Islands in the Sun

We were walking around the moat at Fort Jefferson, that stalwart brick oddity plopped down in the Dry Tortugas some 70 miles beyond Key West, when we heard the commotion just a few feet below us. Looking down, we saw the water churning, streaks of silver swirling, like God's own Mixmaster whipping up the Gulf. A pod of tarpon, perhaps a dozen of them, had corralled a school of menhaden along the fort's foundation and were happily feasting on the baitfish buffet.

The water was so clear, the spectacle so close. The tarpon, in the four-to-five-foot range and weighing maybe 75 pounds, took occasional respites to loll on their sides and consider us with their big green and yellow eyes. The menhaden, meanwhile, were resigned to fate. They huddled by the thousands in a massive, twitchy ball of gray that seemed to have taken on a communal life of its own, shape-shifting like some giant amoeba

with each new attack by the tarpon.

Rare are the times when sights like this present themselves. And when such good fortune prevails, it is wrong not to experience it to the hilt. My son and I looked at each other. Without a word, we slipped on our masks and fins.

"No way," said my wife. "You're not ."

And then we jumped off the moat's wall. Right into the middle of it all.

The Keys are filled with unexpected pleasures and plenty of opportunities for leaping headlong into places you might not otherwise have leaped. That's why it behooves us Floridians to get down there on a regular basis.

True, there is much about the mangrove-and-limestone archipelago that mortifies and maddens. U.S. 1 is a freak show. Much of the new development seems to have sprung up without a shred of sensibility and is just gawd-awful. There are too many people in too small a space. Prices can be way out of whack. There are endless variations on a theme of kitsch.

And yet, there is that gorgeous, gorgeous water. And the sublime feeling that comes from being disconnected from the mainland. And so many good places just to kick back and enjoy it all.

We hid out at Cheeca Lodge & Spa for a couple of days, just to get ourselves into a proper Keys state of mind before heading another 80 miles down to Key West. The lodge has long been a popular base camp for well-heeled anglers, including the likes of President George Bush, the elder, who has visited so often to go bonefishing over the years that there's a suite named in his honor that contains a small collection of presidential memorabilia.

Sitting on 27 acres along the ocean side of Islamorada, the property was first developed as a resort in the 1940s, then bought by Cynthia "Chee" Twitchell, an heir to the A&P fortune, and her husband, Carl. They combined their monikers to come up with Cheeca, in the process creating a name that has been synonymous with gracious luxury ever since. That's especially true since the 201-room resort came under the management of the RockResorts hotel group, which includes such other stellar properties as the Lodge at Vail, Keystone Lodge, and the Lodge at Rancho Mirage in Palm Springs. The spa, perched alongside a dreamy manmade lagoon, provides a sybaritic escape. There's tennis, a nine-hole golf course, a sprawling pool-all the bells and whistles. But the main attraction is the water, with 1,100 feet of beachfront and a 525-foot long fishing pier that actually offers some fairly decent fishing. Not skittish bonefish, perhaps, but plenty in the way of barracuda and snapper.

We took out a couple of sea kayaks for an afternoon of paddling across the grass flats, which was exercise enough to justify our overindulgence that evening at Atlantic's Edge, one of three restaurants at Cheeca Lodge. There was a full moon the color of cheddar cheese and cool breeze off the water as we dined on the creations of chef Rob Millner-pan-seared sea scallops, blue crab fritters and tempura lobster with a sesame soy glaze.

More good eating was in store in Key West, which surely has more good restaurants per capita than any other city in Florida. At the top of the list was Seven Fish, a corner bistro near the old cemetery and far removed from the typical tourist-laden joints. Among the memorable dishes were homemade potato chips with a shrimp salsa, a killer ceviche and ravioli with a seafood puttanesca. But the real joy of eating in Key West is coming across places like Jose's Cantina, a family-run Cuban restaurant, also near the cemetery, where the house dish, a whole fried red snapper, goes for a very reasonable $20 and comes with mounds of black beans, rice and sweet plantains.

As for hotels, Key West has no shortage of quaint little inns and guesthouses just oozing with charm. Most notable though is the Marquesa Hotel, a cluster of 1880-era conch houses that have been lovingly transformed into a precious enclave sequestered around a terraced pool area.

"We like to think we've created something that stands out as the poster child for restoration in Key West," says co-owner/manager Carol Wightman. One sure sign that the Marquesa Hotel is true to its heritage: Among the regular guests is Norm Abram, host of This Old House.

No visitor to Key West with an extra day to spare should pass up a chance to hop aboard one of the two ferries that offer trips to the Dry Tortugas. It's a pretty good haul, but well worth the effort, even if it means an extra dose of Dramamine. Our ferry, the Yankee Freedom II, left the dock at 8 a.m., cruised past the Marquesa Keys (the only real atoll in North America) and delivered us to Garden Key and Fort Jefferson shortly after 10 a.m. Nearby Bush Key was off limits-it was nesting season for the nearly 100,000 sooty terns who stop over there each year-but there was plenty to occupy us at the fort.

Construction began on Fort Jefferson in 1846, and it's the largest of America's offshore forts, even though work on it was never completed. Controlled by Northern troops during the Civil War, the fort was used to hold Southern prisoners of war, mostly notably Dr. Samuel Mudd, the Virginia physician who was convicted (and later exonerated) for treating the wounds of John Wilkes Booth after the Lincoln assassination.

If Florida has a list of Seven Wonders, I'd put Fort Jefferson right up there, well ahead of any theme park. Its remoteness is splendid, and its scale so grand against all that water surrounding it-16 million bricks, the largest masonry structure in the Western Hemisphere-that all you can do is gape in awe.

Until, of course, you spot those silver tarpon.

I feared two things: that the fish might scatter when we hit the water. Or that there might be other fish, nastier fish, OK, sharks, that were hanging around out there.

But not to worry. The tarpon seemed oblivious to our presence. We swam right alongside them as they munched on menhaden. My son was grinning from ear to ear. I was, too.

And then we heard a splash. I turned to see my wife surfacing beside us, decked out in her mask and fins. She poked her head under the water just as a big tarpon went eyeball to eyeball with her. And I heard her squeal with glee.