Marathon Key Day Eleven: Charter fishing trip with Captain Chuck

Thursday, January 30, 2025

Our goal was to leave the condo by 6:30 a.m. That would give us time to make it to the marina by 7.

We made sure we had with us the required items. Our self-checking found us to be ready.

The only hiccup we had was the news out of Washington, D. C.

Overnight, a military helicopter collided with a commercial jet liner that was in its final approach into Reagan National. Sadly, there were no survivors.

At the marina, we parked. The row of boats we saw on Wednesday afternoon were still silent. But one boat, Size Matters, is where I located Captain Chuck. He was busily preparing the boat for our trip.

Captain Chuck asked us to give him a few minutes before we boarded.

We didn’t wait long before he welcomed us aboard. The first duty was spraying down our shoes with water. Keep the deck clean.

Once this ritual was completed, we introduced ourselves. Captain Chuck gave us a quick orientation about the boat. That included where we were heading toward and what we might expect.

The chatter continued as we learned about Captain Chuck, and we shared a bit about ourselves.

We had what my Richmond friend, Jack Berry, calls a “chamber of commerce day”—perfectly pretty.

Soon, Captain Chuck had the boat emerging from its berth at the dock. We were quietly heading out of this inlet and into a broader one.

During this trip to the Keys, we had been overly focused on sunsets. This morning, we would be properly positioned to see the sun rise, and rise it did.

Sun rising Marathon Key (Photo Bill Pike)

At some point, we cleared the no wake zones, and Captain Chuck opened up the engines. Within seconds, we were scooting atop the calm surface. I wondered what the sea life below the surface thought about this roaring wakeup call.

We had one important stop to make before heading beyond the mainland—“the bait guy.”

The bait guy (Photo Bill Pike)

Anchored in a small harbor, we slowly approach his location. There are two, maybe more bait wells that capture a variety of live minnows. Charter captains arrive each morning asking for their favorite live bait.

If the bait guy can meet the captain’s request, he takes his dip net, goes into the bait well, scoops out the minnows, and transfers them into the captain’s boat well.

Cash is exchanged, the bait guy wishes the captain luck, and his attention turns to the next charter captain.

Captain Chuck makes his request. The bait is handed off to him in the dip net. He stows the bait, and the bait guy hopes we have a good morning. Next Captain Chuck positions the boat to make our run out to the Gulf of Mexico.

We cross under a bridge that handles traffic on the Over Seas highway. From Miami to Key West, I’ve read there are 42 bridges.

One of the 42 bridges in the Keys (Photo Bill Pike)

Heading out to the Gulf we are able to see multiple beautiful homes on either side of the water. Within minutes, we are out in the open Gulf.

Based upon his experience, Captain Chuck knows when we arrive in good area for catching fish. He throttles back the engines, the forward motion of the boat slows. Captain Chuck begins aligning the boat over one of his favorite spots. At the precise moment, he drops the anchor.

Then, he explains the technique to use. Next, he is baiting the hooks, and preparing to hand the rods over to us.

Dan surveying the scene (Photo Bill Pike)

On the back of the boat, attached to the exterior surface, and placed just below the waterline is a rectangular shaped cage. Designed for easy access this cage holds, a “chum block.”

A chum block is a block of frozen fish pieces. As it slowly melts, fish are attracted to this ‘gourmet’ fare.

Butch ready to start (Photo Bill Pike)

With our rods properly baited, Captain Chuck turns us loose.

I honestly don’t remember who hooked the first fish. There was a flurry of activity with each of us having our lines becoming taut. It seems as soon as Captain Chuck had removed the fish from the hook, measured its size, placed the fish in the cooler, and re-baited the hook, we had another fish on the line.

Then just as soon as this chaos started, it stopped.

Captain Chuck in the middle (Photo Bill Pike)

We pulled in the lines, and Captain Chuck repositioned the boat.

Again, Captain Chuck worked to prep our lines, and soon, we were catching fish again.

Our main catch was the Mangrove Snapper. We did manage to catch two different type of mackerel, and a couple of times the fish we caught were below the size limit, or the fish were not suitable for eating.

Captain Chuck was like an ichthyologist professor in a college lab identifying fish. No matter the fish on the end of line, Captain Chuck knew the fish on a first name basis.

Additionally, he knew if a fish posed any danger. One fish I caught, he quickly told me not to touch it. Captain Chuck told me an encounter with the fish’s fins would ruin my day.

The action slowed in this spot, and Captain Chuck pulled the anchor. He motored us quickly and skillfully to the site of an old houseboat wreck.

Once we arrived, Captain Chuck set the anchor, and baited our lines. He also coached us about how to work the wreck.

Turns out this was Dan’s lucky day. Over the wreck, Dan hooked a good size black grouper.

Dan’s grouper (Photo courtesy Butch Sherrill)

Unfortunately, grouper season starts in May. So, this pretty fish was gently put back into the Gulf of Mexico by Captain Chuck. We made a few more casts, but no nibbles.

We had a good morning. Our limit had been caught. Added to that excitement, Captain Chuck shared a wide range of stories from his experiences on the water.

With the anchor up, we started back toward Marathon Key. We made one quick stop at a bait trap that Captain Chuck maintains. With interest, we watched him pull up the trap, and carefully harvest the bait for his next charter.

The ride back to the inlet was just as pretty as the ride out to the Gulf of Mexico. Out on the water, we could see waterfront homes that might go undetected on a leisurely drive through a neighborhood.

Once the boat was snug in its berth, Captain Chuck gathered the fish from the cooler. He displayed them for photos, and then Captain Chuck put his filet knife to good use.

Our catch (Photo Bill Pike)

As we watched him work his magic, another boat owner appeared. This guy was a talker.

We heard about his experiences as a commercial pilot, and his tales as a dedicated fisherman. He talked with Captain Chuck about an upcoming fishing trip. I sensed we were listening with a grain of salt.

The brown pelicans had been keeping an expectant eye on Captain Chuck. I’m sure the pellies were having the same internal, self-talk— ‘I hope this Captain will share some of those non-filet scraps with us.’

Hopeful pellies (Photo Bill Pike)

The pellies were lucky. Captain Chuck made sure all the scraps hit the water. There was quite a pelican scrum in jockeying for those pieces.

Soon, the filets were ready. Captain Chuck iced them down, and we paid him for the trip and the memories.

We wished him luck with the remaining snowbird months and the upcoming grouper season. Captain Chuck told us when the grouper season is completed, he heads to Alaska to Captain fishing trips in that stunning environment.

On the drive back to Tranquility Bay, we chatted about this chapter of our trip.

Once inside the condo, we proudly showed our bosses the bag of filets caught from our morning of grueling work out in a harsh and hostile environment. These are smart ladies. They didn’t buy any of that fish baloney.

Butch took the lead in figuring out how many filets he would prepare for our dinner that night.

With the remaining filets, we opted to give them to Tranquility Bay’s support staff. I walked the bag over to the office, explained our intent, and the filets were graciously accepted.

Nothing like fresh fish for dinner. Butch seasoned and cooked the filets to perfection. The side dishes were a hit too.

Before dinner, I started my sad prep for Friday. On Friday, we would be working our way back to the Miami airport. There we would board our flights to return us to our homes and the reality of more winter.

If you have been reading this blog for the last ten days, you know I’m at best a mediocre fisherman.

Do I want to catch fish? Yes.

But, I have concluded, it is more about the opportunity to be outside in an environment that is different from home.

An environment where the solitude of the morning will overtake me in its beauty, a beauty that is different with the breaking of each new dawn.

That beauty can be seen in the shades of color as the morning rises up out of an eastern sky.

Its about the timing of the right moment to see a line of pelicans as they gracefully skim inches above the crest of a wave.

And it is appreciating stillness as a shorebird in the shallows silently stalks for minnows.

And, it is the wonder of the backlog of stories that give me the opportunity to daydream like a child staring off into the sparkling soul of seawater.

Maybe, it isn’t about the fish that are never caught.

Maybe, it is about appreciating the beauty of a weary and worn world that still has its heartbeat. A heartbeat that needs us to see it, hear it, feel it, protect it, and love it.

Oh how this world needs to be loved.

Marathon Key Day Ten: lazy

Wednesday, January 29, 2025

With my out of state fishing license expired, I didn’t go fishing this morning. My chances of being caught by a game warden from the state of Florida were probably slim. But why should I add to the glee of the fish? In my seven days of casting, I’m sure the fish were proud of shutting me out.

Actually, I’m fine with the shutout.

I’m 1,052 driving miles away from Richmond, Virginia. It’s January. It’s winter. It’s cold.

Out the back door of the condo at Tranquility Bay, I can walk less than a hundred steps, and in a blink, I’m casting a line into an isolated bight of the shoreline fed by clear water from the Gulf of Mexico. Those early morning scenes will stay with me forever, and they will push me through the remaining winter when I get back home.

So, I opted to go for a run. When I departed the condo, the temperature was 63 degrees. Back home in Richmond, the thermometer was 33 degrees.

This morning I was running north on the left side facing traffic along the Overseas Highway. I hoped to run to Sombrero Beach.

Lots of traffic on both sides of the highway this morning.


I was clipping along well. I came to the cross walk for a right turn to head toward Sombrero Beach.

With one push of a button, I was able to stop traffic on both sides of the highway. I ran across staying within the lines of the crosswalk.

Safely on the the other side, I was getting ready to cross a side entrance that feeds into the Publix parking lot. A driver in a rush was approaching this crosswalk. I sensed the driver was not going to stop, so I stopped.

When the driver realized I had stopped, she stopped. With a touch of aggravation, I motioned for her to keep moving.

I’m reminded of Rodney Dangerfield—I tell you pedestrians get no respect. I don’t know if this is because drivers don’t know that pedestrians have the right away, or if drivers selfishly don’t care, and they keep moving.

Anyway, I noticed something nice the further my old body moved me away from the highway— it became quiet.

The roar of the wheels on the always burdened asphalt disappeared. I could hear birds chirping and singing. This was a very pleasant contrast to the hustle on the Overseas Highway.

As I moved along Sombrero Beach Road, I gradually came to a well designed public education complex for the middle and high schools in Marathon Keys.


These two campuses were about to come alive with the school day beginning.

At that point, my old body told my brain, we’re not taking Baloney Bill to Sombrero Beach this morning. With that internal memo, I ran just past the school complex. I turned around and headed back toward Tranquility Bay. When I arrived at the condo, I stopped my watch. It read 56:24.

Wednesday was to be a quiet day for us. No sightseeing, just an easy pace.

Later that morning Betsy, Butch, and I walked to the 1.5 mile spot on the Seven Mile Bridge. Lots of people were in motion in both directions. The water no matter where we looked was pretty.

I wish I had brought my binoculars with me to the bridge. Off the right side, we could seen a large sand bar. In the shallows of that bar was a boat with a fisherman on it. I wanted the binoculars to see how he was doing.

The sand bar. (Photo Bill Pike)

For lunch today, we opted to check out Tranquility Bay’s Tiki Bar. This pretty day was perfect for lunch under an umbrella. I enjoyed a delicious Caribbean Salad.

My salad (Photo courtesy of Betsy Pike)

Laziness ruled the afternoon. But at some point, Butch, Dan, and I decided to locate the marina where we would be meeting Captain Chuck for our fishing charter on Thursday morning.

Once off the Overseas Highway, it took us a few minutes to locate the side street where the marina was located.

Eventually, we found this finger like inlet of water. Tucked under a protected roofline that resemble a long shed was a row of silent boats.


Inside of me was a shiver of excitement. I was like a little kid anticipating Thursday morning and our half day fishing charter. Hopefully, the knowledge and skills of Captain Chuck would bring us better luck than I had fishing in the surf.

Before we knew it, we were heading out for dinner.


Tonight, we opted for the Island Fish Company. This sprawling water front restaurant was busy. We waited a bit to be seated, but the restaurant was a good choice.

After dinner, we played another challenging round of charades from the creative mind of Marian. She has a way of pushing our brain cells to be imaginative and inventive.

When charades had worn us down, we had some final chatter about the fishing charter, and there was also the dreaded yapping—preparing to fly back home on Friday.

Sweet fishing dreams.

Day Seven Marathon Key: Pigeon Key, Burdines, football

Another pretty day greeted me this morning.

I made the short trek to my hopeful fishing spot.

I fished with shrimp.

Per usual no nibbles.

But I did enjoy watching a wet blue heron land and shake his feathers.

A young father and his two sons stopped for a few minutes. Turns out this young man was a University of Richmond graduate. While its not an across the street walk, I told him we could walk to the university from our house in Richmond.

At the beach condo, breakfast was coming together as were our plans to visit Pigeon Key. We wanted to make sure our arrival allowed us to be on the first train to the key.

With our reservations confirmed, we were out the door around 9:30. It was a short drive to the staging area. We parked, made sure we had everything, checked in, and found seats on the train.

The engine that pulled us along the bridge (Photo Bill Pike)

Once everyone was seated, we received a brief orientation about our visit. There are multiple options for guests to chose from. We opted for a guided tour with time to explore the the five acre key with its eight buildings. This site is also on the National Register of Historic Places.

It is a two mile ride on the train to Pigeon Key. This was a $41 million project to repurpose and renovate the bridge for the public. This project had good results for walkers, runners, bike riders, and curious guest who want to learn more about Pigeon Key. Plus the views from the bridge in any direction are pretty.

Bridge spans from Pigeon Key (Photo Bill Pike)

Our guide had given us some good insights on the ride to Pigeon Key. Once off the train, our guide organized us, and she started her historic script.

Essentially, Pigeon Key is all about Henry Flagler and his efforts to build The Florida East Coast Railway. This determined, persuasive, and successful businessman had the vision and resources to pursue this goal.

Pigeon Key was the work camp for the men who hired on to build the railway. Our guide was very knowledgeable, maybe too knowledgeable. Her wealth of information cut into our self-guided exploration.


Still we enjoyed learning about the design of the original dormitory that is now used as an education center. It still showcases the use of Dade County pine throughout the facility.

Former dormitory, now an education center, note original hardwood flooring (Photo Bill Pike)

The buildings and grounds are well-maintained. Moving around the plot isn’t difficult. No matter where your feet take you the views are very pleasant, and we enjoyed the calm presence of two Great White Herons who are like family to the staff.

One of the herons. (Photo Bill Pike)

Our departure time came quickly, and once Pigeon Key personnel had accounted for everyone, we were ready for the two mile ride back to the mainland.

Judy opted not to go on the Pigeon Key excursion, so we drove back to Tranquility Bay and picked her up.

From there, we headed to Burdines for lunch. This restaurant had been recommended to Butch and Marian by a local shopkeeper. Earlier in the week, we attempted to eat at Burdines, but the unseasonably cool air and brisk wind pushed us away from this open air restaurant.

(Photo Bill Pike)

Today, we hoped to do better under a partly sunny sky. Initially, we were seated on the side of the restaurant where a brisk wind was coming off the water of Boot Key Harbor. Sensing this uncomfortable shaded coolness, Butch negotiated a seating location change for us with the hostess.

Off the main highway, Burdines is ideally located next to a marina. It serves diners who arrive by boat or car. There is nothing fancy about Burdines as is stated on their menu: “As we say in the islands, this ain’t no fast food joint, so relax mon!”

To get us started Betsy ordered hush puppies, and they were good. Burdines might not be a “fast food joint” but I was amazed at how quickly our food arrived. Our lunch orders filled us up, and none of us were interested in ordering a piece of fried Key Lime pie to go.

Back at Tranquility Bay, the abundant sunshine was an attraction to sit by the pool. At some point, Dan and I headed to the workout room to burn off Burdines. Football was on the agenda too, as it was NFL playoff time, and then we had to make decision about dinner.

I think Marian had a hankering for spaghetti. Butch, Dan, and I made a mad dash to Publix. Under Butch’s guidance, we picked up the items so that he could create a spaghetti dinner for us.

Upon our return, we all pitched in to help our master chef prepare his special sauce. The sauce was delicious and this pasta meal hit the spot. It would be the carbo load we needed for walking around Key West on Monday.

I was excited about our day trip to Key West, and I had also enjoyed our Sunday in Marathon Key.

Even though our tour guide put my brain on information overload, I heard enough from her about the ups and downs of Henry Flagler that I would like to learn more about him. Specifically, the back stories about the creation of the Florida East Coast Railway sound very interesting. I can only begin to imagine the economic, environmental, and logistical challenges of this project.

Maybe before I croak, I’ll get to Les Standiford’s book—
Last Train to Paradise: Henry Flagler and the Spectacular Rise and Fall of the Railroad That Crossed an Ocean.


Rest up Key West, we’re checking you out tomorrow.

Author’s note: My teachers: kindergarten (Mrs. Simmons at Davis Street Methodist) and first grade (Mrs. Hughes at Elon Elementary) would be disappointed in my math skills related to blog post. Obviously, seven comes before eight. So, I had day seven ready, but I forgot that post was completed. In the future, I’ll work to improve my counting skills. Thanks patient readers.

In a winter storm pine limbs can snap, and so can Americans

On the morning of Tuesday, February 11, 2025, I went for a run.

I had to go because the weather forecasters had Richmond whipped into another winter storm frenzy. I wanted to get out before all that frozen precipitation covered the roads.

That winter storm hysteria came courtesy of local weather forecasters. I wonder if the meteorology degree curriculum has a required class: How to create craziness in snow starved communities with a winter storm forecast. If they do, it works in Richmond.

When I left the house, the temperature was 33 degrees. A northeast wind at 6 mph. created a wind chill of 27 degrees.

I was layered up for the run under a gray winter sky. Lately, I’ve been running the 5K course through our neighborhood. Years ago, our son, Andrew, created the route for a 5K sponsored by our church.

This morning, I’m running the course, but out of its usual sequence.

Maybe its my odd personality, but I enjoy a run on a cold, gray winter morning. I think it has to do with the starkness of the landscape.

I can really see how stately the trees are sculpted.Their bare branches and limbs stretch in all directions.

In some landscaped beds, the early green of anxious daffodils are popping up.

On the south retaining wall for the playground at our church, the bright yellow blooms of winter jasmine are showcased.

Even though not a single flake of snow has fallen, local school systems surrendered to the dire predictions and are closed for the day.

Out on the course, I come across people getting one last walk in with their dogs before this monster of a tempest arrives.

The storm is predicted to start as a heavy wet snow. Then conditions change in the upper levels of the atmosphere to create a switchover to sleet followed by a change to the super slick and dreaded freezing rain.

We have no affection for freezing rain in our tree laden neighborhood. That ice coating makes life miserable for trees, their limbs, and the utility lines under them.

Dominion Energy recently completed a massive project in the neighborhood by burying the power lines underground.

Because of its splendid mature trees, this neighborhood was one of the leaders in Virginia for losing power during inclement weather. While not a perfect solution to power outages, so far this winter we’ve been lucky.

I felt like an out of sync slug when I started my run. Eventually, this old sack of bones adjusted, and I felt better with each step.

When my feet arrived at the edge of our driveway, I stopped the timer on my watch. It read 35:30. Clearly, at my age, I’m no speed demon, but I truly cherish being able to go for a run.

I don’t remember the exact moment, but after breakfast the snowflakes started to fall. It was if someone had taken an ice pick and poked a hole in those full gray clouds. The flakes fell as if they had not a care in the world.

By midday, the snow retreated and sleet was pinging off hard surfaces. At one point in the afternoon, the snow returned, but to my disappointment the final switch over to freezing rain took place.

Between dinner and bedtime, we kept peeking out the windows. Our Thunder Cloud Plum near the end of our driveway was making me nervous. The ice coating its limbs kept weighing them down. I hoped that the tree could withstand the extra weight and not snap during the night.

Our weary Thunder Cloud Plum (Photo Bill Pike)

As I headed upstairs, one of the county’s snowplows came down our street. It pushed the mushy slush with no resistance.

I slept, but not through the night. At 3:30, I was awake. I tried to go back to sleep, but that didn’t work.

After 4, I gave up, and headed down to the kitchen. The freezing rain was lighter now, but the weight on the limbs kept increasing. As the sky began to lighten up in the east, I could see the icy glaze on cars, shrubs, and trees.

A little after 8, I was outside. I stepped carefully. I wanted to start our cars.

With the cars warming, I gathered my snow shovel and an old square point shovel. That aged shovel was perfect for breaking up the layer of ice on the driveway.

Soon the cars had warned enough that I could remove the thick layer of ice off the windows.

With our driveway and sidewalk cleared, I made the short walk across the street. For a few minutes, I cleared the driveway and sidewalk for our still spry, but aging neighbor.

I walked back to our house. Updated the commander supreme, grabbed my backpack, keys, and headed toward Trinity.

I turned around the car and drove down Stuart Hall Road. As I approached the intersection with Baldwin Road, I stopped quickly. An iced coated pine tree had fallen across the road.

I took out my phone and called the non-emergency number for the police department. An honest dispatcher answered. She stated they had calls all over the county for fallen limbs and trees blocking roadways.

She took the information, and as I was about to hangup, the fire truck for Station 8 pulled up on Baldwin. They were on the way back to their Patterson Avenue station from another storm related call— a downed power line.

Their truck is equipped with a small chainsaw. The firemen used this to get the pine cut into moveable sections and out of the roadway.

I told the firemen that I worked at Trinity. They reported to me that the section of Forest Avenue in front of the church was closed due to that downed power line.

Sure enough, when I parked at Trinity, police cars with their blue lights flashing had the street blocked.

For the next few minutes, I checked the grounds of the church. We had quite a few trees with snapped limbs. The trees were now scarred where the departing limbs broke away. Some trees looked like the wrong move would make a branch crack and fall at any moment.

Stressed and snapped limbs (Photo Bill Pike)

Once I was organized, I spent the remainder of my day outside. I was appreciative of our senior pastor, Brian Siegle, who earlier in the day had cleared a couple of key entry points.

Occasionally, in the distance, I could hear the unmistakable pop of a cracking limb accompanied by the violent swoosh of that limb crashing to the ground.

Numerous neighbors used our parking lot to move their vehicles out of harm’s way.

One neighbor from Francisco Road moved both of his cars to the lot. He reported that a big limb had crashed through the roof of his house. Luckily, no one was injured. But, this gentleman reported that he had had it up to here with the storm as he pointed to his neckline.

Not long after that encounter, I was working on the Stuart Hall Road side of the church. I heard the pop of a cracking pine limb. I looked up to see its impact as it crashed harmlessly on the hard road surface. Luckily, no humans or cars were in its path.

Fallen pine limb Stuart Hall Road (Photo Bill Pike)

Bob one of the neighbors on Stuart Hall came over with his shovel and helped me clear the big broken limb and its debris. I told Bob I owed him a beer for his kind heart. He laughed, stating these trees are part of the neighborhood, and walked back to his home.

By 3, the sidewalks and steps around the church were in good shape. Thanks to Slurry Pavers so were the parking lots.

The only troublesome spot was where the sidewalks to the playground and church office merged. All afternoon, melting ice pellets from a large pine tree had been building up on the sidewalks.

It seemed walking through this area was like trying to walk through an ice maker. I took a few minutes and shoveled the ice piles off the sidewalks.

Back in my office, I put together a brief email to our staff letting them know about the conditions of our grounds. That included what to expect the next morning. Next, I packed up and headed home.

Perhaps, you have been wondering why in the world has Bill been droning on and on about this winter storm.


The answer can be found in this scripture—Psalm 139 verse 23: “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.”

If God were to search my heart and test me with questions, he would know that my anxious thoughts push beyond a winter storm. God would know that since January 20, 2025, I have been uneasy about our country.

Truth be told, I become more apprehensive everyday. I’m no different than an ice coated pine tree in this most recent winter storm. My disgust for the decisions being made in Washington make me want to snap.

My unease is nothing compared to the people who are feeling the full impact of these reckless decisions.

No question, our country for many, many years has been fraught with internal and external challenges. No one can deny that whether a Democrat or Republican had been elected as our President, these unresolved challenges were bare for all to see.

Did we need to address these challenges? Yes.

Should we deal with these challenges in the manner in which our current administration is making illogical, heartless human decisions? No.

Is this the way America is supposed to be run with nonstop executive orders and non-qualified people making these decisions? No.

As these decision continue to go unchecked, we will find more Americans whose lives are going to be devastatingly snapped like a ice stressed pine tree? Yes.

The individuals making these decisions might have a beating heart, but their hearts have no humility, no dignity, nor compassion for anyone who is impacted by their disrespectful decisions.

When America was founded with all of its imperfections, our hearts spoke. Our hearts prevailed against the British rule.

Where are our hearts now?

Their silence is unacceptable.

That next snap you hear will not be from a stressed, ice coated pine tree limb.

No that stressful snap will come from a dedicated American public servant whose life and career have been destroyed.

Destroyed by a heartless President and his inhuman peeps who only care about their selfish lives and their insatiable appetite for abusing power.

God, you now know my heart.

I’m not the only anxious heart in America.

Now God, here is the tough question for you.

God, where are you in this United States of America that is no longer “one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all”?

God, I bared my heart, will you bare yours?

I remember these words from the movie, The Green Book: “It takes courage to change people’s hearts.”

Your son had a courageous heart.


God, help our hearts to find that courage.

Large pine down on Westham Parkway (Photo Bill Pike)

Marathon Key Day Six: the sun, The Stuffed Pig, cold iguanas, planet searching

If on the morning of Saturday, January 25, I went out to fish, I don’t remember it. Maybe that is because there was a distraction—the sun was back.

When I went for my morning run the temperature was 54 degrees, wind was whipping out of the north at 12 mph, with gusts up to 28. But the sun was out against a clear blue backdrop.

For this run, I ran north along the highway on the left side facing the traffic. The road’s shoulder was a combination of sidewalks and driveway entrances into parking lots for businesses.

I ended up running past Crane Point Hammock. Then, I turned around and retraced my steps to Tranquility Bay. I clocked my time at 40:59. A good workout into a stiff breeze.

Along the way, there were a few early risers. At some point, from the other side of the highway, I heard these words: “get off the road.” I spun around to see if those words were meant for me.

I determined the words came from a passing vehicle on the other side of the road. Probably some driver with a car racked out with the technology to annoy old men on a singular Saturday morning run.

I imagine the driver had quite a laugh when he/she saw me whip around searching to find the culprit.

Back at Tranquility Bay, we were in motion. We were gathering ourselves for a short walk to The Stuffed Pig for breakfast.

Bundled up for the wind, we made the walk to the restaurant. Inside seats were already taken. So, we were directed to an outside seating area in back of the restaurant.

My pals at The Stuffed Pig (Photo Bill Pike)

Yes, the air was a bit brisk, but we settled into our table, and placed our orders. When the delicious food arrived, the chilled air was forgotten.

I can only describe our orders as this—a cardiologist would see dollars signs. I’m sure my arteries, heart chambers, and veins enjoyed every bite of my homemade biscuits smothered in warm sausage gravy. For the next six days, I was powerfully tempted to return to The Stuffed Pig to up my cholesterol, but I resisted.

Along with the delightful breakfast, the staff at this restaurant is most impressive—they are polite, hardworking hustlers.

With this cool air, we had read a notice from weather forecasters to be on the outlook for iguanas falling out of trees. This cool air impacts their metabolism.

Iguanas crawl into trees to sleep. Being cold blooded, in these cool temperatures iguanas can lose their grip on the tree limbs.

When the grip goes, the iguana falls. If an iguana had clunked down on me after breakfast at The Stuffed Pig any health problems related to cholesterol, bladder, and bowel would have been instantly cleared.

But we did see a green iguana poking his head up out of shrubbery. It was if the iguana was seeking the warmth of the sun. Perhaps, this iguana was silently saying to the sun—thank the good Lord you are back this morning.

An iguana catching some sun (Photo courtesy of Betsy Pike)

Past breakfast, Saturday was quiet. The abundant sunshine kept us in motion.

My Richmond friend, Mike Cross, had alerted me before heading to the Keys that an alignment of planets would take place while we were there.

So prior to sundown, Betsy, Dan, and I made the trek to Seven Mile Bridge. Butch, Marian, and Judy would follow later in the car.

Our location looked to be a perfect for watching the sun set and planet searching.

Betsy and Dan capturing the sunset (Photo Bill Pike)

Prior to the sunset and planet search, we walked around. We noticed an iguana on a concrete ledge. Our guess was that earlier in the afternoon, the iguana had been reheating his body from the warm concrete.

Another iguana warming before nightfall (Photo Bill Pike)

Gradually, darkness began to arrive. The shades of color in the sky dimmed. Our first glimpses of sparkles in the heavens began to appear.

For the next half hour, our necks craned toward the dark yonder. Anything with some size and brightness caught our attention.

I’m no expert on the twinkling stars at night. I can find the dippers, but that’s about it.

Consulting the internet and a variety of apps, Dan and Betsy started to piece together the appearance of the planets.

Here is what our pals at NASA had to say about our search for this alignment of planets:

“In the first couple of hours after dark, you’ll find Venus and Saturn in the southwest, Jupiter high overhead, and Mars in the east. (Uranus and Neptune are there too, but a telescope is needed to see them.) Planets always appear along a line in the sky, so the “alignment” isn’t special. What’s less common is seeing four or five bright planets at once, which doesn’t happen every year. Is it a “planet parade”? This isn’t a technical term in astronomy, so call it what you wish!”

So, we kept looking and rationalizing what our eyes were seeing. By the time the rest of our gang showed up, I’m reasonably sure that Dan and Betsy had spotted Venus, Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars.

With creaky necks and weary eyes, we piled back into the car. A shrimp dinner and another round of Marian’s charades await us.

The shrimp were delicious, and the charades always bring some surprises and laughter.

Before turning in, we talked briefly about an outing to explore Pigeon Key on Sunday morning, and a sneak peak at Key West for Monday.

What a difference the return of the sun made. Its light certainly casts us into many different directions.

And in those directions, I’m thankful for the caring light found in our dear college friends, the solitude of an early morning run, the people skills at The Stuffed Pig, any iguana that didn’t clunk my head, sunsets and aligned planets, shrimp catchers and shrimp cooks, and the heartfelt laughter in a game of charades.

Good night.

Day Five Marathon Key Friday, January 24, 2025: Crane Point Hammock

On Friday, January 24, 2025, more gray skies, cool temperatures, and a brisk wind greeted me.

This morning, I opted not to use a lure for fishing. Instead for bait, shrimp was my choice combined with a fish finder rig.

In the same spot, I cast in lots of directions. I let the rig land gently on the bottom. I waited patiently for a tug on the line. Despite having fresh bait, the fish were not interested in the shrimp.

I kept fishing until my line was cut. Not sure who did the cutting— maybe a quiet crab or a sharp rock, but the rig did not return to the surface. With that, I secured my line, and made the breezy walk back to the condo.

After breakfast today, we would take the short ride to Crane Point Hammock. Crane Point features a museum, nature trails, and two unique houses.

When we entered the museum, an employee gave us a general overview of the grounds and how to maneuver ourselves to the trails and the two homes on the property. This overview also included a short video orientation.

In the Keys, a hammock is a tropical woodland. Along the trails, we developed an appreciation for the unique hardwoods and native plants.

For example, the beautiful thatch palm only grows here, nowhere else in America. Additionally, the staff and volunteers have installed signage for identifying these distinctive species.

Thatch Palm (Photo Bill Pike)

Back in 1949, a couple from Massachusetts, Francis and Mary Crane purchased this land. The Cranes had a causeway built to Big Rachel Key. Lots of mosquitoes and thick underbrush did not stop them from building a beautiful home here. Today, the home is available for hosting all types of social events.

One of the views from the Crane house (Photo Bill Pike)

From the Crane’s house, we made the walk to the Adderly House. George and Olivia Adderly were from the Bahamas. In the late 1890s, they came to the Keys.

Eventually, they built their Bahamian style, tabby constructed home and lived here for many years. This house is the oldest in the Keys outside of Key West.

The Adderlys sustained themselves by harvesting sponges and making charcoal from the exotic tropical hardwoods found in the hammock. George used his sailboat for transportation to sell his goods in Key West.

After the passing of his wife in 1948, George sold the property to the Crane family in 1949.

We enjoyed exploring Crane Point. The paths/trails are well maintained and wide.

Additionally, there is the opportunity to trek off the main trails and to explore deeper into the hammock. Butch, Dan, and I did this. We came upon a section of the hammock that explained how the mangrove species adapt to the salty and soaked environment.

Battered mangroves (Photo Bill Pike)

From Crane Point Hammock, we made the short drive to Herbie’s Bar and Chowder House for lunch. This popular spot was packed, but the experienced staff was able to seat us. Herbie’s existence dates back to the 1940s. The restaurant was also featured on Guy Fieri’s Dinners, Drive-ins, and Dives.

From Herbie’s, we stopped at Savannah’s for ice cream.

After the ice cream, we drove to the Marathon Air Museum. This small museum has quite a bit of local aviation history. In truth, I think we made the day for the two docents when we came into the museum.

Both men were passionate about the airplanes and the artifacts. Most impressive was the docent who was in his nineties. This aviation enthusiast is still flying his priceless Piper Cub. Outside on the tarmac was a vintage twin engine passenger plane from World War II.

Look at those propellers! (Photo Dan Callow)

We thanked our docents, piled into the car, and drove back to Tranquility Bay.

At some point that afternoon, some of us took a walk toward Seven Mile Bridge.

That night after dinner, we watched the movie You Gotta Believe. This baseball themed film is about a little league baseball team and their coach who is battling cancer.

After the movie, we headed toward our rooms for rest. We were cautiously optimistic that on Saturday morning the sun would wake us up.

Today, we had another good day of exploring. I’m always curious about the passionate vision of an individual or group of individuals who can see and understand the importance of protecting a piece of land. Our exploring at Crane Point Hammock earlier today was an example of that vision.

By 1978, a group of concerned citizens had formed The Florida Keys Land and Sea Trust. This nonprofit focuses on the “preservation, conservation and the restoration of rare and endangered areas of the Florida Keys.”

In 1989, the Trust purchased Crane Point Hammock saving it from being developed into private homes and another shopping center.

I’m thankful for the passion and vision of the Florida Keys Land and Sea Trust.

And I “gotta believe” that the sun will greet us on Saturday morning.

Day Three Marathon Key Wednesday, January 22, 2025: flexibility

I was up early on Wednesday morning.

Downstairs at the dining room table, my usual routine took place.

I skim the Bible verse of the day from Bible Gateway. My prayer script/prayer lists traveled with me as did the Upper Room.

I honestly don’t know if my prayers make a difference. Some days, I ask myself—why do you keep this regimen?

My answer is my old heart. Its softness will not let me cease this daily ritual.

Besides someone must keep poking at God before this rotten old world wears us out. I hope, and yes, I pray we wake up.

Slowly, the house wakes. Butch and Dan are early risers, but not as early as me.

That quietness in the early morning is like my comfort zone. I cherish those minutes.

This morning, the landscape is gray at Tranquility Bay on Marathon Key, Florida.

Much cooler air is in place. Gray clouds block the sun. Blustery winds ripple through the palm trees.

Dressed in shorts and layers above my waist, I make sure I have everything I need to make the short stroll to the sandy path that leads to a boardwalk.

At the edge of the boardwalk is a small cove. The cove is fed by a restless channel with water from the Gulf of Mexico.


This conduit is not wide and probably not very deep. Yet, I’m hoping the rip it creates might send fish into the cove

In prepping to leave Richmond, I thought I had packed three small fishing rods in my new carrying case. In the hectic atmosphere of packing, I brought three reels, but with my moony mind I only packed two rods.

This morning, the lure I was casting worked well. Sometimes, the wind caught the lure and carried it further into the cove. Fortunately, my casts were accurate, and the lure skimmed across the water.

On a point across the channel, I noticed what appeared to be a night heron. This bird had been keeping a watchful eye on me.

Can you spot the heron? (Photo Bill Pike)

The heron’s posture reminded me of commuters standing on the subzero shoulders of a Chicago street corner. The bird’s hunched stance aligned it with the uncomfortable commuters on this unseasonably cool Florida morning.

Overhead, pelicans glided with the stiff wind, and a couple of seagulls teased my lure by diving down for a closer look.

While I enjoyed my hopeful casting, no fish was foolish enough to chase the lure on this chilly morning.

As I walked back to the condo, I hoped Butch would fix a pot of his rib sticking oatmeal. He did, and the winter intrusion I felt while fishing was melted by the hearty oatmeal.

While eating breakfast, we noted some activity out on the lawn. Turns out a photo shoot was taking place on the grounds today. Models were wearing summer clothing to promote a fashion line. It was interesting to note all of the preparation taking place behind the camera to capture just the right photo.

After breakfast, Butch and Marian took the short walk to a store on our side of U.S. 1 named Mr. Beans Books and Beans. It is a bookstore and coffee shop. They browsed around and asked the owner about local restaurant recommendations. He told them about Burdines.

As lunch time approached, we piled in the car and made the short drive to Burdines. In this industrial looking section of Marathon, we found a place to park.

At the top of the stairs, we entered Burdines to find a nice, but open to the elements restaurant. The breeze whipping into the seating area was too cool for our aging bodies who were looking for warm Florida weather, so we departed.

Back in the car, in the same neighborhood, we found another tucked away restaurant, Castaway Water Front Restaurant and Sushi Bar. The good news was the main sitting area was inside, protected from the unfriendly chilly wind and gray clouds.

We hustled in where we were greeted by a friendly staff. With our lunches ordered, we admired the cluttered, but interesting interior. Additionally, we learned that on warm days manatees show up in the waters just off the dock of Castaway.

After lunch, we did a bit more exploring, and then we drove back to Tranquil Harbor.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet. Yet some comparative chatter did surface about the three restaurants where we had eaten. Our comments noted what worked and didn’t work in each unique setting.

Gradually, the afternoon slipped away. Before we knew it, we needed to figure out dinner. Once again the winter like feel in Marathon pushed us to order pizza. An order was placed at Driftwood Pizza.

Though it took Butch and me a second call to our braintrust to verify the location, we were not disappointed in the pizzas.

Toward the end of dinner, we were given in depth insights about the need for airplanes to be de-iced in harsh winter weather. Our resident private pilot, Dan, knew the technology and science behind how important it is to keep airplane wings ice free. The ingenuity of how engineers design these safety systems varies in each airplane, but getting this snapshot was fascinating.

Since we are all older, health is another topic that surfaces into our conversations. Again, we learn from each other’s experiences in coping with the ups and downs of aging.

Before drifting off into sleep, we reviewed the weather forecast. Not until Saturday would the sun fully return, so we worked on a plan for the next two days.

Unwilling to let the weather hinder us, we made alternative suggestions to counter the weathers gods for Thursday and Friday.

In our over fifty years of friendship, I’ve developed an appreciation for how we ponder and respond to the inconveniences of life. I’m reminded of Dan’s important aviation wisdom for emergency situations—aviate, navigate, and communicate.

Figuring out a plan for Thursday and Friday, required us to aviate—keep flying the plane, or in this case keep the focus on our trip—keep it moving.

For the pilot, navigate means know your location. The same applies to us in planning. We need to know the options that will be available for us in the Florida Keys.

And with communicate, the pilot talks with the people who are monitoring his flying. Knowing our local options for tourists helps us to communicate what will best meet our needs and get us moving in this non-typical Florida weather.

Of course, in this planning for two days of sightseeing, it helps to be flexible.

I like this quote from former Xerox CEO, Anne M. Mulcahy: “Even under the most difficult circumstances you can have creative flexibility.”

Granted our inclement Florida Keys weather wasn’t a trip ender, but this nuisance did require us to assert our “creative flexibility” and we did.

God’s nerves, ice melt, missing wake up calls

I don’t know about where you live, but in Richmond, Virginia, winter has returned.

The last couple of years, winter was tame— not this year.

We’ve been hit by two lightweight snowstorms.

The first one started as snow. At some point during the night, the precipitation changed to sleet, and it ended with the dreaded freezing rain.

A few days later, the second storm hit. It was a light, fluffy snow. Maybe three inches covered the ground.

Cold temperatures have been a part of these storms. With night time lows in the teens and a couple of days where the thermometer barely went over the freezing mark.

We still have a fair amount of snow on the ground. Old timers called that hanging around snow—seed snow. Meaning it was hanging around for more snow to fall.

When he was growing up, our son, Andrew, a real lover of snow, despised these quick hitting Southern snowstorms. Andrew wanted to be in Buffalo or some other northern city where the snowstorms weren’t wimpy. He wanted accumulations in feet not puny inches.

Growing up in the heart of North Carolina, in the winter, I prayed for snow. Sometimes, that praying worked.

Today, I’m too old for snow.

My fear is making the wrong slippery snow step resulting in an ungraceful fall, and maybe a cracked noggin.

I also struggle with the weather forecasting.


Television stations seem to employee dozens of meteorologists who yak and yak and yak about the pending winter storm. I think all that mindless chatter is probably a conspiracy of some sort with grocery stores in cahoots with bread and milk suppliers.

Local forecasters are trying to stir up another tiny snow maker for the Richmond area this weekend. I’m more concerned about the Arctic air that will blast us after the moisture passes.

For the Richmond area, we have a couple of days where the high temperature will be 23 with a night time low of 7. Clearly, not weather for shorts and a t-shirt.

This afternoon, Thursday, January 16, I sensed that God might be getting nervous about this developing snowstorm. That nervousness pushed me to our neighborhood hardware store.
Once there, I purchased five fifty pound bags of ice melt for our church. You know God likes churches to be open on Sundays no matter the winter forecast.

In all honesty, I can’t let go of the predicted bitterly cold temperatures.

I can only imagine what that frigid blast might be like for a homeless person.

Maybe that homeless person hangs on to these words from Joshua Chapter 1 verse 9: “I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

I question how that scripture applies to people ravaged by Hurricane Helene, the wildfires in Los Angeles, the war between Ukraine and Russia, and the cease fire between Israel and Palestine.

Sadly for Americans, that scripture must apply to our addiction for solving our individual conflicts with another person by senselessly shooting and murdering that person.

As God looks down upon us, I wonder how weary he is with all this turmoil. I’m curious if he follows the advice in the Bible where we are told not to worry?

I sense what worries God more than anything else is that we keep missing his wake up calls.

Myself included, we seem oblivious to the challenges we face and unwilling to make the needed sacrifices to solve our problems.

Why are we unwilling to confront gun violence?

Why do we have a housing crisis?

Why are people homeless?

Why can’t we build wiser to prevent potential destruction from hurricanes and wildfires?

Why can’t we prevent cancer from returning to a person who has beaten this scourge once?

Every week, our church collects food for three local food pantries—why do we do this?

Where has our moral compass gone?

After a national tragedy occurs, we briefly grieve and reflect. Fingers of blame are pointed. Politicians babble and promise changes. Within a few days, we are ready for normal to return, and we attempt to resume our lives.

In all honesty, normal never returns to the people impacted by any catastrophic tragedy. The hurt in their hearts never ever leaves.

And then at some point, the next speck of catastrophic neglect appears in our rearview mirror. We are blindsided, overtaken, and the whole vicious tragic cycle starts again.

I love the music created by the Asheville, North Carolina based Americana band the Steep Canyon Rangers. These musicians are thoughtful songwriters, masterful pickers, and singers with a gift for flawless harmonies. Do not turn down a chance to see the Rangers performing in concert.

In September of 2023, the band released the album Morning Shift. Four lines from that title song make me ponder my day to day living:

“When I wake up this morning to when I lay down tonight, I want to know that I’ve done something, I’ve done something right.”

I wonder how many days I have where I can confirm that “I’ve done something right?”

As he looks down upon us, does God think about his opportunities to do something right?

On those days when the world goes right for God, might he worry less about us— is he less nervous about our future?

Maybe that is a question for our hearts, and a reminder from James 1, verses 2-3: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.”

In this mean old world, the trials of life never stop, not even for God.

And, I’m sorry, but there is no joy in the trials of life.

Yet, somehow, we must persevere.

It is through that perseverance, that we have the chance to do something right.

And God knows this weary, old world needs us to do something right.

I hope I can.

Nervous ice melt (Photo Bill Pike)