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| Image source: https://sites.psu.edu/passion2blog/2018/01/25/dry-tortugas/ |
At the end of February 2025 had my first trip to the Dry Tortugas in the Florida Keys, for three nights of relatively primitive camping. After several false starts I'd managed to snag a reservation less than two months out, an unusual occurrence since camper tickets for the boat are made of unobtainium. There is a wealth of information on this trip out there if you’re interested (and I highly recommend it!) so I won’t repeat much of that here.
Since I was going to be offline, I kept notes on my phone and turned them into this journal. It's pretty spartan, with few or no poetic excesses or philosophical epiphanies. Just a chronicle of what I saw and did.
Excepting the aerial image above, all photography and writing here is my work. There are links to photo albums after each section, containing all the photos in this post as well as many more, with plentiful captions. I hope you'll take the time to check them out!
So here’s how it went:
Leg 1: to Key West
Friday
I left Tallahassee on Friday AM and ran into really bad backups around Orlando (turnpike construction), but made it to my overnight stop in West Palm Beach at a reasonable hour. Stayed at the Pioneer Inn, a clean spot handy to dining options and bookmarked for future reference. Grabbed dinner and then rested up for the next leg.
Saturday
The day began with smooth sailing into the upper Keys, with a good lunch at The Fish House in Key Largo, where I had some tasty conch chowder. Then dismay as I hit a wall of traffic just below Tavernier Creek. Turned out there was a monster flea market in Islamorada, backing up traffic for miles in both directions as pedestrians crossed US1. Since much of the Keys highway is just two lanes in and out, you just have to make room for these things.
Still
made it to the Blue Marlin in Key West at a reasonable hour. This is
an old Mom & Pop-style motel near the Southernmost Point, with a
pool and cool retro neon signage. The desk clerk was a hoot, warning
me to take earplugs to Tortugas because the hermit crabs climb all
over your tent at night (so she said she had heard).
I checked out the bodega next door, but was already pretty well stocked up for the trip. I then took a leisurely stroll up to the Green Parrot—an old fave—but it was a zoo there (Saturday afternoon in high season) so I wandered over to Blue Heaven and got a seat at the bar for a light dinner and a fiery margarita. I then tried out The Rum Bar on Duval and will be returning there—great selections, mellow porch vibe, and a fat bar cat named Captain Morgan. Swung by the little waterfront at the foot of Duval before hitting the sack.
Sunday
I had a leisurely breakfast at Frenchie’s cafe, then a very relaxing visit to the butterfly conservatory. Reasonably priced and worth an hour of your time. After checking out the tourist crowd at the Southernmost Point, I walked over to check out tiny Gato Village pocket park and then had a late lunch / early dinner at el Siboney, a neighborhood Cuban restaurant and go-to spot for me in KW. Turned in early and slept pretty well.
Leg 2: Dry Tortugas
Monday
Woke up about 5 AM and after loading the car, I had to track down the Blue Marlin night manager to check out. He was in the parking lot, shining a flashlight in the face of what appeared to be someone illicitly car camping there. I drove the quiet streets over to the ferry dock (I love Key West in the quiet hours), where another solo camper was just unloading her gear from an Uber. This was Michelle from Estero (and Chicago), who said she had camped there several times but this was her first solo trip.
I unloaded my gear and asked her to watch it while I parked the car in the city garage. By the time I had done so, she had shifted all my stuff over to the inspection area. Michelle was friendly and helpful the whole trip and I tried to return the favor but think I got the better deal. I told her later she was my good luck charm for my first trip—it was great to have an “old pro” and an avid chef in the next campsite!
Another couple arrived at the dock shortly, from Houston for their first trip. We turned out to be the only campers headed out that day. We got to know each other while waiting for the captain, who inspected our gear and cleared us for loading. They have carts and a ramp up to the boat, where the crew hauls it aboard and stows it on the aft deck.
That done, I dashed over to Cuban Coffee Queen nearby for a hearty breakfast sandwich and an Americano—which was a perfect way to grub up for the ride over. It started to rain (as predicted) as I was walking over. When I returned to the dock, I checked in upstairs and found the other campers in the waiting area with the day-trippers. The waiting room reminded me of ferry waiting rooms in Turku and Helsinki, amusingly enough.
A young Japanese couple—daytrippers—struggled with a screaming child and I was glad they were on the other side of the terminal. The boarding announcements were marred by a bad microphone connection but we eventually figured it out and got on board. I joined Michelle at her seat and who sat across from us but the couple with the (formerly) screaming child? They were actually quite pleasant and their toddler was well behaved.
So we got underway, the view poor because of the rain, and the sea gradually growing rougher once we passed the Marquesas. Although I never get motion sickness, I played it safe by wearing acupressure wrist bands and taking Dramamine.
All was well until about an hour and a half into the 2.5 hour trip. At this point visibility was just a few hundred yards, max, and rain was sluicing down the windows. Green ocean water and grey sky, with waves trending towards the predicted 4-6 feet. Suddenly a loud vibration came from aft and after a moment the motors were throttled back to idle.
We sat there for a moment, passengers looking at each other. Then the props ran in reverse for a sec and I started to have a guess at the issue. Within a few moments we were back underway. A crewman confirmed they had likely wrapped a lobster trap line around the prop shaft, and he told me he was relieved they’d managed to shake it loose because plan B involved him suiting up and going over the side for repairs [shudder].
We then proceeded without further mechanical incident. Started seeing terns flying through the storm as we neared the fort, which suddenly appeared out of the grey mist: a giant brick structure seeming to float on the surface of the sea, looking mysterious and almost ominous in the stormy weather. Echoes of the Sublime (q.v.).
After docking, the daytrippers trudged off toward the fort while we campers received a final briefing and the crew offloaded our gear. It was literally raining sideways as we disembarked onto the dock. The gear had been placed under a dock structure and we just kind of hung out there for a few, a bit stunned, talking to some other drenched campers (a quirky but friendly group of ham radio operators).
The rain and wind showed no sign of letting up, so after a while I shrugged, zipped up my trusty Eddie Bauer rain parka (as the Norwegians say, det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær), loaded up one of the carts, and trudged off through the rain and puddles toward the camping area. I found a spot nestled back among the trees (mostly very gnarled buttonwood and some seagrapes) and out of the wind, and by the time I’d made two more soggy trips back to the dock the rain started to let up, a welcome relief that allowed me to get the tent set up without soaking everything.
First impressions: windy, gloomy gray skies with low clouds scudding above the dark and foreboding (but beautifully crafted) brick fortress. Dozens of large frigate birds sailing the updraft on the windward side of the fort. A sandy spit, Bush Key, occupied by hundreds of sooty terns, wheeling and crying all day and all night every day I was there. Brazen catbirds asking me what I was doing in their woods. The storied land hermit crabs looking as miserable in the rain as the rest of us.
As I said: The Sublime.
The weather unexpectedly improved Monday afternoon and some of the day-trippers went snorkeling. It looked way too churned up for me, so I just tweaked up the campsite (more rain was to be expected) and took a nice afternoon snooze, listening to the surf and the tern colony.
Late in the afternoon, after the boat left with the day-trippers, we had the rather soggy island to ourselves—just a half dozen campers and as many park staff, with a few sailboats and cruisers anchored in the harbor. A line of mild thunderstorms came through; when they were gone I strolled the moat wall, where I saw one scorpion drowned in rainwater. You could hear the generator running in the fort and occasional black smoke belched from a small chimney on the far wall. They’ve installed apartments for staff in that part of the fort and I saw some very pleasant little sunset-watching balconies set up in the incomplete embrasures on the west side.
As I was walking back on the moat wall a rainbow appeared over the harbor. A nice omen.
I peeked inside the fort briefly, the grounds covered with puddles that were gone in an hour or so. There were a few tarpon passing under the moat bridge as I walked back out. Sunset was bland and gray, so I wandered back to the tent and rustled up some grub (I ate cold food for the most part and it was quite sufficient), then listened to the chatty ham operators, the gentle surf, and the incessant* terns before drifting off and sleeping comfortably on a cot with a small self-inflating mattress.
*Every now and then they would pause for a half second then crank right back up. Interesting article about the topic: https://www.jstor.org/stable/1522295.
Tuesday
I quickly learned that the 9am-ish daily arrival of the seaplanes made a good wakeup call. Before making breakfast, I decided to move to a more open campsite. The weather had improved greatly—we had no more rain or high wind the rest of the trip. So by then my wind-sheltered site was too far back in the trees and a bit of a pain to get to. I shifted to a nice open spot with afternoon shade—perhaps the best campsite there (at left in the pic below).
I made sure not to set the tent up on top of any wandering hermits. One had “Big Bertha 2025” marked in sharpie on its shell. I wondered how many different crabs had occupied that shell since it was marked. (As an aside, I was mystified at how ignorant so many people seemed to be about these crabs, based on the comments I heard. I’ve been following hermit crabs around all my life, it seems, so they are as familiar to me as anoles and mockingbirds.)
I chatted with a few day-trippers as they strolled past on the way to the beach. More than one asked, “Are you camping?” ("Capital deduction, Holmes!") Most seemed impressed with the idea; I got “wow” looks most places the subject of camping DT came up while I was in the Keys.
With all the other, likely slower bait in the water for the day, it seemed a good time to give snorkeling a try. But it was still too kicked up, like swimming in blue milk. Vis under 3’. I made the mistake of exiting the water on the east side of the coal docks where it’s all rocks and rubble. I was wishing for my booties and strap fins.
I cleaned up and wandered over to the boat for a nice freshwater rinse and a bag of ice for the cooler. Made a snacky lunch, shot a few photos (crab macros, a tame-ish kestrel under the trees, chatty kingfisher at the docks), and had a rum drink. Commented on a guy’s JJ Grey shirt and we chatted about Palatka. Talked to the ranger who looks like a skinny Santa Claus and he said the campground is “underutilized” (the choke point is the ferry, max 10 campers per day).
After a short snooze I wandered out Bush Key. It's basically a peninsula contiguous with Garden Key. They used to close it when the terns were nesting but now they have markers up so you can walk the beach without getting too close to the colony. The birds were curious but seemed no more or less noisily active when I walked by with the camera.
The beach “sand” there is like a lot of what you see in the Keys: crushed shell and coral fragments, hard to walk on barefoot and almost as bad with open shoes, since bits of sharp shell tend to get under the softest parts of your feet. Again missing my dive booties.
Past the bulk of the bird colony there were some tourist-created found-art displays of conch shells and other jetsam, including a few bits of brick and coal. Prickly pears do well out here. At the end of the key there is a narrow water gap to Long Key (off limits to humans), which is mostly submerged but has a few mangroves. This is where all the soaring frigate birds above the fort Monday came from: today they covered the mangroves and floated lazily above them. I saw several males perched with their large scarlet chest pouches inflated—first time I’ve seen those in person.
I ambled back past the terns to Garden Key, watching the last seaplane depart. Walked up the east side of the fort toward the north coaling docks area. Lots of collected rubble here and a fenced-in area for boats and other equipment. I stood there a while watching the waves splash over the counterscarp (moat wall). The late sun streaming through the embrasures was lovely.
There were more fish in the moat, mostly snappers, I think, and a bunch of dive-bombing barn swallows swooping around the bridge. Over at the south beach, a few campers had gathered to watch a lovely sunset. One of the rangers brings his dog down here to play in the water and fetch every evening.
The campers with young children were there, and the youngest boy (about 8) came over and asked if I wanted some pirate treasure: they’d brought a bunch of those “coins” made of chocolate and covered with gold foil. I thanked him for his generosity and remarked that actual, real chocolate pirate treasure was my favorite kind.
Michelle once again offered me food but I declined and had another charcuterie dinner (ham spread, triscuits, and gruyere cheese goes a long way).
Tried some night photos before bed but an overcast rolled in so I called it a night.
Wednesday
Awakened by the seaplane alarm clock, I got up and heated water for coffee. Had some yogurt and then heated up more water to try out the dehydrated scrambled egg and bacon mix I brought. Surprisingly easy and at least as tasty as what you’d get off a buffet. I poured out the remaining liquid on the ground and was treated to the Hermit Crab Zombie Apocalypse as they came crawling out of the trees.
I decided to take the formal fort tour today so after the boat arrived I ambled over and joined the waiting crowd. Our tourguide was the locally famous “Hollywood,” an amusing and very energetic guy who could be a cousin of Jeff Spicoli. After advising us to lower our expectations so he’d sound better, he gave us a thorough grounding in island history, from Ponce de Leon forward. Really good explanations of the strategic value of Garden Key as a deep water harbor along shipping lanes. (And plenty of humor. He led that off with the rhetorical question, “So what were they smoking?” before explaining the strategic value.)
Fort cannon could be trained on the same spot up to two miles away, and were supported by a special heavy stone material as granite or slate would've been insufficient. The structure was designed to collect water on the roof that would flow into cisterns, but settling and cracks made that system unusable. You can still see water dripping from the roof and, in some cases, forming stalactites and stalagmites from the leached lime mortar. A very atmospheric effect.
(Another Hollywood gem when talking about living conditions at the fort: “We all know Army chow sucks—but not Air Force.”) I was especially interested in the “dogtooth” brick around the unfinished casements and the Totten shutters that were designed to blow open just ahead of a fired cannonball then immediately snap shut after to protect gunners from return fire. Hollywood told a fascinating story of the one bit of “hostile action” that took place at the fort when a bluffing Union commander ran off a CSA sloop that was attempting to take possession.
Dr. Mudd’s old cell had an inch of rainwater on the floor; more dripped from the ceiling, providing an echoing and haunting counterpart to the crying terns outside. Hollywood gave a pretty inspiring little peroration on the roof at the end of the tour, making a not-too-subtle reference to the things that (his words) truly make a country great. Hint: it’s not bluster and cruelty.
I picked up some more ice on the way back to the campsite then geared up for a bit of snorkeling since the wind had died down and the water was looking considerably clearer. The old metal piling labyrinth at the south coaling dock ruins is a great muck dive. Not hard to avoid the encrusted pilings and plenty of tropicals flitting around. If there is a heaven for me, it will be snorkeling in salt water. (Link to snorkeling photos.)
As I came out and walked up the beach I saw the other members of our soggy boat ride: Shelly and Brett from Houston. Brett’s a diver; they asked about conditions and I gave a big thumbs up. I heard later they had a good snorkel.
Rinsed off on the boat and had a rum drink while drying off and warming up (water temps were in low 70s). After the obligatory nap I went back and wandered the fort more extensively, checking out the “stalactites” more closely, climbing the spiral granite staircases that reminded me of European cathedral towers, gazing down galleries of arched brick, walking the slightly precarious roof while thinking how easily a frigate bird or barn swallow could startle me off balance into the moat below.
Later I had a nice visit with my three camping companions while we watched the sunset and got better acquainted. A rigid inflatable came in right at dusk with three guys from one of the anchored boats. After declining another meal (I had leftovers to consume), I ate dinner then tried some more night photos. These were disappointing as I’d forgotten to clean the lens after snorkeling.
Turned out the boaters were camping, and unfortunately they were the kind who feel their campsite must be lit up like a Walmart parking lot. They were talking in outside voices until pretty late, but fortunately not too close by. Knowing I’d need to strike camp in the morning, I turned in relatively early.
See all photos from Wednesday: https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjC4We2 and https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjC4XJY (snorkeling).
Thursday
Got up early to watch the sunrise with Shelley and Brett, then struck camp. The noisy campers cleared out early. After getting my stuff down to the dock and before the boat arrived, I snagged a shaded picnic table I’d spotted the previous day and laid claim to it as a place to hang out until departure time.
When the ferry arrived I went back into the fort to check out the gift shop and little museum. Bought some souvenirs then back outside to take a closer look at a large memorial stone in the fort’s parade ground. A poignant tale of a young doctor who succumbed to yellow fever, followed by his little son a few weeks later.
I picked up my last lunch from the ferry, sat at the picnic table watching the crabs and tourists, even took a little snooze before heading over to the boat at 1:45 to get a good seat for the return trip. Turned out all the returning campers came up with the same idea: in the shade on the stern deck. So we had a nice chat on the way back. I met Ken from Palm Harbor, down for a one-night test camp (and who had been bothered by the noisy bros the previous night). Chatted with some folks from Seattle and others from the Atlanta area—turned out they knew some of the same people my wife Nancy did.
The ride back was comfy and drowsy. Clear day and nearly calm. Various structures (nav towers and Sand Key light), lots of boats, the dark green shorelines of the Marquesas. As we arrived in Key West after 5, a cruise ship was just backing away from Mallory Square for the sunset celebration.
Unloading was quick and before long I was exchanging hugs and handshakes with my fellow campers. We headed our separate ways.
The 30 minute drive up to Ramrod Key was uneventful (other than the leftover soda that foamed over when I opened it while driving). The hotel clerk at Looe Key Resort was having an animated and mock-argumentative phone conversation with her boyfriend as she checked me in. On her recommendation I tried a place called Kiki’s Sandbar up the road for dinner and was not disappointed. Came back to the room for a delightful shower and fell into an equally delightful bed.
Leg 3: Middle Keys
Friday
I scheduled two nights post-campout for a wind down and because I wanted to spend a little time on Big Pine Key. After breakfast “downtown” I headed up to where there are some nice trails near the Blue Hole, an old quarry. An eclectic group was at the Blue Hole overlook, including one tye-dyed old hippie dude who’d gone to FSU in the 60s. There were needlefish and tarpon in the hole, washed in by a recent hurricane, someone said. A grebe was doing underwater swim-bys.
Drove from there to the end of No Name Key road, where there’s a good view off toward the bridges at Bahia Honda. The famous tethered blimp, Fat Albert, was visible to the west. Though it was a bit early for lunch, I stopped at the No Name Pub for a beer but it was too busy, so I went on to a nice little city park on the east side of the main key. Some kind of special olympics event was breaking up as I arrived, with groups of kids in bright uniform shirts heading for the buses in the parking lot. The park seemed newish or perhaps recently restored, with deep swales around the ballfields. Some nice views off the dock there.
I then drove up to the end of Spanish Harbor Key and clambered around getting some shots of the decomposing old Bahia Honda Bridge, thinking of Flagler and hurricanes and the crumbling concrete highway that was later built atop the bridge trusses. I also checked out another old quarry nearby, Horseshoe Beach, which definitely deserves a re-visit with snorkeling gear. Locals told me the vis wasn’t too hot that day, though.
Picked up lunch at a deli on Big Pine, then back to the hotel. Napped a bit and then looked for a good spot for sunset photos. I first went to a nice little park on the west side of Big Pine, but thankfully decided to bail on that and drive up to Bahia Honda State Park. I pulled up just before sunset so the ranger just waved me in.
Saturday
I got up early, loaded up on some Cuban coffee, gassed up the car and—eleven hours later—arrived back in Tallahassee.
Bonus!
Short video compilations for those who’ve made it this far. First, birds and other critters:
Last, various watery things:
