In Search of Jimmy Buffet

We'll find you, Mr. Jimmy Buffet - in Key West

One of John's dreams has always been to explore the Florida Keys. In the United States, keys are  spelled and pronounced keys whereas in many other parts of the world, such as the Bahamas or Turks and Caicos, these areas of land are spelled cays. Still pronounced keys, they are sandy, low-elevation islands poised on top of a coral reef.

In other words, Paradise.

There was such adventure awaiting this dynamic duo, once the plane landed on the tarmac at Miami International Airport.

Laureen at the Southernmost point
 on the Continental USA

First stop, pick up the rental Jeep Wrangler Unlimited. What else could two explorers select as their means of transportation while driving south over a hundred sixty miles to the most southern tip of the United States?  It was the second week of September - yes, mid-hurricane season in this part of the world - so, having the correct vehicle seemed wise.

The trip may have been cancelled if it had been planned for just a week earlier. That was when the powerful Hurricane Dorian, tore through the Bahamas, leaving behind unspeakable devastation and death. Luckily for the people of Florida, Dorian had turned north-east and only skirted the outer shores of the United States.

With that said, the people of the Bahamas remained in our hearts and prayers as we drove south in search of Jimmy Buffet, the poet, song-writer (and extremely wealthy businessman).

Of course we knew that Jimmy would not be sitting down with a couple of margaritas on a sandy beach on the Gulf of Mexico with us - but in search we went anyway.

Buffet and Key West are synonymous for being unique and resilient. Walking down Duval Street, the main thoroughfare in old Key West, only enhances the wonderful strangeness of the place. There are bars and more bars, stores selling anything and everything, Tarot card readers, and even a brothel, about which the locals only smile and shrug when asked. This part of Key West is about as eclectic  as Jimmy Buffet's songs are.

Duval Street in the evening in Key West

Key West was once a lonely outpost, accessible only by boat. But through time, a railroad was built, only to be quickly destroyed (due to a hurricane - what else?). Finally a road was constructed which linked all the keys heading southwest from Miami to Key West. Soon, the likes of Hemingway, Capote, President Truman, President John F. Kennedy introduced the keys to the rest of the world.

Key West had made it.

Some strangely beautiful people in Key West...

As with Key West, Buffet had also seen times when he wasn't Jimmy Buffet, but simply Jimmy Buffet, a down-on-his-luck singer from Nashville. He had tried his musical talent in that famous, Tennessee city, but after awhile, and with no money in his pockets - plus a divorce - he headed south.

South, would be traveling with his friends Jerry Jeff Walker (of Mr. Bojangles, fame) and Teresa "Murphy" Clark. Jerry and Teresa allowed Jimmy to stay with them at their house in Coconut Grove in Miami.

But soon, restlessness moved Jimmy further south to Key West. He knew, that perhaps this strangely beautiful area, and it's equally strangely beautiful people would understand his music and lyrics.

Nashville hadn't - so what did he have to lose?

In the early 1970's he lived in a little apartment next to a place called, Louie's Backyard, a bar and restaurant.

We visited the place, had a beer or two while looking over the ocean and didn't realize where we were actually sitting. Then we heard the bartender - we like bartenders - telling a story when a certain song came out and people started visiting the bar and 'stealing' items. Anything, so they could tell their friends, they had some memorabilia linked to Jimmy Buffet.

In 1974, Jimmy's album, Trying To Reason With Hurricane Season, talked about Louie's Backyard.

'God, I slept way past noon, Stood up and tried to focus, I hoped I wouldn't have to look far, I knew I could use a Bloody Mary, So I stumbled next door to the bar.'

"I actually had to chase two guys down the beach who stole a full size lounge chair." she told us.

"Why not the whole bar?"

"It was too heavy and bolted to the floor, I guess," she replied.

First place Jimmy Buffet played in Key West - for beers only!

Soon after arriving in Key West, Jimmy found himself playing in a very small club called the Chart Room at the Pier House Motel.

He played for beers. Wow! For beers - the guy is worth over a half-a-billion dollars now. Gotta love the opportunities the good old United States offers a down and out singer from the 70's.

Along with Jim Croce, Vaughn Cochran, and others, Jimmy hit his stride and the rest is history for this musical icon.

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes, his 6th album released in 1977, made it into mainstream audiences and his career took off.

But, unlike many up and coming musical artists - Jimmy was business savvy. He began marketing islander styled clothing, posters, and then opened his first Margaritaville in Key West.

Laureen, pointing out where Margaritville started in Key West

From there, the money kept pouring in - but he never forgot his roots.

In 1985, his album Last Mango in Paris, hit the charts and one song spoke (he's a poet and he knows it) about Captain Tony's Saloon on Green Street.

John in front of - hmmm, a bar - very strange

'I went down to Captain Tony's, To get out of the heat, Then I heard a voice call out to me, "Son come have a seat", I had to search my memory, As I looked into those eyes, Our lives change like the weather, But a legend never dies.'

Even though Jimmy moved to Palm Beach around 1992, he kept his house in Key West until 1998, when he sold it for over a million dollars. He was a smart guy with the bucks!

So, we found the early Jimmy Buffet in Key West - walking the streets and alleys of this town let us realize the draw it had on a young singer. It has the same appeal to these travelers. A place where a person can be who they are - challenge themselves - and prove they have the grit to succeed with their dreams no matter the setbacks.

Jimmy Buffet, along with many others, have made this key their home and not only found themselves, but their fortunes as well.

If it wasn't for the bloody hurricanes and humidity!

Our search was over - on to the next one.

Who's next on the list to search for in the Florida Keys?

Two Rivers Run Near-By

On a recent trip to Meridian, Idaho, to visit daughter Kelly, and son-in-law Travis,  our buddy and trusty cameraman, Paul Bakas came along for the ride. Well, from our humble abode, the ride was a little over 13 hours, non-stop. Laureen could not make this particular trip, due to conflicts in her work schedule, so it was up to the two boys this trip.

"Are you're sure that you both can go and not get into trouble?" she asked, a week before our departure.

I recalled, being in Pamplona, Spain, during the annual bull run, many years earlier, made famous by the great American author, Ernest Hemingway, and that hadn't worked out for the best. No I didn't get gored, but I'll never forget the breath of one bull running a lot faster than I was. I jumped over a short fence to safety. The man in front of me - well, one horn taught him a lesson.

"We won't get in trouble," I reassured Laureen.

And, we did not. The drive from Victorville to Meridian (a city nestled next door to Boise) was an easy one. Long, but easy.

This was not just a chance to visit with  Kelly and Travis, but we were to partake in two separate river excursions. Running the white water of the Payette River, with an experienced guide and then the next day, floating the calm and easy Boise River in an inner-tube.

The Crew: Kelly, John, Travis, and Paul taking the photo

Running the Payette River, is never to be taken for granted. Helmets, life vest, paddles, and a strict lecture, given by our guide, Lee MacDonald Pownau, to whom we nearly had to swear our souls.

"Where does rafting happen?" drill sergeant Lee asked.

"In the river," Paul replied.

The look Paul received from Lee was unnerving. I turned my head away. "It begins and ends in the raft. Without the raft, there is no rafting."

Captain Ahab - no, Captain Lee 

Actually, I was thinking, if there was no river, there wouldn't be the need of a raft. I remained silent, afraid my helmet, life vest, and soul would be lost to the churning waters upon which we were about to embark, if I disagreed with Lee.

We pushed off, and immediately took to the river like fish running for their lives. The next few hours reminded me of the time when I was a law enforcement officer. Most of the time, it was just a job taking reports, but - and this is a big but - there was about 5 to 10 percent of the time, it was stark raving crazy.

The raft behind us - the river can be tricky

"Paddle forward," Lee barked, and I wondered what the big deal was. Well, going over a six foot waterfall of bone crushing water was a big deal. The five of us, on our raft, paddled like people being chased by demons.

A rather relaxed section of the Payette at this time

According to Lee, the Payette was actually down quite a few feet from it's high mark in mid-June. That's when things can get dicey. It was dicey enough, and when we came ashore near the town of  Lowman we were all tired from paddling and looking for holes in the river (a term for river runners that would conjure doom).

Lowman is a very small settlement, situated in the mountains, about two hours north-east of Boise.

The owners of the Payette River Company, Sean and Ginger Glaccum, have a wonderful business, that not only allows people to raft along the Payette, but have experienced guides, who also know the history of the region.

With Lee, there was so much to learn, and he didn't scrimp on sharing his knowledge.

It was great river run: some scary rapids and some nice long runs, along placid clear blue water, allowing us to chit and chat. What more could one ask for?

The next day, it was off to the near-by river, the Boise, for the annual float enjoyed by locals and tourists alike. Very different from the previous day: no one was hanging on for dear life, hurtling down white water waterfalls. No, this was to be enjoyed by all ages.

The difference was surreal.

Floating down the Boise does not require lectures from expert white water guides. It's about having fun on a sunny day with family and friends. Utilizing inner tubes, flip-flops, and water proof cameras  is all that is required. The ride starts near a pub knocking back a couple of cold ones. We started off at Payette Brewing, just a few steps from the Boise River. A couple of toasts and then a short walk across the river to a waiting bus. A few bucks, and the bus dropped us off at the start of the float fifteen minutes later.

From there, it was simply laughing, laughing and laughing some more. No huge waterfalls - though, there are a few sections of speedy water, and a person could get tossed from their floaty if they aren't observant.

Kelly looks like she's struggling on the river, not!
 Looks more like a model.

Travis is wondering, why his beer hasn't been delivered. 

Paul, struggling through the treacherous waters of the Boise River
 - hang on Dude!

The city of Boise, only allows a certain time to float the Boise, due to weather conditions. When Laureen and I were there in early June, rafting wasn't allowed. The water was running too quickly and far too cold.

July and August are the months to enjoy, stretching out on an inner tube, or raft and enjoying the peaceful serenity of the currents.

The end of the trip winds up where we started, across from Payette Brewing and how perfect is that? Start with a brew and end with a brew.

Life couldn't, in this writer's opinion, be better than that.

When in Idaho, explore the rivers - and if there's enough courage - run one.

Love the water and the water will love you.

Photographs by: John R. Beyer and Paul K. Bakas

Randsburg - A Lively Ghost Town

The main street was deserted – eerily deserted. Early in the morning, a summer warming the air, with the sun just breaking over the eastern hills, but there was not a soul around.

That is a deserted main street

       “It’s like a ghost town,” I stated. While looking around the small town of Randsburg, approximately 70 miles north-west of Victorville, just off of Highway 395.

        “Well, it is a living ghost town,” said Nikki Goldfinch, a local resident stated, as she sat in her OHV in the center of town. Since, Nikki was the only person I had seen that morning in the downtown area, I flagged her down to ask a few questions about Randsburg.

      Actually, I hadn’t flagged her down like I was in mortal danger, but gave more of a simple wave and a smile. She was nice enough to stop and talk about her community with this stranger standing in the middle of the main street.

John interviewing Nikki in Randsburg

      Nikki and her husband Bill have lived in the mining town for about 3 ½ years and love it. “I wouldn’t live anywhere else but here.”

      “There’s no one about,” I observed.

      She nodded. “That’s the point – there’s no one about.”

      According to the 2010 census, Randsburg had 69 residents, but according to Nikki, there are really about 40 full time people living the mining community. “The rest come up on weekends or vacations to ride their dirt toys in the desert or do a little mining on their property.”

      “Does the town ever get crowded?” I asked.

      “It sure does,” was Nikki’s response.

Randsburg is popular with OHV riders - or Main Street riders for that matter

      Tourism is a huge business for the town, located a mile off the main thoroughfare, Highway 395, on the way to destinations like Mammoth and Lake Tahoe. The local restaurants, the Black Horse Tavern, the General Store, and the Owl Café, see multitudes of visitors during the weekends and special holiday events.

The 'Joint' - a fine eatery in town

    

Come and sit for a spell

 “We have a parade of lights for Christmas,” Nikki told me. “It was great – all these off-road toys lit up like Christmas trees. The whole town is decorated, starting near Thanksgiving. It’s just beautiful and interesting how people decorate the place.”

      The founding of Randsburg is interesting in itself, and almost happened by pure luck. Three miners, who had spent time in Death Valley, and other desert locals had come up with little for all their hard work in the mines. But then they stumbled into the hills surrounding present day Randsburg and discovered gold –  lots of it. The strike occurred in 1895 and by the end of 1896, the three had pulled out over $250,000 in rich ore. According to some official accounts, over 25 million dollars’ worth of gold has been dug out of the ground around Randsburg.

      Originally, the town was called Rand Camp and the first mine, Rand Mine, were both named after a rich gold mining area in South Africa. The name was later changed to Randsburg.

      Obviously, as with all gold finds, Rand Camp sprung up with saloons, brothels, and gambling halls, to entertain the hordes of miners rushing in to seek their fortunes. Where there is money to be found – vice is not far behind.

Aye - we all need good luck! When hunting for the gold.

Or, perhaps a healthy diet

      Thus the term, gold rush. The miners were actually rushing there, or at least walking quickly – to become rich in the often inhospitable desert climate.

      According to an article in Forgotten Destinations (2016), author Natasha Petrosova tells the whole story of the mining area, including the two small towns near Randsburg – Johannesburg and Red Mountain.

      In great detail, Petrosova, tells of the hardships and triumphs of the original claimants to the Rand Mine - Frederic Mooers, Charles Burcham, and John Singleton. After a short time, the three co-owners, changed its name to the Yellow Aster Mine, taking its name from a popular pulp novel by that title, that Mooers was currently reading.

      Ah, the power of the pen.

A fight to the death, or just good literature?

      In this desert location, water was always a problem. It either had to be shipped in at two dollars a barrel, or brought over great distances over the low lying hills by pipe. The piping system won and soon – well, not real soon – the mines and towns had running water.

      The boom lasted until the early 1920’s when the mines stopped producing the volume of gold ore needed to keep the miners happy. Some mines are still being worked, and in fact, the Yellow Aster Mine is still in operation today, as well as some smaller ones in the nearby hills.

      The sounds of heavy equipment could be heard echoing off the hills, as I spoke to Nikki on the main street.

      “They’re still finding gold today?” I asked.

      “Yes, and they are moving tons of dirt to find more,” she stated. “With more modern means, they are able to find the gold a bit easier than in the past.”

      I don’t know much about mining, so that one question about mining, was about all I had. The resurgence in mining in the vicinity has been going on for the past twenty years, and who knows – there may be another gold rush soon.

Perhaps, this ore crusher may come back into service soon - it could happen

      The current monetary bonanza though, is again with the tourism. The town has annual events which draws hundreds, if not thousands of visitors at one time. One such event, is the annual, Randsburg Old West Day, held each September. It’s an all-day event, which includes live bands, western shootouts, line dancing, a car show, and much more.

      “It’s pretty popular, and you better get here early to get a parking spot in town,” Nikki told me.

      Bidding farewell to Nikki, who drove off through town in her OHV, I wandered a bit through the deserted streets.

      She had told me that the town didn’t come alive until after ten in the morning, and that was usually on weekends – but when it comes to life – it really comes to life.

      I liked it quiet – thought provoking.

Very Quiet, but the memories of the past were there to see

      I often wondered why these towns, like Randsburg, are called living ghost towns, but now, after speaking with a local – I’m beginning to understand.

      Ghosts, aren’t something to fear, as those the reality television shows want us to believe. No, these ghosts are just the memories of those who have gone on before us, but leave in their footsteps something for us all to remember and cherish. To understand that they, like us, had dreams and aspirations – some came true and some, sadly, did not.

A window, looking into the past - perhaps, but no ghosts

      The point, is to go out and walk in those past footprints and to try to imagine what it must have been like in a different era. Different times but with similar hopes.

      A chance to be remembered and not forgotten.

      Philosophy 101? No, but perhaps a smile for these ghosts, at what they accomplished, or tried to, so many years ago. A nod at immortality.

For more information: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Randsburg,_California

Photographs by John R. Beyer and Paul K. Bakas