We clinked the necks of our beers together. I hadn’t seen Russ’s son since he was little. It was good to hear that he was making his own way in life and doing so well.
“So, how long are you down here for?” I asked.
“Just a few days. Got a lead on a wreck I’ve been researching.”
“Spanish galleon?” Rusty asked.
“No, actually a Civil War wreck. Meeting a guy tomorrow that’s supposed to be related to someone that was on board when she sank. Probably won’t get anywhere, but I figured I could schmooze the guy a little and drop in and see you guys.”
“Have enough time to go diving?” I asked.
“Rusty told me you had a dive boat,” Russ replied. “Yeah, we can blow some bubbles. You in, Rusty?”
“Can’t,” Rusty replied as Jimmy and Angie walked toward us from the front door of the bar. “Julie’s visiting a friend on Long Key this weekend.”
“Just the two of us then?” he asked turning back to me. “Tomorrow?”
As Jimmy and Angie reached the bar, I said, “Russ, meet my First Mate, Jimmy Saunders and his girlfriend, Angie Trent.” They shook hands and I added, “Russ and I served together in the eighties. Do we have anything on the books for tomorrow, Jimmy?”
“No, man. Nothing till Tuesday.”
“Great,” I said. “Russ and I are gonna dive Conrad tomorrow.”
“Take your bags, man, that reef’s loaded with bugs. Nice to meet ya, Russ.” The two went over to a table and joined another young couple.
“That the best you can do for a Mate down here?” Russ asked. “I could smell the ganja when he walked in.”
“Jimmy’s alright,” I said. “He knows boats and the water better than anyone else around here. Works hard, never complains, and doesn’t bring it on the boat. We’ll go out tomorrow afternoon. I have a compressor on board, so we can make an afternoon dive, eat supper aboard, then a night dive. You remember Conrad?”
He laughed and said, “Yeah, I sure do. That was one crazy fun day.” Then he got melancholy and added, “Too bad the news we got that night ruined it.”
Russ and I found that little patch reef man years ago. We’d just returned from a tour in Lebanon as part of a multinational peace keeping force and came down to visit Rusty. It was late October, 1983 and when we got back to shore, we learned of the terrorist bombing at the Marine barracks in Beirut.
We talked a while longer, as the bar filled up. Rusty introduced us to a few other Marines from all over the Keys. Having lived here all his life, he probably knew everyone up and down the island chain. One was a retired Sergeant Major, by the name of Kevin Landeros, who owned a diving school up in Key Largo. He looked to be in his early 60’s, which I confirmed when I noticed a Vietnam Vet tattoo on his forearm.
Always looking for more contacts in the business, I bought him a beer and invited him to a table. He and I took one in the corner and exchanged the usual questions. When did you retire? Where were you stationed? Did you ever know so and so? As it turned out, we knew someone in common. A range coach I served with in ’98, just before I retired. A crusty old Master Gunnery Sergeant by the name of Owen ‘Tank’ Tankersley.
“I served with Tank in the latter part of Vietnam,” Kevin said. “Any idea where he might have retired to? Be good to see him again.”
“Still active duty as far as I know,” I replied. “I was a Scout/Sniper Instructor with 2nd Force Recon in ’97 and ’98. He was a Range Coach then. I think the Corps just ran out of billets to put him in.”
“Active duty? He’s got to be close to 30 years,” he said, meaning that Tank was near thirty years in the Corps.
“Normally, the Corps would retire a man at 30,” I said. “Unless he had a shot at becoming Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps. But, with that little blue ribbon on the top of his rack, there’s no way they’d do it. Good PR to have an active duty Medal of Honor recipient. I think he’s the only one.”
“Only one I know of,” Kevin said. “Rusty said you have a charter boat down here.”
“Yeah, just bought it last year and doing pretty good. My First Mate is something of a computer and photography guru and we specialize in photography charters.”
“Good idea carving out a niche. Separates you from every other Bubba that comes down here and tries to start a business. What kinda boat?”
“It’s a Rampage 45,” I replied. “We do some fishing charters, too. But, I prefer the divers.”
“That’s quite a boat. Get my address from Rusty and ship me a box of flyers. One of my instructors teaches an advanced underwater photography course. Might be able to send some customers your way.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll do that and you do the same. The photographers seem to be the better clients. Always mindful not to damage my equipment.”
“That’s because they have pretty expensive stuff, too. Some of the equipment my Instructor has will set you back more than a new Cadillac.”
Russ joined us and we discussed the dive we had planned and how many lobster we might get. Then Rusty rang the old ship’s bell behind the bar and the back door opened. Two men wheeled a cart in with a large cake and an NCO sword on it. The cake was adorned with the Marine emblem.
Kevin being the oldest Marine in attendance joined a young man I hadn’t met yet, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. It turned out, he was an active duty Marine, home on leave. The two of them performed the cake cutting ritual that marks birthday celebrations all over the world on this particular day. After each man used the NCO sword to cut a slice, he presented it to the other. Then one of the guys that wheeled it in took over and served the rest, including all those in attendance that weren’t Marines.
It was a lot of fun and the evening passed quickly. I told Kevin I’d get some flyers up to him, or maybe deliver them myself, as I wanted to check out his school. Then I slipped out quietly and made my way back to Dockside and my boat. I grabbed a couple of beers from the refrigerator in the galley and went up to the bridge to catch the end of Dockside Folly.
Chapter Thirteen
The following morning, I was up early and took a thermos of coffee up to the bridge to watch the sunrise. The early morning sounds of the marina are a great way to start the day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun began to rise over the mangroves that lined the east side of the harbor. Gulls wheeled and dove on baitfish and a slight breeze caused sailboats to move and their rigging to clank against the aluminum masts. Even the occasional car horn on US-1 filtered through the trees seemed tranquil.
I reflected back on the nearly eighteen months since I left the structured military life and joined this group of island dwellers and misfits. While it was a relaxing lifestyle, I’d only felt completely in my element during the hurricane when bad people threatened. I’d have to work on that, learn to relax a little more. But, like I said, old habits die hard. I sometimes catch myself evaluating a simple parking lot for possible threats, choke points, and other hidden dangers that are simply not there.
“Figured you’d be up,” a familiar voice called, interrupting my thoughts.
I looked down at the pier at Russ and said, “Come aboard,” as I climbed down the ladder to the cockpit.
“Wanted to see your boat. Got any more of that lifer juice?”
“Come inside,” I replied, opening the hatch to the salon.
He let out a low whistle when he stepped up into the salon and looked around. “This is a long way from the squad bay on Oki.”
I poured him a mug of coffee in the galley as he looked around. “What’s she got for power?”
I grinned and said, “I bought her at a Coast Guard auction. She was seized from drug runners. Just below us are two 1015 horse Cats, that’ll push her to about 45 knots.”
After giving him the nickel tour, we went up to the bridge and relaxed, while talking about old times and treasure hunting. Since neither of us had eaten breakfast we walked over to Dockside for an early breakfast.
“
We going out in the Rampage,” he asked after breakfast.
“Yeah, but if you don’t have anything to do this morning, I thought you might like to run out to the back country in the skiff. I own an island up in the Contents.”
“You own an island? Why?”
“You’ll like it. I plan to build a house on it one day. Great fishing and a natural deep-water channel just a few yards away that’s loaded with stone crab.”
“Lead on, brother,” he said as he stood up.
After grabbing his snorkeling equipment from his pickup, we took the Maverick and headed north. We anchored in Harbor Channel and free dove for stone crab the rest of the morning. Russ found a large cluster of chitons, a segmented mollusk that attaches to rock and eats algae. He pried about a dozen of the two-inch long animals from the rock and put them in his bag. We each caught a lobster and I speared two yellowtail snapper.
Once we got back aboard the skiff, I asked about the chitons. I knew people in the Philippines considered them a delicacy, but had never tried one.
“They taste a little like oyster,” Russ said. “Great in stews, or grilled on the shell.”
“I have a small grill on the island,” I said. “Let’s have some lunch and I’ll show you around.”
I took the Maverick up the shallow channel I dug, pulled up under the mangroves, tied the skiff off, and went ashore. The grill was right where I’d left it. We put some dried driftwood in it and started a fire. While I cleaned the fish and lobster, Russ explored the island, which didn’t take very long.
I had the fish and lobster on the grill when he got back. “Watch this,” he said and placed the chitons around the lobster tails upside down. They slowly rolled themselves into balls when they were exposed to the heat. After a few minutes they unrolled again, the body having cooked in its own juices.
Using banana leaves for plates, from one of the many trees on the island, we sat on the trunk of a large lignum vitae tree that had fallen years ago. We were on the west side of the island, overlooking the sand bar and ate with our fingers. There’s nothing that compares to eating fresh seafood, straight from the sea.
“Where do you plan to build this house of yours?” Russ asked.
“Right above where the skiff is. On stilts.”
He looked around the island as we finished our lunch and said, “Yeah, I can see it. I’d like to do something like this myself one of these days.”
We got back to Marathon about an hour later, stuffed and feeling good. Whenever Russ and I would get together, we always enjoyed one another’s company. When we first met in Okinawa, I was a lowly Lance Corporal and Russ was my Platoon Sergeant. In training, he was all business and rode us hard. But after hours, we’d talk about fishing and diving. Originally from Philadelphia, he’d visited south Florida in the late seventies and fell in love with it. When Rusty transferred in, Russ instantly befriended him, also. He pumped us for every bit of information about both the Keys and the southwest coast, where I was from.
In the summer of ’82, he went back to Camp Lejeune, but we kept in touch. I wound up there a few months later and we took leave together to go diving. We dove near my home the first few days then he suggested we try the east coast. Beach diving in Fort Pierce for lobster, we found treasure, completely by accident. I’d pulled a large rock out of the way to get at a lobster under a ledge. While I was after the lobster, Russ studied the rock. It turned out to be two hundred fifty-six silver bars, worth about a hundred grand. Russ was hooked and even though he’d just been promoted to Staff Sergeant, left the Marine Corps when his enlistment was up the next spring. He’d been chasing treasure ever since.
“Have you dived Conrad recently,” Russ asked.
“A few times. Since I moved down here, I found out it wasn’t some unknown new reef we’d just stumbled on. Not many people know about it, outside of the locals, though. It’s the wreck site of a British ship the Adelaide Baker.”
The mere mention of a ship wreck riveted his attention. I continued, “She went down in 1889, carrying lumber up to Savannah. She struck the edge of Coffin’s Patch and spilled most of her granite ballast. Salvagers rescued the crew and later salvaged most of the lumber.”
“No treasure, huh?”
“No, unless you count all those lobster.”
At 1500, I started the engines and we cast off. It didn’t take long to reach the reef and the day couldn’t be better, not a cloud in sight. At only twenty or twenty-five feet, we’d have an hour of bottom time and being a Saturday evening, we had the whole reef to ourselves. Once we were anchored on the south side of the reef, I ran up the red and white dive flag. We donned on our scuba gear, and slipped into the water.
Reaching the reef, we split up and went around it in opposite directions. While most recreational divers would think this to be a bad idea, Russ and I were both former Recon divers and had dived hundreds, maybe thousands of solo dives in dark and murky water. Here, the water was gin clear and the sun was shining.
Conrad is a really beautiful reef, with lots of tropical fish, coral, and sea fans. While looking for the telltale lobster antennae poking out of cracks and crevices, I enjoyed the reef’s beauty. Within minutes, though, I became wrapped up in the hunt, spotting several lobster wedged into a single hole. I used a tickle stick to coax each one out, one at a time. Two were obviously too small, but a third one was equally obvious to be of legal size. And then some. Into the bag he went and I continued around the edge of the reef, looking for more.
Before long, I realized I was going to catch my limit easily and released a few of the smaller legal sized ones. Within forty minutes, I met up with Russ on the far side of the reef, with four really big lobster in my bag. Russ was grinning around his second stage as he approached. He held up his hand with four fingers extended, then held both hands two feet apart, telling me he’d caught four big ones, also.
Ten minutes later, back on the boat, we emptied our bags into a fish box in the deck that I’d already filled with sea water. There was no need to measure a single one, they were all monsters. We high fived each other, then hooked the tanks up to be refilled, as the sun started to slip toward the western horizon.
While they filled, we climbed up to the bridge with a bowl of sliced fruit, sandwiches, and a half dozen bottles of water. We’d no sooner sat down when I saw a boat heading toward us. A moment later, I recognized it as a Marine Patrol boat.
“You have your fishing license and lobster stamp handy?” I asked. “We’re gonna have company in a few minutes.”
“Down below in my go bag,” he replied.
We climbed down to the cockpit and as Russ went inside, I retrieved my wallet from a stash spot inside the engine room hatch. The Marine Patrol boat pulled up alongside and the officer on board looked my boat over, then reached to tie off to the stern port cleat. I put my hand on the cleat and said, “You need to ask first.”
“Excuse me?” the officer said.
“It’s common courtesy to ask, before tying off.”
“It might be courtesy,” he said. “But it’s not the law.”
“You’re a state law enforcement officer, not federal. While the Coast Guard can board without permission, you need probable cause.”
“This is a fishing boat, Captain. That’s probable cause.”
Russ came out of the cabin just then and said, “No officer, it’s not. While it may resemble a fishing boat, do you see any fishing tackle, any rods, any fish guts, or blood? Any boat can be used for any purpose. The Captain is only asking that you use professional courtesy.”
The officer looked from Russ back to me and finally said, “May I come aboard.”
“Yes, you may,” I responded removing my hand from the cleat. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”
He tied off quickly and stepped over. “I need to see your identification and boat….”
I cut him off. “All right here,” I said, handing him my driver’s license, Captain’s papers, registration, and fishing l
icense, with lobster stamp. Russ handed his own over, also.
“Where are you out of?” he asked.
“Boot Key Harbor,” I replied.
“I haven’t seen you around before. How long have you been here? And if you’re not a fishing boat, why are you handing me a fishing license?”
“I’ve been here a year and a half and run charters out of Boot Key Harbor, docked at Dockside. Today, we’re a pleasure boat, just two buddies catching lobster.” With that, Russ opened the fish box, showing him the eight huge lobster we caught.
“You said you weren’t fishing.” The officer said to Russ.
“No, I asked if you saw anything that would indicate we were engaged in fishing, which would give you probable cause to board without consent.” Russ was enjoying this as much as I was.
The officer realized we knew the regulations as well as anyone and it was unlikely he’d find anything to cite us for. He glanced at the lobster in the fish box and handed our papers back. “Being a smart ass isn’t always a good idea,” he said. “But, since I’m in a good mood, I’ll just leave you gentlemen be.”
With that, he stepped back across to his own boat, untied it and started the engines. As he backed away, Russ and I both saluted him with our left hands and he returned the salute with his right, oblivious to the insult, which caused as to laugh as he roared away.
We climbed back up to the bridge and relaxed with another bottle of water, waiting for the tanks to fill, and watching the sun set slowly into the sea. As it neared the horizon and the sky darkened, the sun seemed to dim and flatten out on the bottom and the sky to the west turned to a pale orange.
I turned on the anchor light, cockpit lights, and the transom lights, before we reentered the water. We agreed before submerging that since we were only four short of our limit, we’d measure and keep all the legal ones we caught then release all but the four largest when we meet up on the other side.
Submerging at the stern, the bottom was illuminated by the powerful lights just below the waterline on the transom. We finned toward the reef, turning on our underwater flashlights then split up again when we got to the edge of the reef. As I finned slowly around the left side, I moved my light up and down the reef. Most of the colorful tropical were gone, nestled into little crooks and crannies for the night. The night creatures were out now. Soldierfish, squirrelfish, crabs, and shrimp of all kinds. I noticed a queen parrotfish, fully wrapped in its mucus cocoon. Within minutes, I caught the first bug and as I moved around the reef I caught seven more before meeting up with Russ on the other side.
Fallen Out: Jesse McDermitt Series, The Beginning Page 11