Hooked on the Journey: A Tale of Two Brothers and Their Passion for Fishing
My brother and I were born into a family that loved being on the water. As immigrants from non-seafaring countries, I often wondered how we became a family that, whenever there was spare time and money—both of which were scarce at times—we found ourselves on the water. Perhaps it was the lack of distractions, allowing us to focus on being together as a family, or the overall feeling of freedom one experiences when leaving the dock to see what a day on the water might offer.
The Early Days
As boys, we spent many days with our father, uncles, and grandfather on the water. Early in our youth, we were with our father on the Potomac River in a red rowboat rented from Fletcher’s Boathouse, just north of Washington, D.C., catching herring on bare hooks and catfish. Eventually, through good fortune and hard work, my father, his brothers, and grandfather mustered enough to purchase a 29-foot Aquasport Express. At 3 years old, it might as well have been the latest sportfish boat to come out of Duffie or Bayliss Boatworks. In our early elementary school years, we spent weekends on the boat at Breezy Point, Maryland, and in Ocean City. We battled the temperamental Volvo 350s that powered the boat and our own inexperience, but we persevered, using the boat to cruise, fish, and learn. We didn’t always leave the dock with both engines operable.
A Passion Becomes a Profession
As we grew older, there was less and less time for boating. My brother’s ambitions in competitive soccer and my parents’ efforts to build their own business took precedence. My father, influenced by a distraught, screaming, and crying 10-year-old boy, decided not to sell the boat but to decommission it for a few years as we pursued other avenues in life. All the while, we had a smaller boat to satisfy our need to get on the water. In the blink of an eye, a decade passed. After high school and traveling the world playing soccer, it became painfully obvious that professional soccer stardom was not in my future. I eventually returned to the familiar passion of my youth, with my younger brother not far behind.
I moved to Ocean City and built a career as a private tournament sportfishing captain, while my brother built an optical business. Our trials and tribulations mirrored each other in one way or another. We both still fish, although we do so for wildly different reasons and with contrasting styles. As a tournament-driven sportfishing captain, I often judge a great fishing day by how our catch compares to others in the fleet. I’m not sure that leaving the dock with the goal of locating and catching fish faster and bigger than my competitors, along with the stress it creates, is the healthiest way to enjoy my passion—but I do love it. Ripping across the ocean in a multimillion-dollar sportfisher and pulling into the marina with more marlin flags than the others might be an unhealthy addiction, but I justify it to myself and my family as my job. Ultimately, though, it’s all ego-driven. One reason I fish so hard is to win—to prove to myself and others that I might be one of the best. I both hate and love it. I’ve built and destroyed relationships because of it. It’s a full-time, full-throttle job during tournament season, where it’s not about the journey but the destination when I’m out on the Atlantic on a big, loud boat trying to live up to the expectations my ego has created. This environment has cultivated a fishing style that is highly thoughtful, tactical, aggressive, and stressful—a vibe not suited for everyone.
I’m thankful my brother is a valued member of the tournament team on the Sea Hag, a 61-foot sportfisher I captain professionally. He enjoys his own personal endeavors in fishing, too. Though not a professional captain, he fishes with the same passion and curiosity, exploring the Chesapeake and coastal bays surrounding Ocean City, Maryland. Thankfully, we fish together on his 21-foot Maverick flats boat, a unique style for the mid-Atlantic. Over the years, his patience and curiosity have led him to discover an entire fishery. I love fishing with my brother on his boat, though I’m not always sure he loves fishing with me. His style, cultivated from his profession and calm demeanor, contrasts with mine. In his optical practice, he is methodical, pragmatic, and patient with his customers—time is less of a factor than it is in offshore charter or tournament fishing.
The Journey of Fishing
Fishing with him is the same. Time and what he catches aren’t the priority. He seeks the calm and solitude of the shallow coastal bays, his sanctuary. His approach is to leave no stone unturned and no feature in the shoreline un-fished. He won’t leave an area until he’s absolutely sure of what it might produce. My tournament mindset is hard to turn off, and even in areas he knows better, he senses my lack of patience—after just two casts, I’m already deciding whether to stay or move on. He sticks to his plan, learning every rock, point, ditch, and oyster bed, understanding that for him, fishing is more about the journey than the result or destination.
Our styles and personalities may differ, but we’re connected by the same love for the water. As time pulls us apart—me chasing competition on the ocean, him finding peace in the quiet bays—it sometimes feels like we’re separated by more than just distance. But every time we fish together, my brother reminds me that it’s not just about the catch, but the journey and the discovery. No matter how far apart we drift, the water always brings us back together.
Captain Anthony Pino