I published an essay a while back which I titled "Bridge to Nowhere" chronicling a short walk I took on the northern side of Summerland Key where I found a bridge at the end of the path which had been shorn of it's on ramp and as I stood there in my shoes and socks I wondered where the bridge went. The picture above looks back at the southern tip of the bridge and the end of the land where I had to stop last visit. I had returned to the spot armed with a pair of rubber clogs and the nerve to wade into the water and grapple with the end of the bridge.
The tide was coming back in pretty fast and I had this moment of wondering how cold the water would be, it reminded me of a cold mountain stream gurgling over the rocks. Naturally it wasn't cold at all, so the next obstacle was to haul myself up onto the wooden bridge. I threw my backpack onto the bridge to keep the camera safe while I dealt with the bridge.
It turned out to be surprisingly easy, there were nice solid bolts sticking out of the vertical post. almost like steps, so up I scrambled, trying not to worry about how i was going to get back down later. It wasn't real high, just six feet maybe, but I felt rather middle aged scrambling about like a child. Rather sooner than I expected I was up on the wooden bridge and walking to the opposite end.
It was a glorious day in the Lower Keys, bright sunshine, sparkling waters and a fresh easterly breeze. Indeed the wind was refreshing though not out of the north, almost like the first cold front of the winter, even though temperatures were in the upper 80's. The bridge itself was surprisingly solid, despite years of being abandoned in the sun and rain and storms. The planks were bolted together and the galvanized bolts were still solid. It was a fine piece of engineering, and now entirely wasted as the other end was also removed:
From on top of the bridge I could see a trail snaking away into the bushes:
It was, even for me, the work of a moment to leap off the end of the bridge and start walking. I was curious to see what this elaborate bridge had been built for and why there were the remains of a road at the northern end. The old road took but one turn past some bushes and immediately it began to deteriorate:
I was wondering if the road might lead to the remains of a home, at least the foundations or something. I have seen abandoned homes in the Bahamas that had collapsed under the weight of time and in the old days they used to build homes in these latitudes with cement foundations and coral rock chimneys (Crab Key near Georgetown comes to mind). The bridge fascinated me because it seemed so elaborate merely to connect a homestead which in the old days would have relied on a boat to get around anyway. I kind of figured there had to be some kind of cottage industry up here to justify a bridge this well built....
The trail snaked around a fair bit and from time to time I could see a peak of water off to the west, or some mysteriously uprooted trees to the east:
But of human construction there was no sign on any side of the trail. Which probably shouldn't be too surprising as the shrubbery was pretty thick:
I wish I could say that it was a pleasant walk but despite the sun, the breeze and the invigorating blue sky and puffy white clouds it was a really clod hopping clump through the muck.
We are in the closing weeks of rainy season and everything that isn't asphalted is wallowing in water, and as result my rubber clogs were squeaking and squelching like crazy through all this water. Plus I was carrying my camera in my hand ready for any exciting thing to appear, so there was that to worry about too, as the camera is not waterproof.
The only interesting thing I spotted were a few faint footprints in the mud so others had come here before me, possibly walking a dog, though as I'm not Natty Bumpo I can't say for sure. I also found a few strategically placed planks to bridge the deepest water puddles. I was covered in gray clay specks at this point and I surrendered. Back I went and I confess I was glad enough to see the bridge reappear through the greenery:
I got back on the bridge easily enough and spent a good bit of time standing on the warm wooden planks letting the clay dry on my legs and feet and other places where wet mud isn't supposed to reach. I played with the camera checking out the manual settings and trying to capture the sparkle of the sun on the water:
Not very well it turned out, looking down Niles Channel towards Highway One. I think I was just dicking around to avoid facing the descent at the end of the bridge. I am well enough convinced I did a good job of poking around in the underbrush to be fairly sure there is nothing too obvious that I missed on the island though you could probably hide an Iraqi army in the spiky shrubbery. I shan't be back I think. The getting off of the bridge was a piece of cake, and I didn't tear my shorts or fall in the water or commit any of my usual pratfalls. Expedition successfully concluded I'd say.
