Prep for my deep-sea fishing adventure on Wednesday off the coast of Avalon, NJ.

What’s My #1 Priority Tomorrow?

Tomorrow, my #1 priority is simple:

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Rich, you’re a freshwater guy. Why tempt fate in the churning Atlantic?” But this isn’t just any fishing trip. This is tradition calling. Every year, as October rolls in and the sea bass season officially opens, I feel that familiar tug in my soul—a pull that takes me back to my very first deep-sea adventure in the 1960s. I was ten, barely tall enough to peer over the gunwale, and my grandfather and father thought it would be a grand idea to introduce me to the world of saltwater fishing.

We sailed out of Atlantic City with Captain Sterns, under the banner of the Barracuda Fishing Club, a private West Philadelphia group of old Italian men who took their fishing—and their camaraderie—very seriously. The target? Codfish. The timing? December. The result? Let’s just say “the sea was angry that day my friend” and fish weren’t the only ones “churning” in those waters—I spent eight glorious hours hugging the rail, performing what I now affectionately refer to as my “barfing debut.”

And yet… somehow, despite that harrowing introduction, I return every year. There’s something about the salty wind, the rolling waves, and the anticipation of that first tug on the line that refuses to let go. Maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s stubbornness, or maybe it’s just the whisper of the ocean itself, calling me back.

So tomorrow, my #1 priority isn’t just packing rods, reels, tackle, and an absurd amount of bait. It’s ritual. It’s honoring the memory of those early days with my grandfather and father. It’s the quiet thrill of anticipation that only a true angler understands. It’s making sure every lure, every hook, every line is ready, because even if the fish ignore me, the preparation itself is half the adventure.

I’ll check my gear, lay out my tackle in perfect order, triple-check the ice in the cooler, and maybe, just maybe, psych myself up with a few deep breaths of that fresh sea air I can almost smell already. Tomorrow, I chase sea bass. Tomorrow, I chase memories. Tomorrow, I embrace the absurd joy of being a freshwater fisherman temporarily lost at sea.

And who knows? Maybe this year I’ll even keep my breakfast down long enough to catch something.

Oh yeah… and not to forget to pack my sea sickness medication.