Club members Sean Paxton, Brooks Paxton II and Tom Larkin were in need indeed of some much deserved R&R after touring with rock and roll legend Lynyrd Skynyrd. Their time on the road with them was spent as members of the rock band Swamp Boogie Queen. SBQ worked hard to get there, played killer shows across the country and were just wrapping up the second leg of a national tour. Needless to say, they were ready to throw the schedule away for a minute and tend to that other important thing in life – FISHING! There’s not a lot of time for that when you’re constantly traveling and they needed a fix…bad.

When we wrapped our last show on that leg, we were in Richmond, VA where we helped Skynyrd rock a full house at the Richmond Amphitheater. That town kicks A#$ and we love it, but it’s a long way from saltwater so we decided we’d kill two birds with one week off. Most of our band mates (Abi Lenz, M. Todd Bishop & Dave Bell) were headed back to California to sleep it off, but we decided to head home to SW Florida. After an overnight there to dream in our own beds for a change, we’d point it to Marathon in the Keys where we would hook up with good friend and charter captain, Terry Mutchler aboard his 46’ vessel, the 'Comin’ Home'. He’s an ace captain and always puts us on the fish. We called to see what was eating and he reported the Mahi were thick, along with wahoo and other tasty fighters. He said he could have the boat open for us in a few days -- that’s all we needed to hear. After convincing close friend and master Swamp Boogie Queen ivory tickler, Gus Hinistroza to join us, we hijacked a band transport van and headed south on I-95. Along the way, we called another close friend and club member, Chris Campbell, to see what he had planned for the week. After hearing our plot, he confirmed he’d be on a plane from Los Angeles to Key West where we’d meet him to check in on our old stomping grounds before the charter out of Marathon. Chris was at the show in Richmond, and like us had barely recovered, but this was too good to pass up.

After spending the next day at home, we headed as far south as you can go in the continental United States. At the end of the road, you’ll find Key West -- that famous little drinking village with a big fishing problem. The drive there always gets us in the mood. It’s mile after mile of fishy water on both sides of the car. The temptation to stop and wet a line every couple of miles is a constant battle you have to fight. It’s like living in a 3 hour Corona commercial

The trip was great, as usual, and we managed to invade KW just in time to join the sunset worshipers at Mallory Square for that daily festival. Around 10:00, Chris arrived and the night flashed before our eyes when he stepped out of the cab into the glow of Sloppy Joe’s on Duval Street with that patented grin occupying most of his face. This was not a drill. It was show time, and in short order, the squad was executing an impressive ten-legged version of the world-famous “Duval Crawl”. Leaving nothing to chance, we covered as much ground as possible in the short time we had available. Notable stops included: Capt. Tony’s, Sloppy Joe’s, Durty Harry’s, The Bull, Angelo’s Pizza and The Red Garter (I’ll never forget you, Maya). As the clock neared 3 or 4 am, a tough decision was made to shut down operations. Checkout time at our hotel was 11 and we needed the rest. The next day, we’d be off to Marathon to meet up with Capt. Terry.

After negotiating a late checkout the next morning, we were deeply saddened when a special gift given to us by a fourth generation distiller fell out of the van and crashed onto Duval Street. We huddled around in stunned silence at the sight of the carnage. A jug of authentic, handmade strawberry moonshine was now just a shattered mass on the hot city street. That batch had come straight from Danville, VA – the real thing. We were affected by the loss, but after a brief moment of silence and a quick cleanup -- it was time to move on. There were miles to go and fish to be caught. On to Marathon…

It’s always an adventure to fish with Capt. Terry. He’s the kind of captain that enjoys the fishing as much as his anglers. He can ride you hard, but that’s part of what it takes to catch a trophy. We learn every time we have the chance to get out with him and it’s always been productive. The weather was looking perfect for the next day so we decided to leave the dock at 6am. Terry set us a course for “The West Hump”, which is about 20+ miles S/SE of Marathon. The Hump is an underwater seamount that rises from depths of approximately 1000 feet up to around 500. The relentless easterly flow of the Gulf Stream against this seamount creates a nutrient-rich upwelling that can be very conspicuous on the surface. On some occasions, it resembles huge breaks on a beach that you can see from several miles away on approach – not a place I’d want to be treading water in for very long. All these ingredients combine to create opportunities for true, world-class saltwater action and we would be trolling ballyhoo in hopes of enticing some of it. Capt Terry has an impressive record of blue marlin, white marlin, sailfish, dolphin, black and yellowfin tuna. This combined with the fact all these species can be found in the area made anything a possibility on this trip. With the plan set, we checked into our hotel and headed to Islamorada to enjoy one of the best fresh seafood buffets anywhere at the Whale Harbor Inn. If you ever have the chance, get yourself to mile marker 83.5, pay the price and enjoy this exceptional dining adventure. They may have lost money us that night, though. With very round bellies, we got a great night’s sleep for the next day’s expedition.

At 6:00 sharp the next morning we were boarding the “Comin’ Home” and were heading out of Hawk’s Channel for the Hump by first light. This is one my favorite times on any offshore trip; the fresh salt air on the breeze, the sun just breaching the horizon and the marina slowly fading from sight. You add this to the growing feelings of expectation, and it’s about the only thing to give Christmas morning a run for the money. Spirits were high. Everyone was well rested and in a great mood. The conditions were perfect and now it was time to settle in and enjoy a run to the fishing grounds. Unless something got our attention on the way, the Capt. was cutting a straight line for the Hump.

Nothing proved worthy of investigation on the way, and within a few hours, we began to see birds working dead ahead several miles. Shortly thereafter, the telltale signs of the West Hump were showing themselves; lots of birds and those huge swells and breaking waves out in the middle of nowhere. Now there was a lot of blood beginning to pump on board. As we motored to within a mile or so of the seamount, Capt. Terry gave the order and the mate began deploying our spread of ballyhoo to begin the troll on the approach. A variety of Penn tackle would be utilized including the gamier 9500’s and a few Internationals with lines up to 80# depending on the rig and the location in the spread. With two transom drops, two outriggers and a shotgun down the middle, we were locked and loaded as the Capt. began his initial approach. The game plan here includes trolling around and over the Hump in criss-cross patterns. If there’s no weed line or debris, it’s all about the Captain's instincts.

One of the things we like about fishing the 'Comin’ Home' is that Capt. Terry will get you totally involved in the fishing if that’s your style. For us it is, and he’s constantly reminding us to look for anything on the surface, watch the wash behind the boat, look for birds working, and just plain pay attention to everything and anything. Like mentioned before, we always learn something fishing with Capt. Terry and this day would be no different.

Despite seeing lots of birds on the approach, they were mostly gone on arrival. The ones that stayed weren’t working and the surface appeared void of any weed lines or flotsam. However, it’s a pretty vast area to fish and we were just getting started. Things quieted down on board as 14 eyes scanned the surface and sky for any telltale signs. After a while, I decided to head up the tower and see what I could see. There’s nothing like the feeling of being up in the tower while trolling; especially out here

A short while later, there’s some commotion in the cockpit. One of the Internationals has gone off. Gus happens to be posted at the transom on that side and gets the hookup. After a brief tussle and some celebration, he brings a nice ‘cuda boat side where it’s quickly gaffed by the mate and put on ice. That’ll make for some nice shark chum and bait.

Now that Gus had officially broken the ice, we were back on heightened alert. I stayed on the tower and resumed scanning the surface. Still no birds, but after a while, I spied a board floating several hundred yards off at about 11 ‘o clock. I shouted down to the Capt. and he immediately changed the troll. This is about the only time you’d find a half dozen or so guys getting really excited about a floating piece of wood, but it was working. As we were coming up on the debris, I suddenly began seeing blue, green and yellow flashes below the surface rocketing away from the debris straight towards the boat. I shouted, “MAHI! MAHI! Heading straight for the spread!” What a sight to see. They were small at first, but then, as the school was flashing past the bow, I could see some mature fish a little deeper down. Now the Capt. was in high gear, telling us to hold on and be ready. Watching all this unfold from the tower was awesome. I could see everything as it happened. Within seconds, we were hooked up and mahi were breaking the surface behind the boat. It was at least a double hookup. At this point, it was time for me to climb down and get a place in line while some of the bigger bulls I saw in the school were still around.

This is what it’s all about! People shouting, the Capt. barking orders, strike alarms sounding, fish catching air in the boat’s wake, the mate scrambling for the gaff. Life doesn’t get any better…until you get a sizable mahi in the crowded cockpit amidst all the craziness. One of the first brought on board managed to slip the gaff. It was a sizable bull and it was about as green as it gets. So now you can add the thumping and the smacking and the thrashing and the blood spraying everywhere and that was enough to get Capt. Terry’s attention. He started hollering, “Get control of that xxd dxxxxx FISH! It’s tearing up my cockpit. Get that xxxxxxg fish in the box!” We still had fish on and it seemed everyone else had something to do or was just too caught up in the moment to do anything about it. You’ve got to keep the Capt. happy and now this mahi was threatening to flip his way back to freedom so that didn’t help. I quickly made my way through the crowd in the cockpit and made an open field tackle on that fish. It was going ballistic, but finally calmed down after about 10 seconds in a bear hug. With a little help, it was on ice and I was congratulated on my tackling skills.

During the melee, the Capt. had been making turns back on the area where the flotsam was and the mate had been constantly re-rigging ballyhoo so we were ready for anything. And it came. It was only a matter of minutes and I was hooked up to a beautiful mahi. Anyone that’s caught these fish knows what it’s like, but no matter how many times you do it, it’s still as exciting as the first. It actually was Gus and Chris’ first time at this and they were loving every minute of it. My fish was successfully landed, as were several others. Everyone had a shot at nice fish. As usual, another trip on the “Comin’ Home” was proving to be worth writing home about.

With a full box, the decision was made to turn about and head home. There were plenty of fish to clean, cold drinks at the marina bar and a dinner featuring fresh caught mahi waiting for us back in Marathon. Before hitting the salon to take a nap, Chris realized something. He was diligent about using sunscreen all day long. I remember him lathering up on several occasions, but then someone mentioned to him his feet were looking a little red. We hated to laugh, but his feet were quite a sight. He’d been wearing sandals and never put sunscreen on his feet so he had these giant, red, swollen, criss-cross patterned things at the bottom of his legs with toes attached. We gave him a little sympathy, but then he never heard the end of it. Somewhere, we’ve got pictures of the pain. It was a few days before he could get his snakeskin boots back on.

A few of us spent the ride back with the Capt. on the bridge reliving the day and talking about the next trip. The rest snoozed in the cockpit or in the salon. After cleaning the fish and the boat and enjoying a few coldies at the bar, we headed to the hotel to clean up and get ready for a mahi dinner. In Marathon, there’s a place called the Village Café where you can bring your catch and they’ll do it any way you want and serve it with a variety of pastas, salad and bread. We’ve done this on several occasions and highly recommend it. The dinner was amazing, as usual, and was just enough to put us all out for he rest of the night. There was no nightlife on the agenda this evening. We were officially out of gas. All in all, this was another adventure spent with good friends and family in one of the most beautiful places on earth and we enjoyed every minute of it. No one wanted it to end, but like all good things in life...

The next day, Chris and his feet flew home and the rest of us headed north to rendezvous with our band mates and resume the tour. There were places to go, music to play, and people to entertain. The fish would have to wait till next time.

A special thanks from all of us to Capt. Terry and the crew of the “Comin’ Home” for another outstanding fishing expedition. We look forward to prowling your decks again!

To book your charter with Capt. Terry:	www.CominHome.com
For more information about the Florida Keys:	www.floridakeys.com
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