I realized recently I’d become spoiled by my little island life here in Key West. The sunsets, the chance to throw a rod out in almost any direction, the fried conch — I’d forgotten what it’s like to be a tourist. So when friends visited last week, I became the ultimate Key West tour guide.
We started simply. I picked up my buddies from the airport Thursday night and said, “First stop, boys — Santiago’s Bodega.”
Tucked way down toward the end of Petronia Street, their tapas are extraordinary. We raised our glasses to the weekend before us and followed up dinner with handcrafted cigars from Old Havana Cigar on Duval.
My friends live all over, so the bar is set high to make the most of our infrequent reunions. Back at my place, we reminisced over Cazcanes Tequila Reposado No. 7, which we initially sipped. Later — without getting into too much trouble with our wives — we indulged.
The next morning, with splitting heads and sensitive eyes, we headed downtown to Moondog Cafe, where tourists and locals blend effortlessly. We recovered over a Cowboy Skillet, Elvis French Toast and a couple Bloody Marys.
The real fun — and a big reason these guys were here — would take place the following day, when, at the crack of dawn, we’d head into the Gulf to go fishing.
(The best advice I can give any new arrival in the Keys is to befriend someone with a boat — and be a boat guest who gets invited back. Bring drinks, food and ice. Offer to pay for fuel. And NEVER leave without helping to unload and clean the boat and/or the fish.)
Armed with the necessities, including Dramamine, we left from Big Coppitt and arrived an hour later at our spot off a big reef. Four-foot barracudas circled the boat, attracted by our chum block; sea turtles popped their heads up in the distance. It was time to bend a rod. And we did — as soon as our baits hit the water.
Line screamed off our reels as we tightened the drag, trying not to lose whatever mystery swam below. Though I love the ocean, I have twigs for sea legs. My eyes stayed fixed on the horizon as I tried to keep down a club sandwich and chips. My friends weren’t as lucky, but hey, the extra “chum” didn’t hurt our fishing prospects.
On the starboard quarter, my buddy Jeremy was fighting a barracuda with everything he had. The rod bent nearly in half as the fish fought just as valiantly. Twenty minutes later, Jer held the beast in both arms with a smile that reflected not just pride in the catch, but the moment itself — on the water with friends, laughs, phone photos and forever memories.
After a few more casts, as the sun began to sink, we headed inland to relax on a sandbar, cool off and gloat about the ones that didn’t get away. My friends had a couple more days in the Keys, but I took a moment to pat myself on the back for this one.
