Today, Fred Bonner looks respectable, dresses like a banker and lives in North Carolina. Back in his wild and woolly days as a biologist for the Delaware Division of Fish & Wildlife, he frequently dressed like he was one paycheck away from being homeless or a fishing bum living in his car. He wasn’t — he had a good job, a working wife and a home.

His vocation spilled over to his avocation — or vice versa. If there was a fish to be caught on rod and reel, Bonner was going to try to catch it. Often friends helped him in this pursuit.

With the late Jim Bashline of the Philadelphia Inquirer and me in tow, we were in Fred’s deep-V center console aluminum boat. Alumacraft, Lund, Starcraft and Grumman made such boats — great boats — back then. We were out to catch some of the suicidal seatrout that were creating fun and filling coolers around Brandywine Light in Delaware Bay.

A little more avaricious about fish catches in those days, we caught and released fish, caught and kept trout, and filled our coolers.

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We had left Mispillion Inlet, heading east-northeast toward the Light that is perhaps 10 miles away. It was clear, with a very low chop and no tanker or freighter traffic in the main shipping channel that we crossed. It was a 15-minute run from land to landing fish.

Once there, we bailed trout. I mean, bailed ‘em! Some went into the cooler, some were released, some were  used for photography. These were big fish, gravid females with roe that in my view beats shad roe for taste any day. But with the day nowhere near over, we developed a problem.

A storm was brewing in the west. Low angry clouds scudded across the dark sky. Rain and thunderous rumblings in the distance foretold of bad weather, with that weather coming soon.

Bashline and I commented about this to Bonner, the local expert on things fishing, weather and boating. We weren’t worried. Bonner had a good 19-foot boat, with high sides, a deep V to cut the waves and a reliable engine.

Bonner was not worried about the weather. After all, it was only a 15-minute return run. Bashline and I also knew of a safety outlet. Brandywine Light had a small protected slip in the rock base, where you could pull in a boat to ride out a storm. We might be there for a few hours or all night, but we would be safe.

Finally, Bonner decided at the last minute that we had to go. We then discovered that Bonner had an evening appointment that he had to keep. We left, despite increasing wind speeds, mounting waves and rising anxiety.

And the waves were building. The early light chop became a medium chop, soon to become a bad, violent chop. Visibility was down, making it hard to spot tankers possibly bearing down on us as we crossed the shipping channel. Still, we all had full rain gear with camera cases protected by layers of plastic garbage bags.

We headed west-southwest, Bonner on the controls, trying to follow the bouncing compass on the console. This was before GPS units.

Bashline and I hunkered down in the stern, water literally pouring over us like a bathroom shower as the boat crashed the waves, waves crashed the boat, and wind ripped the tops off whitecaps.

Our 15-minute run took two hours. Bonner was thrown off of the wheel twice, each time the boat turning partly sideways to the waves and almost broaching. Even with rain gear, Bashline and I were both literally, totally soaked before the ride was half over.

We got back to the dock, Fred hurriedly securing it to the pilings, saying quick goodbyes and heading off to home and his urgent meeting. Bashline and I collected our gear and our cars dockside and changed clothes in a nearby restroom.

We headed to a restaurant for some peace, reminiscences of the day and the largest steaks on the menu. We were shaking and shaken by the boat ride, the potential danger, the wet, cold and violent weather.

The next day Bonner called Bashline with some news. With the severity of the storm and the violence of the waves, the keel of his aluminum boat had split open on our way back. Overnight — rapidly — his boat had sunk at the dock.

C. Boyd Pfeiffer is an internationally known sportsman and award-winning writer on fishing, hunting, and the outdoors. He can be reached at cbpfeiffer@msn.com.