Another day in Key Lime paradise

Baby, it's cold outside. Frozen to the bone, I have endured shoveling snow until blue in the face. Fingers stiff, scraping frosted windshields clean, shivering beneath gray skies like a timber wolf waiting for spring flowers to finally bloom.

I used to endure Iowa winters. No more. These days I am a snowbird who warms his toes in tropical sand and luxuriates in the hot Florida sun radiating on my well-tanned shoulders. Simply put, living life aboard my sailboat, Itxaso, is my salvation. Instead of enduring months of gray skies and howling winds, these days I revel in the sound of waves gently lapping against the hull, taking delight in wind singing in the rigging. I nod off lying on my back in the cockpit watching the Milky Way Galaxy make its nightly journey across the infinity of a pitch black sky. This then, is my story of what it's like to run away from Iowa to live on a sailboat in Key Lime Paradise.

For more than a decade I have cruised the Intra Coastal Waterway, or ICW, on S/V Itxaso from Fort Lauderdale to Key West. Most of the time, when not destination-bound, I moor to a municipal ball in either Boot Key Harbor or anchor out in Key West's Second World War battleship row. Other times I lay anchor in a mangrove swamp.

Many times I lay anchor in a mangrove swamp, tropical waters notorious for accelerating barnacle growth so rapidly you can almost watch a hull grow fur below its waterline. After a few years on the water I had grown weary of hauling every year or two, and opted to do it myself. That meant going over the side clad in a wet suit garbed in a dive mask, snorkel, protective gloves and holding a scraper. All the while trying not to drop the scraper at the end of a sweep along the hull. For the most part the water is comfortably warm and getting the hull as clean as a whistle only takes an hour or two, depending on how diligently I feel like working. During those shallow dives, curious, tropical fish nudge up against my shoulders trying to figure out what I am up to. Periodically I stop scraping for a few moments to revel in my surroundings, rays of sunlight streaming into the water and the fish's kaleidoscope of colors.

A couple of seasons I made an appointment to have a Dangerous Dave dive my boat. Both locals and fellow cruisers perform this service for a price significantly lower than hauling out. It was also less bother because with the house call, so to speak, I didn't have to weigh anchor and motor a few miles to a boat yard.

More than once I rode out a hurricane. Holed up in a motel room for a couple of days brought fresh perspective to the differences between living aboard and onshore. Onshore I never had to ration water. There was plenty. Just turn on the tap. Naturally it follows, there was also plenty of hot water for endless showers. Even a budget motel room is less cramped than a sailboat's sparse accommodations. Plus there was cable television! Think YouTube. In most of the Keys, anchored out in a backwater cove, Miami broadcast stations are too distant for an antenna to pick up a signal in the harbor. Translation: Zero network TV. After a couple of weeks on the boat, I no longer missed it. Other than when tied off dockside, I didn't have cable either. To compensate, I own a respectable DVD library. Once watched, a well-stocked library of DVDs evolve into a trading currency between boaters.

No matter whether dockside or anchored out, obviously I had to go ashore for food and water. Which in turn meant paying for dinghy dock privileges. Dinghy docks vary widely. Some are well-managed, others a nightmare. The better ones were clean and boast showers with plenty of hot water. They receive snail mail and packages. Perhaps most importantly, management kept the dock orderly. For example, limiting dinghy length, and requiring outboard motor drive legs to be submerged so propellers don't slash a neighbor's inflatable tubes to ribbons.

Berthing dockside means creature comforts like a fresh water hook up, shore power, trash receptacles and sometimes a washer and dryer. Bring quarters by the bucketful. One perquisite to tying off dockside, instead of anchoring out, was a dry dinghy ride to shore, and not having to clumsily scramble over other boats to make a landing. I gracefully step over the gunnel onto a dock. Shore power also means air conditioning, vitally important for a comfortable night's sleep on a hot night.

That said, even anchored out, a well-fitted boat is eminently comfortable. Mine boasts a massive, deep-cycle battery bank charged by solar panels and a wind generator. When skies are grey, the wind was blowing. While admittedly not enough juice for air conditioning, there are enough amps for a marine refrigerator, cabin lights, AM/FM/CD/satellite, DVD player and marine radio, and more than one 12-VDC fan. A solar bag makes hot water for my afternoon shower, water temperature warm enough so long as I didn't wait too long after sundown.

Just like marinas north of the Mason Dixon line, I enjoy an abundance of potluck dinners. One difference, down south cruisers host them in Tiki huts instead of pavilions. Typically I bring a covered dish, usually a casserole cooked on my galley stove. Or, when time was short, a big bucket of fried chicken from the convenience store. Some cruisers are generous with home-cooked recipes lovingly crafted on a deck grill or propane stove. Other stingy souls have been known to begrudgingly bring a single tin of Vienna sausage as their measly contribution. So it goes. On holidays feasts there is more food than you can eat. Usually folks chip in for a ham or turkey and also share a covered dish. Invariably one or more folks bring a Key Lime pie, a regional favorite so popular that Key West holds an annual key lime pie eating contest.

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Movie theaters are sprinkled up an down the Keys like the beads on a rosary. It should come as no surprise to learn it gets oppressively hot in Florida. The time of year when you are shoveling show, I freely confess going to a movie just to get out of the heat, to revel in frigid air conditioning. Sometimes to cool off I visit the library or grocery.

Most mornings I wake with the sun, go on deck and chum the water alongside the boat with crumbled-up, stale bread crumbs. Liberally sprinkled on the surface and sinking fast, bread crumbs attract schools of hungry Mangrove snapper hungry for breakfast. Typically the species is difficult to lure onto a hook, but a slurry of bread crumbs in suspension incites a feeding frenzy. After a few minutes, patiently chumming, I change up, dropping a hook, concealed inside a sticky wad of bread into the school. Ravenous, a snappers bites. Hook set, he is soon filleted and crackling in a hot, buttered, skillet alongside two eggs sunny side up.

One morning, sipping coffee at the helm station, I was entertained by a fever of spotted eagle rays, big wings slowly, undulating, re conning the harbor. A moment later I spotted a momma dolphin playing in the water, throwing a fish into the air then catching it with her beak. Cackling with delight, she threw it back into the air, time after time. The experience inspired me to visit the Dolphin Research Center where I took in a lecture on dolphin anatomy and behavior, followed by a swim with two dolphins in a seawater pool.

Dolphin magic further inspired me to make a reservation to visit the Key's Turtle Hospital. Years ago it was a gulf-side tourist motel replete with a saltwater swimming pool. It has since transitioned to a home for rescued turtles. The Turtle Hospital rehabilitates sea turtles injured with deep propeller gouges in their carapace, entangled in great wads of mono filament fish line, or cancerous growths thought to have been caused by red dust blown over from the African continent. Ultimately, once healed, the hospital with great ceremony returns turtles to their natural habitat.

You may have heard fish are abundant in the Florida Keys. It's true. Besides off the deck of anchored Itxaso, I fish from my inflatable dinghy in mangroves and passes. Ever mindful of sharp hooks, knives and gaffs that can be sudden death to Hypalon tubes. And sometimes I dinghy or hitch a ride on fishing charter a few miles seaward of the Florida Keys to 350 mile long Florida Coral Reef that came into existence 10,000 years ago after the last Ice Age. Running north from the Dry Tortugas to the St. Lucie Inlet, it's home to more than 500 marine fish species.

No matter whether using a dinghy dock or marina, I still need to provision. Most grocery shopping is a short walk, or bike ride away. Know that being on foot dramatically limits how much stuff you can carry back to the dock. So whenever I anticipate lots of cargo I use common sense and cell phone a taxi. Used bikes were readily for sale, to be chained ashore at the marina or dinghy dock. In my experience, cars were not worth the hassle and were rented for a day or two as needed.

Clearly land transportation is not an issue. Cabs, bikes, walking, a friend with a car and bus rides up and down the Keys, or even to Miami make getting around as easy as pie, make that as easy as Key Lime pie. Six major airlines fly into Key West. Figure on flying from a major hub to make your connection Finally, truth be told, with thousand of resorts, hotels, RV parks and campgrounds to choose from by now you've already figured out you don't even need a boat to visit the Keys.