As far as I can tell, none of the trophies were assassinated in the Keys, although there might be a key deer somewhere in the mix that I missed.
The bartender told me that their biggest attraction ever was the full-body mount of a bloated German tourist named Hans in full sneer mode, but local Chamber of Commerce types (which do actually exist in the Keys) prevailed upon them several years ago to remove it as a matter of taste (by “taste,” of course, they meant “revenue”).
When we visited in February 2015, there were zero restrictions on smoking, so the place was a throwback to those dingy, fog-filled airless rooms where coughing decrepit drinkers hover over reeking, overflowing ashtrays that I remember fondly from my childhood. That’s changed. You want to smoke, you sit outside. Ah well.
With friends, we visited last week in the late afternoon, the sun still strong enough to mitigate against the chilly winter breezes that coursed through the bar, open on all sides. The water was gorgeous, as usual, birds diving and feeding, a work of art from every angle replenished after every eye-blink.
We drank a few Yuenglings, had a few laughs, and wistfully bid adieu. We love the Keys so much. You don’t like ’em, try Disney World. Plenty of (live) German tourists in Orlando.