I don’t know how long, for months, a plan has been rattling around between the Captain of Velella and myself of roasting a leg of lamb.  After many conversations at the Tiki Bar and numerous ‘false starts’, we finally got serious and made the plans final and binding.  Not wanting to be involved in a conspiratorial faux pas of the marina, punishable by lashes of the tongue, as well as wanting the extra push of inspiration and motivation, we decided to enlist the help and guidance of Pirate King, Bill.  He volunteered to supply the rum and drink and wisely advised the mileage to be gained by inviting the wenches and added our relatively new pal, Martin to the entourage.

Now the wheels were in motion, much like a runaway train.  No more false starts.  Battle plans were drawn.  Logistics and support all worked out.  Today at 1500 zulu, 1100hrs, 11:00am, 6 bells in the morning watch, I crossed enemy lines, low crawled past the sentries, and made my rendezvous with Lenny who met me with his tank (Lincoln Towncar).  Off we headed for Publix like a stampeding herd of turtles.

It might be time to mention that Lenny is not a teeny little non-noticeable guy, being close to the same size as me.  We walked into Publix looking like two giant Ogres seeking human victims to feed upon.  Grabbing a grocery cart, we began our shopping spree, looking quite out of place performing such a domestic function that we drew lots of stares, but no comments from the normal dirt dwellers also haunting the aisles.  In short order we had gathered the makings for our feast.  The PETA people need to go ahead and log off now, for us, PETA stands for ‘People Eating Tasty Animals’.  The meat manager told us that we were purchasing two legs of lamb, but they looked suspiciously like dog.  No matter to us, we were salivating in anticipation as we left the supermarket.

Then it was back to the marina where Lenny began his masterful preparation of the feast and I assisted him with the pre-drinking phase of the operation.

Just when I thought that we might be in trouble, Bill showed up with a wagon and cooler full of drinks and ice, followed closely by Lenny’s wench Marietta, Bills wench Earlene, and Marty who couldn’t trick his wench into coming.  After hors d’oeuvre of little bourbon marinated hot dogs, cheese and crackers, and a salad, all prepared fresh from scratch by Lenny, we lit up the grill and watched while he created a gourmet feast of lamb, baked vegetables, and Lenny’s own garlic bread.  A better feed I cannot remember.

Without slighting Lenny’s culinary genius, what really made the night such a pleasure was the warm camaraderie of bright, entertaining friends with interesting and colorful stories to share.  As the ladies retired, and the rum flowed, the stories ranged on toward the midnight hour.

It was with regret that we succumb to the ravages of age, time, and alcohol while trudging the docks back to our own boats and empty bunks.  I for one am hoping that last night is an event that we will be able to repeat many times.  For now, fair winds and following seas.    Nat

Leg of Lamb?

By: Nat Manning

Now that we arrive at the boat, the danger really begins. The deck of a sailboat is a virtual cornucopia of hazards that come in all colors and flavors. Hey, you remember “cleats”? Well, they are generally sprayed onto a sailboat and then bolted down where-ever they land. For fun, add some steel wires with barbs called “meat hooks”. Cotter pins, bolts, clamps, toe rails, and various sundry items are placed throughout for you to conveniently hurt yourself.

So far we have focused on doing damage to your knees and feet. It just wouldn’t be right to ignore the other important and equally sensitive areas of your body. Let’s take a minute to talk about fun with rope.

There is a lot of rope available on a sailboat for you to hurt yourself with. Sailors call this stuff “line” by the way. The key to hurting yourself with rope is for it to have a lot of force attached to one or both ends of it. The first technique is one that you can all practice. Take the rope (line) and hold it tightly in your hand as the load comes onto the other end. As the rope travels through your tightly clenched fist rapidly, temperatures will suddenly go from ambient to over thirteen thousand degrees. The smell of burning flesh should be enough, but you just have to look at the raw meat that used to be your palm. Imagine how much fun simple chores are going to be for the next week or so. There are other ways of having fun with rope, but require more finesse to accomplish. Step in a coil in the rope just before it comes under load and you get to travel to places aboard that you would otherwise never visit, like halfway up the mast. Sometimes injury can be accomplished more simply by pulling very hard on the rope when the load suddenly comes off the naughty strip of nylon braid. As you advance to more sophisticated methods of injuring yourself, try holding a rope as it enters a block or runs under the wing of a cleat!

Bimini tops and hard tops are strategically located for you to crack your head on, but to bring up a really nice knot, things called “booms” are readily available for your use in hurting yourself. They are heavy wood or aluminum horizontal posts that swing back and forth across the boat, teaching you that “duck” has nothing to do with a migratory water foul. This is a lesson that has to be learned at least once per day.

Going down into the cabins below, not every part of your body is sore or damaged yet. Not to worry, boat designers have thought of everything. The “ceilings” of the cabins are built slightly shorter than the average person. This causes you to bend your head slightly forward. This is a clever set up that casts your vision downward. With you looking downward, beams are placed at intervals along the ceiling close enough together to provide generous opportunity yet far enough apart to allow you to achieve maximum speed before knocking part of your scalp off.

Boat designers have finished all of this off with the strategic assistance of inertia. Down below, the motion of the vessel is not detectable visually. This results in the tendency to fall down with unexpected motions of the boat. Rather than just fall down, lots of counters, benches, table corners, etc have been provided to cause bruises in all the places that haven’t been already addressed. The next time you see a sailor look for the ‘boat bites’. Just because you don’t see them, it doesn’t mean that they aren’t there.

In conclusion, I would like to thank everyone who assisted me by injuring themselves on and around boats. I finish this scientific study as I nurse my bruises and scrapes from my last experience aboard.

Typical Boat Bite

Boat bites are painful, non critical, non debilitating minor injuries that occur on and around boats. Take note that I referred to them as injuries, not accidents. I have been studying this phenomenon and am somewhat convinced that the injuries are by design and not the result of accident, carelessness, or ineptness of the victim. While trying not to sound like a JFK, UFO, 911, or Faked Moon Landing conspirator, I believe that I have sound reason to suspect that boats and docks are created through a sinister and ingenious design for the particular purpose of hurting people, and more specifically… me. Lets examine some of these snares, carefully crafted to cause damage to my otherwise unmarred hide.
It starts upon arrival at the marine environment. The parking lot. While unloading all of the supplies and equipment (crap) that is desirable to take on your much anticipated adventure, we encounter the first of the obstacles designed to inflict the pain needed to put you in the proper frame of attitude. They are heavy, hard, concrete posts laid horizontal and nailed down to ensure that they have no give. They are falsely referred to as curbs and are billed as devices to prevent travel of vehicles into undesired areas. In reality, they are placed as a result of study and research in such a way that ensures that you will inadvertently kick and trip over them, scraping your bare knees on the rough asphalt, which by the way, is also part of the design.

Evil Dock Gate

The next obstacle you will encounter is the dock gate. Please do not be afraid. The dock gate is really not as dangerous as it appears. Yes, there are lots of sharp edges and chain link fence spikes, and various other snags incorporated into the design, but the gate really does not qualify as a “booby trap”. What generally happens at the gate is that you arrive with both arms and hands laden with (crap) and need to negotiate the gate “barrier” that requires you to manipulate a key and lock while in this configuration. This inevitably results in dropping the heaviest item you are carrying on your foot. As you struggle with the lock, eventually, everything you were carrying ends up on the ground around you. Now that your hands are free, you can easily unlock and swing the gate open and pick up your stuff (crap). In order to increase the difficulty level, the gate is equipped with a very powerful spring that is not really meant to close the gate, but to press against you very hard as you try to pick up your (crap). In short order, this aggravation creates the reaction of pushing the gate open with hard force, causing it to swing away from you, setting you free to try again to pick up your stuff. The spring mechanism is specially designed to allow the gate to swing open far enough and hang long enough for you to forget about it as you begin to gather your precious belongings (crap) from the ground, then build an incredible amount of speed and force as it swings back toward you in your vulnerable position. I don’t think it’s necessary to continue describing the trials associated with the gate.

Having cleared the parking lot and negotiated the gate, you are finally on the dock, limping, but not really bleeding all that much. Within ten feet of the gate, you begin encountering tricks that the dock has of it’s own. Docks are also often adorned with electrical cables and water hoses, use your imagination. The most prolific of these are toe-breakers are called cleats. These are low profile, winged, steel obstacles bolted stoutly to the dock and placed strategically where they are not only convenient for breaking ones toes, but also provide an excellent opportunity to trip and fall off the dock. This, by the way never happens at high tide when the fall to the water would only be three or four feet, but at low tide when you fall and fall and hit the water from a great height with the resultant additional calamity and greater difficulty of getting back out of the water. I would like to stress two points before leaving the subject of cleats. The first point is that boats utilize these cleats to secure themselves to the docks, although this is completely unnecessary as witnessed by a more than adequate number of pilings that they could tie to.
Oh crap… I don’t remember the second point as I have a newly arrived injury to tend to…
Part two in a few days… give me time to heal, I just got back on the boat.

Editors note: Subscribe to this site for the next update… over there ~ on the right ~ just do it already

My Gulfport cutie-pie

Let’s see here> Beer: Grain, wheat, hops, barley, pure sparkling spring water… then the O.J. (no, not the guy in jail ((hahahaha by the way)) but the round thing that grows on trees all over Florida, which by the way, is a great source of vitamin C.

So then, we are basically looking at a bottle of pure health food with a shot of vitamins. All the ingredients in the beverage have biodegradable by-products with recycled bottles and glasses. This is apparently the ‘green’ trend to healthy eating. My coffee simply supports foreign industry… I may have to rethink my meal choices.

Anyhow, we find this really neat place called Peg’s Cantina. It’s nestled along the main street a block or two on the right, if your walking away from the beach. We take up residence outside at a nice picnic table. The restaurant is doing a brisk business, a sure sign of success.

Ellen-PEG!-Larry-Sheree

Considering my new health food menu choices I ask for a beer. The young lady waiting on us turns out to be the famous Peg herself! Talk about great service. She starts down a list of beers from strange and foriegn ports of call. They have a long list of different flavors and micro-brewery type beers. This is beginning to sound like a health food store in disguise. A guy could live forever here!

Then she starts with the menu. Talk about a neat mixture of stuff. Shrimp stuffed into a burrito - who would have ever guessed? How hot would you like your hot sauce? Then I go for it… the pizza.

Peg tells me that I’m too early for the pizza, something about it only being available after 4PM on weekends during a full moon while I’m wearing roller skates, or something like that… I’m depressed, so I’ll have the nachos, a bottle of health beverage, and some hot sauce. There will have to be a return trip for the pizza - it was highly recommended. (and another healthy beverage)

Nuclear LSD infused chili pepper sand flea

Peg, being a very friendly sort (I don’t think she was just trying to get closer to Nat either) sits down for a quick visit. She is a real sweetheart. We ask her about the icon she has beneath her sign. Peg tells the story of a few years ago where a starving artist came up with it (we suspect illicit narcotics involved) and a bunch of health food consumers voting in the ‘what is it’ category. Some folks think it’s a nuclear radiated sand flea, others… something to do with the hot chili. You will have to decide for yourself.

The ladies find us getting healthier by the minute. We should look like young studs after a few hours of this. To help with that fantasy we offer up some very interesting wine selections to help the girls with our visual transformation.

Cheers! This place is a definite must do in your travels along the coast. When you finally stop in for a healthy moment or two… tell Peg we said hi and give her your vote for the nuclear LSD infused chili pepper sand flea!

http://www.pegscantina.com/

OMG! More shopping bags?!?!?!?!?

Coffee stop

I highly recommend the official web page for Gulfport. It’s put together very nicely and you will enjoy the visit. Job well done!

http://gulfportflorida.us/

Looking inland from the anchorage you will see two piers. The one on the left is where the dinghy dock is. We motored the dinghy into the small harbor created between the two piers and found the dinghy dock fairly full. We managed to find a spot on the end and tied up without any problems. We met our friends Nat and Ellen on the dock who drove over to meet us. Plenty of parking is available.

Gulfport is relatively small and easily visited by foot. The waterfront has several bars and eateries facing the bay with one main street, also lined with shops and restaurants. There is a nice beach with covered picnic tables, a public restroom, and shade trees. The atmosphere is relaxed and casual. For the traveling boater, there is a post office within a block of the beach. I didn’t check for free wifi signals in the area though.

I did not get very far up the main street, as is my style. Sheree finds true happiness in bouncing from store to store while bonding with the contents inside. I’m very lucky in the fact that she makes minimal purchases along the way. Nat on the other hand… can you say ‘mule’?

Beer stop inside Le Moulin Jaune

Finding the first available restaurant with outdoor seating, I took up my familiar position and ordered a cup of coffee. Nat found a combination of orange juice and beer… mixed. I’ll have to let him write about it, but apparently it is fairly popular. We took up temporary residence at a very nice little restaurant called Le Moulin Jaune.

http://gulfportflorida.us/dining-in-gulfport/37-restaurants/133-le-moulin-jaune

Here is a link to the website for the restaurant. Scrolling down you will see a video by local channel 13 television reporter Charley Belcher. Take a minute and watch the video, lots of neat things here.

Anyhow, as I sit sipping my coffee, and Nat enjoys his OJ/brew mixture, the ladies head off shopping. Having done this numerous times with Sheree, I’m unconcerned with this being a ’shopping’ excursion. I usually get to wave at her as she exits one store with a big grin, unladen of purchases, and enters the next locale.

Ellen however begins the ritual of loading down the mule. I just gotta chuckle. Nat dutifully accepts the packages without looking inside. “Not even curious?” I query. “Nope,” Nat takes another sip, “Seen it all before.”

I really like this little restaurant, and will have to come back. The owner tells me that they just purchased the property next door and will be operating a bakery in there. They will provide fresh French breads and pastries. The ones we were given to sample were simply magnificent. I envision a sailing stopover here just to load up on bread and pastries prior to my next outing.

Ellen with treasures! Shop on girl!!!

The service is wonderful, the prices are kind, and the atmosphere delightful. I’ll be making this spot a regular stop when I’m in town. Sheree and Ellen have managed to work their way up to the next block, time to relocate our base-camp. Halfway up the block I notice I’m alone. Glancing over my shoulder I see the mule had finally gathered his cargo and is attempting to catch up.

Just up ahead is another fine place to watch the continued shopping saga unfold…

Now for the public service announcement: Do you see the spot on the right to ’subscribe’? It’s really easy… Put your email address in there and push the little electronic button. You will get an email to verify it’s really you. Agree to it and your done! You need to verify that its really you to keep everything spam free. Your address is not sold, traded, published or anything ~ no advertising on this site… this way you will get the story updates without continually having to look at my diving picture on top of the page… see? Easy!

You can comment on any of the articles here too. If you have been there, want to go, or have a great story to add, let me know!

Guarding the rail

]]> http://www.southerncrosses.com/2008/12/06/gulfport-walk-about-le-moulin-jaune/feed/ http://www.southerncrosses.com/2008/11/29/time-for-a-break/ http://www.southerncrosses.com/2008/11/29/time-for-a-break/#comments Sun, 30 Nov 2008 06:42:21 +0000 Annen http://www.southerncrosses.com/?p=353 I exhaled consciously while I kept my eyes shut. Bringing in a fresh breath I opened my eyes and did my best to burn the image into my mind for future reference. I took some photos, but it would not be quite the same.

It had been far too long since I’ve been on the hook overlooking the trappings of society along the shoreline. It’s nice to get to look at it from this prospective now and again.

Welcome to Gulfport

I’m amazed at how well sound travels over water. The mixed din of shouted conversations was competing for attention with the excessive volume of the live band along the anonymous waterfront bar and grill. Why do they have to play so loud? I thought the band was pretty good while considering my relative state of sobriety. My evening cocktail hour had just begun with the conclusion of today’s activities.

Life in general had been allowed to overtake me this past month. Somehow I had forgotten to slow down and enjoy each day along the way as family duties and responsibilities keep fulfilling my days. I’d lost precious time in my quest for boat time. Hopefully all of that will fade into the background while I march forward with my master plan of relaxing on the water for a few days.

I had managed to spirit away one week out of the last five to escape on the boat. We didn’t manage to go very far on any nautical chart, only a couple of inches if you were to put a ruler to the paper, but it was the separation from the dock that made this short time so valuable. Once you are untethered from the holdings of the marina, life seems to change a bit. I’ve always looked at the navigation charts with an eye to find a place as far away as my travel time would allow.

Sheree left, Ellen right, shopping ahead!

We left the dock with no real destination this time. That was a bit different for me. I always like to know where I’m going and how long it will take to get there. A precise arrival time usually is in the mix somewhere. Not this time however, we simply left the dock. I wasn’t exactly sure where we would end up.

Motoring down the ICW we approached a day marker navigation post that indicated a turn for Gulfport Fl. We have been there in the car before, but never on the water. I knew about the anchorage here and read about a proposed mooring field in some local magazine.

Why not?

I spun the wheel to port and off we went. I found the channel to be well marked with reasonable depth for my keel. There were about 15 boats anchored here when Gulfport came into view.

The usual mixture of well maintained prideful vessels were intermingled with the ‘why the heck is this still floating’ future underwater reef. We dropped the hook next to one apparently abandoned vessel. She had once upon a time been someone’s pride and joy. Time, neglect, and weather had all taken their toll on her as she bore the scars proving her life was just about over. An area aft of the port bow was missing a two foot section of fiberglass revealing the inner foam core. Some pelican had made this vessel his permanent perch. The growing reef along the waterline was providing a sanctuary for small fishes which kept the pelican in a constant alert and attack mode.

Dinghy ride to the boat

Several dolphins began feeding alongside us. I love listening to them breathe as they broach the surface. An osprey hunted nearby while the pelican seemed to finally settle in for the night. The winds began to dissipate into a soft breeze slightly cooling the days heating as the sun set into the distant Gulf. With the easing of the breeze the boats in the anchorage began to relax on the mooring lines and rest quietly. The lights of the waterfront started to work their way across the bay reaching my bow.

Sheree and I settled into the sights and sounds of the evening with our sundowner cocktail. This is why I own a boat.

South of the waterfront, along the shore, we watched as an emergency signal flare climbed into the evening sky. It went up a couple of hundred feet before falling into an arc while illuminating the area. The next two were smaller and did not go up as far, lasting only 6 seconds or so. The next one went much higher and had a small parachute attached to it. The best one so far.

There is a Coast Guard station here, and it was apparently some kind of educational class in progress. It was interesting to see all the different types of flares in action. I hope I never have to use one in a real situation as that would mean everything has gone horribly wrong and I would be wishing I was someplace else.

Gulfport at night

But for now, everything was going very right. This evening was about as pleasant as one could ask for. Tomorrow we shall explore Gulfport from a mariner’s perspective, but for now…

Cheers!

By: Mike Blanchard

Good morning Governor Crist. I know that you are a very busy man with many important issues to oversee so I will try to maintain brevity in this letter.

My name is Mike Blanchard and I currently reside in Vero Beach, Florida. I am 41 years of age and had worked in the fields of security & law enforcement in several states (including Florida) for almost 18 years. I have since changed career paths and am now working as a private sector historical shipwreck researcher, recovery diver, and artifact conservator.

I am writing to you to express some serious concerns that I (as well as many other citizens) have in reference to the State of Florida Division of Historical Resources (DHR) and their intentions to present a Rule Change to state legislators this month (November) which mandates the rules and regulations pertaining to the “private sector” research and recovery of historical shipwrecks in Florida’s coastal waters. The rule I am referencing is 1A-31.

I, along with many other professional/amateur “treasure hunters” and concerned citizens, attended a state hearing at the Guana Tolomato Matanzas Auditorium in Ponte Vedra Beach on October 21st, 2008 in which both the State DHR and the people of the State of Florida were fairly represented. The hearing was set forth to discuss Rule 1A-31 and this was an opportunity for the public to present any comments or recommend changes to the proposed rules content. I will not take up valuable time to reiterate the entire content of the meeting and the details of the specific points that were addressed as it was well documented as a matter of public record and I am sure you have access to the transcripts from said meeting and can review them at your discretion and convenience.

My Father always taught me to stand up, speak strong and true, and when you can’t affect change on your own, address the person(s) who can help your cause… hence my letter to you sir.

I just wanted to take a moment to request that you familiarize yourself with the State DHR’s Rule 1A-31 and address the grievances that were presented at the meeting on October 21st as it will have a strong impact on this great state on many levels and has a direct correlation to revenues generated for this state through tourism, employment opportunities, and media/film/tv events.

The basics of the issue are as follows:

The State of Florida Division of Historical Resources and its respective representatives are employed by and have been entrusted by the people of this state to record and preserve our historical resources for our present and future generations. They have an obligation to educate the public about our cultural heritage through the responsible use of media, museums, and hands-on presentations. Furthermore, the State DHR has been entrusted to protect those historical resources from any harm including deterioration caused by the environment, pilfering, and irresponsible handling.

Currently, the State DHR does not have the funding nor the staffing necessary to fulfill these obligations and rare historical artifacts that have been remanded to their care are misplaced, mishandled, and sit decaying in boxes in warehouses, storage units, and probably even garages. Furthermore, as we “speak”, the many historical shipwrecks which remain in the high energy environment of our coastal waters are being subjected to a constant state of ongoing deterioration. The state has not endeavored to save these sites and once again, does not have the funding or nor the staffing to do so.

AND YET… the State DHR demands through its own rule making process, the ability to control all of our historical resources and they have embarked on a campaign to make it impossible if not illegal for the private sector (the people of the state of Florida) to even search for its rightful historical heritage. I would like to know who gave these individuals the right and ability to make up laws without any public input or redress? These individuals work for the people of the State of Florida and their jobs are publicly funded. Why are they making rules to breakdown the very relationships that can strengthen efforts toward the common goal of preserving our historical resources?

Private sector shipwreck recovery has been the foundation for a good 90% of the projects that marine archaeologists and state agencies have had the opportunity to work on and most of what is in the “state’s collection” and public museums were recovered by and contributed by “treasure hunters”.

There should be a spirit of cooperation and every effort should be made to work hand in hand between the DHR/archaeologists and the public/treasure hunters. Private sector shipwreck salvage groups have always endeavored to follow the rules and regulations set forth by the state (and in some cases sustained great personal loss through those efforts).

I don’t know if you are aware of the impact that the DHR’s rule changes will have on Florida, but here’s something to consider sir:

- Private sector shipwreck salvage groups (aka: treasure hunters) were responsible for making the majority of the historical shipwreck discoveries along our coastline to date and the revenue that these discoveries has generated has been immense! Tourists flock to the “Treasure Coast” to meet famous treasure hunters, see the museums that are filled with our contributions, and go to the beaches to “pursue their own dreams of finding some buried treasure”. Outlawing metal detecting and regulating professional private sector treasure hunting intonon-existence would definately be detrimental to the state’s tourism based economy. Not to mention the fact that many newspapers, news programs, documentaries, feature tv shows and motion pictures have been generated by our endeavors and brought revenue to Florida.

- Private sector shipwreck salvage groups are funded by contracts with private individuals and operate with little or no cost to the taxpayers unlike the State DHR which relies upon tax dollars and grants to operate. Clearly the public supports us in our endeavors as we can only continue to work through their personal financial support & faith in our efforts.

- Private sector salvage operations stimulate the economy and generate employment opportunities in this state by employing everyone from historians, researchers, marine archaeologists, artists, photographers, conservators, divers, crew and support staff, marine mechanics, marina personnel, computer technicians, and even electrical/mechanical engineers. We also generate income for numerous metal detector companies and survey companies. And our contributions to the state has ensured job opportunities for state positions like the DHR and state museum personnel. It amazes me that during a time of war, political uncertainty, and economic hardship, that the State DHR would see fit to put forward a rule that would cause many folks to lose their source of income!

And just a last note… the majority of the private sector shipwreck salvage groups operate in a professional and ethical manner and have a strong respect for the natural environment in which we work. We have also endeavored to meet professional standards in our application of marine archaeological techniques during the course of our operations and have contirbuted a great deal to the advancement of underwater technologies.

I ask you, what has the State DHR created, advanced, or done for the people of Florida?

They have denied exploration and salvage permits to the private sector for the last 15 years and hindered progress with regards to the recovery of our historical resources yet they have granted excavation permits to their friends in the universities within two weeks! Why is that?

They have endeavored to make both the amateur metal detecting citizen and the professional private sector treasure hunters out to be “grave robbers” and “shipwreck looters” despite the fact that they perform exactly the same activities using the same techniques as we do to recover historical artifacts. Why is that?

They have scheduled meetings and hearings pertaining to rulings affecting the salvage community in locations that were inappropriate for the majority of the salvage community to attend and during times that were inappropriate for most to attend. Get the picture?

I ask that the Rule Changes for 1A-31 not be passed into legislation without a more substantial evaluation by both the State of Florida and the people of the State of Florida to ensure that it does not contain wording that would make continued private sector historical shipwreck salvage impossible to continue.

I also ask that the State take a good hard look at the DHR’s motivations behind the suggested rule changes and that their tactics for getting the rule change submitted with minimal public scrutiny be investigated.

Well, all that being said, it is my hope that my comments were clear and well stated and I hope that I will have the opportunity to thank you in person sometime in the near future for any efforts that you may extend on the behalf of the private sector shipwreck salvage community and the people of the State of Florida. I hope I never have to ask the question, “Whatever became of the Treasure Coast?”

If you have any questions about my comments or would like to reach me in person, you are welcome to contact me at: home phone 772-569-XXXX or cell phone 772-713-XXXX.

Kindest regards, Mike Blanchard

Editors note:

The phone number for Mr. Blanchard was edited out. If you desire contact with him please submit your request through the main webpage @ www.southerncrosses.com

First of all, when you hear the work ‘Key’ you immediately place a tropical paradise scene in your head. Visions of swaying palm trees, beautiful beaches, serene settings and sunsets…

On the waterfront

Driving to Cedar Key is easy. From hwy 19 located smack dab in the middle of the west coast of Florida, drive west on Hwy 24. When you find Gainesville Florida on the map, just look to the left. Travel west on Hwy 24 until you come to Otter Creek on hwy 19. Still having relatives living here I must temper my views as they just might read my blog. Otter Creek will be the subject of it’s own entirely different story one day as soon as I pick all the ticks off…

Anyhow, keep traveling west on 24. You are going to go through some of Florida’s old country woods. Listen out for gunshots and hunting dogs if you travel off the main highway. Cedar Key appears to be a great destination of the motorcycle enthusiast. I saw large flocks of motorized machines heading both ways all weekend. It’s a nice ride on a cool autumn afternoon. The thick of summer may be a bit different though.

One of my big surprises was Rosewood. I recall bits and pieces of the story, but did not realize that it happened here. You won’t see much of Rosewood from the highway, and I suspect it resembles nothing of the story any longer. Time continues to pass and structures change as days and events fold into the pages of the history books. This page was a terrible bit of history. In 1923 there was a massacre here in which innocent people were lynched, homes burned, and people murdered.The Wikipedia link has the story with photos and additional information. For you geocachers, look up GC1AHE9. ( I guess this means I’ll have to do a post on what geocaching is… )

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosewood_massacre

Keeping to the westbound direction you will pass a turn off for someplace called Shell mound.The GPS coords are on the page attached along with more of a description.

The shack on the water

http://seenorthflorida.com/destinations/shellmound.php

You will be entering Cedar Key when you pass over the first bridge on hwy 24. Slow down, no need to upset the local policeman in town. I saw him with a radar gun, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. Stay well within the posted speed limits. Its easy to creep over 30, so a word to the wise!

Cedar Key rail road bridge trail

Prior to entering town you will pass Grove st. on your left. It’s not very well marked, but just about 75′ down the street, and on the right, is a nature trail. It’s about a half a mile walk to the end where there are remnants of an old railroad bridge. For the Letterboxing hobbyist (I suppose now I’ll have to explain that as well ) there is a letterbox on this trail. I’m the geocacher of the traveling duo and my wife letterboxes. If you use the subscribe feature on this web page you will automatically get the geocaching and letterboxing posts when I get a few minutes to write them. (Signing up is free, no spam, you simply get the updates when written)

Anyhow, its a nice little trail if your up for a short walk in the woods. Otherwise, keep heading into town and you will eventually find the main protion of town, pretty much one street. There is not much here sans the obligatory tourist trinket shops. My wife, having spent her pre-teen years here, has some fond memories of what everything once was.

http://www.tonyschowder.com/about.htm

I realize that all restaurant web sites claim to be the best, have the best food and such, but this place has a lot of local recommendations. Maybe this is were all the motorcycle riders were going… There is also one particular recommendation that supersedes all other reviews, critiques, or opinions. This, from a seafood expert, an acclaimed critical critic of clam chowder, and lover of tasty seafood, my wife. She has given this restaurants clam chowder the highest of praises and ‘golden clam’ award.

I did manage to stop at the waterfront on two separate occasions for lunch. We went to a couple of places that were on the water. I guess it was the potential for the view overlooking the water that originally drew me to the businesses. It’s probably something you might want to check it off your list of been there done that, just to say you did. The water of Cedar Key is somewhat depressing. Its dark and muddy and boasts a viscosity factor of muck. I did see a couple of dolphins working a little bit off shore feeding on presumed schools of mullet.

The restaurant fare was ordinary. Okay, extra-ordinary. Nothing special, an okay value for the money if your hungry. I can not imagine that one restaurant on the block long waterfront is much better than any other. The seafood is trucked in, with the exception of mullet and clams which is local, or so said the waitress. There is nothing spectacular about the view other than it is water and your seated in a seafood restaurant overlooking said water. That about sums it up.

Restaurant row on the waterfront

My wife, and her family grew up here and she described it to me so that it made sense. She told me that she never knew you could see the bottom through the water until she went to the Florida Keys as a teenager. Her brother said he was so impressed with the amazing site of such clear water in the Florida Keys, that he moved there. If you hit the link on the left of the blog’s main page he is the fishing guide in Key Largo…

Granddad fished here when it was a fishing community. Scallops, mullet, red fish, clams, oysters, sponges… it was all here at one time. A time in the past. It provided his family with food on the table and a good means of income. It was an honest and good living while raising children in a small fishing village.

Something happened along the way that changed the flavor of Cedar Key. My brother in law said it was when Carrol O’Connor built the first large set of condo’s on the end of present day Cedar Key. I’m not sure why they are there. The beach is short, muddy, and covered with oyster shells. You will cut your bare feet…

Others say it was the fishing net ban in the 1990’s that put a halt to fishing in the area. There are still oyster fishermen working here, albeit a fraction of what once was. An old family restaurant/bar is now a laundromat. The old school is still there, and the State of Florida built a museum which cost’s a buck to walk into. The museum was depressing. There were a few trinkets pertaining to the railroad, a collection of common shells, a cleaned off rusty axe head, some cedar pencils and metal boxes… just an odd collection of junk. The State of Florida archeology division should be embarrassed. I know that they have vaults full of neat historical artifacts from this era and locale locked away in some Tallahassee building. Most of what is here was donated by local citizens. There is a copy of an old maritime navigation chart or two, nothing special though.

The old railroad bridge crossing, oyster shells

http://www.floridastateparks.org/cedarkeymuseum/default.cfm

The museum embodies my Cedar Key experience.     Extra-ordinary, bland, like a mayo sandwich.

The Key is stuck in-between dimensions, a sort of sideways time-warp between the past and the future. Some folks were as friendly as could be, others gave you that ‘get the hell out of here this is private property’ gaze. Once a very private out of the way locale struggling to become part of the future, while not being openly inviting, creates an odd mix of emotions. There is not much to do here really. One afternoon pretty much exhausts all the creative potential the island has to offer. The prices of real estate and taxes here are in line with what you will find anywhere in the Florida Keys. I’ve not discovered what gives the land here the oppressive monetary value placed on a shack, circa 1960. Some say it’s the artistic community moving in, some say it’s for the rustic appeal. I don’t get it. Should you visit here?

If your driving by, sure, why not. Check it off of your life list of things to do. If your sailing or boating this way… probably not. The water is dark and shallow. You should probably turn your water maker off if your anchored here. I did see one lone sailboat anchored off shore, and presume there is a spot to tie your dinghy to on the dock. Don’t pull onto the beach, the oyster shells will cut your dink up. There is one grocery store in town to walk to where you will pass a bank and a post office, if that is what your looking for. If your in the area for a resupply, take the time to go up the Crystal River and anchor in the basin. Crystal River provides good holding and protection from bad weather.

Tiki tree

Cedar Key… ~yawn~ been there.

I’m certain that once someone on the city council reads my review, I shall have the honor of having my photo placed prominately upon the dashboard of the city police car.

The Cedar Keys were used by Seminole Indians, and by the Spanish as a watering stop for ships returning to Spain from Mexico and by pirates, such as Jean Lafitte and Captain Kidd. There are several know shipwrecks in the area from the 1600’s all the way up to the Civil War. There were some ferocious battles fought here during the era, along  with present day Civil War re-enactments not too far away.

Cedar Key 1884

Followers of William Augustus Bowles, self-declared “Director General of the State of Muskogee,” built a watchtower in the vicinity of Cedar Key in 1801. The tower was destroyed by a Spanish force in 1802. There were native Indians here dating back to 500 B.C. Some of you will recognize some of the names as infamous pirates! My kind of history!

My first visit to Cedar Key was about 20 years ago as a student pilot on a cross country flight. I recall landing at the little airport, on runway next to the water, and wondering about getting into town which appeared to be about a mile away. I was going to stop in at one of the restaurants for some lunch and then continue the flight.

I pulled the airplane into a parking spot and was greeted by an old woman in a wood paneled station wagon. She was salty and weathered, spoke matter of factual, and chain smoked the entire time I got to know her, which was very briefly. If I would have been able to spend time going through the multitude of odds and and ends, scraps of paper, small booklets and a various assortment of other little objects totally concealing the dashboard, her entire life would possibly been revealed. If one were to brush away the years of dashboard accumulation I’m certain the original vinyl dash would have seen the first sunlight in an entire generation of kin folks.

I was simply told to hop in quickly placing my life into her hands at the mercy of the blue smoke filled station wagon. In under two miles she had my entire life story, yet I knew little about her. Pulling to the side of the street I found that I was at the waterfront, downtown Cedar Key, if there was such a thing. She said, “Be at this pole in 2 hours if you want a ride back to the airport,” driving away.  I dared not disappoint her for fear of having myself keelhauled for not properly following directions.

There were a couple of waterfront restaurants, some boats, a seaplane, and the assorted smattering of tourists. I went into the restaurant I was dropped off at, sadly I don’t recall the name. Taking a seat on the outside balcony the waitress brought me an ice tea without being asked. She sat it down with a menu, “No beer if your flying.”

Small town, nothing goes unnoticed.

It was quiet back then. Very unnoticed and unassuming. This will be my first trip back to Cedar Key in many years. I’ve seen the price guides on land, so this is no longer unnoticed and unassuming. Quaint may not be part of the description any longer. My expectations are minimal, and I don’t think I’ll see the wood panel station wagon again.

There was a seafood festival here last weekend, but I was traveling to other parts of the world and unable to attend. There is next year to look forward to!

I found a small RV park in the bustling metropolis of Otter Creek, population 127, possibly less as when we were setting up yesterday evening there were several gunshots in the nearby woods. Perhaps it is deer season…

Were parked about 15 minutes east of Cedar Key, and just as soon as the rain stops I will be off to my exploriations… further reports to follow…

“SEASPC has hired Port Orange administrative attorney Mary D. Hansen to challenge the Division’s rule at the hearing.”

Contact Information:
Motivation, Inc.
Doug Pope
Tel: (904) 838-6619

Sunset on the beach

We have discovered that Florida State Parks have some very nice campgrounds. From the sporty high end Class A motor home, to a pup tent, there is a spot waiting for you in one of the great parks dotted around Florida. This trip had us in the Middle Keys. For the folks not familiar with the Florida Keys they are divided several different ways. Upper, Middle, and Lower. You will also notice that most things are refrenced with mile markers. Mile marker 1 is in Key West, just one mile north of zero, the beginning of US 1.

The upper Keys are around Key Largo, near the 100 mm (mile marker) on the north end of the island chain. The middle Keys are around Marathon, mm 50,  with Key West obviously being on the lower end.

There is another whole story about Key West, and weather or not they even belong to the United States anymore. It seems that on April 23rd 1982 the good folks of the Florida Keys set up a new border in front of Skeeter’s Last Chance Saloon in Florida City. This is where you leave the mainland and enter the tropical island nation now forming under a new government.

On the day of secession, a ceremony was held at Mallory Square in Key West. The Mayor read a proclamation declaring the Conch Republic as an independent nation and exhibited rebellion by breaking a loaf of stale Cuban bread over the head of a man dressed in a United States Navy Uniform.

http://www.conchrepublic.com/

The rebellion only lasted one minute whereas the new leader of the Conch Republic, Prime Minister Wardlow, turned to the Admiral in charge of the US Navy base illegally located on Key West, and immediately surrendered. He subsequently requested one billion dollars in foreign aid to rebuild his tiny nation.

Did you know that you can get a Conch Republic passport and officially enjoy dual citizenship with the US? The Conch Republic annually celebrates Independence Day, which turns into a week long event. (No surprise there) They even have an official Conch Republic flag that is… oops, getting way off track here, where was I… Oh yeah, the state park…

The camp site

Anyhow, Long Key State Park is in the Middle Key’s of the Conch Republic. It’s still run by the Union Forces of the State of Florida. They have agreed to a reasonable fee for staying at the park, which is why they stay pretty darn full. You can try the first come first serve method, but don’t be surprised if the place is booked solid. Some of the parks, the RV spaces anyway, are booked ten months in advance. In order to reserve a space you have to go to the website, log in, and pick your spot. They have a nice map listing the spaces and when it’s available. The price is the cheapest you will find for any camping spot in the Keys, $28.00 a night.

http://www.reserveamerica.com/

Long Key is situated along the shore, Atlantic side of the island. Each campsite is on the water. I can only describe it as breathtaking. We backed our 5th wheel into the slot. We had electricity and water on the site, along with a picnic table and bbq grille. When we opened the blinds facing out the back of the trailer we were rewarded with on spectatular unobstructed view of the Atlantic Ocean. Fifteen steps were required to step onto my semi-private beach and into the water. All the camp sites have the same view. Wow… and what a view it is.

What a view

The park has all the standard ammenaties, showers, toilets, garbage disposal, dump station and such. They also have kyack rentals, hiking trails, and some fantastic sunsets. When you feel the need for a night out on town, Marathon is just down the road. Shopping, restaurants, waterfront bars, everything you would expect.

Prepare to slow down, unwind, and relax… set your clocks to the Conch Republic time zone.

Kayaking in the Keys

Now this is a sunrise!

Princess Kay and Captain Jim Fudge

I have to express my apologies and concede that though a fair weaver of stories, I’m a poor action reporter.  I was right on scene on the afternoon/night of the 21st and now it’s the 28th and I still haven’t submitted an article outlining the events of that ill-famed night.  I’ve just apologized, but I would like to convey reasons, not excuses as to why I’ve been so remiss.

Try to picture the morning after, tongue swollen in my mouth, squinting at the screen through my bloodshot eyes embedded in the front of my large aching head, hoping that I would not be exposed to any loud noises or motion of any kind.  Trying to penetrate the fog in my brain, I place my fingers on the keyboard, close my eyes, picture last night in my mind, and let the words flow down through my fingers through the keyboard and onto the computer screen.

After about 10 minutes, I open my eyes to assess my progress.  Imagine my shock at seeing some kind of coded unknown and undecipherable language.  As rapidly as my impaired facilities allowed, I came to two revelations.  One, my fingers were not placed on the keyboard in the proper position and two, I was not in any shape to attempt any kind of intelligent communication.  This is just not going to work out.

I pulled my cleanest pair of dirty pants and shirt on and crawled through the hatch to squint into the blinding pre-noon sunlight.  Seeing my obvious distress, Pirate Princess Kay on Ocean Lady hailed and implored that I come over for treatment. Boat ramps and finger piers are very treacherous places during times of impaired facilities and unsteady gravity, but with a fearlessness I am known for, I made it from Snap One to Ocean Lady with a minimum of excitement.  Shortly after I was assisted to a seated position on a stable perch aboard the sizable pirate yacht, my fingers were wrapped around a glass containing one of Princess Kay’s infamous bloody Marys, and I knew everything was going to be alright.

Kay’s bloody Marys are known all along the coast for their awesome taste, unique secret ingredients, unusual dill pickle and onion garnish, and incredible healing properties.  They have been known to revive people from near death hangovers in surprisingly short times.  I sat there savoring the tart red drink as my funk lifted and found myself basking in the warm friendship of other patients of Dr Kay whose presence I wasn’t aware of when I arrived.  The closer I got to the bottom of the glass, the better and more human I felt.  By the time the drink was gone, I was able to smile, talk, and much enjoyed the light, clever interaction of the other survivors.

Grog Master Earlene and Pirate King Bill

Much too soon, it was over, and I found myself on the dock helping to cast off the lines and watch Ocean Lady and the other pirate ships cruise stately from the dock and out, returning to their respective home ports.

Standing alone in the Florida sun, watching everyone leave, sweating like a leaky sponge, I decided that I needed to take care of myself, so made my way back aboard Snap One and crawled into my bunk to sleep till better times.  Better times did not come.  I was awakened by the telephone sometime in the afternoon and informed that the mother of a good friend had passed away.  I packed all my perishable food and within an hour was on the road and headed to a land of no internet.  It’s odd how the sadness of a passing is tempered by the pleasure of spending time with friends cherished but seldom seen.

So, a week later, what can I report about the Talk Like a Pirate Party?

Trying to impress Regina

For me, it started with dress rehearsal at home, supervised by my very understanding wife, Pirate Admiral Goddess Ellen.  She gets credit for my entire ensemble, much of it fabricated or gathered by her.  I stand like a mannequin while she makes sure that clothes, hat, cutlass, coat, and earrings are squared away and authentic.  I am very proud of the earrings as they cost me a buc-an-eer….. haha, get it?  OK, Sorry, that was really bad.

Lenny

Then comes the trip over to the boat, looking like a weird oddball kook freak nut engaged in a bizarre attempt at drag.  Upon arrival at the marina, try walking through the Tiki Bar dressed like this.  I had to pull the cutlass and back off a few advances. I did get a phone number from a big guy with a tattoo.

Next comes getting the boat dressed out with pirate flags followed immediately by serious sessions of “pre-drinking” which is necessary in order to make that all important “first pirate impression.”  A little word of caution about “pre-drinking”.  Three and a half hours of “pre-drinking” may be a bit much for the faint at heart and can’t be good for the brain.

Tatooed Wenches

By the time the sun is low, the pirate boats from other marinas start arriving, the keg of grog comes out, other costumed pirates begin congregating on the dock, and the party begins, I’m out there with my camera but so $#!% faced that I’m not completely capable of operating it.  I have a weak start going up to people going “brawk brawk, Polly wanna quacker!” with the result of strange looks.  Then it occurs to me that this is actually “Talk Like a Pirate Day”.

The grog, specially and secretly formulated by Pirate Princess Earlene, has been known to cause blindness, stupidity, flat feet, and projectile vomiting.  Everyone knows not to drink it however, everyone drinks it anyway because it tastes so good, and I set about to empty the keg.  As might be expected, the night digressed into a dizzy blurr of pirate stories, flirting with wenches, blurting out of random nautical and piratical statements, and much overuse of the letter “arrrrr” all spoken with a raspy voice.

I don’t remember all that much of the night, but at some point I was honored with the presentation of the “bung”, the greatest recognition any drunken seafarer could rise or sink to. Now, before you jump to the conclusion that presentation of the “bung” is something demented, perverted, or homophobic, let me explain that the rum aboard ship is stored in a wooden keg that is assessed by a tapped hole that is plugged by a wooden “bung”.  An empty keg certainly denotes one hell of a good time and an empty keg really doesn’t need a “bung” so why not give it to some deserving soul as a prize?  So yes, I am bragging about getting the “bung”!

How bout this crew?

Back to the reporting.  Nobody fell off the dock.  Nobody threw up on the dock.  Nobody got pregnant on the dock.  A whole bunch of people were there.  A good time was had by all.  The food was really good.  The grog was wonderful.  Pirate King Bill Lemmer did a spectacular job organizing and administrating the whole affair.  We are all looking forward to next year already. We need a real reporter to do this kind of reporting.

Crud separated from the fuel

Once I got into the project, I found an unused pickup tube for the fuel tank. I should have figured it was there. I don’t have an auxiliary generator, which is what this fitting is for. There is a return line port there as well. Thusly, I have a leftover conglomeration of two diverter valves, four extra 3/8” barbs, some extra fuel line and a few left over SS hose clamps.

The utilized parts include one free salvaged Racor filter body, one purchased Racor filter, about $28. I bought the fuel pump (new) on eBay. It’s a 4-6 PSI 100GPM 12v inline pump for about $35. The fuel lines were around $12 and the miscellaneous end cap plug for the Racor, two 90 degree elbows, some hose clamps, three Band-Aids and 2 Boddington Cream Ales, brought the grand total to around $90.00US.

This is considerably less than what I found at the boating supply stores and on-line magazines.

The original problem, a leaky fuel deck cap, fixed with a new O-ring.

I wired the pump into an unused 10amp breaker. Having plumbed the fuel-polishing pump totally separately from the engine fuel system, means I can polish the fuel with the flip of a breaker. Yep, one more way of making my life easier! The toughest part is draining the lower element and walking up to the waste oil containers.

Could be the source of the water...

I’ll not repeat the previous fuel contamination adventure in the narrow part of the ICW again. The night before I depart will only require the throw of a breaker for a couple of hours to ensure peace and happiness as I escape from the dock.

s/v AbbyGale

So we finally got all the little bad things done. Everything that was keeping me at the dock was dealt with in some form or another. Got beer, got food, got water, got to get going. The weather was finally going to cooperate with me for a few days. It’s time to get to the sunken treasure ship and see what is there. Everything is ready.

Yea, right…

So we get the boat ready to go to sea, put all the stuff where stuff is supposed to go, make the coast guard happy, make the GPS Gods happy with modern navigation gear, everything is ready. The tide is high and everything is in order. One tap on the ignition and the Yanmar is running smoothly, just a few puffs of blue smoke that we have never seen before. I tie us back to the dock to check the engine. Everything looks fine. No reason for the smoke, engine running good, hummm… might be just from sitting for a month or so.

Untie, and pull away from the dock, life is good…

Yea, right…

So we get out of the fairway and into the shallow narrow channel and the wind starts to kick up. Moving the throttle forward delivers less power, the engine is starting to die. The Admiral jumps on the helm while using our forward momentum to keep us in the narrow channel. I go below for a quick look. The engine is still running, just will not deliver power much over idle.

Oh-oh… got to be a fuel problem. One of the Racor filters is full of water. I switch to the secondary Racor. The engine rpm’s increase, we got power. We will make it out of the narrow shallow spot.

Yea, right…

I’m back at the helm, coming around the corner and into a little open area prior to getting back into a narrow channel again, with more wind. Loosing power, going slower, slower… oh crap… Would the Admiral report to the helm again, and quickly!

I jump up to the bow and open the anchor locker. I get the Danforth kicked off the bow roller in into the water and 20’ of chain goes before the rode. The boat is still moving at 2 kts. The Danforth sets behind us and starts to yank more rode from the locker where I’m standing, in the middle, with my left foot and then, oh crap. The rode takes a turn around my left ankle and I envision myself as a cartoon character getting pulled to the depths with the anchor.

The boat starts to spin 180 degrees as the anchor sets with my ankle. I reach down and get it unhooked just before the bone crushing snap. I get the rode wrapped on the cleat as the AbbyGale tightens the rode and comes to a halt.

Cough, sputter, die… the engine stops completely.

Time to assess the situation.

One Racor filter is full of water. The other, that I switched to, is not. The engine died. That has got to mean that water went past the first Racor and into the engines primary filter. After switching Racors I was still putting water into the system from the secondary filter. Damn.

Time for a cup of coffee and just sit for a while as we wait for BoatUS. Getting towed back to the dock is never pretty, or manly, but back at the dock we are.

Time to find out where the water came from, order new filters on line as the local marine stores don’t have them, and build up a fuel polishing system.

So there you have it. Yesterdays adventures and today’s repairs where so far I almost have the fuel problem fixed, I almost have all the parts to fix it, I almost had enough new fuel line, Home Depot almost had the right ¼” connectors, they almost had a new O-ring, but will order more, almost got lucky last night…

Boating is so much fun! I’ve discovered that you don’t need very much water in the tank, just enough to fill the filter is all you will almost ever need.

There is not much to this story, nothing really new, or too terribly exciting. It’s my way of mentally escaping every now and then. Sometimes I can actually make it to the beach, sometimes I have to do the ‘zen out of body experience’ and just look at pictures.

1600's Nautical navigation chart

In any event, I’m going to the beach now. The sights and sounds are amazing if you slow down long enough to take a look. Most of the beaches I’ve found are terribly crowded. Some however, are amazingly desolate for being so close to civilization. I much prefer the desolate beaches. They are mostly the ones I have to get to by boat, during everyone else’s work week.

We were walking along on Anclote Key one day and found this little crab in a shell. He appeared to be doing nothing more than idling away his day waiting on the tide to come back in. He was in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything. I envied the crab a little. So relaxed and peaceful, well, until I came along and disturbed him.

The beach I’m on has been here literally hundreds of years, and has changed only little. Hurricanes come and go, shorelines shift and change, but this is like it was in the 1500’s. I found a nautical chart at the Library of Congress that showed Anclote Key as an anchorage for the explorers back then. There is a little anchor symbol in just about the same spot I anchor at. (Click on the chart for a closer view, look near the upper center) French, Dutch, English, Spanish, everyone that had a chart stopped here. It was listed as having fresh water up the Anclote River, along with game and fruit.

No hurries back then, just basic survival. It was without question a tough way to live, hunting your food down in something other than a grocery store isle, where gasoline prices determined what your tomato cost. But then again, they didn’t have to worry about failing economy’s, what to wear to work that day, or why did my retirement fund simply vanish.

They spent a lot of time on the beach. Here was most of what they needed. Fish, oysters, clams, and inland was the fruit, deer, and fowl.

I stand on this beach sometimes and try to wonder what the early explores felt when they looked upon the unspoiled land of unlimited opportunity. Spanish Galleons simply used this as a stop over point to replenish their fresh water and food stores while transiting from Cuba to Mexico and back. The native Indians looked at the odd people and were happy when they sailed on.

Waiting for the tide to come in

I’ve anchored my sailboat in the same place they anchored their wooden ships. Sailors of that time only knew a compass and the sun for time and speed. I have a GPS that keeps me within a tenth of a second, and 7 feet, anywhere on earth. I don’t know if I would brave the journey they did, even with my wind generator and solar panels. It is remarkable what the explorers accomplished, especially considering what they had to work with. One such visionary stood on this beach over 400 years ago. He looked at the same stars I am looking at, he listened to the same relentless surf washing the shore I hear today. We were both barefoot. Many years have drifted into the eternity of the cosmos. Many souls have pondered the past and the future from this beach. They were brave indeed, and here they stood, in the very same spot I am today. Perhaps he was looking at a crab, just like mine.

As a past observer of this important event, I am astutely aware of it’s importance and propriety in today’s world.  I’m not making this up, and not messing with you, look it up.  There is even a web site dedicated to the worship and observance.  This may have started out as a small cult, but it’s been growing year by year and as it grows, so does it’s gris gris.  (In Vodoun, or Voodoo, gris-gris resemble charms or talismans which are kept for good luck or to ward off evil) Therefore, it’s becoming increasingly important to observe this special day, no matter who you are.

Captain Bill Pirate King

Not sure just what all the rules and cosmic laws are regarding International Talk Like A Pirate Day, I went next door to confer with Bill on Falcor II.  Bill is the Sensei, the Guru, the Head Cheese, the Master at Arms, the Pirate King of the dock.  He advised that it’s really not that big a deal.  Though the official day is September 19, you have until midnight the last day of September while the moon is still aligned with Pladeas and all you have to do is publicly talk like a Pirate.  If that simple act is not performed, bad juju will wrap it’s self around you and bad things will happen until the vernal equinox.  Bill wasn’t specific about the “bad things” but implied that appendages may rot and fall off, hair loss, pimples, digestive malfunctions, lice, and a host of other plagues would most likely identify the nonbelievers who didn’t participate.

Captain Bill Consulting with Pirate Ghosts

With this in mind, lets all jump aboard and make sure that we fulfill our obligation to the brethren departed.  It’s really not that difficult.  The only letter of the alphabet you need is the letter “aaRRR”.  As a matter of fact, that’s the answer Bill gave to a lot of the questions I asked.  Remember to talk with a rasp from the back of your throat and kick in some nautical terms if you know any.  The website is a great resource of phrases to use.  Besides warding off bad juju, people will think you have lost your mind, and how could that be a bad thing?

This Saturday night, at the dock, we are having our annual Talk Like a Pirate Party to celebrate and comply with the dictates of the law.  The party always features a “grog” that everybody with any experience warns polliwogs not to drink, but everybody drinks it anyway and it’s always fun to see who throws up first and who can throw up most like a pirate.  I will send a report of the event,  presupposing that I survive.  Practice a little in private and then get out there and…….

Talk Like A Pirate

It starts in the middle of the night, about eight or nine years ago.  He and I are partners sitting in a little kitchen area, me doing as I’m supposed to be doing, which was attentively staring at a red “Bat” phone with my hand hovering over the receiver, eagerly awaiting the call from Commissioner Gordon for help in Gotham City.

Larry, on the other hand, is demonstrating his customary inability to cope with inactivity, and has a personal project of his spread out all over the table, rendering it unusable for anything else, like maybe eating.

The “Bat” phone does ring.  It’s not Commissioner Gordon but dispatch requesting air support for the Haines City Police Department.  Not Gotham City, but kind of close.  Seems some local officers went in pursuit of two people in a stolen car and they opened fire on the officers with unknown type and caliber firearms.

Like the Top Flight Crew that we actually were for a string of years, we bolted for the door and in as short a time as you can get the turbine lit on a jet helicopter and a few essential systems online, we were screaming through the black Florida sky.

Top Flight Crew PCSO

Always a day late and a dollar short, before we could arrive, the bad guys had wrecked the car and after backing the pursuing cops off with gunfire, had escaped on foot.

Shortly after arriving on scene, Larry located one of the suspects using a thermal imager running through an orange grove, feeling safe in the protection of the darkness and probably making plans for later that night when he got back to town.  Quietly directing ground units into position, the suspect turned a corner in the rows of orange trees and almost ran right into a police car and into the awaiting arms of some officers who probably weren’t in  the most sunny of dispositions.  The capture was text book and would have made a great training tape.  That one was not the reason that I told this story.

With that one in custody, Larry located the other one, also with the thermal imager as it was a black night.  This one though, was in a large marshy swampy part of Lake Lowery making remarkably good time away from the ground troops in waist to chest deep water and muck with sawgrass higher than his head.  An assessment of the situation determined that it would take hours to get a ground or marine asset to this area, and we didn’t have that much fuel.  Rather than let this armed violent person get away Larry said “Get me down there!”

Being obligated to comply, I set the helicopter up to do a low, slow pass over the guy while checking for helicopter snags (poles, cables, lines, dead trees, etc).  Then I would roll into a sharp left descending turn and roll out into a hover just five feet over the target.  Did I mention that Larry and I often have a problem communicating with one another?  As I made my low pass, intently scanning for obstacles and danger, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and the helicopter lurched violently as Larry bailed out.

I watched in horror as Larry fell,,,, and fell,,,, and fell,,, and splashed down right next to the bad guy like a Mercury space capsule splashing down in the Atlantic, only without the chute.  Rolling into my planned maneuver, I kept my eyes riveted on the point of splashdown as I came to a complete stop.  After what seemed like a long time and much to the surprise of the bad guy as well as myself, Larry popped up from the black water and muck and grabbed the guy by the throat, and the fight was on.

Alone in the helicopter, I helplessly took on the roll of a three quarter million dollar street light, illuminating the bizarre scene below. It only lasted a few minutes.  I don’t think Larry actually won the fight, I think the guy just decided that Larry was soooooooo insane that nothing good could come from further resistance, and allowed Larry to drag him the quarter mile to shore to the awaiting officers bristling with questions as well as weapons.

“Air 1, did you misplace a flight officer?  I think we may have one down here!”

Are you beginning to get a clear picture of what kind of nut Larry is?  The above narrative is a prelude to telling you that I landed and picked him up dripping and smelling like a sewer and flew him back to the airbase.  As we walked back into the ready room there, still spread out all over the table in about ten pieces, was Larry’s gun in the process of being cleaned.

Heading out for the dive

Thirty feet below the surface is a sandy bottom interlaced with coral ridges leading to a labyrinth of twists, turns, and surprises. Slowly fin kicking around the edge of another coral wall finds you entering yet another stunning sight of life below the surface.

This is John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park located on the Atlantic side of the upper Florida Keys. Divers have almost unlimited choices of dive companies to take them a short distance off shore to the reefs that line the keys. You will be diving in waters between 15 and 40 feet for most of the common dive areas. 60 minutes bottom time is about average, depending on the currents of the day.

During this particular dive the visibility was greater than 40 feet making for a spectacular day. The current was running just over 1knot and the water was in the 80’s. If your not used to diving in water this pretty, get ready for some memorable moments, and by all means, bring a camera.

Ahhhh! LeAnn's back underwater

Today was a dive that my daughter LeAnn and I wanted to go on. She is a newly certified open water diver and looks for any opportunity or excuse to get wet, particularly if I’m paying. We called ahead and made sure we had a couple of spots with Rainbow Reef, a well established dive company.

http://www.rainbowreef.us/

This was our first dive with this particular company, but we had been told great things about them. We were not disappointed. The staff was pleasant, helpful, and very informative. The prices are consistent with the other dive operations in the area. Check the website for further details.

Our ride out to the first site was very relaxing as we took in the local scenery. It took us about 30 minutes to get to the buoy we moored to and ready to jump in.

Upon entering the water we deflated our BC’s and settled to the bottom about 25′ below. I rested on my knees for a couple of minutes while I stared off into the distance taking in all the sights. After adjusting my  buoyancy compensator my biggest decision was in making up my mind on which way to go. LeAnn gave me the sign that she was ready to follow, I just didn’t know to where . Everything was simply beautiful.

Queen angelfish

Coral beauty with a purple tang fish

It was about that time that a school of yellow tail came by, so we followed them. It was as good of a direction as any, and hey, they probably knew where they were going.

Following the fish turned out to be a great choice. We were greeted with the returned curiosity of numerous species of aquatic life. LeAnn kept stopping to take photographs of different types of coral along the way. I kept stopping to look around, over, under, and behind all the odd shaped coral formations. Every kick of the fins rewarded me with something new to look at. This was truly a great spot.

Coral perfection

After enjoying this site for a while we surfaced at the designated time and returned to