Sammy Creek

It's good to get away sometimes, and there is another road trip planned for July but when I get home I am reminded how easy it is to get off the beaten path in the Keys. Visitors beat the beaten path down Highway One, the ones that drive, and go straight to Old Town Key West. In summer families take school vacations here at home and swim and fish in some of the more popular spots but Rusty and I can always get away pretty easily.

I remember when Sammy Creek was an abandoned house before the family gave the land to the state for a park. A nice thing they did too. Irma wrecked the place but its back now ready to be ravaged by the next hurricane.

It was a test of my camera's zoom lense, a  bit distorted but the boat was a long way out:

American Shoals Lighthouse on the horizon marking the edge of the reef:

It was a hot afternoon but this guy was focused on his fishing under the blazing sun:

There was no one else around so a plane overhead caught my eye. I was quite surprised I managed to get a clear picture. 

Rusty loves walking these dead end streets. Until he doesn't and then he stops, waiots for me and turns around.

We walked a mile total away and  back to the park and I was sweating, Rusty was panting and yet he refused water. Strange dog.

Afternoon walk done.

Water Scenes

I was at the end of the Old Bahia Honda Bridge Thursday morning alone with my dog and camera.

Fishing By Bridge And Boat

Channel Five Bridge is one of two 70-foot tall bridges in the Keys and it happens to provide great shade if you choose to walk the old Flagler Bridge or fish from there.

I was encouraged to see them  keeping the new bridge up to snuff in whatever way they do that kind of thing: 

Fishing, and I am not an angler so I'm theorizing here, requires quite a bit of equipment. He smiled cheerfully from behind his mound of stuff at young Rusty whom I leashed as we walked by, mostly because I remember what a hound Cheyenne was when bait  fish were lying around. The old Labrador was after them like a pig on truffles. Rusty is less food driven but I figure it's better to be cautious.

 It was  a glorious day.

 The temperatures were below 80 degrees, the wind was light but cool, seas were flat.

 Rusty enjoyed himself too I am happy to report, as we strolled all the way to the end of the fishing pier.

 This lot looked terribly disappointed:

 The inevitable exercise enthusiasts:

We stopped and looked and ambled and took pictures:

We had most of the bridge to ourselves. Imagine driving a car down here in 1981 and meeting your neighbor head on. It was a slow tense drive to Miami in those days. 

 These solid cement arches are well over a hundred years old and as strong as ever. Impressive:

Not Dawn Fish Chasing

I've heard it said that anglers are supposed to be up at the crack of dawn to indulge their passion for fish killing.


Not everyone apparently feels the compulsion to arise with the sun.


But then slowly the boats start to appear.


Very slowly some of them, duffing around the launch ramp.


A camp ground packed with sleeping fish killers.


Early birds catch the worm, they say.


If they don't catch the worm they at least zoom like they are ready to make up for lost time.


You can't chase fish without last minute supplies, beer chips and ice are critical supplies.


Launching is stressful with everyone standing around ready to see the launch vehicle...launched.


And then it's off to see the fish.


Remember: one lifejacket per person.


And carry something really interesting in the bilge of the boat.


And try not to bash into other keen anglers out on the water.


Follow the yellow brick road.


And homeward wends the weary angler, loaded with fish while the sleepyheads go out to pick up the left overs.


Why chase fish when you could so easily be riding a motorcycle?





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Lobster Mini Chaos

It is a profoundly peculiar institution on the face of it. They call it "Lobster Mini Season" and it sees a sudden influx of people and boats into these fragile little islands.


By land they come and on the water they buzz about like predators inflamed by desire for the kill.


The Overseas Highway is suddenly clogged with long lines of cars, RVs and boats on trailers.


Supermarkets promise to open early and stay open late to accommodate the hunter-gatherers as they arrive dehydrated, burned lobster red by the sun and untrained in the finer arts of diving and surviving. Commerce rules.


Neighbors put their homes, their rental units and their vacation vehicles to good use, doing favors for friends who suddenly are desperate to visit the Florida Keys or making money accommodating lobster hunters in town for Wednesday and Thursday's bloodbath.


Boats are prepared for the running of the lobster for two short days this week, because mini season is just Wednesday and Thursday and hunters will be out before sunrise readying themselves for the hunt. They had better know what they are doing as the lobsters exact their own revenge. Every year one or more divers die in their pursuit of lobster. Unfit, untrained and over enthusiastic they stress their hearts or their equipment or their common sense, and they do die, some of them. You'd be amazed at the lengths sedentary people go to kill lobster.


It is a peculiar Florida tradition that dictates that non commercial anglers may get in the water and by dint of lung capacity and fingers alone may hunt for lobster who are just coming into season. Commercial fishermen have to wait a few more days until the official commercial season begins and they put down their traps in every single nook and cranny of these shallow waters, until the season ends next Spring.


There are a few rules and the Fish and Wildlife officers try to enforce em as much as possible, size and catch limits, no females with eggs, no hunting within 300 feet of shore, no hunting therefore in residential canals, no scuba, no spear guns, no running each other down, no drunk boating and so on and so forth. Most of them violated during the two days at least somewhere by some stupid human or another.


I overheard two locals discussing mini season at the Big Pine Winn Dixie and they were lamenting the crowds, the bad behavior, the lack of respect for our environment and so forth, common laments all of them. But the truth is merchants make tons of money at this slow time of year and commercial fishermen be damned if they lose some of their catch and the waters get trampled in the rush to kill lobsters by amateurs.


It's the usual Keys story, we live by tourism and sometimes tourism bites us back and we have to shut up and put up. How much it worth to preserve our coral reefs and wildlife? Not much apparently, not when it comes to the tourist dollar.


By Friday we will be returning to our summer somnolence and soon, next month in fact, students go back to school and the true quiet season begins for a few short blessed weeks. I can't wait!

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