January almost exactly four years ago saw us out with friends enjoying a sunny day on cool water. A great look back to a good time. I keep hoping for a little more time to be bale to spend more out on the water...2014 wasn't great and I hope 2015 will be better!
Return To Marvin Key
The plan was to ride Chuck and Wayne's 21-foot boat to Marvin Key, and this time find sand at low tide. Therese, our peripatetic French friend visiting from her home in Holland.
Therese likes tropical heat and Florida in winter is better than Holland, though it could be warmer- witness the jacket. Wayne was benefiting from some dog heat (Zuzu or Tootie).
The engine alarm buzzer went off much to the boys' consternation. "It does that every time we get here!" was the lament. I diagnosed over heating and in fact we found a large clump of weed on the 150 hp outboard, accumulated during our run through a shallow channel.
Cheyenne ignored all this commotion and snuggled herself a bed in the cuddy cabin.
Captain Crabmore, aka Chuck, was busy navigating, his stubble glinting alluringly in the sharp sunlight.
Ah, yes at last Marvin Key at low-ish tide.
Wayne got ready to leap onto the sandbar, dock line in hand, while I disentangled the anchor and it's line. The curvature of the Earth is clearly visible in this picture.
Everyone was ready for a walk after twenty minutes on the boat.
It was a scene worthy of an epic movie this sand bar under the blazing Florida sun.
Cheyenne understood the merit of the situation immediately and struck a regal Labrador pose (after relieving herself in the privacy of the mangrove bushes).
Small stick figures pottered about back and forth like characters in a silent play.
Therese forgot for a moment that she is a high powered lawyer with a diplomatic passport issued by the United Nations and took off her sandals to go for a walk.
The water was running fast and blue in the channel between the islands.
Zuzu and Tootie got into the playing thing.
Cheynne struck another of her favorite poses.
The water temperature was rather brisk but the Pied Piper of Viszlas was abroad in his green shoes.
The tide was further out, quite visibly, as we walked away from the boat, looking like a rather disreputable bunch of Cuban refugees. well heeled perhaps, but refugees nonetheless.
Chuck looking "Australian" according to Wayne, a man who seeks the exotic in his relationships.
Wayne assured me Chuck was explaining to Therese and my wife about the most enormous size of his most important attribute in this picture, below:
It seemed prudent to put some distance between myself and the rather substantive conversation going on up ahead.
Can you believe I live here, or at least within a twenty minutes boat ride of this Paradise?
Chuck is rather conservative in his tastes, as evidenced by his footwear:
Therese, heavy in a conversation with Wayne about their mutual experiences living in the Ivory Coast, was wearing her subdued and efficient sandals:
Wayne likes electric green Nuthingz:
My wife bought these Crocs in Bend, Oregon last summer:
I nearly went arse over tip trying to photograph myself walking through the rising tide, so I stopped trying to multi task and paused long enough to record my own footwear in the rising waters of Marvin Key.
By now we were all forced to wade every step of the way. The tide was low at 8 am, by now it was closer to ten and high tide was supposed to be at noon. On the Gulf of Mexico side of the islands the tides are totally uneven.
Therese was unfazed by this turn of events, she was not planning on drowning as they need her back at the International Court of Justice in the Hague next week.
The boat was where we had left it though water was spilling over the sands by now.
Other people were buzzing round like demented blue bottles looking for somewhere to launch their kayak.
When all else fails rely on your dog to cheer you up.
She had a rip snorting good time on the sand. It's too bad the family that used to own her never bothered to show Cheyenne how to swim, or how to enjoy herself on the beach.
And as I waxed philosophical about the happiness of my dog the tide contin ued to roll in.
When I showed Therese an online manifesto from the right wing nutters complaining about the United Nations wanting to take away people's guns she replied dryly: "And people say the U N never does anything!"
We pushed the dogs on board and pushed the boat out into deep water.
...after retrieving the anchor and the dog water bowl...
Somewhere between us and Sugarloaf Key we passed these people out fishing.
Just another great day on the water in the Fabulous Florida Keys.
Cheyenne understood the merit of the situation immediately and struck a regal Labrador pose (after relieving herself in the privacy of the mangrove bushes).Small stick figures pottered about back and forth like characters in a silent play.Therese forgot for a moment that she is a high powered lawyer with a diplomatic passport issued by the United Nations and took off her sandals to go for a walk.The water was running fast and blue in the channel between the islands.Zuzu and Tootie got into the playing thing.Cheynne struck another of her favorite poses.The water temperature was rather brisk but the Pied Piper of Viszlas was abroad in his green shoes.The tide was further out, quite visibly, as we walked away from the boat, looking like a rather disreputable bunch of Cuban refugees. well heeled perhaps, but refugees nonetheless.Chuck looking "Australian" according to Wayne, a man who seeks the exotic in his relationships.Wayne assured me Chuck was explaining to Therese and my wife about the most enormous size of his most important attribute in this picture, below:It seemed prudent to put some distance between myself and the rather substantive conversation going on up ahead.Can you believe I live here, or at least within a twenty minutes boat ride of this Paradise?Chuck is rather conservative in his tastes, as evidenced by his footwear:Therese, heavy in a conversation with Wayne about their mutual experiences living in the Ivory Coast, was wearing her subdued and efficient sandals:Wayne likes electric green Nuthingz:My wife bought these Crocs in Bend, Oregon last summer:I nearly went arse over tip trying to photograph myself walking through the rising tide, so I stopped trying to multi task and paused long enough to record my own footwear in the rising waters of Marvin Key.By now we were all forced to wade every step of the way. The tide was low at 8 am, by now it was closer to ten and high tide was supposed to be at noon. On the Gulf of Mexico side of the islands the tides are totally uneven.Therese was unfazed by this turn of events, she was not planning on drowning as they need her back at the International Court of Justice in the Hague next week.The boat was where we had left it though water was spilling over the sands by now.Other people were buzzing round like demented blue bottles looking for somewhere to launch their kayak.When all else fails rely on your dog to cheer you up.She had a rip snorting good time on the sand. It's too bad the family that used to own her never bothered to show Cheyenne how to swim, or how to enjoy herself on the beach.And as I waxed philosophical about the happiness of my dog the tide contin ued to roll in.When I showed Therese an online manifesto from the right wing nutters complaining about the United Nations wanting to take away people's guns she replied dryly: "And people say the U N never does anything!"We pushed the dogs on board and pushed the boat out into deep water....after retrieving the anchor and the dog water bowl...Somewhere between us and Sugarloaf Key we passed these people out fishing.Just another great day on the water in the Fabulous Florida Keys.
Layton is just a long straight stretch on the highway, a speed limit of 45 mph, with, from time to time a Sheriff's deputy on patrol keeping an eye on those passing through. However there is always one patrol car lurking near the Post Office and you know when you are tailing a visitor because the brake lights come on in a hurry.
I never speed through Layton because after the tyro has slowed and sped up again realising its only a decommissioned patrol car, there can often be found a second, occupied, car at the last remaining grocery store in the little town.
Or possibly a patrol car on the verge further south near the entrance to Long Key State Park, just before the limit goes back up to 55mph.
The suburban canals behind the homes give access to some pleasant natural mangrove waterways, decent enough fishing spots of course,
but also they lead to the real prize,the open waters of fish-infested Hawk Channel behind the reef, and to the north there are the endless shallow waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
Sailors know of Long Key because of the bight at the east end which offers a shallow anchorage and the Channel V bridge which provides the last seventy-foot tall bridge before Marathon.
Though you can't buy gas because the gas pumps and associated grocery store/bait shop closed a while back.
Layton has two claims to fame. One was that the author Zane Grey spent winters living and fishing here between writing Westerns and second I bought my first and only skiff from some dude who lived on a canal behind the grocery store and marina.
It was a 14-foot Dusky for with all the trimmings including a duff 30 horse outboard that died soon after, but the hull is excellent and with a new Yamaha its a great addition to my motor pool. I think about that slick bugger every time I ride through town.
My wife and I ate at Little Italy one night on our way out of the Keys; it was old fashioned checkered table cloth Italian food, decent enough I suppose when you are waiting for a traffic accident to be cleared, but rather funky old fashioned. There was a plan to develop the restaurant out of existence and replace it with a resort, but for now what with bursting bubbles and all, its still there. This waterfront thing is next door to the restaurant and aside from not knowing what its about exactly, it highlights the fact that as usual curb appeal is totally lacking in the Keys. God Bless Funky.
But they don't depopulate Key West for Layton, because there are only a thousand hardy souls who can stand real-life Mayberry blandness, and my helmet's off to them every time I rumble through- at a sedate and legal 49 miles-per-hour.