Rick Lancaster was a great stepdad even though he and my mom never married. We were all close family. On the weekends we would hang out and watch the race together or would be cheering against each other, him for the Seminoles and me for the Gators.
We would all gather in the kitchen, frying up them good ole scorpion fish. It seems like Rick and I would always be the last two at the table. I would tell him, “I think I’ll have one more piece,” and he would say, “I’ll join you.” He had a saying that this is called “sport eating.”
When my boys were small, mom would call and ask me to meet her under the bridge because Rick was coming in.
Rick would get a kick out of Trent and Jacob screaming and waving as he came past us up the canal. Rick would blow the horn.
Momma would tell us stories about Granny Wood waiting for my Paw to come home off the boat and she would say, “I’m ready for Captain Rick to come home.”
Winter time would be coming and I would say, “Ya’ll don’t need to go to South Florida mullet fishing after capsizing the boat one year, and then the next year Rick losing his kidneys.”
But guess what? They went anyways.
Fishing was Rick’s life, not a job, that’s who he was. Well known all the way to Louisiana, folks may not have met him, they knew Captain Rick Lancaster as one of the best, if not the best Captain for finding Butterfish.
I will always take time out and remember Rick during sunsets. He would tell me, “red skies at night, sailors delight, red skies in the morning, sailors take warning.”
We will always love and miss you, Captain Rick.
Casey Trickey Hayes