Wanderlust

Traveling the world and sharing its music

Florida Keys--A Story

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Long Key at Low Tide


The Florida Keys--Where everyone has a story, including me.

"Those are mine", he denounced, pointing at the twenty three Florida stone crab claws that the bartender just put down in front of me and my rumbling stomach.  I looked up in confusion with half a crab leg dangling from my mouth.  My hand went to the plate at the same time, remembering that when I was three years old, I was told that once you touch something on the plate, they're all yours.  I was met with a smile of pride.  "Those are from my boat.  I caught them out there this morning, he said, pointing out to the setting sun that the local bar overlooked the Marathon marina. 

"Oh, you caught rrheemmmmmmm," I had already cracked a second claw and stuffed it in my mouth by the time he finished his sentence.  "Ffhere  ggguood." After two long scuba dives, filling my rumbling stomach with good beer and fresh seafood was more than important. 

I'm glad you like them." Seeing that I had already through half the plate, he laughed, "maybe we should hire you to clean them, but I would be worried about my profit margin." 

Done with my first two dozen, what next?

You all aren't from around here."  Again, in a tone that made it sound like a declaration rather than a question. 

Damn it, do I have tourist written on my forehead, or is it the short white girl next to me who, after a week of choosing bug spray over sun screen, is now the short red girl. I had no choice, but to come clean.  "We're from California," knowing that to a local Conch, that was almost as bad as saying you just moved here from New York.

"Hmmm...." 

Here it comes.  After spending far too much time on the water with Florida Crackers hearing about how "folks from California" dance around wiccan circles in our tie-dye shirts, eating tofu, and giving group hugs, I was ready for the teasing.

"Did you know, that stone crabs one of the most sustainable seafood in the world?" again that smile pride. 

It was not what I was expecting for him to say.  "Do you farm them?"

"No, we only take one claw and throw the crab back.  The claw has to be about this big," he showed with his fingers, "but otherwise, they're from those cages out there."  I know it's a cliche, but if I had looked at this man's hands first, I would have known immediately that he's a fisherman. I swear I could see flecks of crab shell embedded into his skin. 

"You don't eat the body?"

"Naw.  No meat."

"Do all the boats do the same thing?"

"Yeah, we all decided a while ago that it made more sense.  We haven't seen a drop in crabs compared to tuna and other fishes."  

We proceeded to talk about how his family has been fishing off the Keys for ten generations.  How his family started with a row boat and a shack in the swamp, and now he has three full sized boats. How the scientists think that marine protected zones will preserve the ocean, but he and other fishermen knew that they don't always work for the fish and them.  I came to a bar, hoping to fill my stomach with beer and seafood, and I found myself being more educated about fisheries and sustainability than a trip to the aquarium. 

As if cats need a sixth toe to be more stable....
My trip to the Keys is over a year old, however the recent tragedy in the gulf prompted me to write this blog.  The Florida Keys are filled with plenty to do.  Petting six toed felines, kayaking, great authors snorkeling, turtle rescue, food, and the history.

Baby Turtle from the Turtle Hospital in Marathon FL


But, what is precious about these chain of islands are the people and their stories.  From the stone crab fisherman to the woman working at the wine/art bar whose friend's death lead her from Europe to Key West, tales abound.  VISIT, especially after the oil spill, and take the time to TALK to the locals.  I promise, you'll hear some great stories, be surprised with what you hear, and maybe even learn about stone crabs and more. Check out some of the links in the posts and like any tale of the ocean, this one has a few embellishments.

Long Key Sunset
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    Wanderlust by Robert Service

    The Wanderlust has lured me to the seven lonely seas,
    Has dumped me on the tailing-piles of dearth;
    The Wanderlust has haled me from the morris chairs of ease,
    Has hurled me to the ends of all the earth.
    How bitterly I've cursed it, oh, the Painted Desert knows,
    The wraithlike heights that hug the pallid plain,
    The all-but-fluid silence, -- yet the longing grows and grows,
    And I've got to glut the Wanderlust again.

    Soldier, sailor, in what a plight I've been!
    Tinker, tailor, oh what a sight I've seen!
    And I'm hitting the trail in the morning, boys,
    And you won't see my heels for dust;
    For it's "all day" with you
    When you answer the cue
             Of the Wan-der-lust.

    The Wanderlust has got me . . . by the belly-aching fire,
    By the fever and the freezing and the pain;
    By the darkness that just drowns you, by the wail of home desire,
    I've tried to break the spell of it -- in vain.
    Life might have been a feast for me, now there are only crumbs;
    In rags and tatters, beggar-wise I sit;
    Yet there's no rest or peace for me, imperious it drums,
    The Wanderlust, and I must follow it.

    Highway, by-way, many a mile I've done;
    Rare way, fair way, many a height I've won;
    But I'm pulling my freight in the morning, boys,
    And it's over the hills or bust;
    For there's never a cure
    When you list to the lure
             Of the Wan-der-lust.

    The Wanderlust has taught me . . . it has whispered to my heart
    Things all you stay-at-homes will never know.
    The white man and the savage are but three short days apart,
    Three days of cursing, crawling, doubt and woe.
    Then it's down to chewing muclucs, to the water you can eat,
    To fish you bolt with nose held in your hand.
    When you get right down to cases, it's King's Grub that rules the races,
    And the Wanderlust will help you understand.

    Haunting, taunting, that is the spell of it;
    Mocking, baulking, that is the hell of it;
    But I'll shoulder my pack in the morning, boys,
    And I'm going because I must;
    For it's so-long to all
    When you answer the call
             Of the Wan-der-lust.

    The Wanderlust has blest me . . . in a ragged blanket curled,
    I've watched the gulf of Heaven foam with stars;
    I've walked with eyes wide open to the wonder of the world,
    I've seen God's flood of glory burst its bars.
    I've seen the gold a-blinding in the riffles of the sky,
    Till I fancied me a bloated plutocrat;
    But I'm freedom's happy bond-slave, and I will be till I die,
    And I've got to thank the Wanderlust for that.

    Wild heart, child heart, all of the world your home.
    Glad heart, mad heart, what can you do but roam?
    Oh, I'll beat it once more in the morning, boys,
    With a pinch of tea and a crust;
    For you cannot deny
    When you hark to the cry
             Of the Wan-der-lust.

    The Wanderlust will claim me at the finish for its own.
    I'll turn my back on men and face the Pole.
    Beyond the Arctic outposts I will venture all alone;
    Some Never-never Land will be my goal.
    Thank God! there's none will miss me, for I've been a bird of flight;
    And in my moccasins I'll take my call;
    For the Wanderlust has ruled me,
    And the Wanderlust has schooled me,
    And I'm ready for the darkest trail of all.

    Grim land, dim land, oh, how the vastness calls!
    Far land, star land, oh, how the stillness falls!
    For you never can tell if it's heaven or hell,
    And I'm taking the trail on trust;
    But I haven't a doubt
    That my soul will leap out
    On its Wan-der-lust.

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