Tarpon Basin, Key Largo, Florida, USA

I am a voyeur. A voyeur of nature.

I stand before the window of Mother Nature staring. I am hidden in a cloak of plainness feeling naughty, guilty, yet I continue to stare shamelessly in my guilt. This voluptuous Mother Nature not only knows she is being spied on but enjoys teasing us with her seductive bending, stretching and slipping in and out of the incredible lightness of being.

She is my fem fatale.

Yesterday has turned into several tomorrows since I have had the nerve to attempt a verbal painting of the loveliness of what has seared its way into our very being. We have attempted photos, but they are simply a smudge of reality and are disappointing in what they convey. Never-the-less, we will start passing them on through the website soon. No doubt our words will soon slow also as the frustration of trying to tell you what we saw becomes overwhelming; but let us try once again.

Yesterday, I wanted to surprise Lynn with an adventure. So I kinda popped it on her around 1000 hrs, once the sun was high enough to highlight the bottoms under the waters of which we would travel by dinghy.

I had laid out a 12 mile loop that would take us in a roughly triangular course. The next paragraph is for the folks that are following our whereabouts on charts and maps.

We would go through the mangroves of our anchorage, north across the west corner of Blackwater Sound, through the mangrove tunnels and cuts of The Boggies, then westerly by Duck Key and around the tip of Nest Keys to a thin beach on the Nest Key furthest north. Then East North East across another section of Florida Bay past Porjoe Key into little Buttonwood Sound and through a pass into Grouper Cut that goes back into Tarpon Basin where MV Skinwalker, the Mother ship, is anchored.

We loaded up the convertible (dinghy) with all our gear which is considerable,
(But that is another email), we cranked up the Merc 25 hp and zoom-zoomed our way over to the mangroves. (The Convertible fills my need for speed at times)

The entry into the mangroves is virtually impossible to see further then 50' away and as we creped in at idle speed the light was different and more beautiful than we have ever seen before. It was captivating. The natural strobing effect of sunlight and shade was mesmerizing. Today the water was even clearer if possible; we could see 15-20' to the bottom, and fish of all sizes more abundant in and around the overhanging mangrove roots and shelves of coral. This is indeed a nursery for many types of sea life. It is a very quiet nursery at that.

We broke out of the mangrove tunnels into Dusenbury Pass and headed out into the first sound and made our way at trolling speed. My course had been planned around the weather specifically the wind direction, because Florida Bay and the sounds within it can throw up some pretty big waves for our dinghy even in shallow waters. So the wind was on our starboard bow without too much splashing over the rail. Lynnie was at the helm and I chunked out what I thought was an exciting jig to drag behind the boat. Didn't catch any fish this day, but we sure enjoyed the 75 degree weather in partially cloudy skies with a 10 knot breeze. We lulled our way to the "Boggies" perfectly at peace with the world watching the grass flats only a few feet below us. As I sprawled out, perhaps lulling a little too much, my head doing a good imitation of a bobble head doll, my eyes opened and saw a light lime green cloud. That's nice, I mused as my eyes closed again. I mulled that over for a few more seconds and cracked open one eye and looked again. Yep, green. Captain Lynnie, look at those clouds. They are lime green. She hates to be distracted when she is sorting out one foot waves with the bow of the dinghy. But she humored me and looked up. "Oh wow", she exclaimed.

Indeed. Oh Wow!

The lower third of the white puffy clouds on the other side of The "Boggies" were reflecting the color of the water, a pale lime green. There she is, that Mother Nature, baring her fullness to us.

We toured a mangrove slough in the Boggies, but the tidal flow was making it hard to control the dinghy through the boughs, branches and roots so we backed out and went through The "Boggies in a deep 100' wide channel that brought us out on the north side and allowed us to line up with our hand bearing compass on a course of 260 degrees. We eye-balled the low smidgen of green just barely visible above the horizon and put our bow on it at a continuation of our trolling speed. Did I mention I didn't catch any fish this day?

Lynn still at the helm is rhythmically surging with the 1' to 1.5' seas starting to white cap at our stern. Playing them. Getting the most from their power. She is no longer fearful, but still gets annoyed when she pushes the tiller the wrong way. It is not intuitive quite yet, but getting there. It takes years of experience that she wants in a few days. She does better every day. Oh, Captain, My Capt'n.

We are now half way through with the day's odyssey. We saw 4 kayakers at the boggies and as we round the tip of northern Nest Island there is another boat with a family of four. They leave soon after we arrive. We anchor the dinghy in 2' of water and wade ashore. We have learned to anchor our dinghy off the shore as opposed to pulling it up on the beach where the tide, wind or wake can wash it further up or just bang it around. Neither desirable. Anchoring the dinghy out, with stern drifting toward the beach, in its own element, allows it to bob and weave like some excited child emulating a prize fighter safe from dangers imaged or real.

It was this setting that shall ever remind me of the keys. Skinwalker & Capt'n Lynnie, lying on a deserted beach, sifting through course shell sand, picking out whole miniature sea shells about the size of a shriveled frozen pea.

We were living a Corona Beer commercial. Que chula es vida. How sweet life is at precious moments like this.

The shallow water, crystal clear, ranged from forest green of the grass flats to whitish tan over expanses of sandy bottom. The vast range of water color before us was simply astounding, accented by distant keys and the sky a light cobalt blue, the upper portion of clouds snow white and fluffy while the bottoms were the color of a perfectly mixed margarita.

The gentle breeze so cooling in contrast to the hot sun on our skin increased. We got dressed and reluctantly headed off on our last compass course skirting small mangrove islands and shallows in such a way as to keep them between us and the open waters of Florida Bay throwing up 2' white caps. It was a wet ride home, but also refreshing.

We capped off a long day in paradise with our traditional red box wine and rum.

As the sun settled contentedly into the sea beyond the keys, someone in the distance celebrated the passing of another day with three long sweet laments of a conch shell horn. These conch melodies serving as a footnote to our day, explaining our explorations have only just begun. There is, after all, the whole of the Spanish Main to explore, the Caribbean and beyond.

This day we praise Mother Nature for exposing herself in such an extravagant display of beauty as we wile away the evening in the pilothouse remembering and cherishing our good fortunes. I am living my dream.

Skinwalker & Capt'n Lynnie