18th Century windmill on the crest of Peace Hill as the warm Caribbean trade winds tickle our noses with the smell of fleeting frangipani and whisper sweet reminders in our ears of the precious impermanence of life…
…is what my wife desperately wishes we were doing right now.
Unfortunately she married Lieutenant Spaz and if you’ve suffered through any or all of trip diaries one thru five, you know full well that I don’t mediate in windmills, I slay them like Don Quixote on acid.
So naturally, instead of enjoying breakfast while experiencing all the solitude and tranquility Peace Hill has to offer, I conscripted my wife into using its tactical vantage point overlooking Trunk Bay to plan our assault on St. John’s most famous attraction…
54b: “Trunk Bay. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.”
Mrs. 54b: “What…oh please no, it’s too early in the morning for movie quotes, especially Star Wars. Can’t we just relax and enjoy life for once?”
54b: “Every man dies, not every man really limes.”
Mrs. 54b: (rolling her eyes) “Not when they go on vacation with Braveheart they don’t.”
54b: “Have rum will travel reads the card of a man, a wife without ardor on a Virgin Island…”
Mrs. 54b: Oh I’m excited to be here all right, just not at wartime.
54b: (marching in place) “This is my snorkel, these are my fins, this is for breathin’, this is for…swims?”
Mrs. 54b: Very nice, Sweetheart, now can we just finish breakfast in peace?
54b: (Sniffing) Well I do love the smell of Napalm in the morning.
Mrs. 54b: “Well that explains why you added jalapeños to your Grotto Sunrise Surprise.”
54b: “Mount up, it’s time to go storm the beach.”
Mrs. 54b: “God help me.”
54b: “And may the Force be with you.”
8:21am – Bypassing the entrance to Trunk without paying the $4 cover charge thanks to my celebrity status…actually, there was no one at the gate, I think the bouncers slept in.
So we proceeded down to the lifeguard stand on the beach, but Mr. Trunk Baywatch didn’t have change for a $20 or as Mrs. 54b noted, room for much else in his uniform (the Hoff would have been proud). Regardless, he didn’t really care that we hadn’t paid and much like a loan from Countrywide, we got some serious a chunk of premium beachfront property all to ourselves for no money down. You think we bit off more beach than we could crew? No, never-never.
9:01am – Snorkeling around the cay at Trunk Bay and coming face to jaws with a four to five foot barracuda give or take a fang. It was just hovering above a rock and quite honestly I thought it was a fake at first, perhaps an attraction on the underwater snorkel trail. It sounds ridiculous now, but that’s what happens when you infuse the most important meal of the day with liquid courage. Hooray Beer!
So I swam a bit closer and almost turned Trunk into Brown Bay when the barracuda opened and closed its mouth repeatedly as if to say, “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Are these jagged teeth as sharp as they look?’ Being as I’m a barracuda, one of the fiercest looking fish in the world, and I could probably bite your hand clean off (or at least break the skin and cause a very bad rash), you’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”
As I’d find out later from the lifeguard, “it” was most likely “Charlie,” and my run-in was hardly unique. If you too would like to get up close and personal with the business end of “Dirty Charlie,” I think you can find him out just beyond the second buoy (the red one if memory serves) on the left side of the cay.
Obviously, the park officials would have relocated the. Tooth-scary long ago if he posed any real threat, but I can promise you this much, Charlie ain’t no tuna and he don’t want to be part of the petting zoo either.
10:30ish – Rush hour at Trunk Bay…one second you have the beach to yourself and the next, it’s Spring Break on the Jersey Shore. Don’t these people know that I called dibs on Trunk during a very audible and incoherent public address announcement at The Beach Bar lat night?
Oh well, we decided to takeoff since the plethora of prepubescent pirates surrounding us didn’t seem the least bit empathetic towards my hangover and deemed my invitation to play the “Quiet Game” as an act of war.
Nothing against kids or noise, but after a few days on St. John, you get spoiled (and intoxicated) knowing you can almost always find another postcard beach that’s practically empty and devoid of “distractions.” Plus, my wife and I felt guilty because the little ones reminded us of our own precious 4-year old pirate who was back in Texas with the grandparents. But he’ll be with us next time and mark my words Trunk Bay, like MacArthur, I shall return.
10:55am – Eavesdropping on the guided tour that was circling the ruins at the Annaberg Plantation just as the guide was giving the group a solemn idea of what a day in the life of a slave was like here…it’s been said many times, but it really is hard to believe such a beautiful place was home to such atrocities.
And it’s not like we were completely clueless about St. John’s sordid past, but I don’t think you really absorb it until you actually walk in their footsteps and feel the heat of the sun on your neck while imagining yourself naked, working nearly 18 hours a day, six days a week, with no relief and no hope.
Of course that didn’t prevent me from sticking my flip-flop in my mouth and whispering to my wife, “They didn’t land on Pelican Rock, Pelican Rock landed on them.” Fortunately, the frown on my wife’s face said it all and we walked the rest of the ruins in reverent silence as if we were visiting a cemetery.
Even if it’s inconvenient, I’ll always choose to learn the truth over remaining ignorant, but it’s hard not to feel guilty when you’re walking a crime scene in a bathing suit. Annaberg is a must stop on St. John and this was not meant to be an emotional curve ball…just a tip for those of you like me who don’t always remember to leave their “happy-go-drunky” mindset in the glove compartment.
And speaking of appeasing my conscious…
We never did pay the Trunk Bay tax, but we did put $10 in the lock box at Annaberg, which apparently works as admission for both places. Hey, when it comes to rules, I play a “bend but don’t break” defense.
11:43am – Ode to Skinny Legs’ Cheeseburger in Paradise (Jimmy Buffett style)…
Tried to avoid my carnivorous habits
Made it nearly seven long days
Losin’ weight hiking Reef - eatin’ Cliff Bars that taste like “sheet”
Snork-lin’ round Waterlemon and soakin’ up rays
But at night I’d have these eatable dreams
About an East End infamous treat
Not sashimi, mahi-mahi, or fish ‘n frites
But a bunch of bleu cheese on a big hunk of meat
Cheeseburger at Skinny Legs
Heaven on earth with a cold Red Stripe
It’s served on island time, so try to be nice
Skinny Legs’ cheeseburger in paradise
Heard about the Cruz Bay vegan crowd
They eat the same thing again and again
Goat cheese salad they say can raise the dead
It reminds me of the menu at the stuffy Westin
Times have changed for tourists these days
When on St. John I get what I need
Not just fritters or painkillers or mahi-mahi
But that Coral Bay creation on which I feed
Cheeseburger at Skinny Legs
Medium rare with cheddar’d be nice
Heaven on earth with a cold Red Stripe
Skinny Legs’ cheeseburger in paradise
I like mine with all of the fixins
Sittin’ under flip-flops, danglin’ in the wind
Surfboard menu waxing specials on beer
Well tell me Pam Gaffin which way do I veer for my…
Cheeseburger at Skinny Legs
I don’t care if the waitress isn’t nice
It’s worth drivin’ blind on Centerline
To eat a cheeseburger in paradise
Skinny Legs’ cheeseburger in paradise
I’m just a cheeseburger in paradise
Do yourself a flavor, next time you’re Coral Bay way, stop into Skinny Legs and order a “54Burger” (naming rights pending) – ask for a Skinny’s cheeseburger cooked medium with a slice of pepper jack and a slice of cheddar completely melted. Ask for all the fixins, a couple of avocado slices if they’ve got’em, and a side of mayo with black pepper mixed into it (you’ll do that yourself as the waitress will be ready to put you on the grill by this point).
And I almost forgot the most important part; spend the morning working up an appetite by hiking or swimming or gallivanting around on a beach. If you really want the “best cheeseburger in the world,” you gotta earn it. Trust me, I know a guy that knows karate.
3:11pm – Spurring off the Peace Hill trail and hiking down to Denis Bay, another lesser-known (or at least lesser visited) St. John treasure. No doubt the locals who frequent it would like to keep it that way and probably consider talking about it tantamount to revealing how a magic trick works, but what’s the point of a trip report if you don’t give readers more than they can find in the National Park Welcome Brochure?
Plus, I’ve written over 10,000 words thus far and have yet to contribute anything more to the forum than frivolity. So if you’re a St. John fan who has never tried Denis or have convinced yourself that a loose cannon like Gerald Singer is trying to lead you Off The Beaten Cliff, here’s the 411 on Denis Beach…
1) Don’t let all the “it’s off-limits and the trail is not maintained” talk dissuade you…the trailhead for Denis is like 20 paces from the Peace Hill Parking Lot and as for the trail itself, let’s just say Hansel and Gretel will get fat long before they get lost on it.
2) You can hike it in flip-flops, but sandals or tennis shoes would be better…some steepness along the way, but there are tons of trees that line the trail that double as handrails.
3) It takes what seemed like 5 minutes to hike (4-1/2 wind aided).
4) The entrance to the beach spits you out on the far left side near Perkins Cay which looks close enough to hock a loogie on…not recommended if the wind is out of the North.
5) The bay is very shallow and the reef runs along the beach. So you’ll want to walk to the right until you get passed the rock scramble and hit the soft sand. The “private” area seems to be all the way at the right side of the beach behind about 8 or 9 piers jutting out into the water that may have supported a dock years ago.
6) You don’t have to be a parrotfish to snorkel it, just walk down the beach towards the piers and enter the water as soon as you see the reef turn from rocks into sand. Swim out 30 or 40 yards and turn left (looking towards Perkins Cay) where the reef drops off into deeper water. As you approach Perkins Cay, it does get pretty shallow, especially at low-tide, but don’t panic, just swim back out into deeper water or until you find your comfort zone, happy place, or a dinghy-dong who isn’t looking where he’s going.
7) A few other “titbits” - There are some neat ruins (or suspiciously stacked rocks) just beyond the beach in the forest. Don’t know if they’re also on what is considered private property, but you can see them through the trees from the sand.
There was also a woman sunbathing topless on the beach in front of the private property and since Melanie Griffith’s family used to own it, I figured it warranted swimming down there to investigate. My wife, however, said, “that would be rude and put your snorkel away.” My first 311 involving a female all week and the Admiral puts me into dry-dock.
So there you go, my contribution to the St. John Forum. Even if just one person reads this and gets arrested visiting Denis Beach, then it will have been worth it. My fellow forumites, I say again, ask not what the forum can do for you, but what you can do for the forum.
I feel powerful yet vulnerable right now…hold me but don’t judge me.
7:36pm – Sitting couples-style (hip to hip) at Rhumb Lines downing sparkling mojitos like Capris Suns after scarfing some grimace Pupu Platter proportions. They’re really tasty but a tip for those of you who are considering the Szechuan Noodles, when they say, “spicy,” they mean “better coat your tongue in candle wax” spicy. My eyes started watering and I singed my napkin trying to blow my nose. Regardless, we really enjoyed Rhumb Lines and will go there again…also recommend the Shrimp & Corn Fritters and Mrs. 54b swears by Scott’s Sesame-Encrusted Tuna.
9:34pm – Grooving at The Beach Bar to the melodic tones of the very provocative lead singer of “The Ish” while watching in amazement as a local carpenter periodically regained consciousness just long enough to restart his unsolicited toast for two newlyweds who were sitting across the bar and had just arrived from getting hitched on Hawksnest Beach. After consuming three or four Lime N Coconuts, I wasn’t exactly Wally Cleaver either, but I’d estimate this dude’s blood alcohol level at somewhere between a point-two-six and Cooter Brown.
On behalf of every other man at The Beach Bar that night, I want to thank Mr. Toasty for setting the bar so low and making the rest of us look like superior breeding stock to our respective spouses, girlfriends, and/or potential hook-ups. And I’d like to honor him now by asking everyone reading this to raise your glasses as I recite Mr. Toasty’s last barely coherent soliloquy just before the bartender asked him to leave…
“Hey…yous guys got married…Con-(yirp)-gratulations! I was married once…best six months of my life. Try to beat that!”
Here-here.
Coming Sooner or latter…Last Full Day On STJ – Once More Unto The Beach, Dear Friends, Once More
