Lessons in Real Estate, Life and Fishing from The Big Rock Blue Marlin Tournament

Hatteras, NC —

 

I'm writing this from Hatteras, NC, where the 68th Annual Big Rock Blue Marlin Tournament is underway — one of the largest sportfishing tournaments in the world. Hundreds of boats, millions of dollars in prize money, and crews who have been preparing for this week for months. Some of them for decades.

 

Which brings me to the truth about big game fishing that nobody tells you before you sign up.

 

It starts days, weeks, and years before you ever leave the dock. Rigging baits. Checking and re-checking equipment. Stocking provisions. Icing the boat. Inspecting every line, every hook, every lure, every knot. The preparation is meticulous, unglamorous, and absolutely non-negotiable. You do it because when the moment comes — and it will come — you cannot afford to be the crew whose equipment failed.

 

Then comes the pre-dawn departure. The marina is dark and quiet. Diesel engines rumble to life up and down the docks. And then you're off — beating your way through the inlet and out into the open Atlantic, hours of running before you even wet a line.

And here's what nobody warns you about, and what I wouldn't trade for anything: once you're out there, something shifts. The coast disappears behind you. The water turns from green to deep blue. The noise of the world — the phone, the obligations, the noise — all of it falls away. There is a profound peace on the open ocean that is almost impossible to describe. The rhythm of the hull cutting through swells. The spray. The horizon stretching endlessly in every direction. A sky so big it humbles you. Out there, you are exactly where you are supposed to be, doing exactly what you are supposed to be doing. Hours can pass and feel like minutes.

 

But make no mistake — out there, everything matters. Moon phase. Wind. Sea grass. All play a factor. You study the conditions, read the water, and make decisions that can mean the difference between a fish and an empty box.

 

Then there's the team. The Captain — experience, instinct, and calm authority at the helm. The Mate — relentless preparation, tireless execution. The crew — each person knowing their role when chaos erupts. And the tactics: deployment of the lures, design of the spread, dredges, teasers — every element of the pattern working together to create the perfect presentation. You have to be in the right place at the right time, and you have to be ready when the opportunity arrives.

 

Then the rigger snaps. A line goes tight. Chaos — beautiful, electric chaos — and every nerve in your body fires at once. Now it's angling — equipment and skill. Wiring — skill and brute strength. And above all, safety. One mistake and the moment is gone, or worse. Anglers and crew have died battling these beasts that can achieve weights of over 1,300 pounds.

 

My friend and long-time fishing partner Pete says luck is when preparation meets opportunity. What he means is that the peace, the patience, and the preparation are not obstacles to the result — they are the result. The occasional burst of excitement is only possible because of everything that came before it.

 

I know this firsthand. I have fished aboard the Release for 23 years — a 53-foot Bobby Sullivan captained by the legendary Rom Whitaker out of Hatteras Village. Rom has been fishing the Big Rock for nearly 40 years. Forty years of entry fees. Forty years of pre-dawn departures and long days trolling. Forty years of rigging baits, maintaining a boat, and doing the unglamorous work that most people never see.

 

And it wasn't without heartbreak. Over those years, the Release had its victories — winning the Release Division twice, taking home wahoo, dolphin, and tuna categories along the way. But the big one remained elusive. They watched other boats weigh in winners year after year. They paid their entry fees, showed back up, and did it all over again. Forty years of headwinds.

 

Then came 2024.

 

On Day 1 of the 2024 tournament — a record 302-boat field with a $7.5 million purse — we put a 504-pound blue marlin on the dock. First 500-pounder of the tournament. The Release won the Fabulous Fisherman category. Total payout: $2,215,325. When that fish hit the scales and the crowd went quiet, then erupted — Rom said his soul left his body. After 38 years, we were rock stars on that dock.

 

That wasn't luck. That was 38 years of preparation finally meeting its moment.

 

The exact same principle applies to everything worth doing in life.

 

In business and in life, the obstacles are the same: Headwinds. Turbulence. Storms. Equipment failure.

 

Think about the family chasing that perfectly manicured lawn. Mow, mow, mow. Edge. Fertilize. Weed control. Nurture, nurture, nurture —

 

Wham. Moles. Mole crickets. Drought. Too much rain. But stay the course, keep doing the work, and occasionally all the elements conspire to give you that one perfect season with that perfect lawn.

 

Now think about your marriage.

 

Young love, romance, and giggles. Optimism and joy. Babies! Your first house!

 

Wham. Bills, bills, bills. A layoff. An illness. A troubled teenager. The relentless day-in, day-out routine of wash, rinse, repeat. Headwinds, turbulence, storms, equipment failure... (read into that whatever you'd like ).

 

If you're not paying attention, you'll get blown off course and set adrift in a vast, dead ocean.

 

Now think about your real estate business.

 

Prepare — get your education, earn your license, know your market. Plan. Practice. Execute. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Snore. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Snore.

 

Cold calls, door knocks, market reports, open houses, follow-ups that go nowhere. Day after day of doing the work that nobody sees and nobody applauds. And then suddenly — but predictably — a bite. A client. A contract. A closing. And then right back at it. Plan, practice, execute. Repeat (troll) repeat (troll) repeat (troll).

 

Wham. Left flat line. Big fish.

 

The lawn. The marriage. The real estate career. The fishing trip. The pattern never changes. Rom Whitaker fished the Big Rock for nearly 40 years before that 504-pounder hit the scales. Forty years of doing the work, paying the entry fees, enduring the near-misses, and trusting the process — while the world watched other boats take the trophy home.

 

The grind isn't the obstacle. The grind is the game. The peace you find in it — on the water, in your work, in your relationships — that's not a consolation prize for the days you don't win. That's the whole point.

 

Show up. Stay prepared. Trust the process.

 

When the moment comes, you'll be ready.

 

(Pictured above: a beast of a yellowfin that we brought in on the last day of fishing in the Big Rock Blue Marlin Tournament)