∨ Key Weirder ∧
30
Taco Bob and the Big Bend in the Road
“Nature Coast trout!”
It took me a while to break camp and say goodbye to everyone there in the park the next day, but I finally got her done and hit the road.
Drove up to catch I-10 for the run east, but when I got up there I could see the traffic was down to a crawl, so I turned around and backtracked a bit to find another route. I could have swore I seen the same truck that almost ran me over down by Daytona. Must be a lot of that kind of truck.
There’s a lot of prime trout habitat all along the western edge of the state they call the Big Bend. It’s mostly miles of oyster bars and sawgrass swamp that has to pass for land, and countless freshwater creeks mixing with the gulf. Not much in the way of big towns along the coast till you get down towards Tampa. Place I’d read about and had in mind to try out was called Cedar Key.
Cedar Key is another real old town like Key West – old for Florida at least. Like Key West, a railroad going in there was what first put it on the map. Back in the 1800’s, about the only ports between Cuba and New Orleans were Key West, Tampa and Cedar Key. Seriously bucking the statewide trend, the town of Cedar Key still has about the same number of people it had almost two hundred years ago.
There’s a few little scrub oak and sawgrass islands out just beyond Cedar Key. Not much of anybody living there these days except ’coons, birds, and snakes. And I had no intention of so much as setting foot on any of those islands, much less spending any time exploring them. Just fish the shallow grass flats around the islands and find a nice trout or two for recipe-testing purposes. Maybe relax in the evenings with a crossword puzzle and watch some color TV, then sleep on a big, comfortable motel bed.
I had Cedar Key all figured out by the time I hit the first bridge.
∨ Key Weirder ∧
31
Sara
The humidity was the first surprise for Sara in Key West. Still wearing her drab Spider Cult clothes, she started sweating as soon as she stepped out of the airport terminal. In the cab on her way to Old Town, Sara had time to once again think about her tenuous situation. She not only had no idea how to find the man called Saul Thorpe, she didn’t even know for sure he was in Key West.
A quick look at the people wandering around Duval Street and a stop in a shop or two, and Sara was wearing the kind of comfortable clothes she needed to keep cool and fit in. Not that she really needed the tourist clothes, no one noticed her anyway.
When she was a young girl in school, Sara used to rebel against her boring too-normal appearance and went out of her way to stand out and be noticed. Years later, when Charlie Spider sent her to tracker school, they taught her how to use her uncommonly common physical presence to her advantage. She learned to blend in so well that after a while her teachers didn’t even remember if she’d attended classes.
One of the things Charlie had written about in his books was inner silence. He said that if a person could learn to silence the constant thoughts we all have, their senses would become more attuned to the world, both inner and outer. He also said that though it sounded like an easy thing to do, in reality it was damn hard. Sara agreed with Charlie. It was hard, but not impossible.
After years of struggle, Sara learned to quiet her mind for short periods of time. She became more aware of the countless things going on all around at every moment that affect people’s lives. The intervals of inner silence also seemed to make her more adept at lucid dreaming.
But she never told Charlie. Even though he was the one who opened the door for her, Sara could tell he had never experienced the depth of silence himself that she had. Charlie had been a master bullshit artist with charisma to spare, but he was never a seer.
♦
Sara expected Key West to be a day at the beach, but it seemed more like a day at the races. The Conch Republic turned out to be a busy place. She carefully navigated the streets filled with out-of-state cars that left a faint odor of suntan lotion and exhaust in their wake. Bicycles and noisy little motorcycles were competing for road space with Conch Tour trains and delivery trucks. Everyone wore shorts, and a lot of people seemed to be either coming from a bar, going to a bar, or both.
The former Witchette took in the sights, sounds and smells of this warm, humid place that had a different underlying energy than LA. People here were always going somewhere too, but there wasn’t nearly the urgency. She got the impression that a lot of people felt that just being in Key West was enough of an accomplishment to hold them for a while.
A few tourists were milling around a spot near the water where some yellow crime scene tape hung from a couple of leaning palm trees. One of those big bulldozer machines with the scoop on front was there, and people were taking turns standing in front of it for pictures. But something was different here, so Sara quietly stood next to a section of broken down fence to see if she could find out what this place was. Two women in big hats and brightly colored clothing came walking up with their husbands close behind.
“This is it, Agnes! The place on the news where that marker thing was stolen!”
The other woman picked up on it.
“Frank, come take my picture here! The neighbors are gonna shit! Look, there’s the crime scene tape still! Oh my God, this is just like America’s Most Wanted!”
After they left, Sara wanted to get closer to the spot in front of the big machine, but she had to wait when a well-dressed young woman and a camera crew walked up. The crew spent a few minutes getting ready, then the woman held a microphone and spoke.
“Is the hair right? This breeze is fucking with my hair! Joey, if my hair isn’t right.”
The woman reporter pointed at the cameraman and narrowed her eyes until another man holding a big card with writing on it assured her the hair was fine. The woman gave the hair a couple of pats anyway and stuck her chest out a little before speaking.
“That’s right, Peter. Even though the famous monument marking the Southernmost Point in the Continental US was stolen by the Southernmost Bandit in a blatant disregard for all that is right and decent here in the Crotch Republic, people are still flocking to this spot. In fact, the area where the monument once stood is more popular than ever. All right, what are you bozos laughing about this time?”
♦
The news crew finally left, and Sara walked closer to where the monument had been. There was definitely something here. She sat on the sand a few feet from the big earth-moving machine. As soon as she sat down she went into a dream, but she was still somewhat aware of what was going on around her. She was experiencing dual perceptions for the first time.
At the same time a fat man with painfully red knees was taking pictures, in the dream there was only the water and land and no people in sight. Sara could tell the place where she sat was a power spot used by many. There were no signs of man, other than bare footprints in the sand. The beach showed where canoes had come.
A young couple laughing, holding cans of beer, walked around Sara sitting on the ground. The dream took her to a ceremony on the power spot. Dark people with dark faces chanting in the moonlight. Someone lay on the sandy beach and the others slowly moved around in some sort of dance. Sara could feel the power coming from the earth.
There was a huge cruise ship off in the distance and a little boy ran by squealing with his mother close behind. In the dream, Sara was lying on the sand. She could feel energy flowing from the earth into her body, and then back into the earth. An exchange of power. The dark forms chanted louder, deafening. There was a flash of gold at each ear; she thought she heard Charlie’s voice calling to her. The ground began to tremble. The sky was flashing gold. The gold light came closer to her eyes and she could almost see Charlie’s face. There was a voice, a loud voice.
“Hey! How about somebody tell her to move!”
There was a tourist woman kneeling in front of Sara, shaking her arm.
“You bette
r get out of the way, miss.”
The dream was gone, but the earth still rumbled and trembled. Sara looked behind her and saw a man on the big yellow machine, waving at her to move.
“Come on, Honey! Park it somewhere else will ya? I got a job to do here!”
Sara stood by the fence again and the big machine roared away to a waiting flatbed truck.
♦
The breeze was pushing her. Sara walked slowly away from the place where the monument had been. It had to be a power place, something Charlie had spoken of often, but she had never experienced before. It left her with a feeling of accomplishment, and a strange energy.
She went with the gentle wind and let it carry her thoughts away. Walking effortlessly, she began to feel the warmth and texture of the ground through the soles of her shoes. The breeze carried smells and sounds from the sea as well as the land, and the sky became even clearer and lost its glare. There was a black boy dressed like the Hip-Hop boys she saw in LA. He was sitting behind a table covered with the skeletons of sea beings. He was looking at her.
“Hey, pretty lady! You want to buy some of these nice shells today? Look at the colors here. You ever see that shade of pink before? Don’t have these back home I bet!”
Sara smiled at the boy and walked by. She stopped and closed her eyes. She could feel the earth with all her senses. The earth touched her inside and out and she felt a small ripple down her spine. Turning slowly she opened her eyes and was looking down a walkway, a short narrow wooden pier. There was an old black man with a big straw hat sitting at the end of the pier. She could see the whites of his eyes as he stared right at her.
∨ Key Weirder ∧
32
Taco Bob in Cedar Key
“I still don’t know if I was dreaming.”
There ain’t a whole hell of a lot to Cedar Key. A few mom-and-pop restaurants and motels, some bait shops and a scattering of weathered houses. I got a motel room with a kitchenette so I could try out some fancy trout recipes if I had any luck out on the water.
The next morning I threw the boat in the water early and went to check on the fish. It was cool when I put in, and it looked like it wanted to be cloudy. I ran up close to one of the islands and started throwing a cast net. Pretty soon I had a few dozen sardines and pinfish for bait. I eased around and located a big area of shallow water with a good sea grass bottom. Looked like trout habitat to me.
I set a pinfish on a float out the back and drifted over the area. Put a sardine on a float and was casting that one from the front of the boat. Those sardines didn’t ever last too long before something was wanting to eat their little asses. Ladyfish are usually a foot and a half to two foot long and silver; a pretty fish that does a lot of jumping out of the water. Tied into several of those.
There were little black sea bass, slimy ol’ catfish, puffers, redfish, mackerel, and plenty of trout. The trout ran mostly small, but I finally got into some nice ones that were going around three pounds. They did their usual show with coming to the surface and thrashing around, then trying to break the line when they got close in.
Just as I slipped one of those nice dinner-size trout into the icebox, the pole in back went over double. I jumped back, pulled it out of the rod-holder and about a hundred pounds of tarpon came completely out of the water about thirty feet from the boat.
It seems like even when you’re expecting it, a tarpon on your line is always a surprise. I wasn’t expecting it, and I was mighty surprised. I did my best to hold on while that fish made a hard run away from the boat. About a hundred yards out he made another jump and the line gave out. I was mighty disappointed, but glad I’d had the chance to air one out at least.
With dinner in the cooler, I went exploring around the islands the rest of the day. There were a few other boats, but mostly they were bigger boats headed way offshore. Must be an airport in the area since there was a lot of small plane traffic.
By late afternoon, I had explored myself up north along the coastline a few miles and decided to start heading back in. When I looked back towards Cedar Key, all I could see was gray. There was a fog bank slowly coming across the water, and it was thick. I ran up to the fog then slowed to a crawl since I couldn’t see a thing. I wasn’t really worried until I turned on the GPS and found out the batteries were dead. The boat compass got me going in the right general direction at least.
That whole area was full of shallows and channels and oyster bars. I spent a couple hours working my way along and found a couple of oyster bars the hard way. It was getting late in the day and the fog hadn’t lifted a bit.
I came up on an island just as it got dark, and decided to give the place a look. I got the boat tied off and anchored, then got my flashlight out and looked around a little at the beach area. It was so foggy still I couldn’t see much of anything. I got some skeeter dope on my arms and face, and went looking for some firewood.
I always carry a little frying pan and some cooking stuff on my boat since I found myself in a similar situation once before. I cleaned and cooked the trout and swatted skeeters while thinking about my already paid for motel room back in Cedar Key.
Damn fog never let up a bit, so I got out my poncho, found a soft spot in the sand and tried to get some sleep. I kept thinking at least I didn’t have to worry about anybody sneaking up on me. Which made me realize I’d had an uneasy feeling for days, like I was being followed.
♦
Sometime during the night I got up to check on the boat. I found a young boy sitting there in the dark near the boat. This was a bit odd, since I hadn’t heard any noises on the island that sounded like people lived out there. It was also odd because he reminded me of a little Indian kid I’d seen once in Chokoloskee.
When I asked him if he lived out there, the boy just smiled and jumped in my boat and motioned for me to come, pointing at the compass on the console of my boat. I put the flashlight on the compass and he pointed with the tip of his smallest finger at south-southwest. His eyes shined black in the foggy moonlight. When I asked him if that was the way to Cedar Key, he nodded and jumped out of the boat. He gave me a big shy smile and then ran down the beach into the fog. I went over to my spot on the beach and finally got back to sleep.
At first light, the fog was still thick, but I was ready to do something even if it was wrong. Between the nightbirds, bugs, raccoons, and little Indian kids, I hadn’t had one of my better night’s sleep. Thinking about my visitor, I checked my fingers and got the right amount. I wished I’d had the presence of mind to check my fingers when I’d seen the kid.
I got underway and eased the boat slowly into the fog holding a dead-on a south-southwest course. There was a big shark tooth lying next to the compass. I figured either a really big shark had had some dental work done in my boat during the night, or else my little visitor left me a present. The tooth put me in mind of my time in the Everglades, and made me think again about checking on Mr. Small.
The fog never did burn off, but I did finally come up on a channel marker by mid-morning. I got out my chart and checked the number. Sure enough, I was right on the money for Cedar Key.
I didn’t get out of the fog that day until I drove over the last bridge headed back onto the mainland.
Fried Trout
Two small skinned trout fillets, or one big one cut in half.
Breading mix (I like hushpuppy mix and Italian bread crumbs together)
Vegetable oil
Salt and pepper to taste
♦
Put your breading mix in a plastic or paper bag (I carry a gallon ziplock bag with the mix already in it on my boat)
Place damp fillets in the bag and give ‘em a good shaking till they’re well coated with breading.
Get your driftwood fire going strong and rocks or shells or even an anchor next to it to hold the frying pan. Get the oil hot before putting the fish in the pan.
Fish should turn golden brown in just a few minutes. When fish flakes with a pocketknife,
it’s ready. Great by itself, or with a can of beans.
∨ Key Weirder ∧
33
Southernmost
The tarp blew off the monument sometime during the night. Julian didn’t notice until he was making a fuel and coffee stop outside of Houston around daybreak. It’d been a long day and night of driving, and he was too tired to do anything about it. He hadn’t had any sleep since the few hours he’d spent in the arms of the young woman in Georgia.
The story of the monument theft was on the small television behind the cashier, but Julian was too worn out to care he’d made the national news. By the time he’d paid for his gas and coffee, a small crowd had formed around the truck. As Julian approached, the buzzing, picture-taking crowd pulled their eyes away from the now famous brightly-colored monument on the flat-bed trailer. They gawked at the disheveled-looking young man carrying a large styrofoam cup of coffee with the Texas state flag imprinted on the side. An old man stepped from the crowd as Julian started to get back in the truck.
“You’re him, aren’t ya sonny? You’re the one we been hearing about on the TV!” You could have heard a pin drop at the fueling complex. “Can you tell us, Mr. Southernmost Bandit, just what it is you aim to do with this thing?”
Julian was a little taken aback by the crowd, but was too tired to give it much thought. The music went up from a whisper to a hum in his road-weary mind. He rallied his strength.
“I’m bringing this monument to its rightful place to mark the true Southernmost Point in the Continental US. The people of the great state of Texas have been denied for too long the honor that is rightfully theirs. I will bring this great gift to the southernmost tip of Texas, or I will die trying!”
Key Weirder Page 7