In 2016 we enjoyed a getaway to Florida, staying in a home on Summerland Key. A boat tied up across the canal from us departed most mornings with a slew of fishing poles and invariably returned with a generous catch carted off and cleaned. After I mentioned my hope to tag along on one of those excursions to see how deep-sea fishing was done, Rita knocked on the neighbor’s door that afternoon with a fresh-baked blueberry pie and introduced herself. She returned to announce, “It’s taken care of.” An invitation came the next day.

I met Sandy, the owner of the boat, who introduced me to his long-time friend Roger, from Boston originally but now living in Key West. Roger worked as Sandy’s first mate on his boat, responsible for preparing the fresh bait needed as well as rigging each fishing rod to be ready once arriving wherever the vessel stopped. Roger released lines from the dock for Sandy to maneuver the 50-foot Enriques Express carefully through and out of the canal into open water. The plan was to head 25 miles southeast to where Sandy had experienced good luck with mahimahi and swordfish not long before.

On the voyage into the Atlantic, I watched on deck as Roger completed his preparation of bait and rods while I quizzed him about ocean fishing. After my interrogation ended, he launched into a comprehensive saga of his checkered past, including how he and a high school classmate built a sailboat in the ’70s with hidden cargo compartments below deck. When construction was finished, he and his pal sailed it to the Bahamas, where they amassed a boatload of marijuana and returned to flood the Key West pot market. When Key West cannabis business tapered off, Roger hatched a new plan aimed at peddling their oversupply of merchandise. During a phone call with his mother in Boston, he learned she planned a week-long trip to visit her sister. Reasoning Mom’s vacant house would be the perfect distribution center for weed, Roger shoehorned a trunk load of unsold goods into his Mustang and headed north.

Upon arrival in Boston days later, Roger discovered the house was indeed empty. He carted his payload inside and down to the basement, stacking it neatly beside the washing machine, then returned to the kitchen table to hone strategy for peddling goods the next day. Suddenly the back door opened. In walked his mother. “Mom, what are you doing home?” he stammered. She explained her sister’s change of plans cut the visit short. She then opened her suitcase, removed dirty laundry and headed for the basement.

When she returned to the kitchen, Roger’s mother enquired, “What is it you have piled up down by the washer?”

His reply was honest. “Mom, that’s marijuana I brought back from the Bahamas in my boat. I’m going to sell it.”

“What’s it worth?” Mom asked further.

“About eighty grand,” he replied.

Roger’s mother first massaged her forehead, then lectured, “You need to get a bigger boat.”

During several hours out to sea, Sandy landed a variety of ocean dwellers, including mahimahi and an impressive swordfish. I had learned a good deal about deep sea fishing, the skipper’s boat and his friend’s colorful history. When we docked back at Summerland Key, I phoned Rita. “You should come over to Sandy’s to see the fish we caught and meet Roger.” As she is prone to do, she engaged Roger to learn more of his background. His list of lifelong achievements included that at one time, he worked for Mel Fisher, the treasure hunter who discovered the Spanish galleon Atocha, sunk in 1622 by a hurricane near Key West loaded with $450 million in gold. He concluded his list with “I also graduated from ‘Federal College’… after just two years.”