I was somewhat foolish in that I chose not to check the weather radar and got out of the house with Cheyenne in the sure and certain hope of drier conditions up the road.
By the time we had reached Big Coppitt, Mile Marker Ten, it was clear I should have stayed home and given Cheyenne a lecture about how she doesn't enjoy walking in the rain. As it was I got that dose of determination that only the most foolish among us get: we had come out into the appalling weather to take a walk, and by God walk was what we were going to do.
However, in light of the fact the Key West traffic is worse than usual in rain, everyone loses what few driving wits they have in thunderstorms, I elected to take the more prudent path, for a change and we pulled off the highway at Mile Marker Five.
It was high time in my estimation that I added to my store of Stock Island street pictures. Which was a good idea but ambient conditions overwhelmed us. The camera fogged and got covered in large cold rain droplets.
Cheyenne, faced with a large puddle of limitless depth refused to jump out of the car until I stepped into it and proved it was no more than four inches deep, and quite cold by the way, and as she tugged and the camera fogged and my hair dripped water onto my glasses I gave up the struggle and as soon as I had picked up after my soggy dog we retreated to the car, drowned rats both.
Well, I thought, I've wasted gas and time and have nothing to show for it. Perhaps it's raining less at the bottom of the island, I hoped in my despair.
I have this theory that marinas express the damp misery of endless rain at it's worst, even in the tropics, and especially if you live on a boat, so I went to my favorite retreat, the Harbour Yacht Club and figured I could drive around and snap representative pictures of the wet from the comfort of the dry front seat of the Fusion.
Of course we ended up getting out of the car and with my camera tucked under my rain jacket, giving me the decrepit appearance of the Hunchback of Nôtre Dame as I leaned forward in an effort to keep the rain off the continually fogging lens, we shuffled round the marina my bedraggled dog and I.
A Suzuki 1100 with wiring problems sat in the rain with no dignity at all as it's headlamp dangled and wires sprouted from the most unlikely places.
Lee Way is a nautical boat name, appropriate perhaps, as it describes a boat's drift downwind which can be an annoying feature of a fat boat made wide and shallow to be comfortable but leaving it helpless when the wind blows toward land, which sailors call a lee shore. My apologies but it is a complicated language and trying to explain the pun of the boat name is rather silly of me. Better that than Fore Play or Breaking Wind which some drunken wannabe sailors consider to be suitable names for their boats.
A great bumper sticker, and new to me. Not that solar panels are much more than a nice pun on land around here.
Being a good neighbor is critical to a happy life when one keeps a boat communally in a marina. Dead fish don't belong where other people might put their possessions later.
Coconuts isn't a bad name if you like brown boats. I've seen reviews of this bulky steel trawler and it is a remarkable boat, shallow draft, filled with comfortable living and economical to move if you can afford to have it built in the first place.
Cheyenne got into the spirit of the rainy walk and dragged me along the walkway. I remember when this was wilderness and Peninsular Marine let boaters anchor in the lagoon and tie stern lines to the shore along here as a cheaper alternative to their slips in the main marina. It seemed a good idea to me.
I usually watch planes come in to land feeling glad I am where I am, but an Air Trans flight to somewhere sunny and dry was looking good about now. It's been feeling too much like Seattle lately around here.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad