Captain's Log

Skinwalker Log, March 25, 2008, Tuesday, 1110 hrs

Islamorada Florida Keys anchorage.

The boat is acting happy. It is playing in the 1’ to 2’ chop, rolling, pitching as to telescope its contentment in running the Florida Keys. The engines whining in concert the ode to joy.

Oh my, wait.

That isn’t the engines’ sound; that is the friggin wind howling in the rigging. That isn’t joys contentment it is moans of annoyance as the boat jerks on its anchor chain like a horse trying to break its reins from the hitching ring. No matter, our ground tackle is well buried by now what with all the wind blowing on the boat to set the anchor. A night of 30 mph constant wind, not gusts, a morning dark with a steadfast 25 mph now reduced to 20. Poop. Poop, poop, and poop I say.

I want clear still waters, pond waters, see the anchor on the bottom waters, the fish swimming waters, waters that remind me of rum not Alka Selzer all foam and bubbly. I want my spring Keys gin rum clear water.

I want it all and I want it now.

I want the magic of a balmy soft fingered breeze sliding seductively across my chest. I want that warm bloom of a rosy cheeked hand maiden kiss from the sun, the salty lick from the fine ocean air, yes I want it all and I want it now. I want to fly across the water in my sports car like a flat rock skipping to eternity, I want to immortalize myself at the Lorelei with cheap rum and rich jokes even if it is in my own mind.

I want it now.

I want to dive the reefs finding the lost treasure of Los Ojos de Dios. I want that grouper to go please. I want my 15 minutes of Key’s fame in every gin mill from Key Largo to Key West. I want that song sung about me, holding me high on life, as in life I croon along with a drunken, broken down Keys blues player that has more talent then tolerance for his beer. He should have drunk rum.

I want it all.

I want to dance the Tango with every woman in the Keys and hold my Capt’n close at the end of the evening. I want to fish with every charter boat captain in Islamorada and release them Bone fish, Red fish, Blue fish, My fish is your fish I want to sleep in Hemingway’s boat and feel his feelings of living life lusty, but I only want a sample of his despair. I want to eat at the Green Parrot watching tattooed women dance together and dine with chickens at my feet at my Blue Heaven and once again to see the joys of every day people bloom and crack open like a Corona and blossom like champagne. I want to see Fantasy Fest inhibitions poured out to evaporate and disappear as fast as a cheap well drink at the Turtle Kraal. I want to continue to see and feel the love of people sharing their dreams, their hopes, themselves as we live our dream, even as the wind does blow.

Oh yeah, I have it all and I have it now. Skinwalker is in the Keys.

Wayne & Lynn