CROSS KEY, FLORIDA




If my time on earth had a portal allowing access to my “happy places” of a full and long life, this certainly would be one of mine.  Cross Key was only perhaps a 30 minute drive south from my home West of Homestead, Florida, and it connected the mainland to Key Largo and access to all the small tracts of land making up the Florida Keys all the way to Key West.  It was a place from which to launch a boat from a primitive ramp into the  backcountry cuts and creeks of Florida Bay and escape into isolation from the crazy stress of a Miami workplace.  It was the ancient home of the Calusa and Tequesta, and it remained as then, still.

I usually would go alone at this time of day, slipping the 17’ Dolphin open fisherman from the trailer two or three hours before sunset, and motor through channels and cuts between small keys until arriving at about 45  minutes from the ramp to the mouth of a creek already teeming with baitfish and shrimp and the accompanying swirls of Jack Crevalle, Speckled Sea Trout, and Mangrove Snapper. It took many previous trips, to find this remote paradise, and it never disappointed.  

A popping cork with a live shrimp three feet below-- legs kicking like a Los Vegas chorus line--would first attract the Jacks.  They were decent fish always in the 4-10 pound range and fought with a fury, their silver sides still capturing enough of the South Florida sun to reveal their every twist and turn.  After a half dozen or so the action would slow and I would sit back to watch the Great Blue Herons and White Ibis work the edges of the mangroves for their evening meal.  Occasionally the barking of a saltwater croc looking for company would punctuate the evening breeze and add to the enchantment of my experience.

Soon to follow the feeding frenzy of the jacks were the trout and snappers.  They never disappointed, and I was happy to select the next evening’s meal from a culled catch.  Sometimes, a huge ray or 20-30 pound shark attracted by all the commotion would provide a variation in the entertainment and a test of tackle and skill.

As the sun disappeared in glory of which only South Floridians can appreciate, and as the hoards of no see-ums and mosquitoes began their nightly hunt for blood, I cranked the motor to cruise through semi-darkness and evening breezes through the backcountry-- back to the ramp nestled into the Mangrove roots of Cross Key and Blackwater Sound.

I cannot write of my ten years of exploring the Keys and Florida Bay without thoughts of appreciation to my Assistant Coach in Khoury League baseball, neighbor, and friend Gary Brantley.  Kentucky and Barkley Lake, as well as the Tennessee River are not without their challenges, but both the techniques and skills required to be successful on salt are things that I developed in part to his willingness to share his many years of experience.   

It is impossible to explain to someone that does not cherish being totally alone and cut off from the civilized routine and interactions of everyday life, and to someone that does not bask in the sensory delights of salt sprays and breezes, wind in their face, and distant landscapes void of all things human, the nourishment to soul and and joy to spirit of the experience. It was without question, a place and time of special import to the decaying neurons still remaining in this old man’s cache of memories.

With friend and fishing buddy Gary Brantley with a nice catch of Mutton and Mangrove Snapper.
Homestead, Florida circa 1987.

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