Orientation and Mangroves. In the Rain

I love being on vacation.

I do not love getting up early on my first day of actual vacation, but Key Lime Sailing Club really wants their sailboats to remain in one piece so on our first day in Key Largo I crawled out of bed to attend SAILBOAT ORIENTATION.

A bit of info here: Key Lime Sailing Club provides, with cabin rental and appropriate credentials-for me this included US Sailing 101 for my husband US Sailing 101 and ASA Sailing 103-104 as well as previous sailing trips on our log-, a 22 ft Catalina, swing keel sailboat. Having your own sailboat available the entire time you are staying somewhere is HUGE. Renting a sailboat can cost upwards of $300 a day and then there is no guarantee that the weather will be cooperative in the sailing of said boat. Which was dully noted as it rained our entire first day in Key Largo.

At 9am sharp, six of us met under the semi-leaking Tiki Hut. (As noted above, it was raining. Sometimes sideways...) CJ, manager of Key Lime, proceeded to go over navigational maps, keel operation, easy sails, longer sails, mangroves, a mysterious steel post somewhere in the middle of the Intercoastal Waterway, curfews, boundaries and the status board which proclaimed the weather conditions and encouraging words for each day.

The others all followed along, nodding their heads wisely. Asking questions about buoys and depths and motors. I, too, nodded along but in my head, this is what I heard:

Of course, you need to substitute 'sailing' and 'sailboat' for 'parachute' and 'airplane'.

Thirty minutes later I had a moderate understanding of how to read the fuzzy map with multiple lines and numbers and triangles on it. We left the meeting with a solid plan to kayak the mangrove swamp as the status board proclaimed RAIN-NO SAIL today.

Because somehow kayaking in a swamp in the rain was OKAY.

Two of the volunteers from Key Lime and CJ loaded our double kayaks into a monster truck and escorted three couples to a good launch point. We are pretty sure they all had bets on who would back out first and who would actually come back alive and/or still happily married.

I should note here that I have never kayaked. I have canoed, the last time in the rain, so I feel this trip was really no big deal.

Getting into the kayaks proved the most challenging task. And while providing a whole lot of laughs, no one actually fell into the water. Which was a moot point as now it was once again raining sideways. Raining so hard, in fact, that our friends kayak filled nearly to the top with water...

Anyway, single file we set off across Tarpon Basin, approximately a mile but in the rain at times endless, towards what we hoped was the mangrove swamp with the solid direction to 'cruise along the shoreline and keep a close eye for the opening. It looks just like a dead end until you get inside...' 

Turns out this was actually really true advice.

We attempted several dead ends before finally, to a chorus of heavenly soaking wet angels, found the entrance.

Mangroves are an interesting species of plant. Growing half in water and half in soil, their intricate root pattern stabilizes coastlines from erosion and provide a home to multiple species of bird, amphibians and fishes.

And gators.

While we never saw any gators, we did hear a SLAP on the water which was way too big to be a frog and way more chompy as though a large wide open mouth and smacked flatly on the surface of the water leaving a very large concentric circle looping outwards towards my fingers which were dangling over the edge of the boat.

That stopped immediately.

the dangling pieces are growing downward and anchor the mangrove plant under the water's surface

we were escorted through the swamp by these two guys

I kind of like how the raindrops add to the mysterious qualities of the landscape

Around two hours later with the rain finally giving way, all six people – still married- and three double kayaks returned to the designated spot. We dined on slightly soggy pretzels and waited for some slightly surprised guys to pick us up.

We had survived the mangrove swamp.

In the rain.

Just like a Hemingway novel...

Again, pardon the raindrops on the lens, it was raining...

Come back on Wednesday Saturday...for He's Singing My Song! Open Ocean Sailing!!

If you go:

 The kayak across Tarpon Basin is not difficult. You do need to be mindful of power boats when you cross the Intercoastal, which is marked with red triangle numbered signs. It is possible to sail to the entrance area and anchor your boat, cutting down on the distance you kayak. 

Be mindful that mangroves are protected - it is a pack in-pack out area.

Salt Shakers and Explanations

So. Here we are.

Another wild adventure behind me and a blank page before me. So many things to tell about this trip. Guess I will start at the beginning...

I don't know exactly when Bogart, Bacall, Hemingway or Buffett entered into my personal fabric. I do know – for fact or fiction – they are people whom I admire.

I suppose Peter Brady's infamous "pork chops and applesauce...that's schwell...." started the longing to see what all the Casablanca fuss was about. Truth be told, I saw Play It Again Sam long before I saw Casablanca.

Didn't matter. Loved them both. Factor in Lauren Bacall's biography, read as a teenager; the movies To Have and Have Not and Key Largo; my hopeless romanticism...

Which sort of rolls into Hemingway.

I had a passing acquaintance with him in Sophomore lit class, Ernie in a turtleneck, glaring down at us from a mass produced poster, the back cover shot from The Old Man and The Sea. I didn't actually read Hemingway until Junior year American Lit. For Whom the Bell Tolls, The Sun Also Rises, all the Nick Adams stories...I fell hard.

Not for the author, but for the image and lifestyle.

I read The Sun Also Rises every summer until I discovered The Garden Of Eden. And then I read them both, imagining myself traveling through Spain, eating fresh caught trout and drinking wine from a short stubby glass in a cool, dark bar...

Over the years, my husband and I have read and discussed nearly everything Hemingway has written. Our favorites have shifted here and there as our knowledge of his actual life has increased. But in the end it is still about living. Truly living an adventurous life.

Soundtrack by Jimmy Buffett.

It was with much literary description, cinematic glamour and trop-rock soundtrack that we decided to do our own tour of the Florida Keys. We were armed with a list of 'must see' sites:

Sloppy Joe's Bar

Hemingway's Fishing Boat

US 1

Alabama Jack's

Captain Tony's

Hemingway's House

Mallory Square

Card Sound Road

Mile Marker 0

The list covered an entire page of notepaper.

Front and Back.

I was afraid that the trip would pale in comparison to the build up our years of imagining and months of planning.

Ha.

As we made the slightly illegal U-turn in our rented Honda, to catch the turn off for Card Sound Road – don't trust the I-phone GPS – my heart began to pound. And there it was:

Alabama Jack's

Described in professional travel guides as a honest to goodness dive bar, the outside did not disappoint. We walked in to a laughing, rum punch fueled welcome by the friend's who decided to meet us on this odyssey. 

Angie and Rob discuss the merits of cole slaw and conch.

They had been warned.

This was not going to be a 5-star, butler in the hallway, dressing for dinner sort of vacation.

What none of us expected was such a delicious meal. 

from the Landshark, clockwise - crab cakes, fish fingers, conch fritters, fried shrimp, boiled shrimp

A couple more rum punches and a Landshark beer later we headed out, down Card Sound Road to Key Largo and the Key Lime Sailing Club. Our home for the next five days.

Of course it is never that simple. We had heard a rumor that the bus stop from Bloodline – the one Danny leaves and returns and doesn't show up from was just down the road from Alabama Jack's.

We never found it. Although we were tempted to take a photo of every other bus stop we passed, just in case.

Driving down US 1 through Key Largo was like flipping through our list. The Caribbean Club on the right. The African Queen on the left. We watched diligently for the mailbox with the white picket fence, just after Mrs. Mac's Kitchen near mile marker 99. (After checking in at MM 108 – everything is measured by mile marker.)

The driveway was interesting. As was our welcome – by several men raptly watching another guy sitting on the ground cleaning a cannon.

Yes. Just a guy, cleaning a cannon. A pretty brass one destined to be attached to a sailboat on the other side of the island. Sadly, I didn't get a picture. I was a little distracted.

By this: 

Yes. It will kill you. 

 

 

 

And this: 

cue the singing angel hula girls

CJ, the right hand man to owner Paul, gave us our tour, some helpful hints for groceries and dinner and the heads up that Sailboat Orientation would begin in the morning at 9am sharp.

Still a little overwhelmed by the flight, the history, the cannon...we unpacked, swung by Winn-Dixie for supplies and concluded Day One at the Fish House where I learned just how delicious those Stone Crabs really are. 

For your viewing pleasure, a very unprofessional tour of our cabin:

Come back on Saturday for Day Two: Sailboat Orientation and Mangroves. In the Rain

If you decide to re-create any or all of this trip:

Alabama Jack's is located at 58000 Card Sound Road. It is an open air bar specializing in local seafood. While described as a 'dive bar', the place was clean and the food delish. No need to dress up. Trust me. The line of gas cans by the bathrooms pretty much sums it up.

Not kidding!

Key Lime Sailing Club is this interesting little cluster of cottages. In its previous life it was a fish camp. The ten cabins have been converted to cozy, eclectic rentals, each with BBQ grill, patio table and access to your personally assigned sailboat.

Yes. Sailboat.

No worries if you don't sail. The Club is affiliated with the American Sailing Association which means you could actually learn while you vacation.

If sailing isn't your thing your rental also includes access to kayaks, paddle boards, snorkel equipment, a hobie-cat and a sunfish sailboat.

You can find the club at 101425 Overseas Highway #922 Key Largo, Florida 33037

Call for reservations: 305-451-3438

The Fish House (10241 Overseas Highway Key Largo, Florida) and The Fish House Encore – owned by the ex of the Fish House owner – sit side by side. No reservations needed, although they are pretty busy in season. Again, no need to dress up. As stated, they serve fresh caught, local fish as well as offering chicken and beef options. But really? Why?

They All Asked for You...

We are lucky, here on the Coast of Illinois.
We have the St. Louis Zoo.

Hands down, best free zoo in the world. 

Penguins are fans of paparazzi.

Except this guy.

Polar bears are quite a bit larger than on that ice cream wrapper.

A little great ape PDA.

This guy don't care.

Yes. I am a Sea Lion. What's it too you?

And I can swim upside down.

Rhino's prefer thousand island dressing on their salad.

Hippo's enjoy being mysterious.

This cheetah chooses not to run.

A little mother, daughter bonding amongst the Asian elephants.

These shoots are making me thirsty.

Raja, on the left. Born one year after my daughter. Now 100x her size.

 At least

Ready for my close up.

Still in the throws of major writing doldrum.
Come back again for more pictures from Autumn, here on the Coast of Illinois.

Mooring

It has been awhile, I know.
I seem to have gotten caught in the doldrums...the place where there is no wind and you are left to drift aimlessly...
Wow. That sounds dramatic.
Truthfully, I just can't seem to get two words on paper.
I have a lot of them in my head. They just refuse to sail downward into my jittery fingers.
Consequently, I am taking a little hiatus from the Coast.
Doing yoga.
Attempting to meditate.
Which, FYI, is not as easy as it sounds, what with all those words flinging themselves wildly around in my cerebrum.
For the remainder of October, Coast of Illinois will feature some autumnal photos.
And eventually some scenes from an upcoming adventure.
See you soon...

The Three Dog Night Defense

The setting: a court room. A man sits slumped in the witness chair. The prosecution begins:

You say this 'Jeremiah' was a...(dramatic pause followed by disbelieving look towards the jury) a BULLFROG??? 

-yes. He was a good friend of mine.

Really? A good friend. Just how good a friend was he,sir, if -and I quote- 

(Looks down at sheet of paper and reads) 'I never understood a single word he said'. 

Yet, (lays paper down on bench, softens look briefly as shakes head) yet, still, you drank his wine....

Was it 'mighty fine'? Was it? (Slaps hand on bench in front of witness) Was it in fact might fine wine?! 

(Defendant draws himself up to full height, stands, faces jury)

Yes! I did it for the boys! And the girls! And all those fishies in the deep blue sea! 

Yes! (Looks imploringly at audience spreads open palms out in sweeping motion) I did it for you and me!

(The audience erupts in shouts and wild 70's electric organ music as bailiff drags defendant from room)

Prosecution stacks papers, throws them into briefcase clicking it shut as she says:

Yes, he always had some mighty fine wine....

(Inspired by a derogatory comment over my decision to taunt my husband with a line from the Three Dog Night song ONE last night as we fought over the bed sheet.)

Apologies to Hoytt Axton. Although I could totally see him playing the judge in this scenario. 

I mean, It Has Method Right in the Name...

Fine.

I admit it.

I am not as hip and cool as I once thought.

But I am trying.

I have pushed through my comfort zone to give something new, foreign, slightly dangerous a try.

You see, after much prodding and taunting by some younger, hipstery co-workers, I finally given the Pour Over Coffee Method a try. 

The curve of the carafe. The scent of the brew. How totally sensual...

I have long been a Mr. Coffee Pre-Programable Drip Coffee Maker woman. From my first four cup pot, hidden discreetly on the allowable mini-fridge in my dorm room to the fancy new ten cup carafe-slash-single serve pod pot my family gave me for Christmas last year, I have always been a drip coffee maker. 

While not an actual 'Mr. Coffee', I feel Joe approves.

Sure, I strayed from time to time.

Back in the 80's my parents gave me a tiny espresso maker.

After visiting my NYC brother in the 90's I gave the French Press a go.

Yet I always returned to my beloved Mr. Coffee Pre-Programable Drip Coffee Maker.

Mr. Coffee is convenient. Set it and forget it until you get up in the morning to the earthy, heady scent of freshly brewed beans. (I can say beans as, since my espresso period, I have always ground my own beans.)

Mr. Coffee is familiar. My Mom used one. So did my Grandma.

Although when we camped, my Mom used a tiny percolator pot set directly over the camp fire and on special family events Grandma would drag out the hefty 35 cup percolator. It was fun to watch the coffee pop up into the glass bulb in the center of the lid and even more fun to wash the stem and metal basket. If you pushed those babies down into the dishwater with the correct pressure and angle and probably torque, you could send tiny bubbles flying all over the kitchen.

Most importantly, Mr. Coffee is safe. There was NO direct access to boiling water. Sure, this results in a barely tepid cup of coffee, once the tap water has heated up and dripped through the grounds and filter into the pot which sits on a heated burner. But seriously, how else can you get that authentic burnt coffee diner smell?

Most recently I have taken to pouring the freshly dripped coffee into a thermal carafe. Thus leaving not one but TWO pots of stale coffee stains to wash when I get home from work.

I feel it was a cruel twist of fate that, as I strolled through the coffee maker aisle at Target, wistfully staring at the Ninja Coffee Bar System, that I noted one lone pour-over pot with a red clearance sticker. It was as if Joe Garagiola himself were standing in front of me, bathed in heavenly light. Only it wasn't Joe Garagiola, he was hunched over the Mr. Coffees with his heavenly head in his hands.

Nope, it was more like an Indie Band bass player with a man bun, excessive yet well-groomed facial hair, and a local brewhaus t-shirt, staring at his I-phone arranging a ride from Uber, bathed in the heavenly glow of an organic, fair trade dark roast.

There was no judgement as I checked out with my fancy new coffee pot. I stopped at the in-store Starbucks and bought a bag of 'limited edition, single source, hand roasted' beans and hurried home, crafting my reason for buying yet ANOTHER coffee pot.

Rob just shook his head.

He does not drink coffee.

And now I am converted.

The coffee is smooth, although it does take a little longer to prepare in the mornings.

I am working at convincing myself that the process of warming the carafe, grinding the beans to a the perfect medium – between coarse French Press and super fine Turkish, waiting for the water to boil then slowly pouring said water of said medium ground beans is making me mindful of my activities and more appreciative of my mornings.

As opposed to making me late for work...

But it's totes worth it.

For Realz.

My coffee pot collection from left, Turkish Ibrick, Bunn Espresso with built in frother, Bodum French Press, Birletti espresso pot. I feel my very international in my caffeine hobby.

Check out the featured post on the right for a story of how COFFEE has gotten me into trouble. One of many. Not the last...

Took a Little Trip...

Ordinarily, I try to keep politics and religion out of the Coast of Illinois. But in order to put this post into context, I must break that rather slim, Miss Manners initiated rule. 

I had no idea there were so many Land Pirates...

I am a Parrothead.

There. I said it.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, please tune your SiriusXM radios to channel 24. Parrothead is the term associated with fans of Jimmy Buffett.

But it's more than a music thing. Or being a member of a club.

I don't officially belong to any of the numerous local Parrothead clubs. They are fine institutions and not only do many fun activities but the basis of their philosophy is to 'Party with a Purpose' which means most group functions have a charitable element attached.

I belonged to one local group for a year and it was fun. I was introduced to some fun people, some great music venues and musicians. But most importantly, for me, belonging to the group made me examine just what it means to live in Margaritaville.

Which leads to another explanation.

Margaritaville, while being a very successful song and brand, is also a philosophy.

A good friend recently asked me to define just what that means.

It's not easy but let me try:

Margaritaville is anywhere you feel most content. It's not a specific place, although it can be.

Living in Margaritaville means enjoying every moment of every day. And if that is impossible then Margaritaville becomes the destination to get you through.

It exists solely in your mind, for those times when work is just too annoying or the kids are just too trying or life has become just too sad.

It is the place where you know you will feel safe. You may not feel happy immediately but you know that it is the place where your best chance of fulfillment exists, even if it is temporary.

Because life is just too short.

And once you find Margaritaville, you will always be able to return.

On rare occasions, Margaritaville becomes a real, living, breathing place.

As it did this past Saturday.

Because of my past affiliation with the St. Louis Parrotheads, I became Facebook friends with several members. And while I didn't renew my official membership, Rob and I prefer to be Feral Rogue Parrotheads, my Facebook friendships still exist.

So thanks to that wonder that is social media, we were invited to the No Name Deck for a concert by the PHINS. 

We considered mightily the fact that this party was an hour away at a private home where we hardly knew anyone, on an afternoon in August when the relative humidity has been 200% with a forecast of 99.9% thunderstorms.

So of course, we were in.

As we drove across two bridges and two rivers the clouds parted and the sky turned blue and the sun shined down. The humidity down shifted from steam bath and as we walked into the backyard of our hosts we were greeted with bear hugs and handshakes and a genuine greeting of 'so glad you made it!'. 

Our lovely hosts, who opened their home and backyard and also had the foresight to rent a port-a-potty for the gathering!

We feasted on potluck and brauts and chatted with other lawn chair pirates as we sipped our fizzy waters and rosé and the occasional mysterious beverage poured from questionably reused apple juice containers. 

We sang along with a phenomenal band.

We booed the guy who kept requesting 'Freebird'.

We helped out a local senior center with personal care item donations.

We Conga-ed.

And for a few hours, we lived in Margaritaville. 

Check out these sites and show some love!

For info on the band:

http://www.paulroush.com/ 

 https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/take-me-to-paradise/id602682405

For Info on the St. Louis Parrotheads:

http://www.stlphc.org/ 

Check out the featured post for another tale from my own personal Margaritaville odyssey.