Getting out of the crowded Boot Key Harbor anchorage at Marathon proved more challenging than expected but once I found my way into sinuous Sister Creek I was on my way once again to the open arms of the Atlantic. What an absolutely glorious day it was. A gentle northeast wind, temperature a pleasantly cool 66 degrees, moderate seas on the starboard bow and the air left dazzlingly clear be yesterday’s cold front. Dream Quest purred her approval as we plowed our way off shore into deeper water, sparkling in the morning light.
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| Cuban Landmark |
As I passed Key Colony Beach, a tall, beige condominium building dominated the shoreline. I discovered that this is one of the primary landmarks utilized by Cuban refugees as they struggle to make their way to freedom in fragile homemade vessels. Visible for many miles out at sea, it has guided many a boatload of desperate people to Vaca Key and the safe haven that the American shore provides. Cuban refugees enjoy a unique immigration status. If they are still in the water, they are subject to interdiction by the U. S. Coast Guard and return to Cuba but once they set foot on the ground, they must, by law, be accepted. They are bussed by the authorities to a Miami processing center and granted asylum. Since the rise of Castro, over fifty years ago, several hundred thousand Cubans have made the journey, many by sea, but tragically, not all successfully. This ugly, bland piece of Florida architecture has inadvertently become a beacon of hope, freedom and salvation to an island 90 miles to the south held captive for half a century by one man’s flawed ideology.
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| Glassy Florida Bay |
The keys slid slowly by, Fat Deer Key, Grassy Key, Duck Key, Long Key. Some 25 miles up the chain I altered course to the northeast and entered Channel Five Cut crossing over to the Florida Bay side of the Keys. The effect was stunning. I transitioned from open ocean conditions to docile lake-like conditions in the span of a mile. The boat trolled effortlessly onward as if sliding on a vast mirror of glass, suspended between sea and sky.
It is easy to drop your guard in such idyllic conditions, to relax your vigilance and give the mind a respite. The gulf coastal waters are carpeted with crab and lobster traps. Each one has a length of black polypropylene line running from the trap to a surface Styrofoam ball. In the 1000 miles of ocean that I've crossed since leaving Mobile Bay, I must have managed to dodge a million of these floating hazards. Snagging one in your prop can precipitate an experience ranging from a minor inconvenience to a disaster. It is a given that it will probably stall out your engine leaving a powerboat stranded at sea. With luck you can expect to dive beneath the boat and cut the line out. Unfortunately this is not always possible and the boat may have to be towed and pulled out of the water for repair. In the worst case scenario the wrapped line can damage the prop, shaft, bearings and even the engine. Wrapping a line in the prop can turn a routine boating outing into a very expensive maritime nightmare. I had had a couple of very close calls over the past few months and had developed a mental contingency plan against a future emergency.
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| The Outlaw Line |
Lost in my own private solitude, I glided along. Suddenly I was awakened from my reverie not by another float in my path but rather a 40-foot length of the polypro line floating on the surface dead ahead! In an instant I pulled back on the throttle and slipped the shift lever into neutral. In all, the maneuver couldn’t have taken over a second or two. I held my breath; I had definitely run over the line. I went astern and peered over the transom, and sure enough, there amidships, was the bitter end of the outlaw line. I managed to bring the end of it on board with a boat hook, but when I pulled, it wouldn’t budge. “Bad news,” I thought to myself. I killed the engine and nervously turned Dream Quest loose to graze in a field of floats. I donned my mask fins and snorkel and plunged in. What I found was a huge relief. The line had indeed been fouled in the propeller and had begun to wrap around the shaft. My quick response had limited the damage to just a few turns, which I easily removed on the first dive. Within short order, I was underway once again, knowing full well that I had dodged a bullet.
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| The meandering Intracoastal Waterway |
The Bay waters, unlike the Atlantic side of the Keys, are exceptionally shallow. I often found myself cruising with no more than a foot or two beneath the keel. The Intracoastal Waterway twists and turns its way through a series of low marshy islands fringed with mangroves and providing critical nesting habitat for seabirds. By 3:30 pm, with my energy beginning to wane, I dropped anchor in Tarpon Basin off of Key Largo. I had covered over half the distance to Miami with relative ease and only one minor scrape with disaster.
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| Sunset at Tarpon Basin, Key Largo |
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