Daddy Longlegs

Springtime in the Ten Thousand Islands has always been full of adventure. The beaches are busy, the restaurants are bursting, and a tangible excitement is in the air that seems to beckon and whisper. The message in the whisper might be a suggestion to search and travel, or it might be an unexpected encounter with a surprising discovery.

One day after Easter had passed and the snowbirds were on the wing and flying home, two of the Marco Beach Boys decided it was time to discover the Florida backyard and the water in the Gulf that was becoming as clear as a swimming pool.

After a busy tourist season and even busier spring break, a road trip was soon underway for an adventure in Key West. The dive shops began to appear as soon as the Ten Thousand Islands were in the rearview mirror, and with the islands of the Florida Keys reaching out and curving toward sunset, the perfection of manicured everything began to relax into a bohemian lifestyle that has always been sun-blasted and salty.

When the Marco Beach Boys first saw the scalloper, he was asleep. He was not wearing a shirt, was barefoot and head-down, snoring, and all alone at his table at Sloppy Joes in Key West. The band was playing, the drinks were flowing, and two of the bouncers in the bar were in the process of removing a young lady from the dance floor because the area in front of the band designated for dancing was clearly not big enough for her.

The Marco Beach Boys eventually sat down at the scalloper’s table because he was asleep, and no other tables or chairs were available. Everyone gave the newcomers a wary eye as if they knew a secret about the half-naked man with the wild hair and beard who was clearly under the influence at the only empty table. 

When the scalloper suddenly woke up with a snort and a startle, the Beach Boys were having grouper and fries. With only a glance at the two beach boys, the scalloper began to reach over and share the food.

“They call me Daddy Longlegs,” he began to explain while munching on some fries. “I’m a scalloper. I’m tied up down at the dock. My crew run off. My boat payments are over $10,000 a month. You boys know anything about scalloping for a living?”

Daddy Longlegs’ was now apparently fully functional. After the food in the fish basket was only crumbs, the scalloper rose from his seat and began to beckon. “Come on, boys, let me show you my boat.” He winked, “I’ve got a couple of cases of beer on ice and some Cuban rum that no lawmen don’t need to know nothing about.”

With only a glance from a passing waitress who was looking worried, the Marco Beach Boys were following Daddy Longlegs out of the bar and into the hot and muggy Key West night.

The waitress, who was gawking, was conveying several unspoken messages at once—she was obviously pleased the Wildman was leaving her bar; she was concerned about the safety of the naive young men and the disappearance of the fishing captain’s companions who were at the Wildman’s table earlier. At a parting glance, she also seemed to consider telling her story to the police if someone or everyone went missing.

Meanwhile, a section of docks began to appear under a barrage of bright waterfront lighting. With the crystal-clear water under the lights, all of the commercial trawlers were appearing to float in the air. The only betrayal to the illusion was the beer bottles resting on the sandy bottom that was visible between the boats.

After the scalloper started out along a rickety boardwalk, the identity of his boat soon became obvious. An old steel hull was rising out of the water with the rising spars and hauling machinery of a scallop dredge. Rust was bleeding from the old boat between the white paint that was peeling, and as a testament to the name of the man and his boat; the spidery name of Daddy Longlegs was splash of artwork painted across the stern.

With the bright lights of the waterfront illuminating all of the nearby boats, any trepidation from the Beach Boys quickly vanished as everyone boarded the aging steel hulk. After the pilothouse was open and the warm glow of the interior cabin lighting chased away any sinister shadows, the scalloper opened long-neck beers and began to tell his tale.

“They call me Daddy Longlegs because I scallop in the deepest water possible. The legs of my dredge and chains go deep and long. Harvesting is trickier in deeper water, but the scallops are bigger, and the archaeology I recover with the dredge is far better.”

The beach boys were suddenly amazed. Daddy Longlegs double negative speech and rough neck behavior at the bar was suddenly missing. The interior of the trawler was immaculate with polished teak furniture, cabin decking, and a backlit chart table fit for a nuclear submarine.

With the Beach Boys fascinated, Daddy Longlegs was proud to show his impressive collection of prehistoric mastodon teeth he had collected from the gulf and Atlantic seafloor. Also, present in his polished display cases were cannon balls, a kerosene binnacle from an old sailing ship, and enough ancient bottles to cover a sideboard in the luxurious cabin of the Daddy Longlegs.

The old scalloper might have been deeply under the influence in the bar in Key West, and perhaps on the surface he was an old seadog of which to beware, but at the end of the day, in a Florida backyard, anything is truly possible.

Tom Williams is a Marco Islander and the author of two books: “Lost and Found” and “Surrounded by Thunder—the Story of Darrell Loan and the Rocket Men.” Both books are available on Kindle and Nook.