Cortez Museum

It was cool and breezy today and no prospects for diving, so I tossed the dog in the truck and took a ride to the dive shop to fill my tank.

On the way I passed the Cortez Maritime Museum and stopped to take a peek.

The museum is housed in a renovated schoolhouse, a little piece of history in itself. The Village of Cortez, Florida began in the early 1880’s when several families migrated from NC and settled on what was then known as Hunters Point to fish for mullet.

They mostly gillnetted and the village thrived catching fish and selling them to Cuba. Fifty years later the villagers decided to call the community DeSoto after the first Spanish explorer there and requested a post office. A Washington clerk decided that there was already a DeSoto in Florida and promptly renamed the village Cortez after Hernando Cortez. Unfortunately Cortez never came to Florida and was not a part of Florida history.

The advent of gasoline motors and a railroad connecting Cortez to Tampa and the rest of the US caused the village to boom until destroyed by a hurricane in 1921, then in 1929 stock market crashed and the mullet mysteriously disappeared not returning until 1939. During the Depression Cortez was the only place in the US which did not accept financial assistance from the US government. A feisty little lot.

They were confounded again in 1947 and 1953 with horrific red tides and during the late 60’s development in surrounding areas destroyed the mangroves which were the nursery area for the mullet the village so depended on.

In 1969 legislation was proposed to ban fishing in the bays and the local population banded together with other fisherman in Florida to defeat the bill.

A boom in the Japanese market brought prosperity back to the area only to have a 1995 Florida Constitutional Amendment ban gillnetting, the life blood of the village’s fishermen. They still fight to remain an active fishing community but most of the young adults have moved on to other occupations and the family fishing businesses are slowly falling away. In a village of appx 500 residents over 100 buildings have been designated historical sites. Truly an interesting area.

The Maritime Museum follows the rise and fall of the local fishing industry with all the good and bad luck to have befallen the village. Included among the history are examples of how their fishing has changed over the years from poling boats and bailing with wooden bailers to motorized net hauling, and everything in between. They also have an art gallery with a wonderful collection of artwork representing the local area and fishing in general.

A lovely little distraction off the beaten path.

Spanish Rocks

Our happiest moments as tourists always seem to come when we stumble upon one thing while in pursuit of something else. ~ Lawrence Block

Well I have been in Florida for a week now and I guess there are worse things……like the Spanish Inquisition and Donald Trumps hair…but I am pretty sure that is it.

I got here Sunday and Thursday was the first day I was warm. The following Monday was the first day I got to dive.

I was meeting a group of divers for a beach dive in Holmes Beach, to dive the Spanish Rocks, one of the rare saltwater shore dives on the west coast of Florida. This site consists of limestone ledges that vary in height off the bottom from about a foot to about five feet high in certain locations with sponges and assorted corals along the length. Normally many tropical fish live on an around the ledges with turtles and nurse sharks spotted on occasion. The average depth is from 15 to 20 feet based on tides. Visibility is highly dependant upon prevailing wind direction and strength.

My companions were Scott, who I dove Crystal River with last year and Tracey from Tampa, John, a displaced Canadian from Toronto, now in St. Pete, and Rich who is also from Tampa.
This dive reminded me of the Emerald Wreck, you remember, the one I would like to dive some day…..same with this one…..would love to dive it some day.

We met at the beach in late afternoon on what was finally a warm and sunny day with none of the gale force winds that have been blowing here. The water in the Gulf was perfectly flat and we geared on up and headed in. Everyone else was spear fishing and I was just going to Cheryl poke so I carried the dive flag.

From the parking area you swim out about 100 yards and then down 6 houses and you should drop on top of the edge of the ledge following it out by swimming southwest. Easy enough…….I can swim and I can count to 6 and I don’t need a compass to follow rocks. I have remembered my fins ….. yes! .... I am golden…..they have no idea.

There is a more than “slight” current we are swimming against as we head out and I can hear a low hissing sound coming from behind me. I paddle over to one of the other divers for a bubble check and as I dunk down we realize there is about 6 inches of visibility. He doesn’t see any bubbles…he doesn’t see anything. We hope it clears as we get farther out. I hope nothing blows on my regs.

We dropped down to swim for a bit as the current is wearing on us and I must say that it did not clear any as we got farther out or farther down. I personally was right at home……just like Jersey diving …….thought I was at the Railroad Bridge ……. almost grabbed for Ernie’s hand. We were like an episode of the 3 Stooges when we first dropped down. The visibility was non existent and the current so strong we were descending on top of each other and the tips of the spear guns were how you knew you found another diver. We regrouped and struck out in the general direction of where we wanted to be. Popping back up to the surface to get our bearings as we swam along. Anyone at the shoreline must have thought they were watching an aquatic version of the Whack-A-Mole game as little black clad divers popped up and down out of the water.

We all finally arrived at our intended spot and dropped down again aaaaand….nothing. There was nothing there but sand. Hmmmm. We recount the houses and guesstimate our distance and we are where we want to be. There is a buoy for a crab trap about 50 yards south of us and we head for it, assuming it is at the edge of the ledge. We will just swim down the line and be on our merry way.

At the buoy we drop down aaaand…. It appears to be an abandoned trap in the middle of nowhere. Hmmmmm.

Now we spread out and search, with divers heading out in every direction. I head in towards shore, line myself up with the southern end of house number six and start swimming for Texas out over the ridges in the sand from the current. Swimming…..swimming…..and then the ridges get farther and farther apart…….and there are sand dollars buried everywhere but still no sign of a ledge….. and so I swim some more. Each time I pop up and wait for another diver to surface it is the same “nothing here”. With the limited visibility we must just be missing the elusive Spanish Rocks.

As we head back towards the entry point we hear Tracey yell “I found some rocks!” not our intended dive site but rock none the less and we all head for it.

This turned out to be a small grouping of rocks, that in clearer conditions may have proved interesting. There were several hidey holes among them and lots of soft corals and some sea grasses and hard corals mixed in. I followed a rope I found on the bottom for a while, hoping it led to something interesting but it dead ended in the sand. Finning back towards the rocks, I followed them along until they suddenly ended. After that there was just sand and a ton of sea urchins scattered about. They were covered in tiny shells that were speared by their sharp spines making them look like little decorated bushes. I saw a large scallop shell half buried in the sand next to one and reached out to take it as a little souvenir of the dive. Turns out it was sea urchin lunch and I was locked in a tug of war with a rather large disgruntled diner. I left him to his meal and moved on. Up to now I had not seen a single fish, not even a small one. Odd. Well I guess not so odd considering the foot or less I could actually see but still odd.

I headed back towards shore using my depth gauge for guidance as I got shallower and shallower. Finally at about 11 feet I started to see small groups of 3 to 4 inch bait fish and stopped to watch them swim by. And poke at em. And then all of a sudden the sand silted up and all went dark…. Uht whoa. I had inadvertently come over a manta ray buried in the sand and disturbed him. Cool. As I continued on in this happened several more times and then suddenly I was in 4 feet of water and it was time to stand up.

Could have been a better dive. Could have been better visibility. Could have even found the Spanish Rocks. But it was not to be. Maybe next time. We packed up and drowned our sorrows in a few Mojitos and some snacks. Not the best dive but stellar company, but then divers always are.