For regulars and rookies, "it's not the fishing. It's the fun."
Associated Press
SOMERS POINT , N.J. - Backing the 45-foot pontoon boat out of its slip and onto fog-shrouded Great Egg Harbor Bay , Duke o' Fluke skipper Brook Koeneke has familiar faces all around him, fishing poles at the ready.
John Folz is on board, as he is most Fridays. To him, a four-hour fishing trip on a party boat is the best of both worlds. "You can fish. You don't have to worry about drifting or cleaning the boat," says Folz, a 37-year-old contractor from Richboro , Pa.
B.J. Matthews is here, too. Once a week, he chooses the big pontoon - one of a half-dozen Atlantic City-area party boats that offer fishing trips, charters and nature cruises on the back bays - over a deep-sea expedition or a solitary session surf casting a block from his Ocean City home."It's not the fishing. It's the fun," says Matthews, 61, a retired pipe fitter. "You just always have a good time. You see the same people. If you don't catch anything worth keeping, it doesn't matter. My wife asks me, 'How can you go fishing by yourself?' But it's not by yourself. There's always somebody you know on this boat."
There are newcomers, too.
John Weber, 66, of Brick, sits on a bench parallel to the rail with grandsons Joe Mirenda, 10, and Steven Mirenda, 12, both of Toms River . "We have a summer place at a campground, and they're staying with us," Weber says. "We're doing grandkid things."
Aboard the Duke o' Fluke, there are all kinds: tourists looking to spice up their week at the Shore, serious fishermen who like the laid-back atmosphere, and landlubbers who need help with everything from baiting hooks to reeling in their catch.
A trip costs $19 for adults, $14 for seniors, and $12 for children, plus $3 to rent a 51/2-foot fishing rod.
Bait is free. So are the helpful hints, gutting services, and good-natured gibes of first mate Michael "Ponytail Mike" Mulveen, who combines the gruff facade of an old sea salt with the patience and intuition of a schoolteacher.
Mulveen tends to the fishermen who stand elbow to elbow along the rails, untangling lines, baiting hooks, netting fish. Koeneke, a former accountant and contractor who bought the boat 11 years ago, pilots it and scopes out the spots where the fish might be biting.
"It's a great opportunity for a family," says Koeneke, standing at the helm, his long, gray hair pulled tight under a Duke o' Fluke baseball cap. "You don't get killed like you do on the boardwalk, going home with a deflated wallet. People say: 'We've never done this before. Can you help us?' Sure. We love that.
"You'd be surprised how many people fear the ocean, big boats, big waves, big fishermen. Or the guy with a bad back or knee, or arthritis, or the guy who had to sell his own boat because he couldn't keep it up anymore. We get a good bit of those types of fishermen."
On this day, there are 36 aboard, many of them vacationers from Ocean City , some on the Duke for the first time.
As the boat pulls away from the dock just after 8 a.m., Mulveen explains the rules: no illegal drugs, no jumping overboard, a $50 charge for lost reels, and when you feel a tug on your line, yell: "Fish on!"
Then comes the important part. "We have a pool on this boat. It's $3 each. If you catch the heaviest legal fish, you win the pool," Mulveen says, collecting tickets and pool money as the boat accelerates into open water.
Length, not weight, determines what gets kept and what gets tossed back. By state regulation, a flounder must be 161/2 inches long to be kept.
"Fish on!"
The call comes from Vince Voiro, 55, a tractor-trailer driver from Maple Shade. Mulveen rushes to his side, stands on the bench, reaches over Voiro's shoulder, grabs the fishing line with one hand, and lowers a fat, squirming bluefish into the long-handled net in his other hand.
"Being that Vince is in the pool, we'll weigh this thing," Mulveen says, taking the fish to the bait table and using a handheld scale. "It's 2 pounds."
He guts it, wraps the fillet, and throws the remnants - called "the rack" - into a bucket under the bait table.
Waiting for the next fish, Mulveen walks around the boat, checking to see how the newcomers are doing.
"See how your handle's all backed up? That's not the way to do it," he tells a young boy, moving the boy's hands down toward the butt end of the rod.
Minutes later, he is cracking wise, teasing, reminding people to use their sunblock. He sneaks up behind one young man and wiggles the handle of his rod. The man fastens his grip on the pole and yells, "Fish on!"
Mulveen laughs, and the man turns around to see it was him making the rod shake.
At the helm, Koeneke smiles. "He's good with kids, good with adults, quick with a snappy line, and he senses it when someone's in trouble, even before they know it," he says of his first mate.
Moving to five locations in the bay, the Duke o' Fluke looks for hot spots, finding none. Some passengers take time out to eat; it's $1 for snacks, which are kept in a big plastic resealable container. There are Oreos and Slim Jims, peanut butter crackers, and cheddar cheese crackers.
"But not chocolate," Mulveen says. "It melts."
Drinking is allowed. Some bring their own coolers. Spying one passenger sipping a can of beer, Mulveen says: "A fine fishing machine has to be adequately lubricated."
By trip's end, the Duke o' Fluke has a half-dozen keepers, three dozen content fishermen, and one pool winner.
"Let's hear it for Vince," Mulveen yells to the bunch as the boat eases into the slip. "He won that money fair and square - with a crappy bluefish."