Clear memories, through a glass darkly

KEY WEST, Fla.-You will call me spoiled. I've paid big bucks for a glass-bottom boat ride over the coral reef, but only minutes into the excursion I'm disappointed.
The boat is too crowded, first of all, with tourists elbowing one another to get out of the sweltering heat and inside the air-conditioned main cabin. Youngsters are screaming at each encounter with a swell, drowning out the captain's welcome and later the naturalist's commentary.
The bottom glass viewing areas are on either side of the big vessel, not in the middle the way God intended. Once we reach the coral reef, our destination, we have to stand up and jockey for viewing position to see waving sea fan coral and Sergeant Major fish. Don't get me wrong. Any old boat ride is better than any adventure ashore. And the water is the blue of Windex, except where the clouds paint it green.
But despite the beauty and rarity of the coral reef, I'm yearning for fresh water, and the thrill of my first bottom-viewing experience.
Once you've had the best, it's hard to be content with less.
One of my first memories of any kind in this life came on the glass-bottom boat ride in Wakulla Springs, Fla., a few miles from Tallahassee. We boarded a small wooden boat with its picture window in the center.
As I remember it, anyway, we passengers were quiet and awestruck and seated horseshoe-style to look down constantly. For a while we plowed quietly over vegetation and tea-green waters in the shallows. The captain narrated with a chant, explaining freshwater eel grass and fish schools in a mesmerizing and rhythmic way.
Then, suddenly, the boat reached the 120-foot spring basin, and it was as if the world had turned upside down. The water went from green to perfectly clear. And our guide did what Wakulla glass-bottom guides had been doing since 1923 when an entrepreneur saw the tourism potential of crystal-clear springs. He called for Henry, the famous pole-vaulting fish.
"All right, Henry, all right," he sang. "Meet us at the pole, Henry. Wake up now."
As a child-4 years old, I think-the anticipation of seeing a big catfish vault a stick in deep but sky-clear water was like a baseball fan counting down as Hank Aaron got closer and closer to the Babe's home run record. These days, because of murky water, the Wakulla boats don't always run. And when they do, the water isn't as clear as it was in my childhood. Agricultural and septic tank runoff has muddied the waters of Florida's most beautiful spring.
The nitrates haven't clouded my memory, however, which is still clear as Tanqueray. The modest boat with its 25-person limit is all I can think about here off Key West on the fancier, expensive model that bobs directly over part of the exotic reef.
I went back once to Wakulla, but the boats weren't running that day. No visibility. I've had to be satisfied with a postcard someone sent me of bathing beauties from the 1950s lined up along the sign that says Wakulla Springs. The tint of the card is sepia, kind of like today's water.