TIDAL CALCULATIONS IN THE KEYS
Eighteen
We ease off plane and into the shallows, gliding toward the flat. The skiff’s hull threatens to disrupt the mirrored surface, the engine settling to the gentle rumble of idle. Momentum carries us the last few yards. We’re about a mile west of town, at the confluence of Key West harbor, Archer Key basin and the Atlantic Ocean. It’s warm, almost hot, the day refusing to grant us the slightest hint of a breeze. We scan the scene, still draped in early morning light. Pastels of blue, pink, purple and gray consume the senses and, briefly, time itself. A school of glass minnows rises and falls like typewriter keys. The quiet calm is weighted with anticipation.
“These summer slickers are the best,” I think out loud. A lot of clients and guides have migrated from the Lower Keys to cooler climates—Montana, Idaho. Others are taking a well-deserved break from the grind of tarpon season. Not us. John and I have waited patiently for late August, looking forward to its magical possibilities.
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