- My husband, Jim, and I are heading to the "sport fishing capital of the world" for a weekend. It has always been his dream to hook a marlin - or any other big game fish - so he has suggested driving to the Florida Keys from our vacation base in Fort Lauderdale for a few days in Islamorada. The exotic name does sound intriguing. Only problem is, I get seasick on a pier and queasy at the sight of a doomed creature wiggling on a hook. So I say, "Sure, honey, let's go," and hope for the best.
At water's edge
Where fishing or wishing to slow down and savor a sunset are the perfect things to do
As we approach the Keys (derived from the Spanish "cayo," for low, flat islands), the terrain gets boggy and swampy: gator country. We're skirting the Everglades. Soon we leave this "river of grass" behind, and US Route 1 becomes the Overseas Highway that bisects the Keys. Mostly, it's a two-lane road with two-way traffic. Tropical foliage hugs the pavement, and here and there a single-level shop appears. Many are kitschy, some kinky: B.P. Cargo, selling Caribbean T-shirts inspired by Jimmy Buffett lyrics, or The Romance Store, offering "costumes and spike heels." There's an anything-goes freedom to living on the fringe of the land.
As we drive, Florida Bay (entryway to the Gulf of Mexico) is visible to the right, and the Atlantic Ocean to the left.
"What happens during a hurricane?" Jim wonders. A visitors center in Key Largo provides the answer. In 1912, Florida's railroad magnate, Henry Flagler, extended his railway south from Miami, through the Keys, to the tip at Key West. Critics who dubbed it "Flagler's Folly" had it right. On Labor Day 1935, a 200-mile-an-hour hurricane pushed an 18-foot tidal wave across the upper Keys, flinging the tracks about like toothpicks and killing 800 people. It remains the strongest hurricane on record to strike the United States. "The only thing still standing," says the "Great Locations: Florida Keys" guidebook, "is an angel that marked a grave in an Islamorada cemetery."
Less than an hour down the road, we cross into Islamorada ("purple isle") and spot the manicured entrance to our hotel, Cheeca Lodge & Spa. (The Keys follow a mile marker address system, where posts every mile indicate the distance from Key West, the southernmost city in the country. Cheeca Lodge's address is MM 82.)
In the courtyard, palm trees sway above guests in wicker chairs sipping tropical concoctions. Our room turns out to be a charming cabin-on-stilts, with a lazy paddle fan on the ceiling and a screened-in porch overlooking the beach. You can almost hear Bacall teaching Bogie how to whistle. The rustic island feel goes only so far, though: Designer comforters and a wide-screen TV on the wall help justify the high-season rates.
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