Boca Chica Hike

I was not quite so demonstrative but I enjoyed going deep into the back country at Boca Chica Beach.

I haven't been all the way back for years. Cheyenne came back a time or two soon after I got her from the pound. This picture from 2009:

Rusty had great fun running down the beach and working his way through the bushes. The shoe fence is still there:

Some people like to leave their mark as they go. I take pictures and leave footprints where there is sand or mud. Some build cairns for whatever obscure purpose:

There is also an elaborate stick structure that Cheyenne found fascinating in 2010:

And which Rusty circle in delight in 2016. They have done their best to give it a suburban sort of look with decorations and even a disabled Yamaha Zuma scooter parked along the far side. Ready for the commute as it were:

It is a desolate and lovely coastline with a sandy trail barely discernible among the rocks and mangrove roots:

The first obstacle is this water crossing. It's enough of a river to have encouraged one man to set up his nude sun worshiping location just before the gap in the beach. This area is noted for its nude sunbathing, and more.

Rusty's confidence in me has gone up enormously in the two months we have been together and he took the plunge fearlessly when I indicated we had to cross.

The little Carolina Dog is quite the acrobat:

I was wading thigh deep in the water which happily was quite warm but fast flowing like a river on a rising tide.

This beach also has it's share of Cuban Chugs, the name given to the craft they build out of found materials to cross the Straits of Florida, 90 miles of potentially extremely rough waters. I admire their guts, building these things in a country where it's forbidden and then taking off on such a journey seeking a chance to land avoiding the coastguard who would take them back to Cuba. Once they get ashore they are safe and can stay.

The Cubans also put engines in their Chugs. Some are gas powered and some diesel adapted for marine use. It is remarkable ingenuity and bravery, so I hate seeing posts on Facebook each time there is a landing where people spit on these Cubans for wanting to come here for "the benefits." Only someone who has never emigrated, or left their home town can imagine that these journeys are undertaken lightly for a chance to not work and help their families. I emigrated in a commercial jet airliner and that was tough enough.

Sometimes the stray dog comes out in Rusty. His frolicking was interrupted by the sight of something mysterious and weird and of deep concern. When he gets worried he sits and stares just like this in the picture below. He had spotted the pelican bobbing on the water, a dark dot in the top right of the picture.

He explored every inch of the woods:

In 2010 this sturdily built canal to allow the flow of water in and out of the bay was only half built:

Now it's finished and you can't cross to the last piece of open road, Old State Road 4A that used to go all the way to Stock Island.

We turned back and walked the much shorter faster direct route on the old asphalt back to the beach:

Rusty was not tired by the heat and was always alert, looking around:

An extinct civilization, an old power pole:

Back at the beach a cool breeze was blowing and Rusty set off to explore the woods behind the trail. He didn't want to miss a thing. I played with my iPhone camera:

On the last stretch there was one final terror that forced me to put Rusty on a leash for the last half mile. This red thing was bobbing and weaving looking to kill my little brown dog:

We made it safely out of there. Rusty has even got used to me rinsing him off after a wet walk and he took his bath in stride. Then it was time for a very long deep nap.

When I made too much noise in the living room he went to his bed in the bedroom. When I retired to the bedroom for a nap after my chores and before I went to work, he got up wearily and went to find some peace and quiet on the couch in the living room. He really needed his sleep poor boy.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Being From Florida

You Know You're A Floridian...

As you may have noticed I don't do many posts that involve cutting and pasting on Key West Diary, but this list crossed my path recently and it always makes me laugh. I last posted it in 2011. It is, as the cliche has it, an oldie but goodie:You Know You’re a Floridian if…
You never use an umbrella because you know the rain
will be over in five minutes

A good parking place has nothing to do with distance
from the store, but everything to do with shade.

Your winter coat is made of denim

You can tell the difference between fire ant bites
and mosquito bites

Some of your friends are over 65

Anything under 70 degrees is chilly.

You pass on the right and honk at the elderly.

You’ve driven through Yeehaw Junction.

You could swim before you could read

You have to drive north to get to The South

You know that no other grocery store can compare to
Publix.

You know that anything under a Category 3 just isn’t
worth waking up for.

You are on a first name basis with the Hurricane
list. They aren’t Hurricane Charley, Hurricane
Frances…but Charley , Frances , Ivan and Jeanne.

You know what a snowbird is and when they will leave.
You know why flamingos are pink.

You think a six-foot alligator is actually pretty
average.

You were twelve before you ever saw snow or you still
haven’t.

“Down South” means Key West (or Cuba)

“Panhandling” means going to Pensacola

Flip-flops are everyday wear.

Shoes are for business meetings and church.

No, wait, flip flops are good for church too, unless
it’s Easter or Christmas.

An alligator once walked through your neighborhood.

.You roll your eyes when a game show’s
“Grand Prize” is a cruise to Florida .

You measure distance in minutes.

You have a drawer full of bathing suits, and one
sweatshirt.

All the local festivals are named after a fish.

A mountain is any hill 100 feet above sea level.

You know the four seasons really are: Almost summer,
Summer, Not summer but really hot, and Christmas.

It’s not soda, cola, or pop. It’s coke, regardless of
brand or flavor, “What kinda coke you want?”

Anything under 95 is just warm.

You’ve hosted a hurricane party.

You understand the futility of exterminating
cockroaches.

You can pronounce Okeechobee, Kissimmee and
Withlacoochee and Micanopy .

You understand why it’s better to have a friend with a
boat, than have a boat yourself.

Bumper stickers on the pickup in front of you include:
various fish, NRA, Nascar, Go Gators, and a
confederate flag.

You were 5 before you realized they made houses
without pools.

You were 25 when you first met someone who couldn’t
swim.

You get angry when people say ” Florida isn’t really
part of the SOUTH”

You’ve worn shorts and used the A/C on Christmas.

You know what the “stingray shuffle” is, and why it’s
important!You recognize Dade County as "Northern Cuba"

Big Pine Hole

Most of the waters around the Keys are pretty shallow, less than six feet which is good in the event there is a storm as waves can't build...but it's not much good for swimming as your feet easily touch bottom. Then there are places where people of enterprise have tried to build and their efforts have left behind deep holes, what were to have been canal access for waterfront homes. One such is the Big Pine swimming hole:

It was, I suppose too good to last because now the Free Press is reporting there are plans to make this informal spot an official county park. 

The newspaper included a graphic depiction of what is to come with boardwalks and facilities and so forth. On the one hand that will be nice and on the other we will see more encroachment of rules and requirements and so on. And there have been some few rules in place already, amidst the parched dirt and scrubby bushes:

I haven't been swimming here for a while, ever since we moved to a short canal with few homes on it, making it easy to swim in our own backyard. Nevertheless, bring a towel and a chair if you want and you are good to go. No boardwalk needed really:

The last time I was here was with my wife swimming and also with my dog walking, but Cheyenne quickly lost interest in this spot as it is not much visited by dogs an there's not much to smell.

I wonder how welcome dogs will be in the future.

Posted with Blogsy

Keys Goings On

When I read peculiar stuff in the newspaper it helps me to go for a walk with Rusty and as the tide was high - really, really high - and as the north wind was blowing I figured West Summerland Key, known to visitors as the newly renamed Scout Key, was the place to clear my head. It was a lovely day.

Here's the thing: the paper reported what at first glance appears to be the final disposition for the former Navy housing at Peary Court. It's weird because the voters at the last election a few weeks ago turned down a proposal for the city to buy the property for 55 million dollars and pay the bond off with rent from what would become worker housing. City voters not surprisingly turned the offer down, as information about the terms was nowhere to be seen and the developers who had held the property for two years from the navy were going to make a twenty million dollar profit on the backs of the taxpayers. So far so good.

So the city commission this week votes another deal, this time the city will take every last penny of its accumulated low income housing funding and throw it to a private owner of the Peary Court property, and who that is is not exactly clear just yet. In return the owner of the housing will rent the individual homes for $2400 a month. Which in Key West is supposed to be affordable. All this with no public input and with no clear explanation of exactly what is going on. It's not clear if the housing will be deed restricted or who will be eligible to rent nor how long the rates will stay fixed. Commissioner Sam Kauffman told the newspaper the city's low income housing fund will replenish in time for other more orthodox projects which are supposedly in the pipeline. All taken on trust.

I don't live in the city so I didn't have to decide how to vote in the referendum and the decision on Peary Court (named for arctic explorer Admiral Peary a distant direct relative of Judge Peary Fowler in Key West) doesn't affect me directly. But as a county resident and bystander I scratch my head as I watch this stuff going on.

The newspaper has been full of news as it should, but the news of more shootings was not particularly welcomed by me. This time it wasn't Duval Street but the high seas, more particularly in the area of the Marquesas Keys about half way between Key West and the Dry Tortugas. Apparently a recreational charter boat drove through the chum field of a commercial fishing boat and set off a dispute. Chum is a smelly mixture of nasty fish left overs, blood and guts basically that is used to attract fish in the water to make life easier for commercial fishermen. Driving through the bait field is a no no in the etiquette of boating. As a former recreational notated myself I know how polite one has to be around people who are making a,living from their boats and they have no respect for us amateurs. Apparently the commercial fishermen had a rifle on board and made their displeasure known. The Coastguard and state Wildlife Commission are investigating and no one is offering any details.

It's fashionable under these circumstances to lament the state of the world today and say how far downhill things have gone, but lunch with Robert reminded me NGOs around here have always tended to be a bit edgy, at least they did before the gentry moved in. Robert came to Key West in 1976 and watched the bicentennial fireworks from the deck of his boat anchored out. Over bison/chorizo burgers (delicious at the Bier Boutique) Robert reminded me that shooting and fishing were integral in life and literature in Key West's frontier past. We both remarked how much we enjoyed 92 In The Shade, the movie rather than the book and how that displayed the violence of yesteryear. "And he wasn't an outsider!" Robert protested speaking of the protagonist.

Ervin Higgs died this week. My wife who is well connected on the grapevine heard the news before the paper reported it. He got a fine obituary for his forty plus years managing the county's tax base and evaluating properties and doing it all with finesse and straightforward dealings. Think of him when you walk Higgs Beach and think too how much the city could use his leadership right now. I'd have loved to have heard his opinion about the Peary Court fiasco.

A study shows that coral reefs are crumbling from excess acid in the ocean waters. Scientists say these effects weren't expected for another half century and here they are. Now. Bummer. Apparently the ocean is absorbing more carbon dioxide than ever and the acid it's carrying is wrecking the reef from the inside out. Mote Marine lab has been developing a replacement coral skin to stick on the coral skeletons in the water but if the skeletons are melting away things don't look good. If I were a parent or a grandparent I'd be seriously pissed at our governor for banning use of the term "climate change" by state employees. I think things are going to be grim for your kids unless you start to demand change. I'll be dead and I have no offspring.

If all else fails have a beer and please leave the bottle in the recycling or the trash. Oh and don't drive drunk; but don't be like the Dade County Commissioner who fell over during a field sobriety test after doing 74 in a 30 in Key West. He refused a breath test and got a local jury of highly skilled analysts who voted him not guilty so he gets to ride his Harley once again on our city streets entirely sober. Good man, just the kind of visitor we need. Things aren't bad enough as it is.

What a week for news!

Posted with Blogsy

Rain

I was watching the forecast yesterday, unavoidable really as the sky clouded over ominously in the afternoon and I had to decide whether to ride or drive into town. I had a date with my trainer, an hour of what I liken to being thrown around the room without mercy. After three months of two dates a week I am stronger than I have ever been and I'm eating like a horse but not putting on weight. I am motivated and Sean is brilliant at what he does, even if he doesn't understand my sense of humor. He also hates having his picture taken so I snapped this while he was in the logo... Puff...puff...puff.

The radar showed a huge pile of wind and rain coming up from Mexico so I took four wheels and a small brown dog who wanted to get out of the house.

After the workout Rusty surprised me by wanting to go for a walk in the rain. He used to hate getting wet but perhaps now that he comes home to a watertight roof and his own bed he was ready to get in the rain. So he got his way. I struggled a bit with the umbrella as the winds picked up but I was already soaking wet from the workout. It really is that tough with Sean.

We took refuge at the Gato Pocket Park (a future essay) and I sat for a minute out of the rain. Rusty gave me not much of a break and soon he made his feelings known, pacing back and forth in front of me.

I took the long way back to the care so we were both nicely wet, but not cold. Winds were picking up, expected to reach 40 miles per hour but it was still in the mid seventies. It looks like winter even if it feels like summer:

Smashers Beach looked bleak, but the seas weren't terribly rough as there was a lot of west in the wind, blowing over the end of the island not the south shore.

Glad I'm not living on a boat in Cow Key Channel today!

I wore Rusty out with all the excitement. He went to bed early. Good boy.

Posted with Blogsy

Sugarloaf 939A South

I am starting to think Rusty expects me to pull a completely new walk out of my head every time we leave the house. These days he waits for me at the top of the stairs when I get home around 6:20 in the morning and I barely get off the Bonneville before this little ball of fur is bouncing off my chest. 

I drive Rusty to the Sugarloaf Boulevard walk at the south end of the island but this time, once we got past the jumping bridge we went straight and ignored the paved loop.

The bridge was the scene of excess, oddly enough several pairs of dainty black socks were lying on the ground in wet heaps alongside empty cans and cardboard debris. 

My goal was a 45 minute walk through the mangroves on the old roadway to the scene of the former bridge. Had that been in place we could have walked all the way back to Highway One at Mangrove Mama's. As it was we paused and when Rusty was finished with his inspection we retraced our steps, a meandering walk back the way we came.

The channel connects Cudjoe Bay to the waters in the middle of  Sugarloaf Key. Head east to go to my house, head west and eventually you will reach the marina at Sugarloaf Lodge. Here it is a deep, fast flowing, desolate salt water stream between mangroves.

The dark gray skies broke and started to brighten bringing warmer temperatures and sharper colors. 

The bushes are closing in on the old roadway making the track a one lane path.

While I played with the camera Rusty ducked in and out of the buttonwood trees sticking his nose imprudently into land crab holes.

As the old roadbed sank closer to sea level the buttonwoods gave way to red mangroves, the ones that like to live directly in the water. These trees are the roots that form the green island blobs you can see either side of the highway. There is no land there, no dirt to speak of, no way to walk properly. 

Many years ago I was caught in the Gulf Stream by a sudden winter storm, half way to Key West from Mexico. We were too far south to reach the Dry Tortugas, and a nearby boat chose to park (heave to) and wait the weather out. My wife and I decided to turn and run before the storm, losing ground but escaping the shipping lanes between Florida and Cuba. The storm blew us into the Cuban north shore at a point of my choosing, a wide open bay, deep enough to get out of the wind and waves, dotted with small islands (Minas de Matahambre, west of Santa Lucia), so we could avoid meeting officialdom and having to explain ourselves. We anchored between some islands and found our dogs a place to walk amidst a profusion of mangrove roots. I came to hate these things, so impossible to walk among, so useless to humans, so important to fish. We spent a week ducking amongst them waiting for a change of weather, we were never discovered and our dogs survived on the leanest of walks at low tide picking their way among mangroves. I think of them when I see these sights.

I also remember walking Cheyenne down here when she was younger and that was such a long time ago. Rusty seemed to enjoy it much more than my old Labrador ever did. He sniffed everywhere, enjoying the woods much more than urban walks.

The walk ended up being two hours long and it was properly sunny by the time we were finished. 

It was hot but lovely.

Approaching the bridge we came across signs of civilization still not quite ready to fade away.

And what would civilization be without graffiti?

And a water swing:

The two hour walk required a day of rest and deep sleep for young Rusty. I had to go to work because I am older and tougher. And because I am not a dog living a dog's life.