The Houghs: The Continuing Adventures of the S.S. 100 Proof and Its Crew of Scalliwags

Ahoy, readers...

As I may or may not have already pointed out already that I'm not all that much of a 'sportsman,' it should come to no surprise that I'm never been referred to as 'one hell of a fisherman.' Not once, guys. And to be honest, I've never had a problem with this. I really don't care for fishing, and whenever someone talks about fishing, I just mentally tune out. It bores me.

Fish smell bad, and the whole affair just sounds out-right boring.

This is what I envisioned 'deep sea fishing' to be like. I was kinda right.

Well, despite all this, I was invited for a bout of deep sea fishing with my bro-in-law, Brian, and my dad during their annual vacation down here to America's wang. I figured, at the time, that I'd do a lot more cooler diving than fishing, and that would've been enough for me, honestly. I love being on boats - I feel like a pirate.

Anyway, we had initially planned on driving out to the Atlantic Ocean the morning of Mother's Day (I know, I know - we're classy guys). We'd have to get up early in order to make the hour and a half drive and reach our charter boat by the 7am launch time. Unfortunately, the night before we set out for the sea, a bad storm swept through to the north, creating horrible sea conditions out east - four foot squalls, high winds, and overall terrible fishing conditions.

The captain called us and said he wouldn't recommend going out. We were devastated.

Then we decided to take matters into our own hands. If the seas were bad to the East, what about the West? We grabbed our laptops and quickly began searching up charter fishing boats on the Gulf side, out of the Tampa area. Lo and behold, there was one man whose reasonably-priced vessel made berth out of Clearwater, and they were willing to take us on at 7am the next morning:

Captain Billy Burke of the S.S. 100 Proof.

Fish funds.

So, with rapid-fire precision, we proceeded to withdraw funds for the venture (Capn' Billy Burke only took cash, folks), iron out the remaining details, and retire for the evening.

I was pretty anxious to get going, and so obviously my body decided to pull one of those waking-up-every-ten-minutes starting around one o'clock in the frickin' morning and lasting up until the 4am alarm went off. I drove back over to Dad's condo and, as I aimlessly drove around looking for a parking spot, Dad, Brian and Blake loaded up the rental van.

Not as tasty as it looks, folks.

By 5:15am we were on the road, and after a faster-than-expected drive out to the Gulf, we hit up a questionable 7-11 for our morning breakfast of microwaved egg sandwiches, coffee, bananas, and energy drinks.

My gut was not happy.

The docks.

By 6:30am, we had made it to the docks, and we soon came across the 100 Proof and its captain. Ol' salty Billy Burke looked like an old baseball glove that had been left in the sun to rot for the past thirty years. He was about as social, too. Within 10 minutes - at the very most (Capn' Billy Burke didn't play around, folks) - we had cast off our ropes and set off for the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

Behold our saga:

Leaving the marina. . .

It was supposed to be overcast all morning, which was - so I'm told - good for fishing. . .

Capt. Bill's deckhand, Mike, actually did all the fish-related work while we were out on the water. . .

Dad preps his camera in the cabin

Fish talk with Blake

The cabin

The lavatory to the right, the bulkhead at the top

More of the cabin

Trolling out of Clearwater

Hitting the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico. . .

Ready for action.

It took about a half hour to reach the spot where we'd start fishing

Dad, mid-fight

Landing a King Mackerel

More King Mackerel fall to superior predators

Blake wages war with the sea. . .

Blake would have caught the biggest fish of the day, but a shark had a different idea in mind (watch the video below):

Mike spears a Bonita before bashing its head with the lid of the ice chest. Never got tired of watching that.

Master fisherman.

Master fisherman

After two hours of fishing, my body was done with standing. With only two hours of sleep in my system, it was time for a half-hour nap.

Blake had the same idea.

Hanging out in the cabin on the way back in to Clearwater.

After two and a half hours, the fish stopped biting and we began the long voyage back towards the marina.

LAND, HO!!!

Be prepared.

Clearwater Bay

Mike the Conversationalist

Camera duelin'

The Marina

Coming ashore. . .

Capn' Billy Burke sprays off the dock

Spoils of war

Blake with the Trophy Fish (the largest fish, a Bonita, caught on our charter - not sure who caught it, though)

Icing the fish

Dad and the Trophy Fish

Yours Truly and the Trophy Fish

Trophy Fish!

What's left of Blake's first catch of the day. . .

Snacks.

Brian, Blake, and more dead fish. . .

More Trophy Fish

Haul of the Day

Filleting up the Spoils

The Mooch

Salty ol' Capn' Billy Burke. Jolly as always.

Bagging up the fillets

Fate of the Fish

After we paid the Captain and Mike, we loaded the van and headed back towards Orlando. I, once again, caught some shut eye so I didn't pass out on my feet, and when we got back to the condo, we grilled up those poor, unfortunate fish that had met their fate at our hands: