Story by Brad Fuller
In early 2019, life for Michele and me was a delicate balancing act. She was a full-time guidance counselor at a local junior high school, helping students navigate the complexities of adolescence. I was halfway around the world, working a grueling schedule that had me home for 45–60 days, then gone overseas for 60–90. On top of it all, we were running Omega Custom Tackle, a small but growing company fueled by our shared passion for fishing.
The emotional toll of my schedule weighed heavily on our family. Each goodbye was harder than the last, and the volatility of the world only magnified the strain. My job was dangerous and unpredictable, becoming an ever-increasing source of stress. I missed so much—moments with Michele, milestones with our daughters—and we both knew something had to change.
Our main goal was clear: we needed to create a situation where I could be home full-time. We wanted to ensure I was there to support our daughters as they prepared to head into college and to grow Omega into a full-fledged business. But more than that, we wanted to build a life where we were truly present—not just for each other, but for the things that mattered most.
The idea for the National Professional Fishing League wasn’t born overnight. It grew out of countless conversations about what we wanted our future to look like and how we could create something meaningful—not just for us, but for the sport we love. Fishing had always been a cornerstone of our lives, and we saw an opportunity to build something new, something different—a league that prioritized anglers, valued integrity, and gave fans something fresh to cheer for.
In early 2019, Big Al McCulloch approached Michele and me with the idea of starting the NPFL. At first, we blew it off. The timing didn’t feel right, and the idea seemed too big to take on. But after some consideration, we started to see the potential. We decided to jump in, and even as we worked to form the league, I continued deploying overseas. Contracting had been my life since 2013, and in those seven years, I experienced things I’ll carry with me forever. Some of them were incredible—a testament to the strength of the human spirit and the bonds forged in the toughest environments. Others were harrowing.
There were moments where I thought, without a doubt, that I wasn’t going to make it home. Not in a “Something bad might happen” way, but in a “This is it … I’m dead” kind of way. Those moments, while I don’t often talk about them, took their toll. Each one chipped away at me and my family.
In 2020, the tipping point came. My group lost two individuals, Dustin Harrison and Bruce Triplett, in an attack by Al-Shabaab in Kenya. Dustin’s death hit me hard. We had flown together many nights, locked in a metal tube for five or six hours at a time. You learn a lot about someone in that setting. Even though you rarely meet their family, you feel like you know them in a deep and personal way.
When the news of Dustin’s death reached me, my first thought was of his wife, Hope, and their little girl. And then, almost immediately, I thought of Michele and our two daughters. It was a gut punch that shook me to my core. In that moment, the illusion of immortality was gone, and my perspective on life changed instantly. The risks I was taking were no longer just about me—they were about the people who depended on me to come home.
That’s when I knew it was time to step away. My final deployment ended just before the COVID lockdowns of 2020, and while it was a difficult decision, it was the right one. It allowed me to focus fully on building the NPFL and, more importantly, to be present with my family.
For me, the NPFL wasn’t just an opportunity to be home full-time with my family—it was more than that. After 10 years in Special Operations and another 7 years conducting operations as a U.S. contractor, I had spent nearly 17 years in environments that were exciting, challenging, and, at times, utterly miserable. Walking away from that world left a void, and the NPFL gave me something to fill it.
The league became my target, my purpose. It gave me a mission to focus on, something I needed after spending so much of my life on one. Some might say having that kind of drive is a sickness, and I wouldn’t argue with them. But the NPFL, our anglers, fans, and sponsors—they are my mission now, and I am consumed by it.
One of the unexpected blessings of this journey has been the people I’ve met and the team I get to work with every day. I’ve had the chance to be around my bass fishing heroes, legends like Darrel Robertson and Lendell Martin, and to spend time with some of the biggest names in the sport. I’ve made lifelong friends with individuals like FatCat Newton and Luke Dunkin. And I’ve been empowered to grow as a person and a professional because of people like Ray Otterson, Justin Brouillard, and Ken Duke. Their influence has shaped me in ways I never anticipated.
The NPFL has made me a better person. It’s given me a chance to learn, to lead, and to share this passion with a group of incredible individuals who all bring something special to the table. People like Al, Paul, Mike, Catharine, and the entire crew make this mission not just possible, but meaningful.
As we head into year five of the NPFL, I’m profoundly grateful for what this league has given me—a purpose, a passion, and a chance to build something with the people who matter most. The NPFL isn’t just a business or a league to me—it’s a part of who I am, and I’ll keep giving it everything I’ve got.
