Deciding on a single favorite “down the shore” memory to write about for this issue was no easy task since so many of my life’s important memories took place there.
But I think I landed on just the thing, since I can definitely pinpoint the exact experience that led to my life-long love of the shore, and the thing that’s drawn me back ever since.
I can’t say exactly when it was, but I can place it at about 40 years ago, somewhere between the summers of 1984 and 1985, when I was eight or nine years old.
I can say for certain where it happened. It was in the Atlantic Ocean, drifting somewhere completely out of the sight of land.
We had left out of Sea Isle City on the Starfish party boat.
My father and I had gone out with them during the day for a bottom fishing trip, likely targeting sea bass or maybe fluke. It was fun to be sure, but nothing new. I’d been out on lots of head boats before, an old pro already, even at that young age.
But I guess my dad thought it was time to take things to another level. He knew the Starfish went out on night fishing trips and he asked me if I wanted to give it a try.
Back-to-back fishing trips? In the same day? Getting to stay out until 3-4 in the morning? He had no idea what kind of monster he was about to create.
Back in the 80s, night fishing meant bluefish – big blues, monster blues, gator blues. The boats fishing for them billed them as the toughest pound-for-pound fighting fish in the Atlantic, and they weren’t kidding.
At that time, the bluefish being caught up and down the east coast could easily exceed three feet in length and weighed in the 15 to 20 pound range. And there were a lot of them.
When we were deciding whether to go or not, there was a lot of questioning in the “are you sure you’re ready for this” kind of vein. Anticipation, and maybe a little fear, escalated. What had I gotten myself into?
The feeling I had while heading out to hunt for these monsters as the sun was setting on a warm summer night was something I could never forget. It sounds cliche, but it was electric – total sensory overload.
I can still hear the sounds of those engines firing up below our feet as it was time to shove off and the cackle from the gulls swarming at the boat’s stern, trying to steal scraps as the night’s bait was being cut. I can feel, as I write this, the warm breeze as we traveled slowly through the back bay on our way out to the ocean, and the spray coming over the bow, as we picked up speed once we got there. The smell of diesel exhaust mixed with the strong fishy scent of fresh mackerel still fills my nose.
I can still see the big blue plastic drum filled with the fish gut soup that would soon be ladled as chum over the side to incite our prey’s coming feeding frenzy. Once I learned its purpose, I feared (or maybe hoped) I’d soon see Chief Brody backing through the boat’s doorway, cigarette dangling from his mouth, advising that a larger vessel was required.
The scenery we saw on that trip, and those that followed, was life-altering. Floating in a black void, pierced by an occasional shooting star. The ring of light surrounding the boat, illuminating the ocean immediately around us and the varied species of creatures that happen past. Dolphins made frequent appearances, as did occasional sea turtles, large sharks and rays, huge schools of swimming squid and sometimes flying fish.
But of course the main draw on these trips was the fishing itself.
When one of those monster blues grabbed hold of your bait, you knew it.
There was no “I wonder if that was a hit” kind of nonsense you might get while dragging the bottom for flounder.
These fish hit hard and they hit fast. The fight that ensued when you hooked one was exhilarating to say the least.
When you heard “fish on!” it was game on.
On an even moderately-full party boat, navigating around the other patrons with a blue on the end of your line presented a challenge. When it was done well, it could resemble a well-choreographed dance. If your fish ran parallel to the side of the boat you had to chase it from stern to bow, and sometimes back again, dipping under one fisherman, then swinging your line over the next.
Sometimes, if he was a smart, big fish, he’d go under, he’d go under the boat!
But if all went well, you’d have successfully avoided all the other lines around you and you’d soon see that silvery, blue-green flash near the water’s surface.
No nets for these toothy beasts. You try a net with a gator blue and by the time he’s done with it, it looks like a kiddie’s scissor class cut it up for a paper doll. Or at very least your line and net would become fused as one giant tangled mess due to all the violent thrashing.
“Gaff! Get the gaff!”
Upon being summoned, the mate would magically appear at your side and expertly snag the massive fish in one swift movement, hooking it, hoisting it over the rail and onto the deck floor.
For a first time out on that initial Starfish trip, we couldn’t have asked for a better night.
I must have fought and landed a dozen of those yellow-eyed behemoths. I think everyone was shocked at my beginner’s luck success, including me.
I can remember the boat’s crew paying me special attention and helping immensely. I was given a tour of the pilot house and the captain himself showed me how to prepare the bait, loading several pieces of fish on the large hook.
“Big baits, big fish,” I remember him saying.
My father’s role that night was pretty much just getting to act as my personal mate – my bluefishing caddy if you’d like. I’d bring in a catch on my rod and hand it off to him to take off the fish, re-bait the hook, or sometimes tie on a new one. He’d hand me his rod, which was already rigged, baited and ready to go. Often I’d be catching another monster on his set-up before he could even finish cleaning up my mess from the fish before.
That taught me a lot about the selflessness it takes to be a dad.
But then I learned a lot of lessons during those night fishing trips with my dad on the Starfish, and later the Royal Flush out of Wildwood – things I’ll never forget.
I learned bluefish have very sharp teeth and that they can live for quite a while out of water.
I learned that lesson from a fellow fisherman who nearly lost a finger while trying to fetch a cold beer out of a cooler that also held his catch. One of those not-yet-dead gator blues chomped down to the bone through layers of burlap and a plastic trash bag. I can still picture the blood running down that guy’s hand.
I also learned that it’s probably not a great idea to party too hard while out on a party boat, and if you do, you should probably either call it a night on the fishing, or at least try to make it a priority to hold firmly to your fishing rod at all times. Oh, and, no matter what, you really should stay on the boat.
I learned all of those lessons at one time when a few spots down the rail from us one night there was a fellow fisherman who appeared to have had a few too many adult beverages. He was practically asleep on his feet when something big grabbed hold of his hook and yanked his whole rig right out of his hands and into the dark sea. That woke him up though, as his next moves were to jump up onto the rail and pull a knife from a sheath on his belt. As he dove into the salty brine below he yelled out “my rod!” In my mind I can picture him placing the blade between his teeth before he jumped in, like some kind of pirate, but I could be making that part up.
The rod was never recovered, but fortunately he was. The quick-acting crew managed to fish the drunk out of the drink without further incident or loss of life or limb. The authorities were, however, waiting to have a chat with him when we got back to the dock.
In retrospect, perhaps the biggest lesson I learned from those trips was to enjoy the present moment as much as you can, because you never know when they’ll come to an end.
Over the years the frequency of those fishing trips with my father dwindled. Nothing bad, no tragedy, no drama – circumstances just change sometimes.
So too, it seems, do fishing trends.
Those monster bluefish aren’t around these days the way they were back then.
For some perspective on all this I checked in with the Starfish’s owner, Captain Bob Rush.
He said the Starfish name has been an institution in Sea Isle since the 1950s.
Rush purchased the boat in 1988, which would have been not long after my first trip aboard her. I’m sure subsequent outings for my dad and I were taken on under Rush’s stewardship of the Starfish in later years.
Rush said there have been a number of different versions of the “Starfish” fishing boats over the years, and a while back, they added the Miss Sea Isle to their dock, which they use for pleasure cruises, and even a summer camp. More recently, in 2020 they added a fleet of tiki boats that take groups of up to six out in the back bays.
Rush said he remembers those big bluefish well. He said their heyday ended about 30 years ago, but he’s still hopeful they’re not gone forever.
“Everything runs in cycles,” Rush said. “If you talk with the old-timers, back in the 60s, those fish weren’t even here. Then all of a sudden they popped up and were big in the 70s and the 80s, and then it fizzled out in the mid 90s. Now we’re hoping it comes back around again.”
Right now, the Starfish is fishing for a mixed bag of flounder, weakfish, croakers and sea bass.
A recent trip, highlighted on their social media accounts, featured special guest Isiah Pacheco, running back for the Kansas City Chiefs.
Pacheco grew up in South Jersey and attended Vineland High School, where Rush has taught for 20 years, and had Pacheco, who he affectionately referred to as “Pop,” in his class.
Rush said it was nice seeing his old student out on the boat for a trip this year.
Last summer, my family and I were fortunate enough to spend two weeks down the shore at a friend’s camp ground, just outside of Sea Isle.
We decided we’d take the whole family on a party boat trip, so of course it seemed fitting that we’d go out on the Starfish, taking my own kids out 40 years after I first did.
They aren’t getting those big blues anymore, but they still do go out for night trips one night a week. So in order for the kids to experience a night voyage on the ocean, and for me to avoid the heat of the day, we decided we’d go out on one of their Wednesday night five-hour trips.
My youngest, who is about the same age I was 40 years ago, wasn’t quite as eager to go out as I was back then.
In case you didn’t catch the references above, I’m just a tad obsessed with “Jaws” and Father of the Year candidate that I am over here, I maybe, kinda, sorta tried to share my enthusiasm for that particular film with him just a tad too soon.
He also had recently developed an obsession with the movie “Titanic.” That one was not my doing.
So between killer sharks and looming icebergs, the kid was nervous. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go out at all, let alone at night.
We tried and tried to assure him he had nothing to worry about. No matter what we said though, he just wasn’t having it.
We didn’t want him to miss out on this opportunity at creating his own life-long memories, so we decided as a last-ditch effort to ease his mind that we’d take him over to Sea Isle to see the Starfish. Maybe if he saw the size of the boat he’d feel more comfortable and agree to give it a try.
The boat was at the dock and we got out to take a look.
As luck would have it there was a young lady there who asked if she could help us.
It turned out to be Captain Bob’s daughter Brittany DeClementi, and she couldn’t have been nicer. We told her the situation and she completely understood. She took our nervous little guy onboard and gave him a personal tour of the whole boat.
She sealed the deal for us. Her kindness and his new-found familiarity with the boat was enough to get him to go.
“I’m glad I could help out with that and that he enjoyed his fishing trip,” DeClementi said when we reached out about writing this piece.
And enjoy it he did. We all did.
There were a few moments when the boat was rocking that a bit of sea sickness began to set in for him, but other than that he had a great time. He caught some fish that we took home and ate the next night. On the way in he had an especially good time as he found some other kids his own age to run around the boat with as we headed in to shore.
We had hoped to go out again this year before writing this, but ironically those plans were thwarted because the only night the Starfish goes out at night is on Wednesdays and he’s been participating in a freshwater fishing league that meets on Wednesday nights. He didn’t want to miss that.
We plan on going out again as a family one night this summer, to work on making some new memories together. But if it turns out fishing, on the ocean or otherwise, isn’t really his thing that’s ok too. We’ll find some other connection to make.
And if it is to be lake fishing for him, at least he won’t have to worry about Great Whites, or icebergs.
One response to “For this Fishy ‘Down the Shore’ Memory, We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Paper”
That was great article. Thank you for including us.
Capt Bob