I’d always wanted to take a vacation to the Florida Keys. This past summer it happened. After taking a week long cruise on the SS Norway out of Miami I hopped a bus to Key Largo. Famous for its fabulous scuba diving and sunsets, I eased into a dive resort for a few days. The hotel was on the gulf side, the same side where the gorgeous sun slips daily into tomorrow. Most of my pictures are sunsets.
Close to where the dive boats were strapped tight lay a roped off swimming area. Eager to test the water I checked the shoreline. Some divers shun shore diving because the visibility is fractional to way out yonder. But my new mask and snorkel were begging for a spin, and yonder was for tomorrow.
My first several trips in were without a tank; I just paddled around learning who the new fish were. They were mangrove snapper, grunts and a sprinkling of lonely barracudas. The grunts looked like fancy piggy perch, or dressed up croakers. Visibility may have been only fifteen feet, but when you grow up on the banks of the Brazos river, fifteen feet is eyeball heaven.
I was paying particular attention to the snapper; in fact I was stalking them. I had just purchased a spear gun, and though I couldn’t use it in Key Largo, I was sizing up the species for a future dinner engagement in Key West.
I learned that the grunts are caught frequently with rod and reel and make worthy table fare, but it was taboo to spear them (they have pretty blue and yellow stripes). I made a mental note of that and concentrated on learning the snapper’s every wiggle.
As I flounced up and down the shoreline I noticed a sizeable amount of litter from 8 feet at the pier out to about 20 feet deep. I told the dive operator that for a free tank of air I’d gladly fill my mesh net lobster bag with trash. Diving is like flying over the moon’s surface; who cares if you’re picking up a little trash--it’s still fun.
Of the more interesting observations, I’d have to include the huge tarpon skeleton laying pasted on the sandy bottom, the bizarre looking horseshoe crab and the eerie barracudas. They were always alone, always staring me down and always looking like they would rip into me like I was a crunchy apple.
One day I figured out where the JOHN PENNEKAMP CORAL REEF STATE PARK was and took a hike. It was a healthy twenty minute sweat, especially when I walked by some trees. Mosquitoes lay in wait for a dance and dinner; I slipped into the standard helicopter polka, only provided a light snack and then bought some repellant.
Once at the park I saw a bunch of fish that escaped from someone’s aquarium. Well, they were that full of color. It was just their neighborhood, the Atlantic Ocean. My old spot, the Freeport jetty and my trusty flounder hole were shades of gray; I was swimming with the pretty dogs now.
As I snorkeled over a rocky ledge I saw some curious whiskers ten feet below. I took a huge breath and dove like a duck. For the first time in my life, inches away, I was staring at a family of lobsters. My hands shook and for a second I was a little too hungry. Visions of grilled lobster, dipped in butter, and how could one of these fit in my bathing suit….I snapped out of it as I knew there was a two-day season coming up in Key West.
Some places, some times, people stop what they’re doing and go outside. When the sun goes down in the Florida Keys people gather and stare. There’s something about a fiery ball sinking into a watery grave. I think they’re thinking….the day is over--it might have been rough--but this sure is pretty.
November 6, 2002
