I stayed at the rail, rental rod in hand, watching for even the slightest bounce as the three-way rig tipped with squid and spearing dragged bottom off Belmar. The Big Marie-S was the head boat of choice that day and the captain’s voice cut through the diesel hum and ocean air, “You gotta fetch ’em to catch ’em…you gotta hook ’em to cook ’em,” no truer words ever spoken.
I must have been 8 or 9 years old, early 80s, and I was exactly where I wanted to be, on a head boat, fishing. But more importantly, I was there with one of my heroes, my grandfather, Sol Torine. His friends called him “Torchy,” but our family called him “Bops.” He and my grandmother lived in Bradley Beach, which provided some of the best memories a kid could ask for. Fishing was always part of our family. We were all in.
There was nothing like the routine: a buttered roll from Pat’s, a stop at Fisherman’s Den, and the smell of diesel engines firing up at the dock. This was the typical routine for my dad, my brother and I;. My brother even worked on the old Sand Shark out of Belmar as a kid. We played sports, we loved sports; I even made a career out of sports. But fishing, I don’t know, fishing is just different. And this trip was certainly different; just me and Bops. I had begged him to go fishing with me on the Big Marie-S.
Now here’s the thing, Bops had his own boats. He loved the ocean. Rode motorcycles, horses, even hot air balloons. He did everything. Except fish. Still, after enough asking, he gave in. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll go in the morning.” We were up early, and before long we heard the words every angler appreciates, “Welcome aboard, guys.” We pushed out of Shark River Inlet, lines dropped, and I was all in. Focused, determined and completely locked into the moment.
Then it happened. “Hey bud,” Bops said, “you want some pretzels?” I mean, come on. Fishing, Bops, and pretzels all by 8 a.m.? It doesn’t get better than that. “Sure,” I said. Bops replied, “Okay, I’ll be right back. Keep fishing.”
Now, I was never the smartest kid in school, but it turns out Bops and I had very different definitions of “right back.” Twenty, maybe 30 minutes passed. He came back to the rail, and it took me a minute to notice, he looked a little different, a little off. But I was focused. Still, I had to ask, “Where are the pretzels?”
“Oh,” he said, “I think they ran out.” And just like that, I went right back to fishing. Bops sat on the bench behind me for the rest of the trip. I don’t remember if we caught anything that day, but I remember everything else. And what I found out years later stopped me in my tracks. There’s an old saying about seasickness – first you think you’re going to die; then you’re afraid you won’t. Bops wasn’t getting pretzels that morning. He was in the bathroom, living that saying out in real time. I didn’t know that until years later, when my dad, Bops’ son, told me the truth. Bops had captained his own boat up and down the East Coast, and never got seasick once. But if he stepped foot on someone else’s boat, he got seasick every time! So, he didn’t go on anyone’s boat, ever. Except that day.
He never said a word. Never made it about him. Never let me know. He just showed up, got sick for the better part of a half day fluke trip, and sat behind me while I fished, and here I was thinking it was all about the pretzels and the catch. That was Bops. Quiet. Humble. Funny in his own way. Married to my grandmother for over 60 years. A man who loved his family deeply and showed it in so many ways. I still think about that trip often; I think about Bops every day. I think about my own family, my boys, who started fishing on an Indiana pond and grew into avid anglers.
My son Spencer started as a camper at Capt. Brian Rice’s Jersey Devil Fishing Camp, and now helps run it. He even wrote his college essay about helping a young kid catch his first fish on the Little Hawk out of the Atlantic Highlands. My younger son, Isaac, same passion, same love for fishing, and like his great-grandfather, seasickness shows up from time to time. And like him, he keeps going, for the love of fishing, family and friendship. My wife? She’s not getting on the boat anytime soon; her seasickness knows no limits! But she’s more than happy to turn a day’s catch into something you’d get from a five-star restaurant.
That’s the thing about fishing, it finds a way to include everyone. It brings families together in ways that don’t need to be explained in the moment. It creates memories that don’t feel significant at the time but become everything later. Fishing doesn’t compete with your schedule. Only if you let it. It’s there, it’s been there, and it will be there. Take your kid fishing. Take your kid’s friends fishing. Because sometimes, you don’t realize what really happened until years later. Sometimes, you don’t know why you never got the pretzels. And then one day, you do.
