During my 80-odd years of fishing, I have known many other fishermen. However, one stands out above all the others – Russ Wilson.

I first met Russ when I went to work for the Fisherman Magazine in 1973. He was also an employee. Like me, he had other wage-earning interests.

Our first fishing trip together was for striped bass on Shrewsbury Rocks. Russ brought his son along. The technique was new to me. As we trolled along, Russ would direct his son and me to crank up or let out line as we passed over upwellings or downslopes on the bottom. All of this while Russ ran the boat, watched the sonar and ran his own rod and reel. 

As luck would have it, Russ hooked the first fish. He continued to run the boat while politely asking us to reel in our lines. Then he instructed me to grab the landing net and get to the stern. So, I am standing in the stern while Russ is reeling in the striper when the fish comes to the surface, shakes his massive head and throws the hook.

At this point, Russ lays a cussin’ on me that turned the air blue. Having four years in the Navy, I had heard much worse and since Russ didn’t have more stripes on his sleeve or bars on his collar, I gave him back more than he gave me. I ended by explaining that since the fish was a good 50 feet behind the boat and since I had not mastered the art of walking on water, I could not net his fish.

The remainder of the day went smoothly. We all caught stripers, and I returned to Delaware with several big ones that I showed off to my fishing friends.

Pete Barrett was our boss at the Fisherman Magazine. He and Russ planned to fish early one morning. Pete was a bit late arriving at the boat, and the boat and Russ were gone. It was Pete’s boat.

Russ set a net at the outflow of Spring Lake to trap herring that he used for live bait. A very dumb man began to dip net Russ’ herring. Russ told him to stop. The man continued. Russ hit the man under his jaw with the end of Russ’ dip net. He knocked the dumb man out and he fell face first into the outgoing tide. Other fishermen pulled the guy out.

Russ and I were flounder fishing somewhere off the Jersey coast. I was catching, Russ was not. He kept saying we have to go down to Spring Lake. I figured it was likely miles away.

Finally, he packed up and so did I. He fired up the motor, we came up on plane and almost that quickly, we arrived at Spring Lake. Sure enough, Russ began catching flounder.

It was a very sad day when we lost Russ to cancer.

When I moved back to Delaware in 2000, my neighbor across the street was a crusty old seaman by the name of George Hanson. George had been a tugboat captain in New York Harbor for more than 40 years and loved the water. He was soon my fishing partner. We caught flounder from my 16-StarCraft and sea bass from my 24-Albamarle.

Another neighbor, Al Key, was retired from IBM. He talked like a fisherman, but I had my doubts.

I invited Al to join George and me on a sea bass trip out to the Old Grounds. Al accepted the invite and off we went on a beautiful day.

As soon as I cut the motor and we began to drift, Al began to have that look. He did drop the rig I set him up with and soon had a fish hooked, but before he could bring it up, he brought up his breakfast and perhaps his dinner and his lunch from the day before. From that point on, Al sat on the engine box while George and I had a great time catching sea bass.

Al didn’t say anything even when George and I took a break from catching fish to have our lunch. I had my usual peanut butter and jelly while George had egg salad. After a couple of bites, George put the egg salad up under Al’s nose and said, “Ya wana’ bite.” Now I would have thought Al’s stomach was empty, but no, it still contained more stuff and George’s egg salad brought it up. I will give Al credit. At no time did he ask to head back to the dock. He just sat on the engine box with that death stare.