There is a street on No Name Key called Paradise Road, but its not for everybody: those white signs advise strangers not to trespass, and as you value your life on this remote Key you will be smart and choose not to do just that. If instead you are like me, nosey, you'll park your Bonneville across the road and take a walk in the opposite direction, up an unnamed road winding through the scrub, as far as the eye can see, and even further.
My wife and I frequently bring guests to this area to check out the Key deer which lurk around here in relatively large numbers. They like to cross the main road, weirdly enough, at the "Deer Crossing" sign on the street. When we brought Bruce and Celia to this area the deer stayed away so we took a walk instead down this path I had never previously visited. 
It was most pleasant strolling in the sun, mosquito-free and ambling while talking and peering into the undergrowth checking desultorily for elusive deer. After a while my wife cried uncle, her arm in its brace was giving her fits and that left Bruce and I to trudge on like the intrepid explorers we would like to be. As it was Bruce yielded next, anxious to return to the women resting in the car, so we turned back before the trail was done.That left me to return alone after Bruce and Celia departed, shoeless, for Santa Fe.
I returned on a blusterous cold morning, strong wind gusts out of the north whipping icy draughts of air across the bridge connecting No Name to Big Pine Key. The bridge anglers looked like Popsicles in the sunshine and I for one couldn't imagine handling cold wet lures in these conditions. I probably looked barking mad enjoying an icy ride in the brilliant sun but there was a destination for me and it was across from Paradise Road.
It was not, I admit it, as much fun striding through the undergrowth alone as it had been listening to my wife and Celia nattering on, or sharing a thought myself with Bruce as I walked, but it was splendid to be out in the sun, shaded from the wind which rattled the trees and bushes alongside the trail. Some of the rattling was a bit creepy as the thatch palms sounded like they were being stomped on by a large sasquatch rather than just the wind, but I got to see a bunch of yellow butterflies and they weren't spooked by the forest noises and made me feel ashamed. I've always been a little creeped out by the woods, its a manifestation of my sensitive nature. Or something.
There were signs of life- human life at least, as marked in the mud. When the four of us were walking we saw some tread marks in the muddy spots, which appeared to be bicycle treads but I was pretty sure there some fresh marks and they looked like those left by an all terrain vehicle, and they hadn't been there when we had walked en masse.
I might have expected to hear the sound of a motor, or voices or smelled exhaust but the day was unsullied and untrammeled by human intervention- except mine! I walked and I walked, turning corners and forgetting to check how long I'd been gone, but I guesstimated a mile and half walk to the end which came upon me suddenly in the form of a wide open space bathed in sunlight:
There was remarkably little trash along the trail anywhere, which one would like to think indicated a high level of consciousness among hikers on No Name Key, but rather I think, speaks to the low volume of traffic around here.
There were signs of life- human life at least, as marked in the mud. When the four of us were walking we saw some tread marks in the muddy spots, which appeared to be bicycle treads but I was pretty sure there some fresh marks and they looked like those left by an all terrain vehicle, and they hadn't been there when we had walked en masse.I might have expected to hear the sound of a motor, or voices or smelled exhaust but the day was unsullied and untrammeled by human intervention- except mine! I walked and I walked, turning corners and forgetting to check how long I'd been gone, but I guesstimated a mile and half walk to the end which came upon me suddenly in the form of a wide open space bathed in sunlight:There was remarkably little trash along the trail anywhere, which one would like to think indicated a high level of consciousness among hikers on No Name Key, but rather I think, speaks to the low volume of traffic around here.I pressed on across the open space, feeling rather like John Burke and William Willis attempting to reach Australia's northern coast in 1860. I knew it was there and found myself floundering in marshy nastiness as I forced myself into a position to spot Big Spanish Channel. Burke and Willis had a dreadful time on their expedition, finally finding tidal salt water in a most unsatisfactory manner and returned to the interior to their deaths. My discovery was rather more cheerful, perching myself on a discarded refrigerator to take this picture of open water:
On my way out of this entanglement of mud, dead twigs and copious cobwebs I found the elusive Key deer. Actually she found me, and started back into the bushes with a most un-deer like thundering crack of breaking tree limbs. Then she paused to take in some refreshment and I nailed her:
Returning to the theme of human intervention this area was where Alpha 66 trained for the Bay of Pigs and I wondered if they might have been doing their military shenanigans right here. It had always struck me as preposterous to think that the counter revolutionaries could train in these flat lands for an invasion of a mountainous island like Cuba, but funnily enough I was reminded of a spot on the north coast of that island where my wife and I were blown in my sailboat by a storm on a trip from Mexico to Key West. The dogs didn't much enjoy it but I took them for "walks" through the mangroves in areas that looked just like this:
Those prickly nematodes sticking up out of the mud were just like those of the black mangroves in the offshore islands of Cuba. Well, its a tenuous connection but it seemed significant while I was there, in the middle of nowhere in No Name Key.
On my way out of this entanglement of mud, dead twigs and copious cobwebs I found the elusive Key deer. Actually she found me, and started back into the bushes with a most un-deer like thundering crack of breaking tree limbs. Then she paused to take in some refreshment and I nailed her:Returning to the theme of human intervention this area was where Alpha 66 trained for the Bay of Pigs and I wondered if they might have been doing their military shenanigans right here. It had always struck me as preposterous to think that the counter revolutionaries could train in these flat lands for an invasion of a mountainous island like Cuba, but funnily enough I was reminded of a spot on the north coast of that island where my wife and I were blown in my sailboat by a storm on a trip from Mexico to Key West. The dogs didn't much enjoy it but I took them for "walks" through the mangroves in areas that looked just like this:Those prickly nematodes sticking up out of the mud were just like those of the black mangroves in the offshore islands of Cuba. Well, its a tenuous connection but it seemed significant while I was there, in the middle of nowhere in No Name Key. There wasn't much left to do but walk out the way I had come in as there appeared to be no north-bound trails heading back to the main road. Once again I plunged into the shade of the overhead branches and as I walked a strong scent of honeysuckle drifted across the trail. I found clumps of yellow flowers on the trees and as I am not a botanist I have no idea what they might be, but they smelled excellent: 
I found this overhanging branch up a side trail that curved around some trees and pretty much dead ended into a large pool of very stagnant water. I, being neither Burke nor Willis, and not therefore desperate, chose not to attempt to ford it and retreated with my footwear in good order. The walk back to the Bonneville seemed much shorter, but it always does when you are returning on a hitherto unknown path.
It was time for a sit down and a large cup of tea with my novel. Days off are just great.
