The Sponge Adventure
“Bob, you can take the aft and stand or sit, hook the oar into the transom (rear) and scull us. That side-to-side movement will propel us. I’m going to take my grandfather’s wooden bucket with the glass in the bottom and look underwater for sponges, gold doubloons... or whatever.”
“That bucket looks old, but it’s in very good shape. How is that?” Bob asked.
“It was in the attic of the house. I had to patch a few cracks and put in new glass,” David said proudly.
“This pole is really long!” Bob exclaimed.
“This one is only 25 feet. Granddad had one in the attic twice that long! David stated. “I figure I’m not yet ready for that!”
“Bob sculled while standing and holding onto the vertical ladder. It was about 8 feet head clearance at the bridge. This bridge was one of the old Flagler railroad bridges. The highway had been built on the top by the state after the railroad was devastated by the 1935 hurricane. Off in the distance he could see Summerland Key to the west and Ramrod Key to the east.
Bob looked forward and saw that David was hanging over the side. “Whatcha see?” Bob asked.
“Scull her to a stop, Bob, and lean over here and take a look.”
Bob took the bucket, pushed it down into the water and looked in. Some fish were swimming about. Not too large, but he did see one grouper. There was a little pink and green coral, and lots of sea grass. David was sculling the boat and trying to keep it in one place.
“Now, Bob look way down next to the coral. See that slimy mass. The round mass next to the large one. The big one is a logger head sponge. It’s no good! The fiber is too coarse. But the small one next to it is either sheep’s-wool or a grass sponge .”
“They look about the same to me,” Bob said.
“I know just what you mean,” David replied. “But the loggerheads grow large. So if it’s large, suspect it. The smaller one is slightly different. I have been reading my grandfather’s notes.”
“You going to get it?” Bob asked.
“Might as well start. Here take the oar,” Dave offered.
David picked up the pole, got on his knees and thrust down the hook end, while looking in the bucket. There was about 15 feet of pole above the water.
“It’s hard to aim the hooks with the refraction*...Got it!” David exclaimed.
Up it came.
“I’m going to put any sponge I find in that net, and let it drag along in the water. When the sponge is out of water and it starts to rot, it will smell! You don’t want to be around it.”
They stayed in the area, Bob sculling and David plucking sponges from the bottom.
“Ok, Bob, I’ll scull and you ride. We’ll go back to the skipjack. It’s time for supper.”
“How about we pull anchor and move back the way we came up the channel and away from this bridge?” Bob suggested. “Also while you get supper I’m going to see if there are any fish in these waters that will take my lure.”
“Wow! Will you look at this!” Bob yelled as his rod bent double.
He reeled it in. “A red snapper. I’m going to break in this boat right and clean it in the back. We’ll have it tomorrow.” He put the fish in the ice chest.
Morning already, thought Bob, as he rolled over in his sleeping bag in the wooden bunk and ended up with his face in the mosquito net.
“That coffee smells good, David. Next trip I’m going to bring some foam padding for this bunk!”
“Sorry, Bob. It’s the one thing I forgot.”
They weighed anchor.* The morning breeze ruffled the sails, and the skipjack started to move up the Niles Channel.
“We’ll swing up and around Big Torch Key, then thread our way over to Pine Channel,” Dave suggested as he worked the tiller. “Bob, would you look at the charts? Can we squeeze between the north end of Big Pine Key and Howe Key?”
Bob went up into the cabin and brought back the charts. “Well, David, it will be close. We’ll have to let the center board scrape as needed. What about the sponging?”
“Bob, I would like to get to the east side of Big Pine, sponge some there till I get the other net I’ve got filled. Of course that’s being optimistic! Then we’ll go to the east side of No Name Key...the Big Spanish Channel side. Well land on a beach and prepare a hidden storage place for the animal matter in these sponges to rot, smell and dry.”
It happened just like they planned. Bob stayed up on the bow, keeping watch on the bottom, looking for the green-yellow and dark-green water that was passable for the skipjack. As they threaded their way amongst the dark green mangrove island clumps they were constantly disturbing all kinds of sea birds nesting there. The sudden beating of wings and flash of their white plumes sometimes startled them. They saw fish jumping and darting below as they fed and tried to not become food.
“There’s the north end of No Name,” Bob stated and pointed. “Look at that expanse ahead. You could get some sailing out there in the big Spanish Channel. It’s definitely deep blue! Must be at least 20 to 30 feet deep!”
“Bob, look, is that a kind of cove with an opening in the mangroves?”
“Sure looks like it.”
“I’m going to go in there as far as possible. What about the tide?” David asked.
“It looks like it’s out,” Bob answered. “So we won’t get grounded.”
With a splash, they dropped anchor.
“We’ve better drop them both, Captain Dave,” Bob said. “It will keep the boat stable.”
“Sure enough, Bob. Let’s take your fish in and some fixings, and we’ll have a fish bake.”
“Wow! Those sponges are getting ripe!” Bob exclaimed.
“Tell you what, Bob. I’ll take the sponges away from here, and hide them. You start on the campfire and the fish. It shouldn’t take me more than 30 to 45 minutes. They need to dry out. I’ll come back next week, retrieve and process them.
They threw everything into the skiff and rowed to the shore. There was a small spit of sandy beach. They pulled the skiff up a bit on the sand and tied it fast to a sturdy mangrove. David dragged the net full of sponges out of sight towards some bushes and a small pine tree.
Bob exclaimed out loud, “Thank you David, and good riddance to those smelly sponges,” as he worked on the small camp fire.
David came back shortly. “There, I’ve got them hid and spread out to dry. They won’t smell after that. Then all you do is beat them with a flat paddle to get all the dry animal matter out. I went a round-about to cover my tracks.”
“I don’t think anyone would ever come near those smelly things,” Bob exclaimed, “much less steal them! I’ve got a good fire and the fish are in the coals. It won’t be long.”
“The breeze should keep the mosquitoes away. Isn’t it a little strong, Bob?”
“Yes. I’ve been watching the weather. We may get a squall…see that way out over the Gulf. We’ve got plenty of time…could be two, maybe three hours.”
It was just getting dark, “Sure is good fish,” Dave exclaimed as he smacked his lips. “It was a big one. Snapper’s one of the best.
What’s that noise?” Dave asked.
My second full-length book , Florida Keys’ Watercolor Kapers is composed of 336 pages. There are 12 stories running from 6 pages to as many as 72 pages. It is fully illustrated with 88 watercolors and sketches. The watercolors I made roaming around Key West after I finished my 750 mile hike from Georgia to Key West. (See book or Don Browne’s SouthWest Florida Online News records, A Walk Across Florida.) As you read these stories you will experience Key West, the Keys, and the Caribbean. These stories span the time of the early 1800’s to 1969. bkranich.wixsite.com/bobkranich
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