The morning sun smiled as it slowly saturated the sky, glistening from the horizon across the water. Glancing from the Fly Bridge I could see Frank’s son Michael dropping the outriggers as we neared the point where the shelf dropped and the fish schooled in search of their next meal. My heart pounded in anticipation that that day would be the day that I would remember the rest of my fishing days. As it turned out it was, but not for the reasons that I had hoped.

The prior evening, having spent the day storing provisions, taking diesel and water and checking our charts, we set out from our berth at Hoffman’s Marina in Brielle, New Jersey and left Manasquan Inlet at 21:00 hours on Friday, the 14th of August, 1981. The vessel was a 1966, Pacemaker 44 Sportfisherman owned and operated by Captains Frank Marchell and Henry Wright. Originally named Jersey Lightning and owned by Potlatch Corporation, it had been used to entertain business guests and was impeccably maintained. Changes in the tax law limiting deductions for entertainment expense, however, prompted the multinational paper conglomerate to place the vessel up for auction in late 1979. By sheer good fortune Frank just happened to be sipping some suds with the former captain of the Jersey Lightning at a local Brielle pub when he learned the good news. The following day he and Henry were the proud new owners of this fine wooden sea craft and for a cost of only 20% of its’ assayed value. Being a fan of Carley Simon, Frank renamed the vessel Anticipation saying that he had long anticipated owning and fishing a boat like the Jersey Lightning for many years. Some say it is unlucky to change a vessel’s name, but as you will learn, this vessel was the luckiest boat I have ever fished. But just to be safe, Frank had kept aboard the throw ring with the name Jersey Lightning.

Running at about 10 knots so as to maximize fuel efficiency we headed out toward one of the continental shelf drops named Tom’s Canyon, some 90 nautical miles offshore. Listening to the NOAA weather report on the VHF I was thrilled to hear that the forecast was for the nicest weather all season. The ocean was the flattest I have ever seen and Frank said to me. “Life does not get better than this, we are heading out to catch fish in this beautiful boat and the seas are as smooth as a baby’s ass. Now all we need are fish and we have the perfect weekend”.

By 8:30 August 15th we had our first fish, a 115-pound yellow fin tuna. Throughout the day we trolled the clearest, bluest and calmest seas you can imagine, and throughout the day we caught tuna ranging from 55 to 90 pounds, so many fish that our party of five grew weary and our arms sore to the point where we said, “no more”. That day I even had the good fortune to be the one to grab the pole and land an 85 lb. White Marlin. Having never caught a billfish before I was thrilled when I saw this beauty leap ten feet and dance across the water as it tried to throw the hook. The year before Frank’s son Michael had caught the New Jersey Record White Marlin at 137 lbs 8 oz aboard the Anticipation. That record still holds to this day. I asked Frank why the Anticipation caught so many fish and he said that it was because he painted a girl fish on the bottom of the hull and all the boy fish followed the boat to catch her.

At approximately 17:00 hours we broke open the provisions and eat our first food of the day. There had been no time to eat before without giving up the fish. This was before the new 1 tuna per person conservation limit, and no permit was required. I began to notice a southerly breeze with somewhat of a damp nip. Anyone who has been on the water knows that “smell” of a cold front often preceding a storm. I turned on the NOAA station and they were still boasting about clear weather conditions from Montauk to Martha’s Vineyard, and from Sandy Hook to 1000 Fathoms. But something did not smell right, and sure enough the breeze began to develop into a blow, and we began to roll. The outriggers were still out and soon began to almost touch the water as we took the waves broadside. Henry must have seen fear spelled on my face because he said to me “Don’t worry, we won’t capsize unless we are hit with three consecutive waves”. Meantime I could hear everything in the galley being thrown across the cabin sole. Soon the southeast sky began to darken being lit by Jersey lightning as the squall approached.

As the seas grew, lightning bolts dancing on the waves soon surrounded us. Raindrops the size of golf balls began to fill the deck of the cockpit. Occasionally the waves would splash over the transom leaving the water on the deck to fight for the right to squeeze out the scuppers. Oh how I wish the Pacemaker engineers had designed those scuppers to be larger as I prayed those waves would stay in the ocean where they belonged. Soon the waves were ranging six to ten feet but fortunately they maintained a ten-foot spread. I asked Frank where was the sea anchor and he told me it had ripped the week before and was being repaired.

At around 21:30 hours Frank turned and said to me “Well Drew, we may as well make the best of a bad situation and catch us a sail fish”, as he rigged a line with a nightstick and empty one gallon plastic bottle to act as a bobber, threaded a ballyhoo for bait and tossed to over the side. Well don’t you know that soon enough that plastic bottle was under water and line was peeling off the reel. There was a fish on the line and it was a nice one. Well at least this gave us something to take our minds off the fact that even though the rain had paused, the height of the waves was growing. Saturated from the torrential downpour I no longer noticed the bolts of lightning surrounding the boat and lighting the sky as my heart raced with excitement. The line just continued to go down as I tried to tighten the drag a bit in hopes that the fish would tire. I finally pulled the line to the side and the fish changed direction and swam out away from the boat, giving me a chance to make so me headway on him as he rose to the surface. Oh how my arms ached as I brought this bruiser in little by little. It was about 23:00 hours when we had this fish up to the boat and saw that it was a Mako Shark. As it thrashed in the water off the starboard freeboard we managed to get a flying gaff in him and then slip on a tail loop, pulling him to the stern where Frank stood on the transom with a 38 cal. S&W revolver waiting to take some steam from this very strong fish with big sharp teeth so we could haul it aboard. I remember yelling “Frank, leave the fish. You are either going to fall overboard or shoot a hole in the boat!” After he fired off a few rounds we decided to leave the shark tied off the side until morning.

By now the seas had grown and the waves were 15 to 25 foot high, and the rain was back along with the lightning. Although we were not alone, the distance between the boats fishing the Canyon waters was too great to help if any one had a serious problem and all you could see were the distant lights from the other fishing boats as you rode up and down the waves. I sat in the cabin salon facing the entrance feeling nauseous from the smell of the diesel fueling the generator and the rolling of the boat as I stood watch. Somehow everyone else on board managed to sleep (or else they lied and said they did) but I stood watch in accordance with the NavRegs (not that it would do any good). Besides I was too afraid to sleep. For the first time in my life I was afraid on the water, and for the first time in my life I sat and prayed the Rosary asking God and whoever else could hear me that I did not want to drown out there. I never bothered to put on a life jacket because I felt that if we went down the PFD would not save me from the storm and the sharks. I remember thinking that on land the 44-foot vessel seemed so large (it was as long as my house), but out there, 100 miles offshore in the midst of this storm, I may have been sitting on a raft. I was at Nature’s mercy, and if she wanted us there was no way to change her mind. Up and down we went, tossing side to side as the water from the waves in the cockpit tried to return to the seas through those little scuppers.

Eventually the rain ended as the storm blew north to find new victims, but the energy of the storm that was preserved in the seas kept the waves rolling by some 10 to 15 feet high. The sun finally returned on the horizon but this time it was not smiling, nor was I, except I felt the worst of the storm was over, and with Frank being one of the best mariners I knew, he would get us home safe. So we lowered the outriggers again and put out our lines and began to troll west toward port. This time there were no fish to be caught and eventually we pulled up lines and rode the onshore seas home as best we could. Approximately 11 hours later we spotted land. Unfortunately somewhere during the storm the Loran shut down and we were some 20 miles south of Manasquan Inlet. Once we could make out land markers we headed north to arrive in Brielle at around 19:30 hours and tied up to the weigh station. I later found out that had it taken us any longer to reach the inlet, the fuel tanks would have run dry.

So I guess it was not so unlucky that the name of the Jersey Lightning was changed to Anticipation. We not only caught a lot of fish, we weathered a gale and found our way home with minor structural damage with enough fuel fumes to get us to the dock. The Mako weighed in at 143 pounds and on the way in we did a pool to see who could guess the correct weight of the shark. I won.

That was August 16, 1981, the last day I saw my cousin Frank Marchell alive. Frank died of a massive coronary 17 days later on September 2. It was the anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley and also to become the anniversary of my Dad, who passed away August 16, 2000. Isn’t it funny how we somehow take ownership of some days of the calendar? Frank also was born on July 4, on his father’s birthday.

Many people loved Frank. Since then I have owned two vessels, one 21 foot Angler WA and a F-32 Trojan. In honor of Frank Marchell I named them both Anticipation. Also in memory of Frank, his business partners (Reggie and Dick) named the bar they purchased with Frank just before he died as Bar Anticipation. Today, after several years of expansion and improvements, Bar Anticipation (or Bar-A) as it has come to be called, is the hottest club on the Jersey shore north of Atlantic City.

So the next time you’re at the Jersey Shore and you see lightning all around, take shelter at Bar Anticipation until the sky’s clear and then just go fishing.

Andrew J. Powers