Born to Fish Read online

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  Entrepreneur

  After 2011, Greg’s relationship with competitive fishing became ambivalent at best. He still signed up for the Striper Cup most years, but it was more just to get the T-shirt and pin and to drop in at StriperFest at the end. He was no longer trying to win the tournament. The tournament promoters and press were beside themselves about his attitude and couldn’t understand where he was coming from. But to Greg, it just wasn’t worth killing big striped bass to win a tournament.

  “After killing that fish, something changed in me as a fisherman,” said Greg. “I didn’t want to kill anything anymore. Even as a deer hunter, I didn’t kill as much. I think I grew up as a hunter and fisherman, and it just didn’t matter anymore how much I killed or if it was the biggest one. I just wanted to perfect the rattle sinker I was using.”

  In 2012, the year after he caught his record-breaking striper, Greg decided to try for the striped bass catch-and-release world record, largely to help promote the idea of releasing stripers unharmed. A video crew went out with him to document his effort, so the pressure was on. Miraculously, on that first trip at one o’clock in the morning in the fog, he caught a fifty-three-inch striped bass at Six Mile Reef, while they were filming, and released it successfully. (Catch-and-release striped bass are only measured, not weighed, but it was definitely more than fifty pounds.) Once again he had set a new world record, but this one felt more meaningful. Even though the fish was not as large as his all-tackle world record, he had released it unharmed, and that meant a lot to him.

  Along with all the attention Greg received after catching the world-record striped bass, he started getting invited to present paid seminars and speeches at fishing shows. The promoters of these shows also usually offered him booth space for anything he might have to display or sell. He pondered this for a while, wondering what kind of product he might come up with, and then thought, What about the rattle sinker? All these years, he’d kept it a tightly held secret, not even telling friends about it, but maybe now was the time to do something with the idea.

  Greg and his friends started making the sinkers in his basement. But before launching his business, Greg took his ideas to the University of Connecticut Law School and got their help in registering his patent and trademark, dubbing his invention the RattleSinker. He named his business the World Record Striper Company, and offered his RattleSinkers for sale for the first time in February 2012 at a fishing show in Hartford, Connecticut. They were an instant hit.

  “Everyone wanted one,” said Greg. “I only made three or four hundred, because I was still making them in my basement, and we sold them all.”

  For the duration of the three-day fishing show, Greg and his friends would drive home from Hartford and stay up all night assembling and packaging more RattleSinkers to sell, but it was impossible to keep up with the demand.

  Greg brought his usual entrepreneurial spirit to the endeavor, the kind he’d exhibited so many times as a child, trapping muskrats, working on farms, and selling bait to fishermen. And he was good at it. He had an incredible capacity for self-promotion and was genuinely enthusiastic about what he was working on. Greg also began designing RattleSinkers for other kinds of fish. He made recordings of crawfish, shrimp, and various crabs and created RattleSinkers that mimicked their sounds as he had done with lobsters. “The RattleSinker can catch a lot more than just striped bass,” said Greg. “It can catch any kind of fish.”

  Two weeks after the Hartford show, Greg was at a fishing show in New Jersey, where they’d invited him to be a speaker, providing him with a lucrative speaker’s fee, a sales booth at the show, and a hotel room for him and his crew. Greg’s team put together another large production run and quickly sold out again.

  “After that, we started adding the rattle sound to flies, floats, and all kinds of different fishing lures,” said Greg. “We became known in the industry for our sound-based fishing equipment. The company was cruising along, without any money or advertising behind it, and was growing steadily but not very fast.”

  Greg started a website for the World Record Striper Company and began selling a significant number of RattleSinkers online. But he still needed another breakthrough to take it to the next level. He needed to get on television somehow.

  Greg hadn’t really planned to compete in the Striper Cup in 2013. He had registered, like he always does, but was releasing all the fish he caught. Then one day when he was fishing with his cousin Michael, he hooked into a huge striped bass. The conditions at sea that day were brutal, with high winds and whitecaps. Other anglers around them quickly pulled up their lines and moved their boats to give him room to fight the striper. A short time later, after an epic battle, he landed the fish, and it was spectacular, a seventy-three-pounder. Even though he knew it was a tournament-winning fish, he planned to release it instead of taking it in to be weighed and registered for the Striper Cup, but unfortunately it had died in the fight.

  “There was no releasing it,” said Greg. “It wasn’t even moving. I don’t know what happened. It must have had a heart attack or something. I even tried releasing it in the water, but it floated. It was done. I would’ve let it go otherwise.”

  With that fish, Greg suddenly had the biggest striped bass caught in the 2013 Striper Cup, so he went ahead and registered it. But the story didn’t end there. Later that evening, as always, Greg continued fishing, and he hooked the biggest striped bass he’s ever seen—a fish so powerful it pulled the boat forward against the strong current of a surging tide, peeling more than 200 yards of line from his reel before he could turn it around and work it slowly back to the boat.

  “Oh my God,” said Michael as the fish came into view. “It’s way bigger than your world record.”

  They finally hauled the bass into the boat and tried to weigh it. Although the scale went up to ninety pounds, the enormous weight of the fish completely bottomed it out. They hurriedly measured the length and girth of the fish and took some pictures, but it was so huge, Michael couldn’t even get far enough back in the boat to include the fish’s head and tail in one photograph. (Using a standard formula for calculating a striped bass’s weight from its length and girth measurements, the fish weighed approximately 106 pounds.)

  Then came the moment of truth. Greg had not brought his official International Game Fish Association measuring device, which you must use if a fish is to qualify for an IGFA catch-and-release world rec­ord. (He had left it in his own boat, and Michael didn’t have one.) He knew that if he released the fish, it would not count toward any record. But if he killed it and brought it to the dock to be officially weighed and measured, he would set an all-tackle world record that might well stand for decades. What was he to do?

  He didn’t hesitate. As Michael stood awestruck, Greg started to haul the fish back over the side of the boat.

  “What are you going to do?” Michael asked, aghast, as the fish went into the water.

  Greg didn’t say anything. He gently held the fish by its lower jaw as the water flowed through its gills, fully reviving it. “I could see her eye, big as a silver dollar, rolling around and looking at me,” said Greg. “The fish was beautiful. She didn’t have a mark on her.” He looked at the great fish for a few seconds more, then released his grip.

  “She had her mouth clamped down on my thumb, and that was the only thing holding her. She was free to go, but she just held on, looking at me. And then, whoosh! She took off and was gone, and that was that.”

  Greg stared off wistfully as he told me the story. “It wasn’t worth it to me to kill the fish just to get another piece of paper to hang on my wall.”

  After watching the massive striped bass swim away, Greg’s cousin lit up a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and released a huge cloud of smoke. “Shit, what just happened?” said Michael. “No one’s going to believe this.”

  You might well ask, how does Greg Myerson address the paradox of wanting to protect the large breeders in the striped bass p
opulation and yet potentially giving thousands of anglers the keys to the kingdom when it comes to catching the biggest stripers? After all, no one can force the people who use his RattleSinker to release their fish. It’s a fair question, and one that Greg does not shy away from. In all of his interactions with other anglers, he stresses the importance of releasing the large stripers they catch—in his conversations, his talks, and in his interviews with the media.

  “I’m trying to get the message out about how stupid it is to kill these fish,” said Greg. “Why do it? To take a picture? It’s just not worth it. I always encourage the charter customers I take out fishing to release their fish. And I set an example by never keeping the stripers I catch.”

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  So You Want to Be a TV Star?

  “What’s this Shark Tank stuff?” asked Greg’s friend Mike as he picked up an envelope from the top of a stack of letters on Greg’s kitchen table. “Mind if I open it?”

  Greg shrugged. Mike tore the envelope open and dumped out its contents: a cover letter and an application to become a contestant on Shark Tank, a popular reality show produced by Sony Pictures and appearing on ABC. Each week, various entrepreneurs appear on the show and pitch their get-rich-quick schemes to a panel of billionaires—the Sharks—in an attempt to get them to invest in their businesses.

  “You should fill this out,” said Mike. “It’d be amazing if you got on Shark Tank. Think of all the RattleSinker orders you’d get.”

  “I don’t know,” said Greg. “I just want to go fishing.” The two had just finished loading up Greg’s pickup truck with their rods and reels and planned to spend the evening fishing for striped bass in Long Island Sound. As always, Greg was eager to get out on the water and didn’t want to waste time filling out paperwork.

  “This’ll only take a few minutes,” said Mike. “I’ll just read the questions to you and write down your answers.”

  Greg didn’t know much about the show and didn’t care about becoming a contestant. A few weeks earlier Gail, a friend of Greg’s who was working with him when he launched the World Record Striper Company, had contacted Shark Tank through its website and requested an application for him. It had just arrived that day.

  As soon as Mike finished filling out the application, he put it in an envelope. He dropped it off at the post office on the way to the boat dock. And then nothing happened—for nearly three years.

  Greg was working as an electrician for the Connecticut Department of Transportation, and one wintry day in the middle of February, while he was directing traffic for another electrician who was up on a cherry picker, repairing a highway streetlight, he heard the sound of an email arriving on his iPhone. A quick read told him it was a talent scout from Shark Tank asking Greg to call her and answer a few questions about the business venture he wanted to pitch on the show. Intrigued, he put some orange cones in the intersection and climbed into the DOT truck to make the call. It soon became obvious she knew nothing about his business, so Greg gave her a quick description of the RattleSinker and the World Record Striper Company, and she went through his website as they talked.

  “If we’re interested, you’ll hear back from us soon,” she told him.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” said Greg.

  “No, really,” she said. “And you know, you should be very glad you got this call. Only one person in thirty thousand gets this far.”

  By the time Greg got home that night, he’d already received another email from Shark Tank, this time from two producers, Alan and Michael, who wanted to talk to him. He called the number and they spoke with him briefly, inviting him to send them some video footage so they could evaluate Greg’s on-camera presence. He wondered what he could do. Then he thought, I could tell them, “The most important thing a fisherman needs to know is the right kind of bait to use to attract the kind of fish you’re after. If I’m fishing for sharks, I’d use something like this”—and then cast a big wad of money right at the camcorder. Vinny came over and they worked on it together, then put the completed video on a DVD and sent it to the producers. It wasn’t great, but Greg figured it should give them an idea of his pitch.

  But then it was hurry-up-and-wait again. Three months went by, and Greg still hadn’t heard anything more from them. By then another television production company had approached him about creating a fishing reality show. The producers already had a successful classic car show on the A&E cable network and were pushing hard to get Greg on board. Three of them showed up at his house, contract in hand, driving three separate sports cars, and Greg was planning to sign it. Why not? he figured. Nothing else is going on, and it sounds like a great opportunity. He’d pretty much given up on Shark Tank. The only problem was, once he signed the contract, there was no going back; you can be on only one reality show. The contract would put an end to any hopes of ever going on Shark Tank. And the thought of going on Shark Tank was particularly appealing to him. Not only would his product get a lot of great exposure on the show, he might be able to get one of the Sharks to give him the financial backing he needed to take the RattleSinker to the next level.

  Greg sat on his couch in the living room, pen in hand, and was just about to sign the contract when a friend came over. He set the pen down and introduced her to the producers. She was amazed when she heard about the show and wanted to hear all about Greg’s part in it. Half an hour went by before Greg finally picked up the pen again. Just as he was about to sign, his iPhone lit up. He set the pen down and checked his phone. He had a new email—from the Shark Tank producers. They told him they loved his video and wanted to talk to him about possibly appearing on the show.

  “Sorry, I can’t sign your contract,” said Greg. “I’m going to be on Shark Tank.”

  This was a bit of an exaggeration. Shark Tank contestants can be dropped at any stage along the way as they go through various interviews and tryouts. Even after traveling to Los Angeles and making a pitch to the Sharks, a contestant still might not end up on the show if their segment isn’t interesting enough. And Greg was a very long way from even being invited to the studio for a tryout.

  Two of the men were furious and stormed out of his apartment, but one of them wished him well and said he hoped they might work together sometime. Perhaps it was a rash decision on Greg’s part. Here he had a TV show in the bag, albeit one that was less well-known than Shark Tank. And he still had endless hoops to jump through before he would know whether he would really be on the show. Many—perhaps most—people who make it this far still don’t get on Shark Tank; it’s incredibly competitive, with very few available spots.

  Each Monday at 4:00 p.m., Greg would have a conference call with producers Alan and Michael (familiarity soon made them Al and Mike) and go through dry runs of his Shark Tank pitch, delivering it again and again and again. This went on for a couple of months, until he was nearly completely burned out on the whole thing. But by then, Al and Mike felt he was their boy, and they really wanted him to be on the show. They started sending paperwork, sometimes fifty pages at a time, for him to sign. Fortunately, Greg had a friend who offered to help. She would go through all the papers in a single night and have them ready for him to sign and return the next morning. Eventually it all came together, and they asked him to ship RattleSinkers, displays, signage, and other promotional materials he would need for the show to Sony Pictures. “We’re bringing you to L.A.,” they told him. “Your plane tickets are in the mail.”

  Greg wasn’t supposed to discuss his possible appearance on Shark Tank with anyone, but he couldn’t resist letting his brother Dave and his college roommate Bear Judkins know. Besides, he would need their help to make it happen. Greg was terrified of flying—ever since he’d been on an airliner that nearly crashed during an electrical storm while traveling from Florida to Vermont on New Year’s Eve 1999. Over Atlanta, the plane had suddenly plunged several thousand feet, finally pulling out just seconds before it would have hit the ground. Greg swore he would never fly again, and so
far he’d kept his promise. But now he had to get to Los Angeles, and the studio had sent him plane tickets.

  Bear drove to Wallingford to see him. “You look like shit, Greg,” he told him. “But don’t worry. I’ll fly with you. Everything will be fine.”

  Greg was a basket of anxiety in the days leading up to his trip and was eating Xanax like candy. He also had a major flare-up of ulcerative colitis, which had plagued him for several years, and was taking prednisone to control the inflammation and bleeding. He was nearly comatose on the flight west.

  As soon as they stepped out of the security area at LAX, Greg and Bear spotted a man holding up a sign reading “Greg Myerson.” They followed him outside to a Shark Tank van that was waiting at the curbside. They were taken to a hotel in Culver City, where all of the aspiring Shark Tank contestants—perhaps fifteen in all—were staying. The show’s security staff kept a close eye on everyone. No one was allowed to discuss their products and pitches with each other, which made conversation difficult. All of them had arrived on Thursday, and the following morning they were taken in two separate vans to the Sony Pictures studio to begin the auditions.

  The area of the studio they went to looked just like the Shark Tank set, but the “Sharks” weren’t there—only photographs of them propped up on a table. The room was full of people—producers, lawyers, web developers—sitting at tables, hunched over their laptop computers, staring intently at the potential contestants as they presented their sales pitches. It was enough to make anyone nervous. Greg peeked in on them during some of the other pitches. The producers sat stone-faced and silent through most of them—until they got to Greg. As soon as Greg swung his toy fishing rod forward, flipping a wad of dollar bills right to the center of the head producer’s laptop, they all burst out laughing, and at the end of his pitch everyone stood up and applauded. They sent him back to his hotel room as soon as he was finished and said they’d let him know soon, one way or another, whether he was going to be on the show. He didn’t hear anything more until that night, when the producer called and said Greg was moving to the next step and would be making his pitch to the Sharks on Tuesday. “So just enjoy your weekend and be ready to go at nine o’clock on Tuesday morning,” he said.