A person I know who shall remain nameless told me of a trip taken on all terrain vehicles through the back country wilderness of Cudjoe Key. He recommended a few weeks ago that I try it on my Bonneville, I might enjoy the exploration as much as he had. I figured I had procrastinated long enough and it was time to get going before the rains come back. Which they don't seem to be in any hurry to do, this "rainy" season. Clouds were forming over Cudjoe Key when I arrived in the middle of a sweltering hot afternoon:
There was no shelter for the Bonneville so I had to leave it out in the sun, poor thing, while I took off on foot. The signs were faded and illegible but I knew they indicated this as being a National Wildlife area so I wasn't going to drive the Bonneville down the trail:
The path through the mangroves started out in typical style, firm and dry underfoot lined by the pale green leaves of black and white mangroves stretching off to the horizon:
Well, I thought to myself, this won't take long. I strode along in the sun congratulating myself for taking some time on a work day afternoon to knock off this pending exploration. I had sunscreen on my nose and ears and though I lacked water I wasn't going to be gone long as clearly there wasn't much to see. I saw some grass at one point along the trail and it looked unusually pastoral for this part of the world:
I poked around and started to get an inkling that perhaps I might like this place more than I had at first thought. There was a car lurking in the bushes. It had been there so long it was rusted though and it lay sprawling under a mangrove tree that was actually growing through it, impaling it, leaving it with doors flung open and its bodywork brown with corrosion barely visible:
I couldn't help but wonder what it's story was; taken out and dumped ignominiously. Around the corner from the carcass of the car was a gate that screamed Mel Brooks to me:
It sat there bravely guarding its space which was open on both ends. Who knows perhaps it locked the wrecked car inside, those many years ago.
And as if I needed further proof that this was a bridle path I came across these in the crusty dry clay left behind from a rainless winter:
I think this place would be a positive marsh after a downpour, and underneath the mangroves I could spot puddles of water here and there and vast areas of more dried clay:
And then around a corner in the path I found a puddle of epic proportions, deep dark and mysterious. As lakes go it was small, and really outside of the Keys it would probably not rate as a pond, but this is Cudjoe Key so I call it a lagoon of what is, in all likelihood fresh water. I wasn't about to taste it though: 
And I could hear some pretty heavy rustling from the clump of mangroves on the other side of the water. It could have been the light west breeze shuffling the dead leaves...or could it have been...an alligator? Nah, I don't think there's enough water to support a dinosaur out here. Besides the prey would be pretty sparse wouldn't it? Key deer at the drinking hole, birds perhaps and the odd motorcyclist sweating by as a pedestrian in his sneakers...I kept moving briskly.
This giant piece of rubbish was not representative of the trail as a whole because of human trash there really wasn't much at all. I saw a couple of pieces of plywood (?) in the mangroves and very worn tin cans far off the trail but that was about all. It was pristine. Except for signs of vehicular traffic in the mud:
And clearly the ATV riders had some fun kicking up spray into the mangroves as they went by:
By now I could discern marine engines racing, deep throated, up the channel alongside Cudjoe to the east and the breeze seemed stronger the closer I walked to the water, which was still unseen through the mangroves. Except when it wasn't! A finger of salt water pushed through from the middle of the island a perfect canal penetrating deep into the interior. I needed a kayak:
With the increasing moisture I took a right turn away from the water but the trail started to fade immediately:
And so I called it a day. On a map I measured the walk at just over a mile and a half, and there does appear to be the possibility, depending on water levels, of connecting by trail to the Spain Boulevard area off Blimp Road. That would explain the evidence of horses as there are stables on that part of Cudjoe.
This was a beautiful spot, cooled by the breeze, quiet and far from anything very much except for Nature's handiwork, everywhere visible:
And so I turned and started on the return journey down the long winding trail of hard packed dirt and mangroves:
I took a break, in the sun lacking shade, and in so doing I observed that which I had been taught in class. Because mangroves flourish around salt water some people believe, erroneously, that they survive on saltwater, but only in a manner of speaking. They absorb the saltwater, but have adapted to expel the salt through their leaves, which die, turn yellow and fall off taking the salt with them. These white mangroves had salt coating their leaves:
I can't remember the ins and outs of all the botanical details, they never stick in my brain, but there it was, salt on the leaves. At this overheated stage I could have used some potable fresh water as the path through the bushes was snug and breeze free.
In winter it is very pleasant to be out on a brisk 65 degree (17 Celsius) day with a strong north wind blowing overhead and to find oneself snug among the leaves and branches, listening to the wind ravish the crackling palm fronds and mangrove shrubs. In the heat of summer it is rather less so. But in the distance the baking summer sun illuminated a few tin roofs reassuring me that the civilization of Cudjoe Key was to hand:
Home, home to air conditioning, ice cold water and shade. Exploration is all very well, but in summer its best enjoyed in moderation, especially when you have a night's work ahead of you.
