Southernmost

The coffee seemed to be getting cold very quickly. As we sat – for one last time – on the plastic lawn furniture set up on the little porch of unit No. 12, a European couple strolled nearby, the mother trying to round up her young boys who were playing near the pool while the husband loaded suitcases into the trunk of their car. Overhead, an osprey appeared. It was flying just a few feet over Pines and Palms, permitting us a good, long look at its striking white under-plumage and menacing fish-catching claws. Seconds later, another osprey appeared. Then another. Followed by a fourth. Soon, there were five of the birds circling the resort. Eventually, the lead bird – presumably the matriarch of the clan – dove towards the water and temporarily disappeared behind the cottages in front of us. Seconds later, it reappeared, clutching a doomed needlefish. The bird called to the four smaller birds following it as to say, “That’s how it’s done, children.”

We just soaked it all in. We had reached the final day of our stay in Islamorada, and we were torn between hitting the road for new adventures and wanting to stay forever on the Purple Island. I munched on a black-and-white cookie and downed the last swallow of lukewarm coffee from my mug.

After checking out of Pines and Palms, we visited a few galleries and tried to make some connections for possibly placing my art. We were somewhat successful, and I hope to eventually have a few pieces of work for display and sale in Islamorada.

Then, we headed west. Our loose plan was to visit the famous Bahia Honda State Park and check out Sandspur Beach, one of the more famous beaches in the Keys. Unfortunately, everyone else had the same idea. The solitude and obscurity of Curry Hammock SP was a distant memory as we slowly drove through the parking lot, waiting for another car to leave so we could take the empty spot. It was very Wal-Mart-y and the park was simply littered with people.

There were also no empty spots on the beach, so we opted to sight-see instead, taking in some wonderful views of the keys and the bridges spanning the Bahia-Honda channel. Again, like everything else down here, it just made me want to fish very badly.

The old Bahia-Honda bridge.

With no way to avoid the crowd, we enjoyed a picnic lunch on the dashboard of our car. We had no plans for the rest of the day, so I suggested we continue heading west, just for the hell of it.

So we did. Big Pine Key, Cudjoe, Big Coppitt, Stock Island … they slowly went by our car windows as we tried to keep pace with the sun. The only detour was the Key Deer National Refuge on Big Pine, where we lucked out and spotted several of the reclusive little cousins of the white-tailed deer that frequent our backyard in Tennessee.

The rare and elusive Key deer.

We didn’t plan on going to Key West, but it sucked us in like a tractor beam. Before we knew it, we were amongst a throng of traffic on Duval Street, Key West’s famous avenue, which was bracketed by sidewalks filled with boat-drink-toting visitors who darted in and out of the multitude of restaurants, shops and curiosities that have turned this historical town into a full-fledged tourist trap.

It took a while, but eventually found a parking spot, grabbed our camera and joined the crowd, which we figured had at least a six-beer head-start on us. We then set several personal southernmost records (however, I refused the opportunity to wait in line to get a picture next to the gaudy landmark), before making a long walk past Hemingway's house and on to Mallory Square for the daily sunset celebration.

Mallory Square. Cruise ships and sword swallowers.

This was a spectacle. Hundreds of people filled the square, and interspersed among them were street entertainers and vendors hawking acrobatic antics and Caribbean cocktails, while pigeons, seagulls and pelicans provided aerial accompaniment. We found a good spot by a pier railing to enjoy the setting sun, which was shared by a colorfully-dressed pirate who screamed in vain at passersby to watch his sword-swallowing routine. We kind of felt bad for him. He was working so harrrrrrd.

As the sun finally set, we took a gazillion photos before raising our glasses to salute the end of another day at the southernmost city in the U.S. As was tradition on this trip, we spent the next couple of hours trying to find a place to stay, but unlike the previous six stops, we encountered some major trouble in locating a hotel. Everything was booked solid, as a weekend crowd had descended upon us. Through major effort and some considerable help from Key West's friendly residents, we eventually landed a pretty cool spot in the "new town," and called it a night.

Betsy meets Spongesquatch.

I took the first shower, then sat on our hotel bed while Betsy took her turn. Staring at my reflection in the black screen of our in-room TV, I looked tired. Maybe a little fat, too. Yet, happy. I let out a little laugh and shook my head before grabbing the remote and clicking on Sports Center. It took us eight days to do it, but we had finally made it to Key West.

It was all uphill from here.

Lazy days

The second day in Islamorada was a relentlessly laid-back affair. We purposely woke up late, made a pot of coffee and lazily hung around Pines and Palms for a good part of the morning. Unfortunately, Betsy found herself tangled up with some work back home, so while she talked on the phone and tried to work a real estate deal from 955 miles away, I grabbed my 8-wt and 7-wt fly rods, and headed down to the end of the dock.

The morning sun lit up the choppy water, causing a strobe effect on the surface and making it difficult to spot fish on the shallow flat behind the property. The only thing visible under the waves was a school of small needlefish. It didn’t really matter. I was on vacation, and determined to launch a few casts into the Atlantic Ocean via the private dock at Pines and Palms.

While I was mainly interested in seeing how my new flies worked, I would’ve loved to have had the incredible fortune to encounter one of the Keys’ legendary denizens. But, there were no rolling tarpon, no bonefish on the flats in front of me, no permit tailing in the nearby turtlegrass. Just needlefish. The cold front that had provided our tailwind down to the Keys had escorted most of the desired species out of the shallows and into deeper water. But, the flies worked great, and I had fun casting for a few minutes while Betsy tangled with normal life back home.

Major poonage.

Our lazy Tuesday continued, as we drove down to MM 77.5 to check out Robbie’s Marina, where I plopped down a few bucks to earn the right to feed the enormous resident tarpon. There just aren’t many opportunities in life to hand feed 200 lb fish, after all. As I elbowed my way into the scrum of tourists leaning over the dock and gazing into the water, Betsy snapped photos as I dangled sardines into the gluttonous maws of the pet tarpon. It was great fun, but it really just made me really want to go fishing.

At Robbie's, feeding the pets.

After picking up some fresh shrimp at Islamorada Fish Company and grabbing a really good seaside lunch at the Island Grill, we cruised down A1A towards Marathon, taking in the scenery and not really having a plan of what we would do with the afternoon. As the day too quickly raced by, we stumbled upon the sleepy state park known as Curry Hammock and spent the last couple of hours by ourselves, hanging out by the ocean. Betsy sat on the secluded beach, wearing her new red hat and watching me wade a nearby flat to cast to tarpon and bonefish, which, of course, weren’t there.

But, it was an incredibly relaxing day, and it ended with a spectacular sunset and a short, satiated drive home. Back at No. 12, we enjoyed our first home-cooked meal in several days, dining on some boiled fresh shrimp and some local veggies. Over dinner, we decided to spend the next day on the water.

Curry-Hammock State Park. A treasure.

Bud N’ Mary’s is one of the most famous marinas in the world. This Islamorada landmark is downright legendary, and it's the perfect launching spot in the Sportfishing Capital of the World. It was also the spot where Betsy and I teamed up with Captain Dave Butler for an afternoon adventure among the mangroves and potholes of the backcountry of Florida Bay.

My wife, the flats guide.

Packing a cooler full of drinks and a bag full o' snacks, we left the dock just after noon on a sun-bleached, bluebird-sky day. Captain Dave was a fantastic host for our trip; a longtime resident and angler of the Keys and an expert of everything that goes on in the remote and wild area of the Everglades National Park.

I hope heaven looks like this.

After meeting with Dave at the dock, we quickly boarded his skiff and within minutes, we were rocketing through a mangrove-lined channel en route to the fish-filled flats of the backcountry. Our first stop was a productive one, as we found a small cut among one of the many mosquito-filled islands and sight-casted to cruising redfish. We had an absolute blast catching several slot reds and a few puppy drum, as the fish were eager eaters of our shrimp offerings.

I asked Dave for some variety on this trip, and he definitely provided it. Over the next four hours, we skipped across the water from island to island, from channel to channel, and caught fish at nearly every stop. Redfish and mangrove snapper were the primary forage, as the more glamorous permit, tarpon and bonefish were still offshore in the warmer depths. The wildlife we encountered was phenomenal – pods of dolphin, a golden eagle, a bald eagle, several osprey, white pelicans, blue heron, horseshoe crabs and a free-jumping spinner shark were among the huge variety of animals we saw during our afternoon on the water.

Captain Dave provides some assistance with Betsy's freshly caught Mangrove Snapper.

The most astounding part of the trip was the complete seclusion we enjoyed. There were no boats within miles; just Capt. Dave, Betsy and me. During most of the journey, we appeared to have the entire lower Everglades to ourselves. That was really unexpected, as I’ve seen so many fishing shows devoted to fishing these waters. I just assumed there’d be a crowd, but I’m so glad my assumptions were wrong.

After we returned to the dock, Captain Dave cleaned a few snapper we kept for dinner and devoted some significant time talking with Betsy and me about our travel, our lives and our mutual admiration for exploring new things. Dave was a really good dude, and we were so fortunate to spend some quality time with him on – and off – the water. Like all great guides, he taught us a great deal and those lessons will certainly be put into use the next time we get a chance to fish the Keys. If you ever go to Islamorada, go to Bud N’ Mary’s and fish with Captain Dave Butler. You will not regret it.

Freeloaders at Bud N' Mary's.

Per Dave’s advice, we took our snapper fillets to nearby Lazy Days, another Islamorada landmark. They carefully confiscated our fish and made us a reservation for later that evening. After heading back to the cottage to clean off the sunscreen and fish slime, we returned to the restaurant and enjoyed quite possibly the best fish we’ve ever had. Our freshly-caught snapper was prepared three different ways, and each were equally and incredibly good. After dinner, we waddled to our car like out-of-water manatees.

Back at Pines and Palms, we tried to stretch minutes into hours, as we didn’t want this part of the trip to end. We had passed the half-way mark of our journey, and already, the stress and rigors of everyday life and responsibility were starting to creep back into the periphery of our minds. But, we were determined to let the tide carry all of that back out to sea.