Mystery Object near Key West

I was just cruising around on Flash Earth and saw something that struck me slightly strange. At first glance, the object just below Key West in the image above seems to be just a large ship, but upon reflection, it seems too large when considering comparative scale. You can see a ship on the right, leaving a normal wake behind it, but the wake left by this object on the left is not only impossibly massive, it seems to be stirring up the seas from below, almost as if a giant submarine had just emerged from laying dormant at the muddy surface.

If we flog our perspective into looking at it another way, it could also be seen as a rocket lifting off, although there's nothing there to use as a launchpad, not even a reef.

Any thoughts from the peanut gallery? You can view it here while you still can before the satellite imagery changes.

The Mary Disston

The steamboat Mary Disston was built in 1884 and known locally as "Dirty Mary" because of the thick black smoke always belching from its boilers.

In 1892 it caught fire while docked to a pier in Gulfport and had to be cut loose to keep it from igniting the pier. It burned to its waterline and the remains sank to the bottom of the the bay, where they still remain.

This etched-glass plate depicting the ship, along with an informational plaque, can be found on Williams Pier.

Disappearance of the Witchcraft

Miami. December 22, 1967. Real estate and hotel magnate Dan Burack went on a short yacht trip in the evening along with his passenger, an Irish Catholic priest named Patrick Horgan, on board a 23-foot-long cabin cruiser called the Witchcraft.

They set out to Buoy #7, less than one mile away from the shore, intending only to view the dazzling spectacle of Miami's coastline lit up with Christmas lights, and then head back. But at 9pm, the Coast Guard received a message from Burack, stating that his craft had struck something unknown in the water. Although it was not an emergency, Burack said, his boat needed a tow back to shore. According to the Coast Guard, Burack was perfectly mellow and calm during the radio message. From this, it has been surmised, we can assume that whatever Burack hit in the water, it didn't damage the hull - otherwise his message would have been a mayday alert and not a mere request to be towed.

The Coast Guard knew exactly where Buoy #7 was, of course, but Burack indicated he was about to fire off his flare gun anyway for good measure. Though that flare never appeared, the team scrambled into action and arrived at Buoy #7 only nineteen minutes later, but there was no sign of the ship.

Even if there had been a huge gaping hole in the hull that Burack had been unaware of (not likely - Burack was a meticulously expert seafarer) it is inconceivable that the ship could have sunk so quickly. Doubly so, because the Witchcraft was extensively fitted with built-in floatation, rendering it essentially unsinkable. It, or portions of it, should have been bobbing up out of the ocean or just below its surface, even if the entirety of the craft had taken on water.

The ship was fully stocked with more life jackets and preservers than was necessary, and even the seat cushions on deck doubled as floatation devices. This means even if the ship had somehow been forced against all odds to the bottom of the sea, these items on deck should have been left floating behind, leaving evidence that the Witchcraft had been there.

But there was nothing when the Coast Guard arrived at 9:19pm. Nothing but the eerie clanging sound of the buoy.

Any conceivable disaster that could have befallen them still begs the question, why didn't they radio back a second time? And why didn't they send up the flare? How did every trace of the ship completely vanish when at least parts of it and on-deck materials should have been floating? Why were Burack and Horgan not still in the water in their life vests and preservers, even if the ship unexpectedly sank? And if it did, how did it sink in less than nineteen minutes? And even if sharks had gotten the pair, their life vests and preservers should have still been floating, and the water should have still had a sheen of blood easily seen by the Coast Guard searchlights scanning the water.

One doesn't have to be a devotee of the paranormal to conclude that the facts just don't make sense. The Coast Guard must have felt the same way - "but - but - it just has to be here! It can't have just vanished!" - and so they continued widening the scope of the search to increasingly illogical distances. They finally admitted defeat and called off the mission on December 28, after fruitlessly searching 24,500 square miles.

I'm not one of those "I Want To Believe" types - I already have certainty that there is more under Heaven and Earth than dreamt of in your imagination - but I do feel it's worth mentioning that the disappearance of the Witchcraft took place within what is known as the Devil's Triangle and/or the Bermuda Triangle, that area which, some say, has been the site of more than its share of disasters, deaths and disappearances.

In 1918, for example, the USS Cyclops vanished in the Triangle, and the disappearance of the ship and its 306 crewmen and passengers without a trace remains, to this day, the single largest loss of life in U.S. Naval history not directly involving combat.

In 1945, a grouping of five planes known collectively as Flight 19 vanished in the Triangle during a Navy navigation training flight from the Naval Air Station at Fort Lauderdale, Florida. No trace of the planes or an explanation of what happened to them has been conclusively found. (Steven Spielberg referenced the incident in his film Close Encounters of the Third Kind by including the Flight 19 pilots among the humans that the aliens returned after borrowing for study.)

And in 1996, University of Louisville basketball star Derek Smith dropped dead unexpectedly during a cruise to Bermuda on a ship called the Dreamward (since renamed the Norwegian Dream.) According to the New York Daily News:

Smith was seated upstairs in the lounge, chatting with several people. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, opened and then closed. His head moved back. "C'mon Derek, quit messin' around," someone said. Smith's body slumped to the right. Another passenger ran over, found a very faint pulse and started administering CPR. Ship medical personnel rushed in and spent the better part of a half hour trying to resuscitate him.

"That's it", said one of the medics. It was 9:10. "There's nothing more we can do."

Despite their efforts to jump-start Smith's heart, it never produced more than five beats in succession.

Interestingly, another death cited as a possible Bermuda Triangle case is that of a man named Derrick Smith, who vanished off the coast of Savannah in 2001.

The Vana Vana Society

A curious report in the February 3, 1936 issue of the Sarasota Herald-Tribune tells of a mysterious group of nudists who encountered problems just outside of Tampa's Hillsborough Bay. Their craft, the Fleetwood, ran aground on a reef and damaged its engine. The next day, the New York Post reported the ship was fixed and on its way.

The group called themselves The Vana Vana Society, and consisted of one Maurice Allard, his wife, son, and two daughters. They had no navigator among them, and while in Florida Mr. Allard made inquiries to find one to join them. But as the newspaper article waggishly states, all the local seafarers were too fond of wearing trousers to sign up for the post.

Despite lacking someone on board who could navigate, the Vana Vana Society were sailing to the Virgin Islands, where they had a 1000-acre tract on St. John's Island. Here, the paper says, the family intended to establish a "nudist-socialistic utopia". Refreshingly, the paper made no editorial effort to mock, sensationalize, or judge the group - hell, they didn't even make any bad puns.

But did the family complete their journey? I do not know, but I wouldn't bet the nudist farm on it. The only thing that comes up in a Google search for the Vana Vana Society is a handful of newspaper articles about their Florida mishaps. A story dated Feb. 25 in the St. Petersburg Times says that their journey experience more problems after their Feb. 4 sendoff - they had three separate mishaps before finally setting off, noting that they'd be stopping in Key West to stock up on provisions. They also apparently managed to lure a navigator named Johan Johanson into their ranks.

Weeks passed. Then came the appearance of the article "Queer tales of nudist ship: Captain goes mad and runs amok" in the Straits Times, May 3, 1936. The article's anonymous suthor seems to be blurring some of the facts as reported by the previous papers, and so casts a shadow of doubt on the sensationalist tone of the story. It claims here that Johanson was already helming the ship when the original Feb. 6 accident occurred, and blames that disaster on Johanson's mental instability. It accuses him of chasing the female nudists around and letting the ship go in circles unmanned, and that he finally had to be restrained and tied up.

This piece notes two additional passengers not mentioned in any of the other newspapers: a New York artist named Ross Dodd and a 19-year-old Denver girl named Lucille Robinson.

And then the story goes cold. We're left to only guess what became of this ill-fated cruise to "nudetopia" and if they even made it out of Florida waters at all. Drop me a line if you know more, won't you?

Mayport Ferry

When I looked at the Google Map for directions on how to get to Amelia Island from Jacksonville, it showed Highway A1A as a straight line extended across the water. I made the logical presumption that I was seeing the depiction of a bridge or causeway.

So you can imagine when I showed up to Mayport, FL, I was rather pissed off to find that A1A stops dead in its tracks at the water's edge and that you have to drive your car onto a gigantic ferry that takes you across to Fort George Island and beyond on the other side. Then I found out it costs money. And they want exact change. And they don't take plastic. And they only run at very specific times. Furthermore, the palpable Department of Homeland Security presence in the area (because of the adjacent naval base) made the whole place a total drag to be around.

So be warned, kids. Don't do like I done did. Go to Amelia Island the long way 'round.

LeBarge Tropical Cruises

A couple months ago I saw a dazzlingly lit cruise ship go by as I sat watching the sunset on the rocky beach at the dead-end of Shell Road on Siesta Key. I was particularly struck by the fact that it had palm trees on its deck, and made a mental note to seek and find this exciting vessel one day.

Then, day before yesterday, I was loitering around the Sarasota Bayfront with a cigar in one hand and a Starbucks in the other, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but the ship. Interzone has a way of leading you to where you need to be. Now that I know where to find LeBarge Tropical Cruises, you can bet I'll be enlisting their boatly services soon.

U-2513

The Nazi U-boat submarine U-2513 was commissioned on October 12, 1944, as the war was winding down. Its captain surrendered to the allies on May 8, 1945 and it was taken to Oslo, then Ireland, then turned over to the United States where it actually become part of the U.S. Navy fleet.

On November 21, 1946, President Harry S. Truman took a tour of the U-2513 and became the first American President to travel on a submarine. It dove went 440 feet below the surface with the President on board.

The U-boat served the U.S. Navy well, with activity in Florida, New Hampshire, and Virginia.

But then in 1949, something odd happened. The submarine was taken out of service and sat idle in Portsmouth, even though it was still a perfectly fit vessel. In 1951, the Chief of Naval Operations ordered that the boat be sent to Florida - and sunk. And the order came down to specifically junk it in the remotest location of the Florida Keys - a spot northwest of the Dry Tortugas (Coordinates: 24°52.015′N 83°18.594′W).

Due to the sunken ship's extreme depth and remote location, few divers have ever attempted to visit it.

Jacksonville Cruises

I have yet to ride on any of these good ships, but I'm quite curious about the river-cruise vessels I've noticed while making my morning rounds on the boardwalk. Most appealing to me is the Jacksonville Water Taxi service, which will take you up, down and across the puddle on its six boats from 11am to 9pm, for a six dollar bill. I don't actually need to go anywhere by way of the river, of course, I just like being on a boat.

The two other options are both evidently owned by the same people - the Annabelle Lee and the Lady St. James dinner boats are both run out of the same website and offer identical lunch and dinner menus. For $45 you get a cruise, dinner, and dancing. And of course, a cash bar.

When I see the Annabelle Lee, though, I can't help but think of the creepy Edgar Allan Poe poem about a man whose one true love was murdered by seraphim (who dispatched a killer cloud to take her life) and sent to a "tomb by the sea" where the protagonist goes each night and lays by her side. (Did Count Carl Von Cosel read it?)

The Merry Pier

You probably have grokked by now that Pass-a-Grille is one of my very favorite places in the Sunshine State, being a laidback, low-key, low-traffic spot at the very end of that massive outcropping of land that starts at Clearwater Beach and takes you all the way down through St. Pete's Beach, Treasure Island, Madeira Beach, past the Don CeSar Hotel, Route 666 and more, until you reach Mile Marker Zero, end of the line: Pass-a-Grille. There is literally nowhere to go at that point, and no way to get back to the mainland without retracing your steps and doing a lot of driving. This is partially why the dead-end locale is shunned by so many, and yet also precisely why it's so popular among those in the know.

It's there that you'll find The Merry Pier, where you can either just drop your hook and fish off the side, or enlist one of its noble Captains to escort you out into deep water. Miss Pass-A-Grille is a fine craft perpetually available to haul you and your buddies on fishing excursions for both half-day and full-day jaunts. Says here on its website:

Miss Pass-A-Grille is a 51' Twin Diesel with an A/C cabin for everyone. We fish for Red Grouper, Gag Grouper, Triggerfish, Sea Bass, Mangrove Snapper, and Gray Snapper. We supply the Rod, Reel, Bait, Tackle and Fishing License. Parking Passes are available inside the bait shop. Call and reserve the entire boat for your next company party, church outing, or family reunion.

There's also the Shell Key Shuttle, a boat that'll get you to where you wanna go, that is, if where you wanna go is the remote unspoiled island called Shell Key and other nearby islands including Sister Key, Summer Resort Key, Panama Key, Sawyer Key and God's Island. (I went there, but didn't see him.)

Anna Maria Water Shuttle

Island hoppers! The Anna Maria Island Water Shuttle Service (aka Island Pearl Excursions) runs daily to one of my all-time favorite spots, the mysterious Egmont Key, as well as private charters for up to 49 passengers. They also offer a variety of tour packages including a day trip to Sarasota (depart at 10am, go and shop on St. Armands Key, and be back at home on your lanai by shortly after 5pm), a manatee/dolphin watching excursion, and a complete circumnavigation around Anna Maria Island.

They'll also take you to my beloved Beer Can Island (pictured below), a great secluded spot just off of Longboat Key that kinda reminds me of the beach at the end of Planet of the Apes with its eerie desolation and spooky post-apocalyptic-looking fallen gnarly trees.

Captain George

In a state with at least 4500 islands (and you can triple that statistic if you include tiny ones under 10 acres in size) you need a lot of boats. And if you don't have a boat (I'm workin' on it) then you need a lot of Captains. Fortunately for us all, there's no shortage of have-craft-will-chauffeur Captains out there plying their trade.

One of my closest Captainly allies is Captain George on Anna Maria Island, who will for a pittance shuttle your ass wherever you want to go. Even if you don't really want to go anywhere. Even if you just wanna be dropped off on Beer Can Island for awhile to go frolicking nude in the mangroves with a bottle of Kraken and a bag of limes. His boat, the Mystic Dolphin also comes equipped with a CD player that plays both kinds of music - Jimmy Buffett and.... Jimmy Buffett.

Call the man: 941.778.2761. And tell him I sent you by!

Boat to Bimini

When I mentioned yesterday that there are over 4,500 islands in Florida, that didn't include the Bahamas, which contains over 700 islands and 2,400 cays. In other words, that adds over 3,100 islands to our list - I don't really make a distinction between the terms "island" and "cay". An island is an island, saith I, just as a planet is a planet.

The Bahamas weren't included in yesterday's statistic, of course, because they're not part of Florida and not part of the United States; they're a semi-independent commonwealth under the auspices of the British Crown and you need a passport to go there. But they are, tantalizingly, right over there off the coast. Bimini, in fact, is practically spitting distance from Miami if you have a boat. And even if you don't, there's a $49 ferry that'll shuttle your butt there every day. So now what's stoppping you?

Bimini is especially notable to me for two reasons:

Hemingway. Bimini was a favorite hangout of Ernest Hemingway, who wrote To Have And Have Not here and stayed at the Compleat Angler Hotel during 1935-1937. The hotel, which housed a museum of Hemingway memorabilia, tragically burned up in a fire in 2006.

The Bimini Road. Also known as the Bimini Wall, this underwater assemblage of stones is apparently the remains of a lost civilization, which some have said to be the mythical Atlantis. (But of course, that title has been bestowed on many sunken ruins around the world.)