Fishing Memories Page 4
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By Leon Lilly
It was July 4, 1981 and at Mill Creek Marina in Cape May, New Jersey, some
of the regulars were planning to take off for the blue waters about 30 miles
offshore in my 21 footer.
The night before, Bill Bekeshka (Mad Russian), Bill Hill, Frank Bechtel and
I were drinking some beer and discussing how to catch tuna fish. On a
previous trip, we hooked into 4 tuna at once, but with our old and
undersized equipment, we lost them all.
As the beer flowed, we convinced ourselves we could do better. We borrowed
one 30 lb class rod, gathered 2 more I had assembled and another “cue stick”
with an old 10/0 reel. We planned to leave at 5 the next morning.
We would be accompanying another boat (Sunny Skies) out of our marina. The
two boats started the trip together. I stopped short, Sunny Skies continued
on to the Baltimore Canyon. The morning was perfect except for the fuzzies
we all had from the beer the night before. The Sunny Skies was a 28 footer
and relatively fast. My 21 footer was well made and extremely fast. The
two boats started running off at about 22 knots. We had gone about 12 miles
and a breeze started to kick up. I looked around and my three fishing
companions were all asleep. We were proceeding on about another 8 to ten
miles and it was kicking up a little more and I didn’t have anybody to talk
to as my companions were still sleeping.
A little while later I took a Loran reading and we were just about 30 miles
off and it was getting down right sloppy. I radioed the Sunny Skies and
told them I was going no further and would start trolling. Joe Neighan, the
owner of the Sunny Skies, radioed back that he would see me later and was
going to continue on to the Baltimore Canyon.
There was more than one factor that led to my decision not to go any
further, one was the weather, the other was my fishing companions. I was a
little upset that they were all sleeping and I had no one to talk to. I
woke them up, said lets put out the lines and put the outriggers down and do
what we had come out here for, to catch tuna fish! We put out a couple of
plastic squid, a cedar plug and a Green Machine.
Ten minutes later, I looked around and everybody was asleep again. I had
enough. I swung the boat around and started trolling toward the beach. I
figured I would troll all the way back to the 5 Fathom Bank, about 15 miles
from shore, and hook up on a couple of blue fish and see if that would wake
this bunch up. Besides, the seas were rolling at about 6 foot and we would
be better off closer to shore.
We had trolled about 4 miles when 2 of the rods bent over really hard. One
came right back up but the other remained bent over, almost doubled.
Finally, the crew awoke!! The Mad Russian grabbed the rod and the crew
cleared the rest of the lines. The line was screaming off the 30 lb class
borrowed rod and it was apparent it was a big fish. I turned to check out
the situation and got a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach because I
discovered that there was next to no line left on the reel. I told the crew
to hold on, I was going to turn the boat and chase the fish. It was only
then that I realized how much the weather conditions had deteriorated. The
waves were now about 6 to 8 feet high and the wind was blowing pretty hard.
We had more important things to worry about, like getting some line back on
the reel. I gunned the throttle and away we went, bone crushing jars
jumping from wave to wave, but we were gaining line back on that reel. I
kept yelling to the Mad Russian to reel as fast as he could and he responded
to my command. We were doing great with the line retrieval but really taking
a licking when all of a sudden the Russian was almost jerked out of the back
of the boat, the fish had turned and was running the other way. Now we were
playing the give and take game and about an hour and a half had passed. My
3 companions were totally engrossed in the battle. So much so, they didn’t
even notice that the spare 6-gallon gas tank I had brought along and used up
first to get it out of the way was floating. Thoughts started running
through my head, had I split the hull open racing after that fish? I put
the bilge pump on and connected another pump and watched as the pump seemed
to make no headway. Meanwhile, the battle raged on. I told the crew to see
if they could figure out where the water was coming in. They couldn’t. By
now I was getting a terrible shock from the steering wheel. It was made out
of stainless steel and wrapped with teak wood. Every time I touched a
fastening screw or the stainless ring on the wheel, I got shocked.
I jumped up and said I’d find the damn leak myself. It didn’t take long.
All three of my fishing companions, including the Russian, who still had the
doubled over rod in his hands, were all huddled in the starboard corner of
the boat. As I looked over the group, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The boot
that protected the steering cables was completely submerged. I started
screaming at my companions, “what the hell is the matter with you guys, that
’s where the water is coming in.” I made them take up different positions
on the boat to help balance it out. It worked and I started to gain on the
water situation, but everything else was not nearly as good.
By now the waves were approaching 8 to 10 feet and we were still locked in
battle with the fish. The Mad Russian looked like he was really hurting and
I persuaded him to give up the rod. He passed it on to Bill Hill and the
battle continued. I was back at the helm battling the sea and the fish. It
was approaching 3 hours now and I told them we had to get that fish in the
boat. Bill Hill passed the rod to Frank Bechtel and another 20 minutes went
by and we still didn’t have the fish. I informed my fishing buddies that I
had to end this one way or another so the Mad Russian took the controls and
I took over the rod. I was pumping for all I was worth when I heard a crack
and felt pain in my groin. The butt of the rod had snapped off right at the
reel seat and the reel hit me right in the groin. The fish made another run
as soon as he felt the release of tension on the line.
I grabbed the rod above the reel and at the second eye. I shoved the reel
seat into the top of my thigh and told Bill Hill to reel as I went back and
forth with the rod. We were making progress when the tip of the rod broke
off. We continued pumping and reeling and there he was, a big blue fin tuna
right next to the boat. I told two guys to hit it with the gaff and one guy
to leader it. They all did their job and the fish was in the boat.
Jubilation erupted with hugging and jumping up and down and all of a sudden
the boat was slipping sideway down the troth of a huge wave.
The celebration stopped immediately and I jumped to the controls. It had
taken 3 hours and 45 minutes to boat the tuna. We started in and we had 22
miles to go to get to Cold Springs Inlet in Cape May. The Loran gave me a
course and we were on our way. About a half mile later, I did a really dumb
thing. The cross-track error on my Loran was going crazy to the right. I
thought it was just a setting on the Loran and decided to re-set it. I
pulled the throttle back without looking behind me and the next thing I
knew, we were surfing sideways down the front of a huge wave that was
breaking on top. The boat slid sideways for what seemed like an eternity
and finally straightened out. I hit the throttle and pointed toward Cape
May. It wasn’t the setting on the Loran after all, the boat was being
carried to the right by the huge waves. I started quartering them and we
made very slow progress. After a very long time the beach came into sight
but I still couldn’t see the inlet. I looked at the Mad Russian and said
“Bill, where the hell is the inlet?” We looked and looked and then realized
that the white water we were seeing was the inlet!
We all should have had our life jackets on all this time but didn’t. We
decided it was time to put them on. I said, “make sure you put one on the
tuna fish because if we go down, nobody will ever believe us.”
The waves were at least 12 feet and headed right down the inlet. On top of
that, we had a very heavy outgoing tide. The inlet was just a bunch of huge
breakers. I put the Tra-La-Lee (my boat) on the back of one of the huge
waves and cranked the 200 hp Evinrude up and in we went. As soon as we got
into the harbor, which was protected from the wind, we were back in the real
world. Three minutes later we were pulling up to the beautiful old
dilapidated gas dock. Mill Creek had its own back safely with a blue fin
tuna that tipped the scale at over 150 lbs, a borrowed rod that was in three
pieces, three very happy fishing buddies and me, one very relieved man whose
hands were numb from all the electric shocks.
It’s now 20 years later. The Mad Russian has gone on to fish the big sea in
the sky, but will always be remembered as one of the best anglers ever from
Mill Creek. Bill Hill left boating behind with inner ear problems that took
away his ability to enjoy boating. Frank Bechtel and I still walk the docks
at Mill Creek and we both hope to continue doing so for a long time to come.
If you’re in the neighborhood, stop by and I’m sure, for the price of a few
beers, Franky and I would love to tell you about this in person.
When the beer starts flowing, there’s nothing Franky and I enjoy more than
toasting to the Russian, to Bill Hill, and to each other. And we always
make sure to lift our mugs to “One Magnificent Fish”. A fish we’ll
celebrate and talk about forever.
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