The call came in about noon. “I’m at the marina,” said my fishing buddy Adam, “There were stripers blitzing out in Buzzards Bay this morning. I’m going back out.”
I didn’t wait for him to invite me. I just replied. “I’ll meet you at your boat in half an hour.”
Adam and I have fished together for over 25 years. I had a feeling today was going to be an epic day on the water, so when I arrived at his boat I brought three light-tackle rods rigged and ready to go. I anticipated a battle with a bass within minutes of leaving the dock, but we caught nothing our first hour out.
A light breeze rippled the ocean and skies were leaden. Perfect conditions for shallow-water fishing. The breeze would allow us to quietly drift toward fish if we spotted any, and the lack of sun meant less chance to spook them.
“On any given cast,” Adam encouraged me. That was our mantra.
As slack tide approached, we took a break, having decided to wait for moving water to get the bass feeding. We dropped anchor and watched an osprey gliding above us, searching for prey but never diving. Adam and I talked about fishing, and then our personal lives: kids, significant others, work and even our health. Occasionally, one of us would offer unsolicited advice on issues big and small.
It felt good to have someone bright and thoughtful to share insights and concerns with. Maybe it was the setting. Over the years I had come to view our outings on the boat as more than a chance to chase fish. It was an opportunity to share, listen and problem-solve. For me, the boat was more effective than any therapist’s chair could ever be.
Study after study confirms that friendships are a key component in people leading happier and healthier lives. We also know that many men struggle to make new friends. Geoffrey Greif, Ph.D, a researcher and professor at the University of Maryland, has spent much of his career studying male friendships. In an interview with Huffpost he gave this advice to men who want to make lasting friendships but find it difficult to do so. “Understand that finding someone with similar interests is important, that reaching out to others is important, that getting involved in activities and not staying home is important, and that to make friends, you have to gauge how much to share when you first meet.”
I can add through personal experience and 35 years of observation that boating and fishing might be the best of all shared hobbies to form lasting friendships. These pastimes often require a degree of teamwork, and the outdoor setting can be conducive to opening up. It’s rare that I’ll call a male friend to suggest a coffee and some talk. Men, I believe, need a common interest to get together, and it’s during the doing that the conversation happens. Dr. Greif concurs. “Men’s friendships tend to include shoulder-to-shoulder interactions,” he says. As we all know, it’s hard to operate a boat or cast a fishing line while face to face.
I’d wager most of my conversations with Adam occur when we aren’t even looking at each other, but instead are in the process of casting or scouting for fish. And our conversations are deeper on a boat than they are when shore fishing. I’ve found that fishing skill has nothing to do with having a great trip. If the captain of the boat is not a fisherman, I generally know enough to get us into fish. But far more important is the conversation or the lack of it—the mix of both is ideal. You don’t want to be stuck on a boat with a know-it-all, and you don’t want someone who ignores the weather or safety. The ideal person on a boat knows when to just enjoy the spectacular surroundings, be comfortable in silence, yet engage when it’s time to talk.
On just about every boat I’ve ever been on, I’ll ask questions, lots of questions. Not just about the fishing in that particular area, but about the person’s life. I figure if they don’t want to discuss something they will say so or gently move the conversation in a new direction.
Men, more than women, are reluctant to share emotions, and so we put on a stoic front. That’s a problem. Psychologists also tell us men do worse than women after a divorce. That is quite understandable, because most men have fewer friends than women, and for some men their spouse is their exclusive confidant. Divorce is never easy, and Adam and I went through the painful process at about the same time. But we had one big advantage over a lot of other guys: We had our floating therapist couch, Adam’s 18-footer. Aboard Scout we were able to talk openly about the transitions we were experiencing. With a good friend you can explain, be vulnerable, and not go through the charade of being a tough guy.
During a recent NPR broadcast, psychologists discussed how a majority of men think they should conquer all their problems on their own, and anything less is seen as a sign of weakness. In my younger years I certainly fit that mold. But with age comes wisdom, and I realized it’s okay not to be okay. And it’s okay to tell a friend.
My passion for fishing has been a facilitator of friendships. Besides Adam, I have three friends who are also anglers, and I’ve known them since elementary school. Fishing has been the glue that has kept us together more than half a century now. One of these friends has described how the angler he spends the most time with only talks about his terminal cancer while fishing on his boat. Makes me wonder that if he didn’t own a boat would he have kept things bottled up inside and suffered in silence? It’s our job as friends to pick up on clues from others who only hint at their pain and then find the right setting to ask if they are OK and let them know we care. Time and time again, I’ve found the ideal setting to be on the water.
Adam and I pulled up the anchor and set out again to scout for fish. We were only in 5 feet of water when we realized stripers were right below us.
Adam turned the motor off and we started casting. Our fishing reels held 20-pound braided line, which has a much smaller diameter than comparable monofilament, allowing our casts to go farther. Adam’s lure was a Sluggo that he made dance on the surface using quick, intermittent yanks on the rod. There was a swirl behind his lure as a striper went for it and missed. But Adam had a trick up his sleeve: He paused the Sluggo for a second and then gave it a twitch.
Wham! A striper inhaled the lure and a spray of water was scattered in the air. Then, because there was no depth beyond five feet for the fish to dive down to, the bass took off in a straight line, the drag on Adam’s reel making the “zzzzzzzz” sound we love to hear when a big fish strikes.
Some tense moments followed, particularly when the bass was pulled near the boat and made a run past the engine’s propeller. But eventually Adam hauled in a beautiful 38-inch striper.
I took a picture of Adam and his prize, and then he let it go. I knew I’d look back at the picture later in the week and remember that striper. While I doubted I’d recall what we talked about during the quiet moments, I did know that those conversations were just as important as the fish we’d caught.
This article was originally published in the July 2023 issue.
