Six-toed cats and feral roosters

Monday, March 5, 2012 MARATHON, FL – We got as far south as you can go and still be in the continental USA today – and here is the picture to prove it! It’s only 90 miles away from Cuba, and a favourite photo opportunity in Key West, where we went today. We didn’t get on our way quite as early as we had planned. After a restless night with the wind howling and shaking the motorhome without a moment’s respite, we weren’t sure we could venture out even today. It was still blowing hard at first light, and the waves were still rough when we looked out. However, when we actually stepped outside (with our hands firmly gripping the handle as we opened the door) it was bearable, though still very windy. Our poor little Honda was completely caked with dried salt, having borne the brunt of the lashing waves in its parking spot facing the water. It sparkled almost like frost on the windshield when we ran the wipers through it. So our first order of business was to find a car wash to get the corrosive stuff off. It was well past 10 before we got on our way to Key West, a 50-mile drive from our RV park. We crossed the Seven-Mile Bridge toward the Lower Keys, and passed through the Key Deer preservation area, where big signs warned of deer crossings along a section of highway that had fences on either side higher than any deer I know could leap. We never did catch a glimpse of a single one. Rather than getting snarled in city traffic once we made it to Key West, we decided to park the car and take a tour on one of the hop-on, hop-off trolleys. We didn’t stay on for long before we came to a likely-looking lunch spot, next to Ernest Hemingway’s home, called the Six Toed Cat. Apparently, such creatures still inhabit the grounds of the Hemingway establishment, descendants of Papa’s six-toed pet. Our light lunch lightened our wallet alarmingly, but we had been forewarned, and we were hungry. It was a short walk to the cairn that marks the Southernmost Point of the USA, and the day was lovely and fresh after all the heat and humidity we have had. We passed quaint wood-frame houses with picket fences, shady porches and gingerbread trim, decorated with tumbling splashes of bright bougainvillea. Several times, we spotted feral roosters strutting about and crowing. After our photo opportunity, we walked back to re-connect with the trolley tour, which took us on a wide loop through the old town and out to the more modern edges of the city. We learned that the name “Key West” was actually an anglicised version of Cayo Huesa, the Spanish name that means island of bones, since pirates in early times found such evidence from shipwrecks. When our route took us past the shopping, eating and beach areas, we appreciated the full impact of Spring Break, which has just begun. The beach especially was jammed with huge crowds of young people, looking for a good time with their friends. On the main street, hundreds of shoppers jostled each other on the sidewalks, and shopkeepers smiled as their cash registers chimed regularly. If we had more time, we would have had a closer look at the Hemingway house and a nearby butterfly museum, but we wanted to get back to the RV before nightfall, so we left that for another time.

Gone with the wind

Sunday, March 4, 2012 MARATHON, FL – The heat and humidity yesterday was such that we decided to run the air conditioner all night, just so we could get a comfortable sleep. I guess it was the precursor to what we experienced today: a tropical wind storm of considerable force that seemed to blow in out of nowhere. The morning started off quietly enough. It was still warm and humid when I set off for church. On my way, I warmed up my voice by singing an old favourite hymn. To my delight and surprise, that was the very one we sang at the end of the service! Nice! When I got back, the wind had picked up, so after I got changed I thought it would be wise to put away the lawn chairs before they got knocked over. When I went to open the door of the RV, it was practically ripped from my hand by a fierce gust of wind! I barely kept the door from banging against its hinges, and already one of the chairs was skidding away from the concrete pad. Val came out and helped me get them folded and stowed. With the rear end of the RV so close to the water and now-crashing waves, we thought it best not to put the chairs under there (no way were we going to attempt to open a storage door), so we stashed them under the car nearer the road. With the wind whipping our hair and flapping our clothes, we worked our way back to the RV door. Then Val muscled the door open just wide enough for me to get in, and hopped in himself before pulling with all his might to get it closed. For the remainder of the afternoon, we stayed inside, listening to the wind howl. The RV shuddered and rocked and great splashes of rain and wind lashed against the windows. Our radio was set to receive weather warnings automatically, and sure enough, the weather band came on with warnings for boaters to get below and make sure all aboard had life jackets on. It predicted blinding rain and winds gusting to more than 35 knots. It was fascinating to sit at the window and watch the white caps crash against the sea wall behind us and burst into white plumes of foam. Amazingly, we saw a few birds out above the waves, with wings outstretched, buffeted by the currents of air. And sadly, I saw in the water a large dead bird, bobbing in the waves and carried in to shore. The storm had been just too much for the poor thing. We had made plans to do some more exploring this afternoon, but they went by the wayside. Instead, we read, did crossword puzzles, napped (or tried to) and read up on what we might do tomorrow. By late afternoon, the wind had died down enough for us to venture out briefly and see what, if any, damage had occurred. I was surprised not to see much; there were mounds of churned-up seaweed on the boat ramp, and palm branches that had been ripped off a few trees, but the campground and its residents seemed to have weathered everything quite well. Even now the wind is still billowing away, but at a diminished rate. It gave us a better understanding of what it must feel like when a hurricane comes through. I don’t think I’ll ever watch a TV report about US hurricanes with quite the same detachment as before.

A hospital like no other

Saturday, March 3, 2012

MARATHON, FL – Richie Moretti never dreamed, when he opened a motel at Marathon in the 1980s, that it would lead to the establishment of the only state-certified veterinary hospital in the world for sea turtles. He was just interested in entertaining his guests when he stocked an old concrete swimming pool with unusual fish and sea creatures. But it was the time of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and a youngster asked him why he didn’t have any turtles in his menagerie. That got him thinking, and when an injured sea turtle turned up needing a place to recover, he accepted the first of what would be a thousand such creatures to come under his care. We saw Richie Moretti today, briefly, as he reported to our guide that they’d solved the mystery of their most recent patient’s ailment. He’s short, with long greying hair pulled back in a ponytail, and kind eyes. His leadership has changed the lives of hundreds of sea turtles, and educated as many human beings in how to protect them at every stage of their lives, from eggs to full maturity. Moretti bought the night club next door to his motel when it became clear he was no longer going to be in the hospitality business, and transformed it into the Turtle Hospital. It has an operating room, equipped with all the necessities for surgical interventions. Out back are holding pools for the patients where veterinarians and volunteers come to help them with physiotherapy and rehabilitation. In the parking lot are two turtle ambulances, equipped to pick up patients that can weigh over 100 pounds and snap through hard shells with their sharp beaks. After our tour today, I know a lot more than I ever did about sea turtles. I learned that they can’t retract their heads or legs into their shells like land turtles do. I learned that at around age 25 the males grow a tail but the females don’t. I learned that many communities have campaigns to get residents, who live near the beaches where the babies hatch and scamper to the sea, to keep their lights off at night in hatching season between May and October. That helps the babies aim for the waves, shining in the moonlight, without being led in the wrong direction by artificial lights. Of the seven varieties of sea turtles in the world, five live around Florida and four of these are endangered. The fifth, the loggerhead turtle, is threatened, so much of the Turtle Hospital’s energies are spent on educating people about not throwing trash into the water, taking care with monofilament fishing lines and refusing to buy products made from turtles’ shells, skin, eggs or meat. The hospital has no government funding, so they rely on public support. The three R’s of the Turtle Hospital are rescue, rehabilitation and release. It’s always a day of celebration when they can let one of their patients return to the sea. Our guide told us they did just that a couple of days ago, when the one-year waiting period was over and the fully-recovered creature could go back to the wild. It was great to see the outdoor tanks where the huge creatures were swimming around. Some had lost flippers, and others had been injured by boat propellers or succumbed to a virus that causes tumors to grow on their bodies. The ones we saw today are the lucky ones, tended to with loving care and returned, whenever possible, to their watery homes.

Under the sea

Friday, March 2, 2012 MARATHON, FL – Our plan for today was to backtrack to Key Largo, the first cluster of the Keys, and take a trip in a glass bottom boat out to see the coral reefs. The Princess II, as our vessel was called, had an interesting neighbour at the dock – it was the African Queen, the very boat that Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn sailed in when they made the 1951 film of the same name! It looked rather the worse for wear, and was missing its famous potbellied stove, which was off being restored. Signs nearby asked for contributions toward further restoration in this, its 100th year. With only about 30 out of a possible 100 passengers on board our boat, we had a good view of the channel out to sea on the top deck, and plenty of space to see the reefs when we went below later on to look through the large glass panels on the bottom of the boat. Once we cleared the channel, which was lined on either side by swanky villas and expensive yachts, the open water was rather choppy. Our guide advised staying topside until we reached the reef, about 30 minutes away, because looking through the glass bottom at things whizzing by could make us feel “uncomfortable”. Actually that feeling came over both Val and me once the boat did come to a crawl, and we looked at the diverse marine life below us. The boat rocked quite a bit, so it was hard to stay focused on any one thing. Still, it was lovely to see lacy sea fans, and long, delicate fronds of sea ferns swaying back and forth in the currents. The coral’s myriad holes and crannies provided lots of hiding places for tiny fish when the big ones came by. Schools of bright yellow fish darted past, and solitary sergeant fish, with stripes like a sergeant’s rank badge, swam in and out of the shadows. The guide pointed out a couple of large, mottled barracuda with pointed snouts, and a grouper gliding near the bottom. She described the fire fern, a dark sea plant with white edges that can burn a diver’s skin at the merest touch. She also pointed out ancient railroad ties that had been jettisoned in a storm before they made it to shore for the Florida railway. Now they were left in place, because they had become an integral part of the reef. Soon it was time to head back to shore, and we were both glad to be topside with fresh air blowing on our faces. It was good to have a chance to see the continental United States’ only coral reef, and to marvel at the sea life just below the water’s surface. Seeing it in calmer conditions would have made it even better. As we headed back toward Marathon, we stopped at a place that was full of colourful lawn ornaments, flags, wind chimes and wind socks. We love the wind socks for our back yard, but they fade in time and they’re sometimes hard to find. So we stocked up, and at the same time had a great conversation with Diane, the owner, about California, where we hope to go next year. We stopped for a late lunch at Wahoo’s Bar and Grill, and our booth overlooked a dock where several pelicans were hanging out, hoping for tidbits from the fishing boats. We watched their antics as we munched on snapper and lobster, and relished a restful evening by the seashore.

Room with a view

Thursday, March 1, 2012 MARATHON, FL – Here’s what we look out on from our motorhome bedroom window at the Jolly Roger Travel Park. Pretty nice, eh? We’re delighted! This view looks northward across the gap between the Florida Keys and the mainland. Marathon is the cluster of islands at the mid-point of that little string of dots you see on a map trailing south-westward off the tip of Florida. We picked this spot so that, during the week we’re here, we can explore in both directions. It’s a world focused on water. Boat cruises, fishing expeditions, snorkeling, swimming, jet skiing, parasailing, beachcombing and sunbathing are just some of the activities available here, as well as seafood-eating, which we are planning to do at some point! Our trip from the outskirts of Miami this morning took us past vast fields of crops and nurseries through the small town of Homestead and then on to the first of many bridges along Highway 1, the artery that serves the Keys. We knew we had water on both sides of us, but there were long stretches where tall trees obscured our view. Every now and then, though, we caught glimpses of beautiful, turquoise water. In some spots, the highway had only a few dozen feet on either side before the waves lapped the shore. Dozens of pleasure boats and fishing boats bobbed in marinas and out on the water. We stopped briefly in Key Largo, the first of the chain, to check out the travel literature at the Visitor Center so we could plan our explorations. In one of the guides, I learned that the Keys are sectioned off, not by islands, but by clusters of them, into five parts: Key Largo, Islamorada (the first syllable rhymes with “isle”), Marathon, Lower Keys, and Key West. In each of those parts there are at least a dozen key names, but those five are the main identifiers. When we got to our campground, our host led us in his golf cart to our site. We knew we had a waterfront site, but when we actually saw the view, we were enchanted. There is a concrete walkway behind the RV, and then endless, beautiful water. We had thought of heading out to see some sights as soon as we got settled, but we were pretty hot from the minor exertions required to set up, so we decided to just sit and feel the breeze on our sweaty brows and watch huge pelicans swoop over the waves. After that, and a leisurely stroll to see the grounds, it seemed good to sit in the shade and read, and then creep inside for a wee nap. By then it was time to think about supper, which we sat outside to eat as we watched a golden sun descending to the horizon. The peach and lavender coloured sky was mirrored on water that was shimmering like silver, and grey clouds overhead flashed orange at their shaggy edges as the last rays caught them. What a sight. Once the sun had slipped away, our neighbours were out on the walkway looking over the edge into the water and pointing. They were watching the lobsters crawling out from their hiding place under the concrete! These creatures are not the big-clawed fellas we find on our dinner plates. They have spider-like legs and huge long antennae – and they are edible, too, although these guys wisely chose a spot where harvesting them is not permitted.

A garden of eatin’

Wednesday, Feb. 29, 2010 MIAMI, FL – In a land as lush with vegetation as this, a wise and talented lady named Mary Calkins Heinlein thought it would be a good idea to plant a garden with examples of every fruit and spice that grows here and in other sub-tropical places of the world. So, after raising funds and overcoming some legal obstacles, she obtained 18 acres of land in 1943. With the design of a landscape architect, Mary began to clear it and get growing. We saw the wonderful results of her efforts today, at the Fruit and Spice Park just a few miles from our campground. Inside the park building, we bought our tickets for a tram tour, and admired the exotic jams, jellies and fruit drinks on sale. At the taste counter, a staff member cut up a whole variety of fruits we’d never seen before and let us sample them. One was bright orange with the consistency of a rather dry banana. Another was soft and white with a gentle sweet taste. A third – and my favourite – was perfectly round, shiny black and the size of a cherry. We were told to split the tough skin with our teeth and squeeze the flesh into our mouths. A white sweet pulp oozed onto my tongue, with a delicate sweetness unlike anything I’d ever tasted! The fruit was called a jaboticaba, and it comes from southern Brazil. While we waited for the tour, we strolled around the grounds, which now take up 35 acres, divided into geographical sections of Mediterranean, African, Australian and Pacific, Asian and tropical American plants. Banana plants were heavy with green bunches growing up from the fleshy purple flower each one puts forth. Coconut palms towered above, while closer to the ground were plants with huge, deeply-lobed leaves the size of a turkey platter. The long, spiraling pleats of spiky palm plants provided hiding places for tiny lizards and spiders, and other trees were hung with round gourds of pebbled green. Huge exotic flowers with slender white petals and bright purple tufts at the centre blossomed next to ripe fruits on the same branch. It was a feast for the eyes! Our senses of smell and taste were tickled as well when Curtis, our guide, plucked some spicy orange and yellow nasturtium flowers to nibble, and crushed the fragrant leaves of the lemon pepper plant. We boarded the tram and he brought us through the garden, making frequent stops to describe various fruits and pick them for us to try. He told us he’d been working in the park for 37 years and actually planted some of the trees himself. He said there were 70 varieties of bananas – and we saw tiny round ones, fat ones that looked like zucchini, and other bunches that look like hands folded in prayer. Hurricane Andrew in 1992 devastated the park, destroying irrigation beds, the nursery, tree canopies and a couple of buildings. We didn’t see any sign of it, but it brought about some redesigning and, of course, replanting. Even though we were there in what is technically “winter”, we could see ripe fruits, blossoms, humming birds, lizards and squirrels everywhere. Have you ever heard of imbe, cotopriz, or marula? How about lucma, rollinia or bilimbi? Not coming to a grocery store near you, probably, but all of them grow here. We also saw pineapple, lychee nut and nutmeg, cacoa, vanilla and sunflowers. It was a feast for the senses.

The River of Grass

Tuesday, Feb. 28, 2010 MIAMI, FL – This morning we walked the perimeter of the Miami Everglades Campground, while we waited for the RV freezer to defrost! We’re keeping a close eye on it to ensure we get the best performance out of it, especially in this warm and humid weather. The campground is really nice, with lots of grassy areas and shady trees. It looks like it used to be a KOA Kampground, complete with little cabins, and there are no permanent park models here. It’s situated in an area where there are fertile farms with mango trees and vegetables, and huge nurseries, growing palm trees, ferns and landscaping plants. We really like it. After lunch, we headed back west along Highway 41 to the Shark Valley Visitor Center for a guided tour of the Everglades. There are lots of airboat companies along that route, but we were more interested in a slow tram ride with a guide who could explain the flora and fauna. That’s exactly what we got! We first got an explanation of how the Everglades came to be by Lydia, a park ranger with muddy hands, who talked about the limestone base that was established millions of years ago, and about oceans that flooded and receded from the southern tip, building up the waterway and its ecosystems – including bogs of peat. Lydia dug up a small container of peat to show us, and didn’t take the time to wash her hands before she came to her presentation. She told us how encroaching civilization changed the flow of water across the expanse of land that had become the Everglades, and the efforts that are being made to amend some of that. One project is raising the roadbed of Highway 41 to restore the flow of water under it. There’s a mile-long stretch of construction near Miami that we passed on our way out, which is the first of five similar stretches in the works. Next, it was Bob’s turn to take us out – about 40 of us in a covered two-car trolley – through some of the terrain for a two-hour guided tour. Bob was entertaining and highly knowledgeable about the grasses, the plants, the fish, the bugs, the birds, and, of course, the alligators that we passed along the way. All of these were plentiful, and our driver, Rachel, was sharp-eyed, slowing and stopping as soon as something interesting came into view. One of the first things Bob wanted to do was amend the popular notion of what the Everglades are. So many who haven’t visited (and we were among them) think it’s a jungly swamp with spooky, dripping trees that hide the sun. In reality, it looks more like a prairie of grasses, blowing in the wind under a huge bright sky. Of course, at the base of the grass is water – acres and acres of it, flowing a quarter of a mile a day from the north into the Gulf of Mexico. In that environment, an entire food chain survives, from tiny insects burrowing into mossy plants, up to the heavily-armoured alligator, all adapted to live in a place that’s drenched in rain half the year, and scorched dry by the sun for the other half. Bob told us about the male gators’ romantic bellowing, in mating season, that draws the female for a slow, elaborate ritual that ends with her laying some 40 eggs in a nest she constructs on her own. We were fascinated from start to finish!