The humidity sat on my skin like a thin, viscous, film as I wiped the haze from my Maui Jim Wayfarer sunglasses. Twenty miles south the morning’s first hint of weather rumbled deep with bass and promise of the coming tempest as the heat of dawn formed the initial build-ups of white puffy clouds, laden with moisture, that would later become slate grey and violent as they delivered mid-afternoon lightning and thunderstorms. At the launch ramp located in the mouth of Little Creek, though, the air was dead still and muggy... as it should be when you’re chasing the ghost of the flats.
Today I am fishing with Andros South Lodge, one of the prime fishing locations operated by Deneki Outdoors. Our group makes up the last clients of the year for laid-back lodge operator Rick Sisler. The lodge closes for the summer at the end of May to avoid most of the nasty weather that the Tropics produce during Hurricane season which runs from Jun 1 through October.
Set in one of the world’s finest fly fishing destinations, Andros South offers anglers the opportunity to ply the waters of Andros Island in search of Bonefish. We are shooting for an episode of Familiar Waters, the TV show that I have produced and hosted going on 15 years. Along for this episode is Aaron Adams Ph. D. Aaron is the Executive Director of Bonefish and Tarpon Trust, and a senior scientist at Mote Marine Laboratories. If anyone in the world knows more about Bonefish biology you'd be hard pressed to find them. (Aaron is one of the world’s leading minds when it comes to the “Ghost of the Flats”). Personable yet soft spoken Aaron delivers technical information as though he’s discussing the box score from last night’s game. With his credentials he could lecture anywhere in the world on the topic of marine fisheries, but as he discusses his favorite species you can hear the passion in his voice and soon I’m rapt. Our conversation flows as though we are old friends. The caveat, though, is that I’m gaining knowledge of the habitat and behavior of Bonefish with each sentence.
The sound of the 60 hp Honda outboard and the smell of exhaust and sunscreen hang heavy in the humid tropical air as we board the 16 foot Mitsy flats Boat captained by our guide for the day, Torrie Bevans. To call the typical Bahamian Bonefish guide quiet is an understatement. Generally local guides use the minimum amount of words necessary to catch bones. “Bone…9 o’clock 60 feet go now… Set” may be the full extent of conversation on a flat with some of these guys. Not Torrie though. Standing 6’3 215lbs with a full head of tip-bleached dreadlocks Torrie would seem more at home in the crowd at a Bob Marley concert than on the polling platform of a flats boat. His ability to think like a bonefish, though, is uncanny. And contrary to the natural Bahamian stoicism, Torrie is downright gregarious. He’s happy to talk, and will do so all day. He has a wealth of knowledge that he shares with his clients. Pair his ebullient nature with a big, contagious smile and a sharp sense of humor and it’s easy to understand why Torrie is my all time favorite Bonefish guide.
While Aaron’s knowledge of Bonefish comes from research and field work, Torrie’s familiarity with the Grey Ghost comes from on the job training. Trial and error, if you will, has led to a thorough understanding of our quarry this morning. And while Aarons facts have been established with the scientific method, it’s amazing to see how accurate Torrie’s assumptions are as the two styles overlap. Before we ever leave the dock one thing is clear, I will come away from this fishing trip with a whole knew understanding of Bonefish.
This morning we were at the beginning of a rising tide. Bonefish are more sensitive to tidal fluctuation than most other fishes as they inhabit extremely shallow water. Their habitat and location vary greatly with the tides. The flats around south Andros have a very slight gradient so the difference of one hour of tidal flow can find vast acres of marine mud either dry as sand in the Sahara or covered with a thin layer of salt water that stands at the perfect depth for predatory Bonefish to search for crabs and shrimp that make up the majority of their diet. Your guide needs understand his tides as they are the key to catching this elusive fish.
The gentle sway of the ocean under our hull stands in stark contrast to the excitement I feel as we head out of the mouth of Little Creek. We’re heading east into the morning sun. Torrie knows exactly where he’s headed. With his typical toothy grin Torrie announces in the wonderful Bahamian dialect that I always associate with Bonefishing, “Wit dis tide we’ll find tails on Dotum mon”.
Dothum Flat is a seaside stretch of white sand that runs for miles along Andros Island’s South East coast. Its reputation for holding both numbers of fish and large fish is so well known that the local guides repeat the name “Dotum” with reverence. The eastern edge of this Caribbean jewel gradually slopes off to that opalescent green water you find on the pages of fly fishing magazines.
The third largest barrier reef in the world fringes the outer edge of this mid depth water just before it drops off into the Tongue of the Ocean; A nearby sub-marine trench that splits the Grand Bahama bank and provides spawning habitat for Bonefish with the urge. At low tide Dothum is a long stretch of wet sand leading to small, impassable creek mouths. However, as the tide rises, the Bones that have been holding in the deeper water just offshore head into the recently quenched mangrove flats where their prey just waited out low tide. Local Bonefish know how fertile a hunting ground this massive flat can be and they head in from all directions with the incoming water. At times there are so many fish pushing onto the flats with the tide that it looks like a hoard of pre-teen girls rushing the gates at a Justin Beeber concert.
The soft sound of the fine grain limestone sand rubbing the paint off the worn fiberglass of the blue and white skiff tells us that we’re heading into Bonefish country. The water under our hull is so skinny it seems that the boat will surely get stuck in the mud but the shallow draft of the Mitsy allows Torrie to idle, (or as the Bahamian guides call it “Bubble”) back a good half mile from deeper water.
Today we’re hunting tails.
As I mentioned, Bonefish feed on small crustaceans and bait fish that inhabit very shallow water. When they are on the feed in such areas their tails and dorsal fins will puncture the surface and announce their presence to anglers above. The telltale flash of the dorsal “sail” as it reflects the sun or the nervous quiver of a tail as a hungry Bone tips to snare another shrimp can quicken your pulse by 20 beats per minute. Some fish will go so shallow that you would swear that only their lips and belly were damp while the rest of this sleek silver bottom feeder remains exposed to the world of air breathers.
For Trout fishermen, hunting tailing bonefish would be akin to fishing twenty inch Rainbows that sipping emerging PMD’s out of the surface film. With trout you find a feeding fish and target the ring left over as he sips emerging insects from the surface meniscus, otherwise known as the rise form. With Bonefish, you hunt tails. Once you’ve spotted a single fish or school of feeding bones you anticipate their direction and speed then, as silently as possible, you proceed to stalk to a position that puts you at the perfect casting range. On a river, fishing trout, with moving water, making the perfect drag free drift is essential. The bug has to land above the trout’s feeding station and act like a natural insect. The Ghost of the flats offers a different challenge.
Bonefish are extremely spooky. If you alert Mr. Bone to your presence it’s possible that the explosive retreat he makes when he “blows out” can put a whole flat down for 15 minutes or more. You need to judge environmental conditions as well as the mood of the fish. Sun angle, cloud cover, wind, and tide direction all have to be taken into account before you move. If you have chop on the water you can afford to wade closer to feeding fish and your cast you can land your fly in tighter proximity. You can also afford a tight cast to Bones that are actively munching on crabs and shrimp. Competition may make them less spooky and is likely to cause one of the more aggressive fish in the school jump your offering. You can see this behavior if you pay attention. Competitive bones will jump ahead of one another as they try to outrace each other for the next morsel. Making flashy stop and start wakes that look like the water gun balloon races at carnival, aggressive bones make a herky-jerky / random feeding pattern.
This morning, the tails that we can see as we exit the boat into shin deep water are traveling at a lazy pace, feeding opportunistically in glass calm water. With the low sun angle presenting a perfect reflection of the far off clouds. The only ripples on this flat are caused by predators in search of their prey: Bonefish are stalking crustaceans, and anglers are stalking Bones.
There are so many separate dimples, surface disturbances that give away the position of this flats phantom, that it’s hard to pick a group to stalk first. Within a hundred meter square we are looking at several schools of bonefish. As a group we drew straws and I’m up first. I’m used to pressure. I played 11 years of professional football, and I cast a fly rod on TV every week of the year. There’s something about stalking tailing Bonefish, though, that raises my blood pressure by 50 points. Doing it with the Executive Director of Bonefish and Tarpon Trust looking over my shoulder just adds to the fun. Not that Aaron is an intimidating guy, he’s as cordial as they come in our business, but I want to make a good first impression.
We choose a group of six to eight bones that are lazily tailing in our direction. From where we stand 150 feet to the south the biggest fish looks to be around 5 lbs., respectable but not a monster. It will be a good group for a first shot. We move our feet languidly, so as not to disturb the water surface and alert these bones to our presence. The pace is agonizingly slow as Torrie and I close the gap to a reasonable casting distance.
I took up fly fishing when I was just short of 10 years old. The first time I watched a man whose name I can’t remember cast a 7 foot rod at Eastern Sierra Rainbows I was hooked. I couldn’t explain it then, but looking back I can see how it fit my pre-A.D.H.D lack of focus. Fly fishing is hunting with a fly rod. That’s how it differs from bank sitting and bait chunkin’. Certain species fit the hunting paradigm better than others. Bonefish, Permit and Tarpon are the kings of salt when it comes to a hunt.
As the water ripples off my Flats boots with each step my pulse quickens. Bonefish generally feed into the tide. They run a random pattern, though, based on where they see their prey. They can zigzag all over a flat looking like a drunken demolition derby driver. Jumping from crab to shrimp, Bones can lead you on an aggravating chase for hundreds of yards before disappearing right in front of your eyes. The school that we’ve chosen has angled to our right but they are continuing in our general direction. As they close the gap to 100 feet Torrie and I stop and wait.
I’m casting an Fast Action 9’ 8weight rod with a matching 8wt reel that balances the combo perfectly and makes the rod feel feather light in my hand.. I only use high end, high performance lines when I hunt the flats and today is no different. I can reach these fish at 90 feet but under these still conditions accuracy and presentation are paramount. My optimum casting distance will be between 60 and 70 feet, easily reachable with accuracy but far enough away to minimize the chance that I’ll spook these fish with my movement. I’m throwing a bug that I tied last night. People may argue that since I’m imitating a shrimp with the pattern it’s not a “bug”, but I started with trout so every fly to me is a bug. The pattern is of Aaron’s initial design with a few of my own wrinkles. Tan ersatz body, cream Puglisi fibers barred with a black Sharpie for a tail, barred brown Bunny fur for a wing, a few rubber legs and a lead barbell eye make what I believe is the sexiest imitation of the Mantis Shrimp that I’ve ever seen.
Bones eat Mantis Shrimp aggressively. This little Copepod has a unique predatory technique that doubles as a defense. They have a claw that they use to punch prey and predators alike. The punch is so strong that it can split skin on the human hand. Bones don’t like to get whacked, but they do like to eat Mantis shrimp. So it stands to reason that when they attack a Mantis they do it with a zeal reserved for this little kick boxer to avoid the knockout blow. That’s what makes this pattern so good. When they decide to eat it the Bones attack it with gusto.
A small bead of sweat drips down the center of my back as the warm tropical waters slowly fill Dothum flat and this squadron of bonefish stall in position. The seconds tick by. Minutes seem like an eternity as we wait for these bones to take a direction. My mind is filled with a thousand questions as I try to discern the answers to the angler’s algorithm unrolling before my eyes. Which direction are they heading? How fast are they moving? Where is the sun angle? Will my line cast a shadow? Which direction is the tide rolling? Are there any outlying fish that might blow my cover? How far do I have to lead them? Are there any sharks nearby that may make a move for a fish if I hook it? These are a few of the problems that have to be solved if I hope to make an accurate cast and entice one of these wandering predators to accept my offering.
It is the apex of the hunt, and at the heart of our sport, I believe, it is the reason that we still pursue our finned friends when a supermarket is closer, cheaper, and more convenient. Fishing fills the predatory instinct that has allowed the human race to thrive and answers the question: if I had to, could I survive? Am I up to the challenge? All of these equations and emotions mix in my head as the bones choose their final direction. They are angling at 45 degrees from left to right in my direction. It’s the moment of truth!
I learned an important fact early in my football career. The human forearm contains 20 muscles that are used in grip and locomotion of the hand. Stress makes you tight. Tightness leads to a tight grip and a tight grip leads to a wounded duck and an incomplete pass. It’s these small muscles in the forearm that cause a QB to throw an inaccurate pass in the heat of the moment. Therefore, it behooves a young QB to stay calm or in the zone.
Realizing I needed to stay cool under pressure, during my playing days, as I approached the line of scrimmage and surveyed the defense I had a mantra that released the stress. “It’s just a game.” I would repeat that phrase during pressure filled moments. That’s how I kept myself centered and kept the nerves from disrupting my accuracy. The same affect happens when casting a fly rod. How many times have you made 3 great false casts and then at the key, final delivery, blown the presentation because you tightened up? Same effect.... So as I prepare to deliver my Polish Prize Fighter (The name I lovingly gave my bug) I take a second to appreciate the fact that I get the opportunity to stand ankle deep in the warm Bahamian waters of an island paradise and prepare to make a 70 foot cast to the Grey Ghost. “It’s a good day”, I tell myself and exhale.
More often than not Bone-fishermen rush things anyway. Taking the time to appreciate the gift of the day slows time and relaxes my grip.
I stand crouched, squinting through my polarized lenses, rod in my right hand at waist level, line in my left hand, 65 feet of excess for casting being pulled in a loop back and left by the incoming tide. Torrie stands a foot to my left, his head just above and in front of mine as he leans in with his right hand on my left shoulder, the scent of tobacco from the rough cigarettes that he smokes wafts up off his fingers. Slowly, moving like a great blue heron as it extends its bill inching in on a small fish just prior to striking, he points with his left hand. It is the practiced move of a marine predator. 5 grey shadows, silver and blue like tinted specters hover inches off the sand edging our direction. There are seven fish total but two have found a morsel and have stopped short for a bite. Low thunder rolls through the clouds that threaten our flat in the not to distant future. I sense it more than hear it, but it doesn’t register as anything more than input. I’ll worry about the coming storm later. I’m in the moment. I’m focused like a sniper, his crosshairs on target. My muscles are taught but lithe. Tightness repelled by my new mantra, all my senses converge on these bones. As they enter my casting sphere I know I can make the cast but I await Torrie’s voice.
If you have never fished salt it may seem odd that I would wait for direction when I know I have these fish dead to rights. On the flats, however, guide and angler are a team. I have relied on Torrie to get me this far. This is his stalk. He has put me on fish; fish that he knows infinitely better than I do. I will rely on his skill for only moments longer. Once he says go it’s my turn. I will be in charge of making an accurate cast and forcing these fish to eat. I will decide when to strip or stop. It will be my skill with the rod that provokes the predatory instinct or sends these bones fleeing. They will be my fish to hook or not. Right now, however, these fish still belong to Torrie. Out of respect I wait for him to call the shot.
Torrie whispers the words I’ve been waiting to hear. The rod feels light and crisp in my hand as I start the process by straightening my line with a low roll cast. I cock my rod back and to the right, a slight external rotation in the shoulder as I extend my left arm down and back for the “haul”. We teach beginners in our sport to minimize wrist movement because it’s hard to control line when your hand gets loose; but I’ve been playing this game for 30 years. My line is moving now. Thirty feet out of the guides and the rod is beginning to flex to my rear. I move my left hand to the rod just above the grip pinching the line between my left thumb and pointer finger. I stop and hold, just long enough to feel the rod load. There’s no sound, just the strain of the line against the smooth taper of Boron. The mechanics of the fly cast are a poetic conflict. Pull and push, equal and opposite, smooth yet powerful, yin and yang. I lead with the butt of the rod. Pulling my line first as I generate forward momentum. My left hand has finished it’s second execution of the “double haul” as my right hand reaches its forward apex. I tempt physics once more by snapping my wrist forward then hammering to a sudden stop, sending my line hurtling on its way, gambling that my brain has done the math and that my nerves are calm. Fluidly, the line turns over defying gravity and describing a loop just 4 feet off the water. The Bones are gloriously unaware of our presence. They continue on their path to the place where our destinies will cross. As my line straightens before me once more I begin my back cast. I need 20 more feet of line to reach my target, a spot 5 feet in front of where these fish will be in approximately 4 seconds. The time my mind tells me it will take to complete this series of a long back and gentle front cast. I haul with my left once more as I send my line unraveling rearward.
This scenario has played itself out millions of times throughout the age of man. Prey in front, the hunter stands poised. He will taste the thrill of conquest or the agony of escape. In that regard we are all the same and it’s why our sport ties us to our history. It’s not just a pastime; it’s woven into our DNA.
The world could disappear right now and I wouldn’t notice for I am so focused on my fish. The warm Caribbean water forms a soft eddy by my legs. Sand swirls by my feet. The first flash of lightning lights the southern sky as my rod loads for the final front cast. Yet I don’t notice. This is it, the point where I make or break the cast and presentation. Will I stay loose and make a sweet soft cast or tighten up and miss? Can Aaron and the rest of the film crew sense it or has time slowed down for me alone? The fish can’t sense it. If they can they are co-conspirators, in this timeless dance, continuing on the journey that will bring us together. My mind is clear, focused. My senses heightened, all systems are go. The math is correct. I will make the cast.
No stress, my forearm loose I deliver my forward cast. I shoot the remainder of my line. Water zips in small rivulets as the final loop rips off the thin layer of sea at my feet. My left arm fully extended back and left, my rod arm pointing straight at the fish, the line slaps the rod as it straightens to its full length. My reel lets out a single click and I lift my rod tip ever-so-slightly. My bug will hit the water as softly as a fly weighted with lead eyes can. At 2 feet above the water and five feet in front of the oncoming bonefish my fly stops in mid air. It hovers then falls. I am 70 feet away but I know there is no noise by the reaction of the bones. They don’t quiver or bolt in a rush. They’re not spooked. They haven’t even noticed the intrusion of this fur and thread faker.
At 5 feet I wait. The bones are coming and I want my bug to look like fleeing prey. If I move it too early they may never notice it and I’ll have to pick it up to cast again greatly increasing the odds of spooking these fish and potentially putting the flat down for a short time. At 4 feet I hold. If I wait too long it will move right underneath them which will definitely spook them. Once again the explosive retreat could alert the other fish on the flat to the presence of a predator and make fishing much more difficult.
Your first shot, if you’re patient is always your best. I need to make mine count. At 3 feet I bump my bug. Just a small strip, no more than a couple of inches, slower is better for your first move. The second fish in the pack angles my direction. I give my bug a second bump. My id is fighting my superego, the primal hunter telling me to strip like hell, do anything to make this fish eat. My experience is telling me slow and easy will create the grab. The fish’s pace picks up. The lead bone has turned on my offering as well. Competition is always good. I get one more strip before the first fish to turn rushes my bug and eats it. Cool as can be, I strip set my adrenaline and my heart pounding in my ears at the same time are screaming “STRIP, STRIP, STRIP!!!” I don’t come tight. The fish is moving right at me now carrying my fly in his mouth. I can’t keep up with his pace no matter how fast I strip so I use my rod hand.
Trout setting is the ultimate sin in flats fishing. Trying to set the hook with a long sweep of the rod creates counter forces in line movement and creates line speeds which inevitably rip the bug out of the fish’s mouth and spook the whole covey. I have developed a system, or perhaps it’s better described as an adrenaline invoked reaction, for bones that you can’t catch by stripping alone. With my rod hand I pull directly back while keeping my rod tip pointed at the fish. This takes up line quickly but not as fast as the sweep set. I’ve found that at times it is the only way to catch up to a speeding bone.
Sir Isaac Newton was a brilliant man. He was a physicist who developed several theories for understanding the physical world. Not having been schooled in physics myself it’s hard to follow much of his work. I know this much, however, as I stand ankles deep in bonefish habitat I’m witnessing Newton’s laws of motion:
Law #1: An object in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force.
This bonefish is a perfect example of that. He grabbed my bug and headed directly at me. He was in motion when he ate and he’s still coming!
Law #2: Force equals mass times acceleration
This bone is decent. Maybe 3 lbs., but he’s moving at a good clip. I can’t catch up by stripping alone. Therefore, this fish is a force to be reckoned with and I’m forced to change my plan.
Law #3: To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
That’s what happened next.
Who knew you could learn Newtonian physics bone fishing on an Androsian flat? With my fish speeding at me now I’ve strip set several times but I’m just unable to catch up by stripping alone. He’s just 60 feet now and closing as the fish that was formerly the point pursues him in hopes of a quick escape by their newly found morsel. It’s time to change my plan. I strip set one more time then I pull set. I move my rod hand back, while keeping the tip pointed at the bone that is carrying my bug as he closes in on 50 feet. As I do he veers to his right, my left. Still unaware of my presence, or for that matter, that he is in imminent peril, he is turning away from his pursuer, the fish that formerly lead the school. He’s trying to keep this morsel for himself. That’s when Newton rears his head. The combination of me pulling and the fish turning makes my line come tight. You would think this is a good thing, but my hook can’t find a purchase. The two opposite movements create counter forces and the equivalent of a sweep set. As a result, my bug pops out of the fish’s mouth. Mr. Bonefish as professor, I stand witness to Newton’s 3rd law of motion.
I pull + fish turns=bug pops. Clean as can be. That’s not how this was supposed to go down. I had the perfect set up. Bones coming at me, sun to my side, time to cast and carefree fish. This should have been a hook-up.
I’m shocked and flustered, My mouth is agape but there’s no audible sound but only for a split second. Before the shock and dismay can even register I’m locked in. I realize that the trailing fish, which is the larger of the two, sees his opportunity as my fly forcefully ejects from the mouth of it’s would be predator. Before my bug even touches the sand I am composed. Once again I am the hunter, lips pursed, hands in motion, eyes intent and focused on the new target directly in the crosshairs.
From dead stop to fast forward the world becomes a blur of motion and sound. My left hand flies back to grip my line and I assume a stripping crouch. The bone is coming. He, also, is locked onto his prey. This time I give to my Id. This bone wants to see his prey fleeing and I’m game. I strip like hell. Torrie’s voice registers, but just barely: “Streep, streep, streep!” the Bahamian national anthem sounds. I’m on it. Grab strip release; grab strip release, my hand flies from rod to hip with line in tow. The Bone pounces, I can almost feel the soft granule sound of the sand being compressed and shifted as he presses his snout into the ever so light tan sand trapping his prey, my bug. Then gloriously his tail shoots skyward.
Adrenaline has taken over. I am functioning purely on instinct, but as this fish grabs my bug I retain just enough composure to keep the wheels from flying off. I recognize the grab and I strip set!
Here’s a little piece of Bonefish knowledge I learned this day. Very generally speaking a bonefish will make about one big run per lb. stripping line and backing while testing your reels drag. For instance, a 3lb. Bone will generally make 3 solid runs a 4lb bone will make 4. There will be fits and starts with down moments between and some fish with more heart will break this rule. On average, though, the rule of 1 run per lb. applies. The first run of a Bonefish battle, however, is usually the best.
My fish didn’t disappoint. As his tail shot skyward I summoned the last remaining ounce of composure I had left and strip set like a gentleman. Immediately his tail sunk and his grey and blue snout jutted in my direction. My hook made its’ purchase and I was tied to a startled Bone. For a moment, the proverbial calm before the storm, his streamlined shape glided silently through 10 inches of water, a substance almost 1,000 times more dense than air, until he realized he was in danger.
That’s when my partner in this ageless dance lived up to his billing. In an instant time rushed back to normal speed. All my senses were firing. The smell of salt air hit my nostrils as the sunlight’s intensity increased as though someone hat turned the knob on a dimmer switch. The smooth sound of my reel’s drag, screaming for more, accosted my ears. All of a sudden I could hear the sound of the crew and Aaron yelling and cheering, quietly like an argument in church, so as not to spook the other bones on our flat. Above it all Torrie’s voice spoke to the success of our partnership; “Nice Goooing Mon! Goood Job.”
My fish headed to my right toward open water on his first big run. He peeled off 50’ of backing in an instant then turned on a path paralleling the shore heading South. My rod flexed, pulsating, I could feel the power in each kick of this shallow water athlete’s tail. A point 5’ down my line, just past the loop to loop connection where my backing was secured was the last piece of fly line I could see as I held my rod high so as to keep my line and leader from snagging on any bottom protrusion. The fish, I know from experience, was about 30 meters further south than where my line entered the water. He put on a burst, the drag of fly line and reel keeping him from reaching his top speed near 25mph. He was still nearing 20 as the sound of my line would attest. Sizzling as it ripped through the waters surface tension, it cast a rooster tail 3 feet in the air. A wall of water, that for a millisecond created a prismatic effect, breaking the white light of the sun into 7 distinct colors. Roy G. Biv; That’s how, as children, we were taught to remember the colors of the rainbow. No rainbow, no matter the location, was ever as exhilarating as the colors my fish was casting on this Bahamian flat at the moment.
Lactic Acidosis, that feeling that you get when you run to fast for too long, was setting in for my fish. His first run tore off over 75 yards of backing. Respectable, Not the biggest bone or the greatest run that I’d ever witnessed, but he was my partner for the moment, and for that I was grateful. He made 3 more runs, each a little less spectacular than the first. In the end he submitted. A nice bone in the 4lb class we tagged him, revived him, and set him on his way.
As a group we continued to fish. Every angler with a rod caught at least one fish that morning. Each drama playing out in its’ own time; each experience different but similar, that’s the nature of Bonefishing.
The flats of South Andros, and Andros South lodge provide the opportunity to cast at what many consider the largest Bonefish population in the world. For a week we did our share. At the beginning of the week we couldn’t wait to hit the flat, fresh, clean, and pressed we were chomping at the bit. By the end of the week we had settled in to that smooth Bahamian rhythm that keeps time with the tides and the sun. Saltier but more laid back, we reached Bonefish Nirvana just in time to pack our bags for the return trip home. Better for the experience, mentally, on the return flight home I begin making plans for my return trip and another opportunity to stop time.
