It was a gruesome thing for me, to work four hours in dispatch, get home at three am, get up at 5:30 and after a cup of tea and a bowl of gruel to pedal down to the Looe Key Dive center at the end of my street where I paid $125 for the privilege of a ringside seat at the event of the week. Gruesome it was and I was nodding off as the Kokomo Cat II pulled away from the dock at 7:11 am sharp:
We breezed merrily past my house slumbering on the edge of the canal, my bed still warm and ready to welcome me back... 
...but I was on my way, inexorably to see the Vandenberg get sunk, with twenty one alcohol starved passengers and four crew: 
The bloody marys were handed out minutes after we left the dock before the sun was properly in the sky: 
Had I started in with the alcohol at that ungodly hour I'd have been asleep before we arrived at the Vandenberg's anchorage at 8:45 am.
The sixty-five year old ship sat facing into the southeast breeze, alone and rather forlorn like a leper in quarantine surrounded by a growing armada of spectator boats...
...kept at bay by anxious law enforcement, lest we get infected by the explosives on board the old ship, or get sucked in by the undertow of her death throes.
She was fussed over before the final fatal explosive injection by a couple of tugs shuffling back and forth and puffing self important black clouds eerily prescient of the final snorts of deadly smoke that accompanied the explosions that would sink her:
One old guy, already liberally greased at nine in the morning, asked me if I was excited, a question that put me unaccountably in mind of Jack riepe, but I was a) more curious than excited about the sinking, and b) I do not have riepe's ability to carry off a social gaffe with aplomb and I would probably just have ended up offending the drunk old geezer had i mentioned the thoughts his question put in mind. I looked around for things to photograph and came across a flock of spectator boats that had grown around us while we ate, waiting for the execution of the death sentence:
Then there were the notables and state lawmakers riding around on the Ft Myers Ferry, the Express Cat, which was allowed to pass exceptionally close to the dying ship in the waiting period:
And there was the Coastguard running around keeping people organized:
While the state Fish and Wildlife commission had a helicopter keeping journalists, aloft in their own helicopters, at a safe distance: 
The last humans stepped off the Vandenberg at 9:50am and the ship stood to anchor like the condemned prisoner alone on the gurney awaiting the moment. Then farce intervened as a sea turtle or two plodded across the stage interrupting the drama, but finally all was squared away.
A horn sounded and a red flare went up five minutes before the end, followed by a final red warning flare at one minute, then there was a loud dull thud and smoke billowed from the bow of the ship:
Followed closely by a puff of smoke from the smokestack at the stern.
It was like one final death struggle from the now engine-less ship, that last defiant puff from the engine room, and the hull, drilled out with holes all along its length, described with a certain lack of dignity as resembling a Swiss cheese, started to take on water.
The first explosion came at 10:24, the last bubble burst on the surface by 10:27 and then there was nothing left to look at but a placid sea, all returned to normal, after the completion of a text book sinking. It was my Memorial Day, watching the ship that transported troops in 1944 (then named General Taylor) disappear out of sight. On the Kokomo Cat II the party got underway with renewed ferocity, the open bar sloshing margaritas right and left, along with wine and beer for the aging libertines kept safe by the cheerful crew: 
And then home. I didn't know what to expect when we went out to watch the ship sink, and surrounded by noise and levity it was hard to put together two thoughts, which may have been the point. I dropped off a twenty dollar tip in the jar; the crew deserved it. For my part I was, in the final analysis glad to have been there. 
I have no idea if this sinking was worth the conservative estimate of nine million dollars it cost to carry out, but I'd like to think that long after I'm dead and people are still diving on the wreck, if they wonder what it was like the day it sank, I would be able to tell them.
It was 82 degrees (33C) and hazy with a light south breeze with a very slight swell ruffling the surface. The Vandenberg, all rusty and sieve-like went down exactly as intended, a slight list forward, but upright and steady all the way.
We breezed merrily past my house slumbering on the edge of the canal, my bed still warm and ready to welcome me back... ...but I was on my way, inexorably to see the Vandenberg get sunk, with twenty one alcohol starved passengers and four crew: The bloody marys were handed out minutes after we left the dock before the sun was properly in the sky: Had I started in with the alcohol at that ungodly hour I'd have been asleep before we arrived at the Vandenberg's anchorage at 8:45 am.The sixty-five year old ship sat facing into the southeast breeze, alone and rather forlorn like a leper in quarantine surrounded by a growing armada of spectator boats......kept at bay by anxious law enforcement, lest we get infected by the explosives on board the old ship, or get sucked in by the undertow of her death throes.She was fussed over before the final fatal explosive injection by a couple of tugs shuffling back and forth and puffing self important black clouds eerily prescient of the final snorts of deadly smoke that accompanied the explosions that would sink her: We, the witnesses to the sinking, watched from the limits of the prescribed mile wide "safety zone:"
And ate a hearty lunch:
Captain Robert put us in the ideal spot,
...upwind and on the side away from the Key West shore where most of the spectator boats gathered. We watched and waited for the ten o'clock deadline: 
And ate a hearty lunch:Captain Robert put us in the ideal spot,...upwind and on the side away from the Key West shore where most of the spectator boats gathered. We watched and waited for the ten o'clock deadline: One old guy, already liberally greased at nine in the morning, asked me if I was excited, a question that put me unaccountably in mind of Jack riepe, but I was a) more curious than excited about the sinking, and b) I do not have riepe's ability to carry off a social gaffe with aplomb and I would probably just have ended up offending the drunk old geezer had i mentioned the thoughts his question put in mind. I looked around for things to photograph and came across a flock of spectator boats that had grown around us while we ate, waiting for the execution of the death sentence:Then there were the notables and state lawmakers riding around on the Ft Myers Ferry, the Express Cat, which was allowed to pass exceptionally close to the dying ship in the waiting period:And there was the Coastguard running around keeping people organized:While the state Fish and Wildlife commission had a helicopter keeping journalists, aloft in their own helicopters, at a safe distance: The last humans stepped off the Vandenberg at 9:50am and the ship stood to anchor like the condemned prisoner alone on the gurney awaiting the moment. Then farce intervened as a sea turtle or two plodded across the stage interrupting the drama, but finally all was squared away.A horn sounded and a red flare went up five minutes before the end, followed by a final red warning flare at one minute, then there was a loud dull thud and smoke billowed from the bow of the ship:Followed closely by a puff of smoke from the smokestack at the stern.It was like one final death struggle from the now engine-less ship, that last defiant puff from the engine room, and the hull, drilled out with holes all along its length, described with a certain lack of dignity as resembling a Swiss cheese, started to take on water.The first explosion came at 10:24, the last bubble burst on the surface by 10:27 and then there was nothing left to look at but a placid sea, all returned to normal, after the completion of a text book sinking. It was my Memorial Day, watching the ship that transported troops in 1944 (then named General Taylor) disappear out of sight. On the Kokomo Cat II the party got underway with renewed ferocity, the open bar sloshing margaritas right and left, along with wine and beer for the aging libertines kept safe by the cheerful crew: And then home. I didn't know what to expect when we went out to watch the ship sink, and surrounded by noise and levity it was hard to put together two thoughts, which may have been the point. I dropped off a twenty dollar tip in the jar; the crew deserved it. For my part I was, in the final analysis glad to have been there. I have no idea if this sinking was worth the conservative estimate of nine million dollars it cost to carry out, but I'd like to think that long after I'm dead and people are still diving on the wreck, if they wonder what it was like the day it sank, I would be able to tell them.It was 82 degrees (33C) and hazy with a light south breeze with a very slight swell ruffling the surface. The Vandenberg, all rusty and sieve-like went down exactly as intended, a slight list forward, but upright and steady all the way.
It's started raining, thunderclouds are piling up and we've been treated to some hellacious lightning storms, all the sturm und drang of summer in South Florida.
Which is to say that the City of Key west has officially entered the doldrums of tourist season. It's too early for US families to be taking summer off with the kids and Europeans are still hard at work in their socialistic paradises, waiting for their summer months off work, so the Tourism Development Council is hard at work drumming up reasosns for people to show up and spend, spend, spend. It is what I call "silly season" with each week producing another daft show of public inebriation. Memorial Weekend was the turn of the Minimal Regatta at Schooner Wharf Bar:
It is a boat race and it does have rules, though they may be hard to discern in the midst of the general hilarity. Sinking is as good as winning if it is done in spectacular fashion:
The blue boat in the picture above is my mechanic Dave from Monroe County Tire and Auto of Big Pine Key actually winning his heat in Bass Akwards, after his competitor sank half way round. I had no idea it was him when I took the picture and it was only later when I met him with his work partner Donnie (who also looks after my cars! What if they had both drowned?) I discovered what they were up to on their holiday weekends off:
There was no sign of Donnie's wife so I don't know if this was a sanctioned activity, but I will have to go round to the shop to see how they did in the end. Dave as he points out, is a big guy to be in a home built kayak and it was a feat to keep it upright. Not everyone succeeds:
This one looked good, didn't it? It turns out it was crap at staying upright:
The local lumber company, Manley DeBoer sells regatta packages before the race, two sheets of plywood, fasteners, and duct tape, a length of two-by-four and no caulking materials. The end results tend to look like kayaks, or boxes or some other thing sometimes:
The two by fours tend to end up looking like paddles or oars:
And the crews often enjoy dressing the part:
A local radio DJ, Bill Hobee, emcee'd the event from high above Schooner Wharf with color commentary from Evalina Worthington, owner of the bar who sounded just like Ariana Huffington funnily enough, and as he watched the "butterflies" launch their fragile craft he kept chuntering on about how he's like to be a flower...
And then he dredged up a long line of puerile inferences when a boat named "Morning Wood" made it to the start line. And doesn't that sort of humor make me think I want to join his legion of fans on his morning show.
The Minimal Regatta draws a ton of people, some like Nancy, visiting her old haunts from her new home in Ocala, decided it was okay to sit in the shade next to Lazy Way Lane away from the action and chow down on some fish:
A good spot to watch the teams get ready to launch, or tear down their craft after a failed heat:
I got into the middle of the crowd on the boardwalk and pointed my camera at the action as best I could: 
And that last one is somewhat topical as the Vandenberg is scheduled to be sunk tomorrow, which, if it is, I have a place reserved on a spectator boat which should be interesting. The spectators lined all four sides of the course on land and on the water:
And there's another Memorial Day Weekend in the bag.