Florida Keys vacation turns into a mission to rescue Cuban refugees

Our family celebrated Christmas in the Florida Keys, where those cute little Key deer replace reindeer and Florida's famous sun and sand rule. Before the trip, daughters Sabrina and Kalisa researched the area looking for activities and sights to see during our two-week stay.

I could easily write about life in Key West, which I found to be a combination of N'Orleans French Quarter, Mobile's Mardi Gras and Disneyland U.S.A. But sometimes it's the unexpected that becomes the real story.

From Key West, we sailed on board the Yankee Freedom II, a catamaran ferry, 70 miles west, out to sea, which felt like the middle of nowhere. Our destination that day was the Dry Tortugas to snorkel on colorful coral reefs and explore Fort Jefferson. We learned that the fort was built in the 19th century to protect the United States coastline; it also became a prison.

Ponce de León came across the seven islands in 1513 and named them Las Tortugas (The Turtles) after the sea turtles. They became known as the Dry Tortugas because there was no fresh water.

At Garden Key, the main island, the clear, aquamarine waters beckoned to me and I quickly found the perfect spot on the white sandy beach to make camp. Sabrina and Kalisa snorkeled on the colorful coral reefs among the angel and parrotfish, as frigate birds and pelicans soared overhead. When they emerged, I jumped in.

The sky blackened. Sabrina yelled from the beach, "Mom, get out of the water!" Rain pelted us and we ran for the ferry, where another story was developing.

"Forty what are coming?" I asked.

"Forty Cuban refugees landed on the island last night," said naturalist Colleen Murphy. "And, since there's no Coast Guard in sight, we're transporting them to Key West."

"Consider this your cultural experience!" she said.

The winds the day before blew from the south, making their trip from Cuba in the deep-sided, old wood boat a quick one of 13 hours. The 1825 lighthouse on Garden Key served as their beacon, guiding them to shore in the middle of the night.

"Sometimes two boatloads a day arrive," Colleen said.

The group of well-guarded Cubans assembled in government-issued white jump suits. I couldn't help but look at their fresh young faces — men, women and one pajama-clad child — thinking how they risked their lives crammed into this boat, now abandoned on the beach, to reach American soil.

They had made landfall, but refugees met at sea by our Coast Guard are turned back and there are many who lose their lives during the dangerous voyage.

I was happy to be a bit more squashed on the ferry for our return trip, a boat now carrying a cargo of brave souls, desperate men and women. I remain humbled.

Suzanne G. Beyer lives in Bothell.

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