Keyed Up

As promised, the continuation of the vacation report…

The next day we checked out of the (good) hotel and went back to downtown Key West to finish our shopping excursion and hopefully see the ‘southernmost point in the U.S.”

After parking the rental car, we embarked on a full day of walking. After hitting some shops, we had to walk some distance to the southern marker. It was a cone shape monument to tourism; every 15 seconds someone would stand in front of it, have their picture snapped, and the next crew would assemble. If you were a pickpocket or had a hankering to steal a camera, this would be paradise. Amazingly, everyone seemed to have their camera handed back to them.

We shuffled through the line like the out-of-towners we were and (finally!) set off to find a beach. I swear that beach must have been five miles away. We walked forever, watching the houses deteriorate with every block. Pretty soon broken glass and cannibalized cars littered the streets. Even the chickens looked a little seedier. These homes were on desirable plots of land, and I couldn’t understand what the situation was. Did residents let the exteriors fall into disrepair to avoid high tax assessments? Did they want to hold on to their property since they knew they could not live so close to the ocean if they sold out? Or feared if they sold and the area gentrified, they would lose the original flavor and ethnic mix of the area? If so, admirable, but why not sweep the streets?

Still no beach. We asked a man sitting on his stoop; he said there were two beaches, and pointed us in the direction of the nearest one. It wasn’t so near. We came to a State Park and could see where a cruise ship had docked. For a $1.50 entry fee (each), we were allowed to walk still further in our quest for water. A sign noted this was voted Florida’s favorite state park. Perhaps I was missing something as it was winter, but I just couldn’t see it. Our hike culminated in a rocky beach and icy ocean. No sand in sight and the stones were very painful on the feet. We waded in but never did get up the courage to submerge fully; it was just too darn cold. Overall, a letdown as far as Florida Beaches go. Perhaps there were better areas in the park, we just stopped at the first one we came to and spread out our towels. I got a grand total of 23 minutes of sunlight, and with an SPF of 45, not a darn bit of color. If I ever return, I want to come when it’s warmer and spend a whole day basking.

We hoped to catch a trolley back to civilization, but no luck. Walked all the way back to the garage and set off in a hurry hoping to make our four o’clock reservation at the Turtle Hospital in Marathon. To say this was the highlight of my trip is an understatement; more like the highlight of my life. In two hours I learned more about Sea Turtles than I had in five years of aquarium visits and nature specials. It was the difference between reading a book about the Civil War and meeting Abraham Lincoln.

The woman who conducted to tour was a former teacher from Carbondale, IL who began as a volunteer at the hospital with no prior marine biology experience. She now has a paid position caring for the turtles and was the most informative and personable tour guide imaginable.

For many years, the hospital was closed to the public. The site was a hotel and had a salt water tide pool for the guests. A new owner of the property decided to stock the pool with game fish for his own and guests’ enjoyment. Often the kids staying at the motel would ask where the turtles were (due to the popularity of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon). The owner decided to research what permits were necessary to keep a sea turtle in captivity – leading him to start a rehabilitation center for injured turtles. Now it is the only facility of its kind on earth, and one of the leading Herpetological surgeons in the country donates his time there. Until Hurricane Wilma, the only way for a layperson to see the facility was to book a room at hotel. The hurricane damaged the hotel rooms to the point where the owner is now considering his options for the property. In the interim, it was decided to open the facility to tours as a source of revenue. As a charitable corporation, the owner absorbs many of the costs associated with the facility, with grants, donations and volunteers keeping it afloat. They even have an ambulance!

After an incredibly informative slide show discussing types of sea turtles and the threats they face, we were allowed to see the operating room. Each turtle is given a name and medical chart, and our guide told us what medications they were on, etc. The most insidious ailment is Fibropapilloma tumors – an infectious soft tissue tumor cased by a herpes-like virus that turtles catch by swimming in waters where humans bathe. Think about that the next time you visit a crowed beach or public pool…*

The tumors are disgustingly huge pink protrusions that can occur in the cornea, blinding the turtle and leading to certain death. Green sea turtles are especially vulnerable; some experts estimate 90% of Green Sea Turtles in U.S. waters have them. Turtles brought to the hospital with tumors are assessed by x-ray; internal tumors are untreatable and lead to euthanasia. External tumors can be removed by laser, but as the tumors contain such a large blood supply, multiple surgeries may be required to remove all growths safely. Although anesthetized for the surgery, return to salt water (a wonderful curative) is very painful on the open wound. Once tumors are removed, the turtle is kept in captivity for one year to monitor reoccurrence. Once free from growths for a year, the prognosis is excellent and the turtle returned to the wild. Where she can then be killed by monofilament line, oil spills, boat propellers or the ingestion of a plastic bag. Yes, the future of the sea turtle is pretty bleak. Unless this whole bird-flu thing really steps up and wipes out mankind, I’m not too optimistic for the plant and animal life on this planet.

Then we walked into the treatment area. Right before my eyes was a real live (ok, just barely) sea turtle! He was in a blue plastic kiddie pool with a damp towel on him, propped so his head was lower than his back flippers. He had some type of repertory infection and they were hoping the position would help drain his lungs. Only time would tell if the antibiotics would have any effect.

To my right were some little plastic containers, slightly bigger than a shoebox. In each swam a baby sea turtle no bigger than my palm!! These were washed ashore during Wilma and brought in by residents who found them on driveways or yards. I can’t believe I was that close to these cute little hatchings. As soon as they were determined to be healthy, it’s back to the sea for them. The hospital does not wish to interfere with the cycle of life and keep the turtles until they are grown, so despite the dangers they are released. One however, had a major problem. He could only swim in a tight little circle, forever paddling clockwise. He got little physical therapy sessions where they tempted him to swim in the opposite direction with squid and shrimp treats and little flipper massages. Check out their wonderful website for photos and further information.

Uses of names with ‘he’ and ‘she’ designations is arbitrary. No one knows the sex of these reptiles, unless an x-ray revealed eggs or something.

I loved seeing the turtles up close, although it really brought home the plight of these poor creatures. So many were scarred beyond recognition from boat propellers or fishing mishaps. Missing limbs, deformed shells, the inability to sink or swim properly, tumors – it was all very sobering. I wished I lived near enough to volunteer there, I’m sure they could always use someone to wash towels or scoop turtle poop out of the tanks or something. Until then, the best I can do is make a donation and tell everyone about it. I’ve already spoken with a woman who says every year for 12 years family has vacationed in Key West. She said her children always asked if they could visit the turtles and she was very pleased to hear they could now tour the facility.

Our guide even recommended a good restaurant nearby and we headed there just in time for Louise to get some great photos of the sunset. My camera stinks, and I really need to get a better one soon. We had dinner outdoors on the water and then it was off to my favorite destination, the Dirty Pelican Hotel. Ug.

So we check in well after dark again, and the room is slightly larger but certainly no cleaner. We were opening suitcases, settling in, when a flush of the toilet decided to come up rather than down. So it’s off to office to ask for a plunger. Gee, I don’t know where one is, and the supply closet is locked, says night desk clerk. So he starts walking around knocking on cabins to see if there is one out on loan! Sheesh. So eventually he says we can have another (bigger) room for the same cost, as they can’t fix the room we have. So we pack up the toothbrushes and head to the next cabin over, the Marlin Room. Oooh! Do I get a free marlin? No such luck. It’s a much bigger room with a full kitchen, but no marlins, real or stuffed in sight. What do I find in that bathroom? A plunger. Fortunately it was not needed.

Next morning it was back to the airport, and although I certainly wish my vacation were longer, I couldn’t wait to leave the Poopy Pelican behind. The city of Miami is to be commended on hiding the airport so well. The money they saved on signage lined some politician’s pocket, I’m sure. Anyhoo… once inside it took some doing to figure out which desk to check in at. Once settled, I decided to visit the ladies’ room. Mistake! As I walk in a siren begins to shriek and the emergency lights come on. Confused, everyone inside exits back to the lobby area. No alarm there, but the men are exiting their washroom as well. What kind of bizarre bathroom alarm was triggered? Terrorists couldn’t exist in that filth, so I can’t imagine. The noise was so loud I decided I could wait, as did a few others.

The flight to Chicago was delayed over something really silly, like they didn’t have some sort of equipment that moves one plane out of the way for the next. Our plane was on the ground, waiting, it just couldn’t get to our door. An hour later we get on the plane. I sit by a window and watch Mr. Union Baggage Handler in action. Now I’m totally against the concessions airline workers have had to make, the government bailouts, etc. but this guy was really giving the job a bad name.

First off, he was working alone. He had the golf cart-type vehicle hooked to two trams of luggage. He had not even started with the luggage, and all passengers had been seated and belted for some 15 minutes. He ever so slowly turned each piece of luggage around, looked at the tag, (good for him!) and in slow motion placed it on the conveyor leading to the cargo area of the jet. No rush. He’s paid for an 8-hr day whether that’s one plane loaded or twenty. And it sure looks like that figure is closer to one. I could have done the job faster and more efficiently, but apparently that’s not the point. The point is to go really slow, yet somehow damage the suitcases along the way. Drop them on the conveyor at precisely the correct angle to miss the rubberized ramp and hit metal. It’s an art, and he’s perfecting it with my $10 Wal-Mart bag. Yawn.

We land in Chicago greeted by snow and 20 degree weather. WELCOME BACK, LOSERS


*But this did cure me from surreptitiously touching one. Sick sea turtles don’t need my germs.