I remember fishing with my dad out beyond the tip of Sandy Hook near Romer Shoals. There is a lighthouse that helps captains navigate the waters into New York Harbor. It was also a great fishing spot, and I would imagine it still is. (The lighthouse story is a good one, the tale could be a book or movie. Google it for some fun reading.)
The trip began from Pauls Boats in Rumson. We could make the trip out, fish, and get back after work and before dark in the summer. I remember bouncing around in our boat as we passed over the shoals several times with our lines in the water. Trying to maintain your footing in a heaving boat with a fish on the line was always an extra challenge. Mom would make Chicken Kiev and wrap it in tin foil to maintain the heat. (Who the hell eats Chicken Kiev fishing on a boat, near capsizing, on a shoal outside NY Harbor? My mom was an excellent cook, and Dad liked to eat). I recall watching him biting the Kiev balls right out of the tin foil wrapper, butter running down his face and onto his shirt, the other hand steering the boat.
My dad’s absolute fascination with the water came from his relationship with his father. The latter was a global captain he hardly knew. Bad relationships and distance kept them apart. For me, it was just a bad relationship. And I only had a mild interest in boats, they require effort well beyond any I am willing to expend.
As the sun started to lower to the west, we turned for home. I always liked looking at Highlands as we made our way under the bridge heading South. Then the right turn up the Navesink. This meant home.