Captain Bill Keogh's navigation style befits the laid-back Florida Keys. Perched on the cabin roof of his boat, he nonchalantly steers with his toes as he scans for the turtles, sharks and dolphins that frequent the shallow, mangrove-fringed waters.
A Portuguese man-of-war jellyfish drifts gently by, its long, stinging tentacles trailing; we leave it well behind before we slip over the side of the boat into our kayaks to explore further into the mangroves, scattering startled cowfish, baby barracuda and a small nurse shark.
The elusive key deer, which are only found here and swim freely between the chain of islands which makes up the Keys, don't put in an appearance, but we are accompanied by constant birdsong and the clicking of dozens of small crabs clambering in the mangrove branches.
For a moment, their spider-like movement is off-putting; apparently, kayakers have been known to beat a hasty retreat, thinking they are surrounded by trees full of tarantulas.
Keogh, a naturalist and photographer, has been a Florida back-country guide for 20 years and he has devised his own routes through the twisting mangroves, finding secret creeks and rivulets.
The shade and silence as the canoes slip gently through the narrow ways are doubly welcome after the heat and bustle of Key West. But the best spots of the day come from the boat: the massive profile of a loggerhead turtle coming up to breathe, and a green turtle grazing peacefully on an underwater meadow of sea grass - a swift and graceful swimmer despite its rotund form.
If either of these turtles were to fall foul of a boat propeller, or mistakenly start snacking on the enormous amount of litter that ends up in the ocean, or become tangled in a discarded fishing line or snagged on a fish hook, they might well find themselves at the Turtle Hospital, a few miles down the highway in Marathon.
Visitors are welcome, by appointment, and it's a unique experience: the best, if not only, way to get up close and personal with green, loggerhead, hawksbill and Kemp's Ridley turtles. The Turtle Hospital was founded 21 years ago by Richie Moretti, who financed his initial turtle rescues with the proceeds of the next-door motel.
The turtle rehabilitation pool was once the motel's salt-water swimming pool and the hospital building formerly housed an adult entertainment bar called Fanny's. The hospital is now run on grants and donations, plus the goodwill of its volunteer staff, and there are usually around 40 rescued turtles being cared for.
The only veterinary hospital in the world for turtles, its state-of-the-art equipment includes an operating theatre and X-ray machines, the Turtle Ambulance, complete with stretcher - and plenty of mayonnaise, the best substance for cleaning up turtles who have blundered into oil spills.
Convalescing turtles, some of whom are learning to cope with only three flippers, mosey gently around the rehabilitation pool, which is flushed with fresh water from the sea.
The prospect of a tasty chunk of fish entices them to bob up to the surface and inspect their visitors. Around three-quarters go back to the ocean and the hospital has released more than 1 000 turtles since it was founded. Any that can't be rehabilitated will stay there permanently, including the "bubble-butts" who have been hit by boats and ingested air under their shells, which means they can't dive to forage for food.
There is plenty of squid and fish on the menu for the hospital's permanent residents, which include Rebel, a big loggerhead with paralysed back flippers, and the original Bubble-Butt, rescued in 1989.
Turtles are not the only endearing sea animals to be seen around the Florida Keys. Pods of Atlantic bottlenose dolphins are their aquatic neighbours.
The local boat captains know where to find them and can almost guarantee sightings. Any dolphin-spotting trip out from Key West is likely to pass within eyeshot of a luxury yacht that has involuntarily become a permanent fixture - though it's best not to venture too close as the owner stands by to repel would-be pirates.
Tycoon Peter Halmos's 45km luxury yacht, Legacy, worth an reputed $30-million (about R210-million), ran aground in the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary in 2005 during Hurricane Wilma's 201km/h winds, and there she remains, immovably stuck, in ankle-deep water.
To protect his precious boat from thieves and gogglers, Halmos has set up home in a houseboat while the negotiations over how to extricate the vessel from the fragile sea grass flats grind on.
As we searched for the dolphin pod, we stopped to go snorkelling over a coral reef crowded with groupers and snappers. And then we spotted other boats, all keeping a respectful distance from the dolphin families. The binoculars were handed out, and as one boat left we moved in to take its place, close enough to see the dolphins but not so close as to crowd them. In a spirit of co-operation, they moved in to take a look right back at us: two mothers and their babies. Then there was a sudden commotion in the water. Our dolphin boat was crewed by two tanned and cool twentysomethings, but even they lost their blasé air: "Something's going wild down there. It's a sailfish! You hardly ever see those!" We took their word for it: all that was visible from the boat was a furious thrashing, as the big predator secured its lunch.
A new attraction for those interested in the local wildlife is the Florida Keys Eco-Discovery Centre, which opened in January. One of the exhibits is a replica of the Aquarius, an undersea research laboratory located in 20 metres of water south of Key Largo. "Aquanaut" scientists spend up to 10 days at a time in this yellow box, which is also used to train astronauts as it's the closest alternative to the confines of a space shuttle. Aquarius has six bunks but it was quite claustrophobic enough with just me in there.
Elsewhere in the centre, interactive displays explore all the habitats of the Keys, from the hammock forests found on high ground to the depths of the ocean. There's a strong emphasis on conservation; this is a fragile environment and divers, boats and tourists all chip away at it, wittingly or not. Raising awareness and stewarding this beautiful area have become key issues for the Keys; a plastic bottle chucked overboard could be putting turtles in hospital for the next half-century.
Back in Key West, a busy little city crowded with tourists, Monarch butterflies were fluttering over the sundeck of Cypress House, the guesthouse where we stayed. Although there are identikit developments springing up all along the Keys, the centre of Key West has retained its slightly ramshackle charm, with its pastel-coloured clapboard houses and tree-lined streets.
Cypress House, with its old-fashioned porches and ceiling fans, is a genuine Grand Conch mansion and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. ("Conch" is a term originally applied to Bahamian immigrants to the Keys, which later came to refer to residents of Keys in general.)
A healthy population of feral chickens pecks its way insouciantly around the town, indifferent to the heated controversy over whether they are a delightful old-town feature or a nuisance (the chickens even have their own website, Key West Chickens). Being woken by cock-crowing at dawn is a novel feature of Key West life.
The Conch Republic celebrations are similarly eccentric. Bizarrely, the Florida Keys seceded from the US on 23 April, 1982; the locals were infuriated when the United States Border Patrol set up a road blockade on Highway 1, with a view to cracking down on illegal immigrants.
Seventeen-mile traffic jams ensued, even local residents had to show identification to pass, and tourists stayed away. The Conch Republic then declared war on the US, and was in an official state of rebellion for precisely one minute before it surrendered (to the presumably rather bewildered admiral at the local navy base) and demanded a billion dollars in foreign aid.
The billion dollars never quite materialised but the roadblock was rapidly removed and the annual celebrations have continued ever since.
This year's exuberant commemoration of the face-off included vintage planes and sailing boats patrolling the Key West seafront, as firecrackers and streamers exploded around them. One particularly enthusiastic local had turned up with a powerful catapult and a copious supply of mushy tomatoes to keep the "enemy" at bay, which he continued to do until requested to desist by the police, though judging by his aim there was no immediate danger to life or property. Clearly, the inhabitants of the Florida Keys - be they animal or human - have their own way of doing things.
Traveller's guide
- Getting there
The writer travelled with Virgin Holidays (0871 222 1232; Virgin Holidays ), which offers seven-night holidays in Florida from £699. The price includes Virgin Atlantic flights from Heathrow to Miami, car rental and room-only accommodation at the Hawk's Cay Resort.
Miami is served by British Airways (0870 850 9850; British Airways), Virgin Atlantic (0870 574 7747; Virgin Atlantic) and American Airlines (0845 778 9789; American Airlines), all from Heathrow.
Connections from other UK airports are available on a range of US and European airlines. To reduce the impact on the environment, you can buy an " offset" from Equiclimate (0845 456 0170; ebico) or Pure (020-7382 7815; Pure Trust).
- Staying there
Cypress House, 601 Caroline Street, Key West, Florida (001 800 525 2488; Cypress House). Doubles start at $135 including breakfast.
- Visiting there