Bonefish, Basketball and Blunts- A Fishing Story
This is a work of partial reality based upon fiction, just a story, a stream of conscious thought and run on sentences about island life and the textured nuances of the flats fishing experience. Nothing more, nothing less.
You awake at six, time for coffee, you write in your journal, as you do every day, a quick breakfast of egg, grits, and link sausage, and an orange for later, brush your teeth, wash your face, then pack your lunch and ready your gear, your mind a bit cloudy from the previous night, you had a couple rum punches with some new friends, well maybe three, there is an anxious energy about, you feel it throughout your body, but mostly in your stomach, the pressure of what you are attempting to accomplish weighs on your mind, its your last day, a 8 a.m. boat launch awaits, will you have to wait another year?
Upon arriving at the dock you unload your gear from the car and reload it on the boat, putting each piece of gear in its place, your guide is readying his gear and boat for the day, coolers, water, fuel, lunch, this is a well thought out operation, the blunt rests firmly in his mouth as he pulls up anchor, you get an occasional whiff of the Jamaican sticky icky he is smoking, there is no puff puff pass here Smokey, you should have brought your own, there is nothing for you to do, just drink your coffee and wait, nervous energy, pacing, overhead an Osprey swoops low in attempt to grab your hat, you duck and put your hand on your head, losing your hat would be a problem, an essential piece of sun protection out here. Did that just happen? Fuck if it didn’t!
You climb into the boat, plant yourself firmly on the front bench seat, otherwise known as the cooler, knowing it will be your time to step up onto the fishing platform soon enough, more nervousness in the stomach. Seeing as you grew up in Indiana, you like basketball metaphors, like a good free throw shooter, you know your routine, you have practiced it over and over. That routine and your ability to handle the pressure in the moment will determine success more than the #2 Spawning Shrimp fly you tied up special last night, just for today, just for these fish. In the back of your mind, you wonder, can I make that cast when the pressure is on this time? The doubt lingers heavy, but you remain confident in yourself.
You chat it up with some local fisherman, a couple in fact, heading out to dive for conch and hand line snapper, as friendly as people can be, smiles abound, their casting nets pull up pilchards for bait, you thank them for the photo opportunity, just then the Suzuki outboard fires up, you wave goodbye to your new friends, now you are motoring, out to the open water to make the hour run to an area you will hunt for these giant Bahamian Bonefish, back deep in the tidal creeks systems and mangroves where they make a living, the tide is just starting its rise and the fish will be flooding in soon, schools of thousands of Bonefish with sharks and barracudas in close pursuit, then the ones you are looking for, the big single and doubles, hunting with a fishing pole, your idea of good clean fun, the boat seemingly skips over flats of 2 foot water of blues and greens, in shades and textures your mind didn’t know existed in real life, at least until your visit the previous winter, you taste the salt in the spray off the boat, not a cloud in the sky, sun rising slowly back behind you to the east, the wind straight away in your face as you make the turn into the open water of the bight, nearly ripping the baseball cap from your head, you quickly grab it and turn it backwards, then readjust your Costas, how did you end up here, what a place to find oneself, grateful, humbled, and in complete awe. You successfully make the cast at least 25 times in your mind, playing over and over, as you wait for your chance on that hour run…
The boat slows, then comes to an idle, just a few hundred yards from the destination, the motor is off now, then the push pole comes off the deck, it’s go time, your guide becomes the flats ninja, effectively turning this watercraft into a flats fishing stealth bomber, he will pole the boat into the perfect position, to set you up for your cast, right into the imperfect and ever changing wind and sun situation in front of you, he will do his part, but you’re on your own up there. He hops up on the the polling platform with an ease and grace of someone who has done it many thousands of times before. He adjusts his hat and his buff, cleans his sunglasses with the precision of a surgeon, eyeing them, then going back for more cleaning a couple of times before placing them upon his face, adjusts and spaces his grip on the 18 foot push pole, locks his eyes straight away, and begins to push the boat forward into position for his planned attack. You know if there is a fish within 200 feet he will see it, you will be lucky to see it at 80 feet, he is a serious man, a tactician, a bud smoking tactician, firm yet friendly, your paying him and he works hard for you, not the type of guy you enjoy letting down.
Meanwhile, you grab your 8wt rod, with its fresh leader and tippet, an improved clinch knot affixes that phat daddy Spawning Shrimp fly to the tippet. You methodically strip 80 feet of fly line off the reel, organizing it at your feet as you go, paying careful attention to how it lays, organized and ready to deploy behind a hooked Bonefish, you get your grip right on the rod, thumb straight up and away, firm but gentle, like holding a beautiful woman, the casting deck rough under your barefoot, holding the flies barbless hook in-between your thumb and index finger on your left hand, sort of rubbing it gently, a distraction for your mind, occasionally pricking the skin on your finger with the sharp hook, just to feel its precision, imagining in your minds eye the moment you will release it to the water for a cast, all the while the nervousness and tension builds up further in your guts. It is time to fish.
Focused on the task at hand, you are on the search, looking for movement, hunting for the grey ghost, named so for just cause, then off in the distance something big and dark, a sea turtle swims past, just a little guy, time passes slowly, the flat is alive with life in all directions, crabs scurry, barracudas lurk, ospreys swoop and dive, minutes turn to hours, meanwhile your guide, the Bahamian Flats ninja keeps you moving, looking at new water, his focus and eyes locked straight away, his stamina remarkable, the sun gets high in the sky and the tide gets just right, getting hotter, a big stingray is mudding over to your right now, maybe 200 feet out, slowly working right to left, you look closely for a Permit following, but no luck, still searching, another 10 minutes goes by, the sun is getting really hot now, you can feel it on the back of your calves, so tan at this point in the season sunburn is not even possible, but you adjust your buff and hat to better cover your face and neck, both highly susceptible to the intense sun, then a commotion out to the left, Lemon Sharks working on a big school of Bonefish, small fish, not what you are looking for, creating a ruckus that oozes of life and death, the 5 foot shark moves with size, speed and ease that communicates his dominance over the prey in this environment. You count yourself lucky to be here, a witness to it all.
As your eyes are focused left, watching the shark fill its belly, day dreaming about the amazing picture you find yourself in, trying to stay present, at alert, nervous to let your guide down, loath to let yourself down, imagining experiencing life with without any of this, wondering if you can scrape up some Scorch Conch and Rum Punch for dinner, you consider putting on more sunscreen, getting hungry now, your stomach growls, where is my Chapstick, my lips are dry, its been awhile since breakfast, IN A SUDDEN, you hear “ Fish, 2 O'clock, 90 feet,” from your guide, it catches you off guard thinking about your Chapstick and Rum Punch for a moment, but you quickly regroup, your eyes and attention turn to that spot, time to shoot that free throw you have practiced so many times, The Cast, your instincts better be on, your practice sufficient, there is not much room for error here, many missed opportunities lay behind you, you would be lying if you said that wasn’t in your thoughts, you finally pick the fish up moving right to left 80 feet out now, a nice single fish, the boat slowly glides into position as it floats over the creamy white sand bottom, the fish is now at 60 feet and closing, you release your grip on the fly, using the tension in the line to shoot it out to the water, all the while keeping your eye on the fish, the line lands straight left off the boat, you pick it up with the rod tip and roll out a little more line, then pick up the line and go right into your backcast, making one false cast before sending it out 40 feet, dropping the Spawning Shrimp fly softly on the water, right in front of fish. “Now that is how it’s done, fuck yeah”, rolls through your mind! “Perfect” says the guide!
The boat is moving faster than it seems, you have to strip quickly to catch up with your fly, that was a hard lesson for you to learn, the fish sees it immediately and reacts, you strip it tight, then give it a couple of short fast strips, the action makes your fly irresistible, the fish gives chase, nose down, tail up, and picks it up, you see the line go tight, you give the line a strip set with your left hand, and pick up the rod with right, you start to pick up the slack line and clear it from your rod out to the left of your body, as quickly as you do, the fish realizes its predicament and blows out of the area like a fighter jet, ripping the remaining 50 feet of line off the deck, thus deploying it, you can feel the frictional heat from the line running between your fingers, it narrowly misses wrapping around the butt of your rod and breaking off, your tightline now, for the moment at least, two years, countless hours in the unrelenting sun, struggles, disappointment, learning, practicing, failing and then failing again, and now here it is, the elusive single bonefish off the casting platform of a flats boats.
But never count a fish before it is landed, you have been here before, several times in fact, you focus on the task at hand, the fish rips another 150 feet of fly line and backing off the reel, the reel is screaming in your hand, you can feel the drag working, you reach down and tighten it just bit, not too much, hard won knowledge that only comes with experience, you keep the pressure on, working the rod against the fish to keep the barbless hook tight to the mouth, it turns and heads back towards you, you reel up the slack line as fast as you can, eventually you abandon this strategy and begin stripping in it in, trying with all your might to keep the line tight, you finally catch up again, time slows to a crawl, seconds turn to minutes, you settle in and enjoy this perfect moment, a rare moment in time not easily duplicated, a fight the likes of which can only be experienced with a big Bonefish at the end of a fly line, nothing else is even close. You land that beautiful fish with all the grace and care your mind could have ever dream up, snapping a few pictures, while the water drips from your line, then releasing him back into his magical saltwater world.
Basking in the confidence of your first, you go on to land four more fish from the casting deck of the boat that day, all with that Spawning Shrimp fly you tied up the previous night, what a pattern that turned out to be, but that first fish, that translucent beauty off that milky white sand bottom, just perfect, not your biggest, but forever your most meaningful.
The boat ride back across the bight produces a rainbow, quite the ending to a day of firsts, your still hoping to rustle up some Scorch Conch and a couple Rum Punches for dinner, and just maybe some of that Jamaican sticky icky to celebrate, you catch up with your new friends from that morning, they are overflowing with positive energy and joy from the days catch, they share with you some fresh Conch for your dinner, you thank them, island people are so generous, you end the evening with all your earthly desires fulfilled, looking a little rough around the edges, your face is sun and windburned, physically and mentally exhausted, but feeling as good as you could ever remember in this life, you fly home to the states tomorrow.
“It has always been my private conviction that any man who pits his intelligence against a fish and loses has it coming.” - John Steinbeck
