The water this morning around mile marker 28 of A1A in the Florida Keys was about how you would picture it in a dream: a mix of turquoise and green water cut by deep channels of dark blue. And the sky above was blue, but with but a few light clouds for contrast. I was there this morning at about 10 a.m., a little hyped by two cups of coffee, skimming happily over the flat water at 30 knots in a 20-foot skiff with a grin and the no particular destination because it's always the journey that's the best part.
I was out by myself and had left early because today was my last day on this trip to the keys and I wanted to squeeze in just a little more boat time. I came down from Washington, D.C. just four days earlier on a Friday night flight that got in late, after which I drove the hundred and fifty or so miles to Little Torch Key, 28 miles north of the end of the road.
And for the next few days—Saturday, Sunday, and Monday—I engaged in the activity that simply makes me happier than anything else on this earth: boating on salt water. I love it because the ocean is part of me and I was brought up on it and when I am near the water—particularly when I am upon it—I just feel better and the world seems like a lot more of a suitable place. Salt water is mysterious and comforting and always moving but always there waiting to welcome me back. And I always come.
And as I skimmed across the shallows this morning, the little boat on plane, the outboard engine trimmed nicely and humming, I thought how I do love this activity, and how I always will love it, and how if I had to describe myself to someone, I would start right here.
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