I got home after a trip to the metropolis and discovered in my absence life has been continuing in the Keys. Including a visit to the island s by Grand Poobahs of various importance from the company that wants to be known as Beyond Petroleum. They held a sudden press conference apparently, not aware of the coconut telegraph that allows everyone to know everything and found themselves taking questions from concerned citizens worried about their livelihoods. The paper doesn't report how that went down but probably not well, as corporate representatives rarely have to mix it up with the people who are fearful of getting the actual taste of how Beyond Petroleum will flavor their lives. The good news is the Loop Current, which would bring oil to the Keys, is sliding south and a wide gap is opening up between the oil and the current. The bad news is Louisiana is getting screwed again. The fact that the Coastguard and local officials are talking about how to protect our shoreline is good but creepy. That all the corporate players involved are trying to pass the buck according to the paper is even creepier. They are sounding their own death knell it seems to me as they have absolutely no idea how to behave down here where we live on the frontlines.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Bridge Fishing
From November 2007 this essay on fishing which, as will become apparent is an activity about which I know nothing. I had lost track but it seems there are about 1260 essays logged on this blog from when I started in Summer 2007. I had a few to choose among for these replays.
Here's the thing: because I live in the Keys I am supposed to enjoy fishing: but I don't. I have fished, I have felt the wiggle of the captured critter on both hook and spear, I have whacked fish on the head, I have filleted them (inexpertly I might add) and the whole exercise fills me with horror. Beyond all the blood guts and scales I find the notion that I should spend hours of my precious life staring idiotically into the deep blue sea hoping to pit my wits against a fish to be...grotesque. Worse yet the fish might prove beyond doubt they are smarter than I. And my final argument against casting a line is that in the Keys there are numerous excellent fish shops that sell 'em fresh and raw, and even the most hopeless hole-in-the-wall has to work very hard indeed to make a hash of a plate of fish inevitably cooked by frying grilling or blackening. 
This enigmatic chair disappeared from the old bridge connecting Big Pine Key to the misnomered West Summerland Key, a few days after I photographed it. Damned if I know how they got it there...Just another fishing mystery, I suppose. And believe me when I say that I am very much alone in my despair at the entire culture of fishing. To live in the Keys and not to care to fish is like a priest living in a brothel, not only is it a stupid waste of time in your neighbor's eyes it is damned near immoral. And I even have a skiff at my dock, which I take out all the time! Just to go swimming? How bizarre!
Here's the thing: because I live in the Keys I am supposed to enjoy fishing: but I don't. I have fished, I have felt the wiggle of the captured critter on both hook and spear, I have whacked fish on the head, I have filleted them (inexpertly I might add) and the whole exercise fills me with horror. Beyond all the blood guts and scales I find the notion that I should spend hours of my precious life staring idiotically into the deep blue sea hoping to pit my wits against a fish to be...grotesque. Worse yet the fish might prove beyond doubt they are smarter than I. And my final argument against casting a line is that in the Keys there are numerous excellent fish shops that sell 'em fresh and raw, and even the most hopeless hole-in-the-wall has to work very hard indeed to make a hash of a plate of fish inevitably cooked by frying grilling or blackening. 
This enigmatic chair disappeared from the old bridge connecting Big Pine Key to the misnomered West Summerland Key, a few days after I photographed it. Damned if I know how they got it there...Just another fishing mystery, I suppose. And believe me when I say that I am very much alone in my despair at the entire culture of fishing. To live in the Keys and not to care to fish is like a priest living in a brothel, not only is it a stupid waste of time in your neighbor's eyes it is damned near immoral. And I even have a skiff at my dock, which I take out all the time! Just to go swimming? How bizarre! Its a sad day when I have to haul the boat out of the water, but its just too cold to go swimming anymore, with air temperatures under 80 degrees and water temperatures barely holding at 75, though they both feel far lower.
The boat is now on the trailer enjoying my mechanical attentions before it gets set aside for the next few months. Were I an angler I would be reduced, as it were, to fishing from a bridge; as it is I'm just going to miss wandering around the back country and swimming in the tepid, clear waters of the Keys.
Driving down the Overseas Highway if one can take one's eyes off the turquoise waters, there are simply tons of people fishing from the bridges formed by the old road which was created from Flagler's original Oversea Railroad bridges which are now approaching their one hundredth birthdays, and remain as solid as ever despite the State's fearfulness.
Florida residents, as far as I can figure, don't need a license to fish saltwaters from a structure and locals do love to chase fish from these old bridges. You could call it a family sport.
Some people are elaborate anglers, planting tents, hanging bright gas lanterns, sitting in chairs, sipping (sipping?) beer and reviewing the state of the world. Others head out with a bait net and lots of hope. All they need is a little help from their friends.
At night their lights give them the appearance of campers huddled round the campfire,telling impossible fishing stories, possibly the best part of the whole standing around waiting for a bite thing. By day women bend over parapets revealing their lack of coverage, men prop their guts on the same concrete barriers, and families who fish together frequently, it seems, stick together. Its all terribly jolly.
However the evidence of the lack of casting abilities of the many, droops from the overhead cables that carry electricity up and down the Keys.
It depends on your point of view whether these strands remind you of Spanish Moss or worse. For me it depends on my mood but I do enjoy seeing the spoons twirling in the sunset winking at me as I motorcycle by.
The sun drops on the end of another day, and aside from the few anglers out in the cold front breezes of a crystal clear night, commuters zip by on the new bridges, the odd motorcycle rumbles by and the tide comes running in bringing with it who knows what.
Only the fishers of fish know, lucky them. I wish I had it in me to be one of them.
The boat is now on the trailer enjoying my mechanical attentions before it gets set aside for the next few months. Were I an angler I would be reduced, as it were, to fishing from a bridge; as it is I'm just going to miss wandering around the back country and swimming in the tepid, clear waters of the Keys.Driving down the Overseas Highway if one can take one's eyes off the turquoise waters, there are simply tons of people fishing from the bridges formed by the old road which was created from Flagler's original Oversea Railroad bridges which are now approaching their one hundredth birthdays, and remain as solid as ever despite the State's fearfulness.
Monroe County works at keeping the near shore waters clean, providing containers for unneeded mono filament line which kills birds, fish and mammals when abandoned in the waters, as it usually is.
There are also lots of trash cans placed everywhere a needy fisherman might want to use one. They don't prevent trash from ending up along the road, but the trucks which haul garbage from Key West to the mainland since the incinerator (that produced electricity from waste as a bonus) was shut down in favor of a sweetheart deal to a garbage hauler, let fly a whole lot more trash along the road from their inadequately covered trailers than fishermen dropping wrappers and cans.
There are also lots of trash cans placed everywhere a needy fisherman might want to use one. They don't prevent trash from ending up along the road, but the trucks which haul garbage from Key West to the mainland since the incinerator (that produced electricity from waste as a bonus) was shut down in favor of a sweetheart deal to a garbage hauler, let fly a whole lot more trash along the road from their inadequately covered trailers than fishermen dropping wrappers and cans. Florida residents, as far as I can figure, don't need a license to fish saltwaters from a structure and locals do love to chase fish from these old bridges. You could call it a family sport. Some people are elaborate anglers, planting tents, hanging bright gas lanterns, sitting in chairs, sipping (sipping?) beer and reviewing the state of the world. Others head out with a bait net and lots of hope. All they need is a little help from their friends.At night their lights give them the appearance of campers huddled round the campfire,telling impossible fishing stories, possibly the best part of the whole standing around waiting for a bite thing. By day women bend over parapets revealing their lack of coverage, men prop their guts on the same concrete barriers, and families who fish together frequently, it seems, stick together. Its all terribly jolly.However the evidence of the lack of casting abilities of the many, droops from the overhead cables that carry electricity up and down the Keys.It depends on your point of view whether these strands remind you of Spanish Moss or worse. For me it depends on my mood but I do enjoy seeing the spoons twirling in the sunset winking at me as I motorcycle by.
The sun drops on the end of another day, and aside from the few anglers out in the cold front breezes of a crystal clear night, commuters zip by on the new bridges, the odd motorcycle rumbles by and the tide comes running in bringing with it who knows what.
Only the fishers of fish know, lucky them. I wish I had it in me to be one of them. Monday, May 10, 2010
Pigeon Key
First published October 2007 I haven't been back to the island since, so I figured this might be a good time to re-run these pictures as my Internet outage has left me short of fresh material. I can hardly believe it's been 30 months, and by the way, the bridge as far as I know, is still open to the train and bicycles and pedestrians. Nothing much seems to have changed, on the ground but there was one scandal reported in the newspaper that alleged misappropriation of funds from the non profit that runs the place. 
So many years have gone by and yet I have never visited Pigeon Key. Until now that is, and I am a better man for today's excursion even though it didn't involve a motorcycle. My wife did suggest taking the Vespa, which is running perfectly but it was a windy day and my wife's arthritis is acting up and blah blah blah...we took the car, which was very comfortable, thanks.
Pigeon Key was a way station as Flagler's workmen built the Oversea Railroad. Hundreds of laborers lived on the four and a half acre island while engineers sank concrete caissons to support the railroad over the water. Similar in all respects to the submerged concrete used to build its contemporary, the Panama Canal, through which we sailed in the last months of the American Administration.
Pigeon Key sells its history and nowadays it supports itself as a non profit, as well as a place where young people can come and attend environmental camps in the old lodgings.
The day was perfect for it, breezy, sunny and not too warm, not too cold: just right! The ticket office is, naturally parked on rails,
with a not too obtrusive 12 kw a/c unit underneath the non ADA compliant steps. Flagler's East Coast Railway and Key West extension is part of the state of mind that still floats through life in the Keys,untrammeled by change, at leats for the time being. 
Its common practice for anglers with boats to bob around between the old and new bridges, hoping to harvest a few snappers lurking round the pilings.
The hand rails were the old tracks used by the State of Florida when they turned the railroad into an auto road in 1938. Below the bridge lie the few buildings of Pigeon Key, in their park like ambiance. 
So many years have gone by and yet I have never visited Pigeon Key. Until now that is, and I am a better man for today's excursion even though it didn't involve a motorcycle. My wife did suggest taking the Vespa, which is running perfectly but it was a windy day and my wife's arthritis is acting up and blah blah blah...we took the car, which was very comfortable, thanks.Pigeon Key was a way station as Flagler's workmen built the Oversea Railroad. Hundreds of laborers lived on the four and a half acre island while engineers sank concrete caissons to support the railroad over the water. Similar in all respects to the submerged concrete used to build its contemporary, the Panama Canal, through which we sailed in the last months of the American Administration.Pigeon Key sells its history and nowadays it supports itself as a non profit, as well as a place where young people can come and attend environmental camps in the old lodgings.The day was perfect for it, breezy, sunny and not too warm, not too cold: just right! The ticket office is, naturally parked on rails,
with a not too obtrusive 12 kw a/c unit underneath the non ADA compliant steps. Flagler's East Coast Railway and Key West extension is part of the state of mind that still floats through life in the Keys,untrammeled by change, at leats for the time being. The tour costs non locals $11 and includes a ride out to the island over the old seven mile bridge. The ride reeks of cornball of course but it does get the happy visitor a splendid view of the water, a view that may soon be ended by a massive, unfunded effort to repair the railings on the bridge. Some engineers want to declare it unsafe and plans are in the works for a ferry service while the repairs are done. The estimates are in the millions so we wanted to take the ride before it is ended for who knows how log. Corny but fun!
The ride starts with a quick burst on Highway One to the end of the bridge...
The ride starts with a quick burst on Highway One to the end of the bridge... Then the little engine bounces its way across the rutted old surface of the 18-foot wide bridge. The center lane is reserved for the tour, the bumps protect the outer lanes for pedestrians and cyclists. October is a great month to be in the keys as so few people visit. We shared the tour with a terse New York couple and noticed a couple of pedestrians and a couple of cyclists taking their free exploration of Flagler's wondrous, 95 year old bridge.
Its common practice for anglers with boats to bob around between the old and new bridges, hoping to harvest a few snappers lurking round the pilings. The hand rails were the old tracks used by the State of Florida when they turned the railroad into an auto road in 1938. Below the bridge lie the few buildings of Pigeon Key, in their park like ambiance. Thomas the Engine Driver gives us a few concluding remarks in the old mess house, which the cat tries to interrupt by seeking attention.
Then we repair to the inevitable 21st century communicator for a presentation that held the attention of the New Yorkers despite the absence of air conditioning.
I enjoyed the old paperwork in the museum, including the passes for locals that gave free access to the bridge ($1 toll for tourists) and evocative advertising:
and schedules:
With me secretly looking forward to the day when that high speed ferry hauls me and my motorbike to Havana for a long weekend in the twisties of Cuba!
The wife and I wandered round, admiring those cement supports, sat for a while at the strategically located picnic tables even though we omitted to bring a picnic, and eventually took a walk up the ramp to the bridge, and admired the structure from above:
And so we started to stroll back towards Marathon.
No despair though, Thomas stopped his engine and we got to ride back to civilization, 
thoroughly content with our little excursion. Its a truism of life in the Keys, so little land is there, that one needs to try to take full advantage of what we do have. This trip was long overdue.
Service Interruption
My weeklong Internet outage courtesy of AT&T means my blog will be stuck in replay mode. My apologies.
Normal Internet service has resumed at my house but I am out of town today hopefully getting a new/old car to replace the tired out Nissan. I was unable to prepare any essays in advance so we will be doing repeats a few days until I get things organized again as soon as I can.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Nature Ride
From the October of 2008 this essay I am re-posting today thanks to my inability to access the Internet this past week. AT&T is forcing me to look back at three year's of posts, which isn't a completely bad thing I suppose. Frustrating but not bad.
I have taken quite a fancy to the wide open spaces of Big Torch Key lately, and I recently had a couple of not too rare encounters with local residents near the long empty road that runs across the mangrove swamps of the island. I was actually riding my bike:
First up I spotted a black lump on the road up ahead. I stopped and picked him/her up and set the tortoise in a sunny patch well off the asphalt. I have no doubt it will be back tomorrow to warm it's entrails in the road whereupon some unfeeling car will squash it.
I did my best for it.
I have taken quite a fancy to the wide open spaces of Big Torch Key lately, and I recently had a couple of not too rare encounters with local residents near the long empty road that runs across the mangrove swamps of the island. I was actually riding my bike:First up I spotted a black lump on the road up ahead. I stopped and picked him/her up and set the tortoise in a sunny patch well off the asphalt. I have no doubt it will be back tomorrow to warm it's entrails in the road whereupon some unfeeling car will squash it.I did my best for it.It's surprising to me sometimes how isolated one can feel in these relatively small islands. Big Torch is really quite large by local standards as the road is eight miles long which makes for a nice workout on a bicycle on a sunny breezy day. When I paused to take in the scenery my ears were filled with only the rushing sound of the wind. I got that same feeling of isolation in my frequent trips to the desert or once when I was in the grass plains of the Oklahoma panhandle. I used to be surprised I could find places in the Keys where I could experience that sense of insignificance. Some people like to live in the middle of it:
There are indeed a few people living out here, a clump of homes straddles Dorn Road and there are a few more houses strung out along the rest of the island but mostly it's blue skies, white clouds and green mangroves. And the occasional osprey:
I spotted it swooping over the mangroves and snapped a hasty picture, it was then I saw the nest atop a telephone pole. Ospreys are quite remarkable birds, predators of the highest order and yet I learned about these birds in a marine biology class.
At first I thought the raptor had a fish in it's talons as it landed back at home base, instead after watching a few minutes it became apparent it was still working on rebuilding the nest. Ospreys keep several nests they use year after year and they like them up high. Utilities sometimes build platforms on poles to attract the ospreys away from electrical poles in use by humans, but their elaborate nests are unmistakable:
Ospreys like to eat fish and they can often be seen circling over the waters alongside the highway. When they spot their prey they fold up and dive bomb the water, feet first. The idea is for the bird to grab it's prey with it's talons and haul the thing back to the nest. 
My marine biology instructor was a sober man not given to joking and managed to make an interesting subject pretty dull. He did however tell a story which I have to judge to be true because of the nature of the man. He said a fish had been found with a pair of osprey feet stuck in it's back. The speculation was that the bird had dive bombed it's prey which had turned out to be too large for it and the bird had been pulled and held underwater by the fish, until it drowned (the bird, not the fish). 
Ospreys I believe mate for life and share nesting duties. They are incredible birds, graceful in flight and are gifted with a slightly bizarre call rather like a school boy with an off key whistle ( if my childhood is anything to go by). I like watching them fly and I am no birder:
My closest encounter with an osprey took me a bit by surprise. I was riding north on Highway One and had just crested the rise on the overpass at Boca Chica when an osprey carrying a torpedo in it's claws flew past my face just ten feet over my head. The fish probably was none too happy with it's bird's eye view of the world but that encounter took my breath away. I quite like herons too:
I don't even mind the fake ones they are selling at Bayshore Nursery on Ramrod Key, though I don't think one of these bobbers will ever grace my yard, thanks:
It was a good ride even though I didn't reach the end of the road. There is something very refreshing about the long stretches of open road, and pedalling them makes them all the more relaxing it turns out:
Good exercises of course but not better than the Bonneville. That, never.
There are indeed a few people living out here, a clump of homes straddles Dorn Road and there are a few more houses strung out along the rest of the island but mostly it's blue skies, white clouds and green mangroves. And the occasional osprey:I spotted it swooping over the mangroves and snapped a hasty picture, it was then I saw the nest atop a telephone pole. Ospreys are quite remarkable birds, predators of the highest order and yet I learned about these birds in a marine biology class.At first I thought the raptor had a fish in it's talons as it landed back at home base, instead after watching a few minutes it became apparent it was still working on rebuilding the nest. Ospreys keep several nests they use year after year and they like them up high. Utilities sometimes build platforms on poles to attract the ospreys away from electrical poles in use by humans, but their elaborate nests are unmistakable:Ospreys like to eat fish and they can often be seen circling over the waters alongside the highway. When they spot their prey they fold up and dive bomb the water, feet first. The idea is for the bird to grab it's prey with it's talons and haul the thing back to the nest. My marine biology instructor was a sober man not given to joking and managed to make an interesting subject pretty dull. He did however tell a story which I have to judge to be true because of the nature of the man. He said a fish had been found with a pair of osprey feet stuck in it's back. The speculation was that the bird had dive bombed it's prey which had turned out to be too large for it and the bird had been pulled and held underwater by the fish, until it drowned (the bird, not the fish). Ospreys I believe mate for life and share nesting duties. They are incredible birds, graceful in flight and are gifted with a slightly bizarre call rather like a school boy with an off key whistle ( if my childhood is anything to go by). I like watching them fly and I am no birder:My closest encounter with an osprey took me a bit by surprise. I was riding north on Highway One and had just crested the rise on the overpass at Boca Chica when an osprey carrying a torpedo in it's claws flew past my face just ten feet over my head. The fish probably was none too happy with it's bird's eye view of the world but that encounter took my breath away. I quite like herons too:I don't even mind the fake ones they are selling at Bayshore Nursery on Ramrod Key, though I don't think one of these bobbers will ever grace my yard, thanks:It was a good ride even though I didn't reach the end of the road. There is something very refreshing about the long stretches of open road, and pedalling them makes them all the more relaxing it turns out:Good exercises of course but not better than the Bonneville. That, never.Saturday, May 8, 2010
Bahia Honda
Thanks to AT&T's Internet black out I get this opportunity to re-post an essay from November 2007. Bahia Honda is coming into it's own as a swimming destination once again now that it is May (2010!). This blog has been around for a while. 
There is a park in the Keys that sits astride deep water wedged between the new Highway One and the old Overseas Highway. It boasts what some people say is the Lower Keys' best beaches, a campground close to the noise of the Highway and some splendid views.
Last year, along with annual passes to the Tropic Cinema and the Red Barn Theater and my annual newspaper subscription, I also got a year round pass to Florida State Parks. During my lunch breaks I like to ride down to Fort Zachery, the true Southernmost Point and read by the waters of Key West Harbor. At home I like to take a 20 minute ride from time to time and spend a few hours wandering Bahia Honda. When my childhood buddy Giovanni came to visit, we took the motorcycles for a spin...to Bahia Honda.
It was perfectly sunny and warm enough in the direct sunlight to get Giovanni, a tourist like any other not used to Florida winters, into the spirit of the seaside. He loves to travel and take home pictures of places.
There is a park in the Keys that sits astride deep water wedged between the new Highway One and the old Overseas Highway. It boasts what some people say is the Lower Keys' best beaches, a campground close to the noise of the Highway and some splendid views.Last year, along with annual passes to the Tropic Cinema and the Red Barn Theater and my annual newspaper subscription, I also got a year round pass to Florida State Parks. During my lunch breaks I like to ride down to Fort Zachery, the true Southernmost Point and read by the waters of Key West Harbor. At home I like to take a 20 minute ride from time to time and spend a few hours wandering Bahia Honda. When my childhood buddy Giovanni came to visit, we took the motorcycles for a spin...to Bahia Honda.
It was perfectly sunny and warm enough in the direct sunlight to get Giovanni, a tourist like any other not used to Florida winters, into the spirit of the seaside. He loves to travel and take home pictures of places.
Bahia Honda is a sliver of land straddling the Overseas Highway at one of the most picturesque of Flagler's old railroad bridges. This particular structure was so solid engineers decided in the late 30's to run the roadbed atop the girders and the whole thing is still there though unused of course.
It would be too cool to keep this, and the old seven mile bridge, open to slow, one way, tourist traffic with lots of parking and viewing spaces, but Florida is not a forward looking state, so the old structures are left to rot and they are rotting very very slowly, a testament to their builders' dedication. Everything is scary and dangerous to the State.
It would be too cool to keep this, and the old seven mile bridge, open to slow, one way, tourist traffic with lots of parking and viewing spaces, but Florida is not a forward looking state, so the old structures are left to rot and they are rotting very very slowly, a testament to their builders' dedication. Everything is scary and dangerous to the State.Too many people come to the Keys for the beaches, those long silky strands they would actually find around Fort Myers or Sarasota. It makes some visitors testy to find their expectations dashed, as though its the Keys' fault the tourists fail to do their research. For those of us who choose to live here, Bahia Honda ("deep bay" in Spanish) is a refuge of the first order.
I never used to come here because dogs aren't welcome on the beaches (Rangers make it clear they don't want dogs in the park. Period!) and when Emma was alive I preferred not to waste a minute away from her. That dilemma has resurfaced now I have Cheyenne in my life!
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