10.03.25 Looked great, just no one home...

     Since I bailed on the Vineyard trip I figured I could at least treat myself to a morning of hard core fishing. I was going to find them, or at least one of them. With high tides around 3am I set my alarm for 230 am and was going...well going nowhere because I hit the Off button and woke at 530. 

     I thought it could still be okay because I would then catch the mid-tide ebb and all that bait that would be pouring out. So, The Hook, the Shark River Inlet, or the Manasquan Inlet? I chose the Shark River. Why? Because maybe if the 30-pound bass, okay 30-inch bass weren't there, maybe there was an albie or two on the chew. 

     The surf was big, with rollers and a big ground swell which differed from beach to beach and town to town. I headed down and set up shop in Spring Lake as the distances between the groins are less and the NE wind driven waves got tamed a bit from the rocks. There was also plenty of water in between.

     I'm down to using an old Go PRO Hero 5 Black as my camera. My iPhone 16 + Plus Pro Max, which got hit out of my hard by a passing car in Ireland, is still in the "shop" where they are trying to pull the pictures off it that didn't upload to the Cloud. And the iPhone 0 I'm using has no storage left. My old Cannon G12, which was my favorite no big SLR type camera, has aged out along with getting the shit beat out of it for years. In fact I have four of them sitting on a shelf, all battle tested and proven great. The next point and shoot camera I want to get is a Canon G7x, but since when did point and shoot cameras cost $1,500? 

     With not much happening on the horizon or in castable distances I moved down to the inlet. There were a few guys out near the drawbridge with relatively calm waters inside protected by the north jetty. 

     Outside of the inlet the outgoing tide had slowed down so it wasn't as wind vs tide as when I first got there before sunup. There were no birds out picking and no predator fish in sight. There was one cormorant swimming around inside but it repeatedly came up empty.  

     I then thought the pocket on the north side might be good. Protected from the NE wind but still plenty of water to hold a fish, even it was an out-of-season fluke that was still sticking around. 

And let me tell you, they should be there, because I could feel the heat from the waves as they broke at my feet. And for seeing any bait? Most of it is still probably in the back of the bays and rivers waiting to come out. Why would you leave the comfort of a warm and tolerable bay and river? So, it may not be this moon, October 6th, but maybe the next if fall ever arrives and the air and waters cool down. This Indian summer is great and all but I'm sweating to death and my 100 pounds of tall fescue seed that I laid down after thatching, collecting, and aerating is either dried up, picked up by the birds, or has blown away. 

     So the NE winds and rough surf will be around for a few days. Somewhere the fishing is good, probably around the Long Island, Block Island and Connecticut triangle. The rougher weather has hit Martha's Vineyard as well.

     While I have heard of good bonito catches on the Island for The Derby albies have been scarce, as well as the bluefish. Of course, I'm talking shore based anglers and of course the fly rodders. It seems Nantucket is having the lion's share of the fish in and around that island. Albies at Montauk this fall? Guide Peter Douma said this was his best September ever. My buddy Paul Eidman was out and about last week before the blow looking from Sandy Hook to Breezy to out a bit and found nothing up and active. As far as the bass, I'm sure the secretive graveyard shift guys are getting them in the rivers, and of course the boat eel crew is getting them in and in-between the channels and up into the New York Bays. 

     Before I left I took advantage of the shade to check on my truck lights, all good for now. I can't believe I fixed it. I'm not mechanical, nor electrical. The lights were the camel that broke my Martha's Vineyard trip's back, maybe in the end it was okay. 

     My host Abe said he's now deep in the zone working tirelessly on commissioned art pieces. The last thing he needs is an annoying Jersey guy tugging at his shirt to go fishing, especially when it really isn't that good. If you've never seen an Abe Pieciak piece I tell you you should. 

     They are truly works of art, no shit dumbass, but really they are. The detail is incredible and his use of natural (things found on the beach) materials is cerebral in their connections and compliments. Each time you look at his pieces you notice something different. 

     So after I was done I decided to hit Joe's Bagels in Belmar rather than Bagel Talk in Neptune, otherwise I would have to drive north to drive south to head home. I should have made the trip. There an everything bagel (see anything stuck to the dough?), with egg and cheese, and a Tropicana OJ was $9.54. C'mon man... If they had white milk, maybe, but I can't with prices of things these days. Anyway, I'm glad I went. I'll wait for a call from my buds when something happens. Last year it was around the 20th of October where the first push of big migratory bass hit within the three-mile line, and a few times, on the beaches. We'll see what this fall brings. 

PS- I'm ready for a truck manufacturer to sponsor me with a new ride. I've been holding on to these beaters for a while now but I'm ready for something newer. So if you own a Chevy dealer I'll take a Silverado 2500 in white please, quad cab if you can. Please call or text me. 

10.01.25 Charles F. Orvis must be turning in his grave...

      It was in 1856 when Charles F. Orvis started the Orvis Company in Manchester, Vermont. Orvis is the oldest mail-order American company and one of the longest operating fly fishing suppliers in the industry. For over a century Orvis was the face of fly fishing and its brand was targeted to the gentlemen and well- off fly fisher. In 1965 the Perkins family took over the reigns at Orvis and today the business is run by the third generation Perkins, Simon, who is the President. 

     Not only has Orvis known for it's rods, from the finest bamboo to the latest Helios, but reels from the Battenkill to the Mirage, waders, from not so good entry level to the PRO line of today, but bird hunting gear as well, and from clothing to dog beds. 

     I'm an Orvis guy through and through. It was the company that drew me in when I started fly fishing in the early 1990's. I couldn't wait for the catalogs to come out, see their booths at the shows, and visit the stores, including the Mother Ship in Sunderland, Vermont. While their price point was catered to the upper tier of society, the investment in Orvis products was always worth the wait. 

     I always felt like I was part of a family, and at times, part of group of people that represented the best in fly fishing. I would go on to become an Orvis Endorsed Guide and have enjoyed a loose professional relationship with the company. I still write the Jersey Shore fishing reports for them, although it has become spotty at best. 

     When I started guiding Orvis, well the store managers really, were very good to me. Guys like Rob Ceccarini or Andrew Hamilton would invite me to do presentations in the Manhattan, Marlton, Haverford, and Princeton stores. I'd also help out at some of their Orvis 101, 201 and 301 classes. It was a give and take relationship and I think I represented Orvis well. 

     But then things changed. It was all around the time I hung out and worked at The Fly Hatch. Choinard saw the writing on the wall. I remember when The Fly Hatch moved to Shrewsbury, in that sweet log cabin fly shop, and then Orvis opened a company store down the street at The Grove in Shrewsbury. But it wasn't Orvis, per se, that was the problem, although I always felt that was a douchy move on their part. It was the internet, even back then, that killed the radio star. And since then, say the late 1990's, when things only got worse. The fly shops closed. Customer loyalty faded. And the big guns in the industry were faced with changing customer trends, increased competition, an uptick in costs, and the way people purchased things. 

     I watched as Orvis lost, in my opinion, their base. Yes, it was a customer base of upper crusty rich white guys...but that's who paid the bills. They tried to stay current, catalogues with pictures of guides tossing PBR's between the boats on the river, the whole trucker hat phase, camo and bright colors on their gear bags and sling packs, and better representation of different cultures and sexes. Then they got heavily vocal in things like 50/50 On the Water and the whole, which people described, as the going woke thing. What that did was just lose a portion of their base and cater to a customer that yeah, was current and hip, but not buying, at then $700 rods, expensive trips, and fancy dog beds. 

     They went and opened the Guide Program to any guide out there. They didn't care if you were Endorsed or not. Their thinking was, and I was at the Guide Rendezvous's when they explained it, it was better to have the rods and reels and waders in the guides hands, even though they had Scott rods, Simms waders, and Hatch reels in their boats.When I guided I looked like I belonged on an Orvis catalogue cover, pretty much outfitted from head to foot, like a big goof. 

     So last fall the hammer dropped when Orvis laid off 8% of its workforce and started to make changes. They put the compound in Sunderland up for sale, closed some stores, stopped

     

mailing the catalouge, and started to rethink about some of the lines they were offering their customers. The Orvis blog, which was always in the top 5 was without its leader, and over the year there have been just a handful of posts. Today they come in as the 42nd best fly fishing 

blog in the world, with yours truly now sitting at number 31. While every person who lost their job mattered, they laid off some of their brightest and best they had. Over the course of the year it has been reported that more changes were coming, and they weren't looking good. In June of this year business industry reports started to learn that there would be another round of cuts possibly occurring. Well, yesterday the ball dropped. 

     The earlier reports were true. Orvis is slated to close nearly 20 stores, from Boston to Philadelphia and beyond, all of it's outlets, and lay off tons of employees from retail store workers, to fishing and store mangers, and all people in between. Early reasons, maybe some of convience, were the looming tariffs, and the impact it would have since most of the companies stuff from the clothes to the flies to the gear are made overseas in countries like China, Vietnam, and India. 

     On the cutting block is Orvis Princeton. New Jersey's lone Orvis company store. There used to be more stores and outlets in the Garden State but by the beginning of next year no longer. And that hurts. Now I didn't go to Orvis that often, but I ALWAYS knew it was there. And since I was an Orvis guy it worked for me. I had two great resources in Bruce the fly fishing and Andrew the store managers. 

They offered good advice on local fishing, all of the Orvis products, and would entertain us from time time with great presentations and classes.

      So when I heard the news today it was a gut punch. I was mad. I didn't know if I was mad at Orvis or mad at us. You see, we, the customers, are part of the problem. Cheap ass non-loyal customers, well at least most of us. Some are die-hards and loyal, and most importantly spend their money returning it to a company that really gave us a lot over the years. 

     I guess it's capitalism at its best. Over the years we've seen new start-ups from rod and reel companies to everything in between. Flies are available everywhere and just about everyone makes what everyone else makes. Companies are scrambling for money that we aren't spending, and to be honest, who really needs to spend it? If your waders don't leak and your rod and reel can cast and bring in a fish do you ned to spend big money each year? Maybe a new shirt, a pair of pants, or a jacket? But if you're like me then you'll wait till Costco is blowing them out cheaper then Orvis can make them. 

     In 2022 I wrote about a trip to Costco, HERE. I found a "Tech" shirt for the fantastic price of $11.99, which was $3 off the "regular" price. Now that shirt was originally $89 and then 

offered on their website for $37.38. I know companies sell like stupid bulk items to Costco for pennies on the dollar but it all tells us something. There's a pretty big original margin 

on items that are produced overseas by cheaper labor. But wait, it was the tariffs that got us to this point. Yeah, I don't think so. Orvis, you just fucked up. 

     So what does this all mean? To me, it's the beginning of the end. While a part of me understands that their base has aged out and the market share is a younger angler, they have missed the boat, well this generation can't afford boats, or trips to exotic lands to boot. And I do understand the costs of doing business are challenging, and changes need to be made to remain a sustainable and profitable company, but at what cost? You see, eventually Orvis will be sold off, only to join a larger outdoors conglomerate that has no identity. Who would have thought Simms would sell? 

 

     Simon Perkins stated in an interview, "Our goal is simple: another 170 years as a family owned, purpose driven brand...committed to providing long-lasting value to our customers, our employees, our partners, and the natural world" he said, "To reach this goal, we need to bae adjustments within our company that will untether us from aspects of a historical model that served Orvis well in the past but need to evolve to move us forward". 

     My heart goes out to those members of the Orvis family who will soon lose their jobs, and for some, their identity. Some have been part of the company for decades and will now have to pick up the pieces and find a job in an industry which is primarily reliant on consumers who look for the cheapest deals, delivered the quickest, with a 1000% customer satisfaction guarantee. 

     Orvis was a company that would take returns no matter the reason. That, to me, was stupid and not sustainable. There was no responsibility put on the consumer. It was catering to anglers who knew they could grow out of, break, or mistreat an item and it would be replaced without question. Well were are they now and where (which new company) did they run to?

     Sadly, the dog bed sales won't be able to cover this sad ending to a storied company. It was a good run, but the end is near. I better grab that Helios D 11 wt before it's too late. I can't imagine not fly fishing with anything else but Orvis in my hand or on my body. I was one of the loyal ones. 

10.01.25 Pulled the trigger on the run to the Vineyard...

 

    Hey, shit happens. While I'm disappointed that I had to cancel my trip to Martha's Vineyard maybe things happen for a reason. And while the no-lights on the truck issue were the final nail in the coffin realistically looking around I've got to many things going on to have been able to relax and enjoy the trip. 

     Amazon spit the bit on the delivery that was due yesterday and I was holding out hope I could get out of the hospital at 7 pm, fix the lights, kiss the wife, and head north. That plan might have called for a slumber party at Levi's house in Connecticut before leaving real early to catch today's 815 ferry from Woods Hole. But a quick check this morning showed they're arriving today. 

     Luckily I called the Steamship Authority and was able to move my reservation, which cost about $285, to a "Pending" status so I don't lose out by cancelling. If you ever make ferry 

reservations and need to change them don't cancel, put them into pending and you have about two years to use them. I can use my above reservation for next June's trip to the Vineyard. There's no way I'm missing that one. If I have no lights I'll walk. 

     While I was on the Steamship Authority website I saw a warning that ferries today may be cancelled due to the weather up and around New England. There's two storms 

out in the Atlantic which are going to help bring some changing conditions to the East Coast. Both Hurricane Humberto and Imelda will add to winds from the NE,

an approaching October Hunter's Moon on October 6th, and high tides at 6 and 6 will make it look and feel like fall this week. Bass and predator fish love the slop and it looks like we may see it. The temps will drop as well moving from an Indian summer to a true fall. 

     And while I wasn't going up there to fish the Martha's Vineyard Striped Bass and Bluefish Derby I would have been there to sign up and give it a shot. This is the derby's 80th year and things have changed since it started shortly after the end of World War II. I have only heard things about The Derby but it is an event on the Island each fall. 

     The Derby was more than a ton of anglers out to catch the biggest fish, win the money prizes, and claim bragging rights. It was, and maybe still be, a total Island thing. As with everything else that ever existed things were just better back then. 

     What started as a striped bass, and then bluefish, tournament morphed into a migratory predator competition somewhere in the 1980's when striped bass weren't caught or weighed in. 

I caught this old picture from the Angler's Journal which showed two guys from the 1975 Derby weighing in a 39 and a 45 pound shore caught striped bass. The last year striped bass were part of The Derby was 2019 and now false albacore, bonito, and bluefish are the targeted species. For a few years weakfish were a category as well. When bass were part of it part of the chase was to win the Grand Slam, weighing in one of each of types of fish. Now it's the Triple Crown people aim for- am albie, a bonito, and a bluefish. Just an aside, if you think about it over the years, like each year, how many striped bass were wasted for kill tournaments

up and down the East Coast? Fish harvested for bragging rights with many only to find their final resting place in the dumpsters of the marinas were the weigh-ins took place. Thank God we have evolved a little bit over time. I've been roasted for my anti-tournament stance, especially for pre-spawn striped bass, which kind of follows my early suggestion that clubs, like the Asbury Park Fishing Club, switch over to catch and release tournaments. 

     In preparation of my trip I dug through my books related to all things striped bass and found The Big One, penned by David Kinney, which tells things about The Derby. In Chapter 4 he talks about Dave Skok and his obsession with fly fishing and the pursuit of albies and completing the Derby Grand Slam. Skok did so in 2001, also winning the largest shore based albie, on the fly of course. 

Skok 2001

The title of that chapter is "Sleep when you die", which is probably the mantra of many of the anglers, fly, spin, shore, and boat who make their way across the Vineyard Sound each fall. 

     At this writing I checked into daily leader board for The Derby. Bonito are the most weighed in fish at 433, followed by bluefish at 385. False albacore came in third at 236. I hate to be a tree 

hugger but what do they do with a pile of 236 + albies over the course of the tournament? They're like shad, "Cook them on a wooden plank and through away the fish and eat the plank". Yes, I know, some will say that those and the bluefish can be used for shark, tuna, or lobster bait, but is it good to kill all those fish for a shot a prize? There are several organizations who are beginning to study and learn about albies so they don't end up on the endangered list. I know, you just can't win, pull the striped bass out to do the right thing and now what, cancel The Derby? Of course not, but there may have to be a better way, like optional catch and release divisions. 

     So that's it. Not going and staying home. I WILL be fishing somewhere along the Jersey Shore as a consolation prize for life getting in the way. I'll miss the hang with Abe, but June is only nine months away. 

09.29.25 I might not be winning The Derby this year after all...

     Well we'll see how this goes, but it's not looking good. During this past week a motorist let me know the brake lights were out on my truck. I still had a working 3rd brake light but the body ones were not. So last night I decided to take them apart and investigate. More later. 

     I do have to be honest that I have been pondering over what this blog has morphed into. Jeez, it's supposed to be a fly fishing blog. What started as a mix of stories of fishing adventures, guiding, and Captaining, has become a personal diary, most of the time, with some fishing mixed in. There's no other fly fishing blog out there like this, which doesn't mean it's what it should be, or what people want to read, but they do, in pretty big numbers. 

     But to the end, this blog, for me is this. It is all about fishing. I've always claimed to be an average angler. A guy who navigates through life doing all of things everyone else does, the good and the bad,  around and including fly fishing. When you pen a blog, and there's not fishing 365 days a year, it becomes the story of life and the challenges in between those quick outings, big trips, and the people I meet along the way. Thrown in there is fly fishing related stuff like the fly fishing shows, fisheries management, and both current and past events which affect fly fishing, now almost exclusively related to striped bass. 

The old Whitehall pocket- Deal

     And in-between those gaps of casting a fly rod are the connections made between like minded and mentally ill anglers, respectfully those obsessed with the passion we share. As you have read, it's not always about the catches and the hangs, real life stuff gets in the way. Those real life interruptions make the opportunities to enjoy fly fishing that much more special and memorable. And when shit gets in the way it's that much more of a bummer. 

     The last few months have been challenging for me, not that they were all bad. A new job. The big trip to Ireland and Tara's wedding. Flooded house. The emotions of August and September as outlined in yesterday's post. While writing yesterday I realized this is also the month when Bob Popovic's was tragically injured on September 23, 2024. And I know, STFU with you and your story and connections, but I realized Bob was hit on the anniversary of when Ryan died. Just to many intersections. 

And now truck issues two days before I was to leave for the Vineyard. I just can't. But what are you going to do. 

     So yesterday morning when I got a text from my Dad that he wasn't using the tickets for the Giants game it gave me pause. My first gut reaction, we'll pass. I'm a half-ass football fan. I guess now you can say I'm an Eagles rooter since I'm living down in Bird Country. Each time Theresa and I go out for a burger and a beer it's either the Eagles, Sixers, Phillies or Flyers on the screen in front of us. 

     I planned on running around like a nut yesterday, finishing the aeration and overfeeding the lawn, changing the oil on the truck, fixing the lights, and maybe installing the toilet in the newly almost renovated downstairs bath before I leave tomorrow night for the Vineyard. But why would I let an opportunity, that we would never have again, pass us by? So we bit. 

     

     My parents have had these seats for decades and I'm not sure how much longer they will have them. I don't know how die-hard fans go to every single game each Sunday. That is a commitment, a little nutty, I guess it's their fly fishing. 

     While this experience is not typical for most fans the people seated near us and in the Coaches Club, before and during the game, were true Giants fans. Yes, I am sure some were just taking advantage of the opportunity of someone's gift but it's every Sunday fall right of passage for many.  

     The tickets come with parking, like right there parking, with an easy off and back on to the Turnpike. The Club has more food options than I could recall and it's important to eat in order, or else your stomach will let you know later. I watched a guy kill the shrimp and crab claws, down it with a beer, only to hit the cinnamon rolls before having a lobster roll and an ice cream after, with more beer. 

     It was a beautiful fall, well really summer, day at Met Life yesterday. We were in the sun and the temperatures had to hit dam near 100 degrees. We were able to snag some front row seats 

inside where we could still see the screens, the top of the players heads, the ball travel through the air, all with the constant blow of cold air on our backs. When halftime came we were only 

feet from the players as they retreated to the locker room. The only players I knew were Skattebo and Dart, who made his NFL debut yesterday. We left at the start of the 4th quarter and enjoyed listening to Bob Poppa and Carl banks on the traffic-free drive home. When we arrived home I realized I was behind the eight ball but then what does it all matter? In 10 years, if I still standing, will I remember tackling those honey-to do's or the fact that Theresa and I enjoyed her first NFL game in style? Get busy living or get busy dying. 

     With plenty of light still around I did change the oil on my truck, clean up all of the mess of the process of doing 112 projects at once, painting the house, finishing the flood repairs, and the most important this time of year thatching, aerating, and seeding the lawn. I did good, and it made going the game that much more of a good call. 

     And then by 9 pm it was time to tackle the lights. Working in the dark was perfect as I could see what lights worked and which did not. I had no brake lights, and by the time I was finished I had no running lights either. I can't take the chance of hurting someone as I travel north on 95 Tuesday night. That's just not cool. 

     I had ordered those lights in August of 2023 and they served me well. If I reordered them they wouldn't arrive till Wednesday, about the time I would be crossing the Middle Ground on the ferry. So I ordered one that would come today but it's different, and I think it'll be a stretch to get it done in time. Tomorrow's a 14 day in the hospital so my time is limited.

     It looks like I can cancel my reservation with the Steamship Authority and maybe rebook. Since I'm heading there next June we'll see if I can do that or just have a credit to my account. I do want to go, some for the fishing, but more to catch up with friends on the Island. Abe's got a bed waiting for me and I'd hate to miss that hang. 

 

     In the end it what it is. I'll be disappointed. Maybe I'll make a trip to the beach here in Jersey as a consolation. But what I will have a few dozen meatballs that Theresa fried up for me to bring for Abe, all to myself over here in Titusville. 

09.28.25 Continue to RIP Ryan F. Hoblitzell...

     Ryan Hoblitzell was 30 years old when he passed away on September 28, 2017, eight years ago today. Born in 1986 to William (Bill) and Maryann he grew up in Freehold with his brother Eric. He attended Georgian Court University where he graduated with his BSN and at the time of passing he worked as a Registered Nurse in the Cardiac Care Unit at Jersey Shore University Hospital. 

In 2014 he married Allison and moved to Tinton Falls. He was a die-hard fisherman spending his childhood fishing Lake Topanemus before moving up and on to fishing big waters for big fish with his brother and father. 

     Since 2017 there are two posts that you can count on each year. August 18th and September 23rd. Those are my son's Ryan's birthday and death day. At the time of his death, which was by suicide, Ryan was 21 years old. Now each late summer my stomach starts to churn knowing those two dates are approaching. Celebrating "anniversaries", not so much. What they are, to me, are reminders of what I, and his family, and his friends, had lost. 

     There are times when I mourn the loss of my son, but then there's times when I'm just pissed off that he chose to take his own life. Think what you want of suicide; end of someone's pain, not a choice, or being a better place. To me, as a parent of a young adult who died by suicide I believe that it's a permanent solution to a temporary problem (usually), and it is very, very selfish. And I've always pointed at the irony of me being a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner, who has diagnosed, prescribed meds, and provided therapy to suicidal patients from 10 to 80 years old. A big miss there on my part. 

     In addition to those two posts I also know I'll be getting, and returning texts, from Bill Hoblitzell. He and Maryann would send their condolences, and Theresa and I would send ours. What is it interesting is how you never know what road you will meet another person on, and for what reason. They say people come into our life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Bill and I have been connected, without knowing it, for probably 30 years, so many similarities and a circle of the same friends. I've never went into detail on how Bill and I are connected each September. While I usually don't ask for permission when writing these posts, this time I did and Bill honored my request. I have written about some tough stuff here, mine and others, and always do so respectfully, with the hope of not offending anyone. 

     So here I go. It may be a bit long, but it's a good ride. Captain Bill Hoblitzell is a mans man. I know him from his fishing side. In the 1990's he was one of the OG's (original gangsters) who was a fly fishing guide out of the old Fly Hatch on Broad Street in Red Bank. He did that with Dick Dennis, Paul Eidman, and Dave Choinard. All of those guys I consider friends to this day. 

Harker's Island 2002

Bill, aka Outback Fishing Charters, had the first Jones Brothers 19'-10" Cape Fisherman ( That's my ride) running out of the shop. I am sure I had met Bill back then but remember I could have cared less about saltwater fly fishing when I was a customer or fill-in helper at The Fly Hatch. I was all about Upper Delaware trout at that time.

     I think I first "met" Bill around 2008 when I started fly fishing for striped bass on the Jersey Shore and created what has become The Average Angler. He was one of the regulars with the fly rod I would hope to catch each morning. I would usually see Billy with his buddy Marco somewhere around Belmar. 

     Our circles of Jersey Shore fly rodder-friends would overlap. Guys like Massey, Shapiro, Denny, Doherty, Phiefer, and Petterson. It's a relatively small group so we were brought together through our passion of fly fishing for striped bass. When Bill was solo I would catch him up in my neck of the woods which was what I considered my home water being the groins in Deal.  

     In 2012 I caught Billy throwing the fly rod one beautiful morning in Deal. It was then he told me that his son Ryan was graduating from Georgian Court University with his BSN. I had been in that game since my graduation in 1995 so it was something we had in common to talk about. Thanks to Bill I was able to turn that image into a paycheck as The Fisherman Magazine picked it up to accompany an article or advertisement in one of their issues.

    When my world was shattered in 2017 I got lots of love from so many people. And my fishing buddies didn't disappoint. I remember that difficult night at Ryan's wake on September 27th at the John Day Funeral Home in Red Bank.

     As I stood at the podium giving Ryan's eulogy I remember seeing Billy seated with the other fishermen in the wake room that was pretty much standing room only. It would be that night where me and Billy's lives would intersect again, this in the worst possible way. 

     One thing I always say and try to live my life by, "Don't tell other people's stories". Well, from this perspective it's kind of a co-story between Billy and I. 

     Bill came to Ryan's wake after a day of work. Work can be tiring. And wakes, funerals, and weddings can be exhausting, both physically and emotionally. So when his Ryan, yes we both had and lost Ryans, called him that night to join him for a late night fishing excursion Bill gently declined. It's just one of those things. You say no, you don't call, you don't go, and in the end you just didn't know what would or could have happened. It's like the morning of September 11th, how many what-if stories have we heard.

     Ryan was planning on going fishing, which he did when not at work saving others whose heart was broken, in search of catfish the state had stocked into Lake Topenemous. Lake Topenmous. That was his home water. He knew it like the back of his hand. 

     I knew Lake Topanemus as well. I was super fishy when I was a kid. I grew up in Millstone fishing the farm's irrigation ponds. But I went to grammar school at St. Rose of Lima in Freehold and would spend a lot of time at my buddy Jody Gilpin's house. He also liked to fish. So we would drive some bikes from his house on Hull Avenue to Pond Road to the lake. That was like 1980. A few years later, when I could drive, I would go on to date a girl from Monument Street, of which Pond Road was the extension, and the parking lot at Lake Topanemus was the place for some late night star gazing and ....

     On the morning of September 28th I learned that Billy's son Ryan had been in a boating accident and was missing. The younger Hoblitzell, like a die-hard fisherman, stayed with his plan and went that night with a friend. Something happened in that boat around 3 am and Ryan went missing. Circumstances regarding the incident were hard to digest then, and for some, remain to this day. 

     Twelve hours later Hoblitzell's body was found and he was pronounced deceased. 

     While I can't imagine what Bill and Maryann and their family were going though I can tell you it hit Theresa and I hard. But this isn't about me, but it kind of is. You see, if Ryan hadn't taken his own life then Billy wouldn't had been at his wake. The two, well all three of them, Hoblitzell men were fishy, and if you're fishy you know what that means..... you go fishing. So in addition to the "What are talking about?", when I learned what had happened on the night of Ryan's wake, the chance circumstance of it all was a gut punch. Did my son's selfish act of suicide cause my friend's son's death? 

     I think, for 8 years now, I've struggled with that without really knowing. You see, that trauma we all face is a nasty thing. It's right there, or it's been healed over, or, it hides itself deep in your brain and alters the way you think and live until it rears its ugly head. So I now understand why, in some part, those September thoughts and prayers between me and Bill bring on an extra dose of uneasiness. Now to be honest, at some pint early on I apologized for what happened to his Ryan because of what my Ryan had done. I know there's no blame there, but.... you have to wonder, and that's what I do. Every action has a reaction. Actions have consequences. And some things, when they occur, cause collateral damage. 

     So for the rest of my life, every August and September, as I have done for the last eight years, Ryan Archer's death, isn't remembered alone. There's another Ryan, Hoblitzell, who is part, to me, of the bigger story. And while you can just shake your head and say, "That's just all f'ed up", it's hopefully part of God's plan. It is written in the Bible that God said, "No temptation has overtaken you what is not common to man. God is faithful, and He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation He will provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it".  To note, temptation is Greek for pierasmos, or suffering. We've dumbed that down to "God won't give you more than you can handle". For some things, that's way easier said than done. But you gotta believe, or not. 

     Those boys were good boys. Ryan H. maybe a little more of mans man than Ryan A., who was more cerebral and a genius type thinker. The earlier could probably kick your ass where the later would destroy you in a debate on the theory of relativity. I hope they have met up in heaven, brought together, like their father's, in this thing called life and death. 

     And I hope they, like Billy and I, are able to share a tide this fall where the weather is perfect, the fish are biting, and God's space, either down here or up there, is beautiful in every way. You just never know what's going to happen each and very day, so much of a reason to enjoy it and keep your family and friends close. And strangers as well, as they can become part of your life in the future, and then forever.