Like all side roads in the Lower Keys it's a dead end and it takes determination to drive it to the end.
For me the bridge at Sammy Creek is a place to let Rusty loose to follow his nose while I play with my camera.
I imagine the crowds at Mallory Square at about this hour.
I recently finished re-reading Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. It's a bit of a stretch but the rapidly flowing tidal creek put me in mind of the river in that atmospheric story.
I was photographing the lacework created by the leafless trees against the darkening sky when a car pulled up. The previous camper drove away without stopping to talk but this young coupe wanted to know what I was doing. Amusing the dog. He pointed out the bats to his slack jawed girlfriend, I nodded solemnly. I was suddenly a part player in his local knowledge play.
We talked, I deferred, to his recitation about the bat tower now flat on its back on the other side of the island. I swatted mosquitoes. Rusty stopped leaping around his new friends (they encouraged him) and sta waiting for me to do something. I opened the car door.