It’s contest time again here on the Deneki blog!
We’re going to send the author of our favorite bonefishing story a free pair of Abel nippers and a free Deneki / Ed Hepp bonefish t-shirt.
The rules of this one are really, really simple.
- Tell us your best bonefishing story as a comment on this page.
- On February 1st, 2013 we’ll pick our favorite and send its author the Abel nippers and the t-shirt.
Easy enough? Great, we can’t wait to hear what you come up with.
A few years ago my wife decided she wanted to vacation on the Turks and Caicos islands. Not yet an angler, I asked myself what the heck I was going to do on a blistering beach in the middle of nowhere for a week. Around that time I happened to stumble on an article in a men’s magazine about bonefishing on T&C. I had always wanted to try fly fishing, so I figured here was my chance to take a few casting lessons and give it a try in a renown fishery. By the time we got there a few weeks later, despite the lessons, I still couldn’t cast for a damn. But my capable guide put me right on some tailing fish. I cast into them best I could, and he started calmly saying “strip, strip, strip”. When my leader was about 20 ft from the boat he said “you got him!”. Luckily I knew enough to give the line another firm tug at that point to set the hook. A split second after the set, that fish took off at what seemed to be 80 miles an hour, ripping a rat tail of water about 5 ft off the surface. The fish paused about 45 ft out, then turned and ripped off another 20-30 ft of line. Having never seen anything like that before, all I could do was just stare at my guide with mouth agape. I was probably even drooling without knowing it. In retrospect, I’m sure the look on my face must not have been too much different from the one I had after losing my virginity as a teenager so many years earlier. “Holy $%*t”, I exclaimed, “why has no one ever told me about this before!!?”. It felt like I had just witnessed something incredibly unequaled- like a fleet of UFO’s, Bigfoot, or the Vikings win a Superbowl. I was simply awestruck. We landed maybe 4 fish in about as many hours that day, which given my limited skills at the time was not a bad morning. When the week was over my wife and I returned home and I promptly dove headfirst into all things fly fishing and never looked back, sometimes to the great consternation of my wife. But hey, I figure you can’t blame me for taking this mistress- Turks & Caicos was her idea.
Several years ago at Andros South we had one of those windy days that rules out the boat ride to the south around the old sub base. The day’s game plan called for a drive through the back of the Deep Creek over to the west side as we had an east wind. “Stormin” Norman our guide had us loaded and off we went at full blast with the white foam trailing behind the boat marking our passing. If you have never cut through Andros Island there is a point where the, creek which at times must be a mile wide literally becomes a creek, just several feet wide. Filled with anticipation knowing that in a few minutes we would be angling on the west our lower unit on the motor hit a coral hump. The coral won, leaving us dead in the water. One last boat came by driven by Josie Sands. Josie let us know that he would pick us up at the end of the day as we had no motor, but he had clients to take fishing and could not lend us a hand at that point in time. After a few minutes of debate with our plan formulated we decide that we could start hiking back up the creek instead of sitting around lamenting our problem. So off we went with Norman, rope around his waist, pulling the boat behind him.
If you really want to explore an island start walking. Back in the narrow section the deep pools around the mangroves had a bazillion snappers that were more than willing to eat our flies. Norman was patiently dragging the boat waiting for us to fish each hole out. As the narrows started to open up you come across a myriad of small pools and backwaters around tiny islands and sloughs that normally you blow past without ever giving a moment’s thought to. This is a whole new world of basically undisturbed areas teaming with all kinds of fish and creatures. We had shots at Cuda and Bones all day, and if you don’t think that stalking in those still backwaters won’t improve your wading skills give it a try. You learn fast by your mistakes.
What started as potential disaster turned into not only a day full of catching fish, and I mean catching lots of fish, but one that really gave you the time to see and relish another side of the Andros experience. We were tired by the time Josie hooked us up for a tow back to the ramp, and the cold Kalik tasted mighty good, but we had done what most never do covering miles of Andros backwaters. I wouldn’t want to do it every day, but I wouldn’t do it differently if given the chance. Hopefully soon I can make it back.
Ellie was our guide and Gene kluth and I were fishing together this day. Gene is one of the best guys you will ever meet, and he is a big man from Texas. I’m a little guy from Syracuse, NY. So Gene is coming down off the bow of the boat and I stand up to make my way up onto the bow, and also to give Gene a hand on his way to this seat. I don’t what happened but Gene lost his balance and started steppin’ toward me. I turned in just enough time to face Gene head on, toss my rod out of the way, and over the side we went!! Our little dance turned into a nice little dip for both of us, and we laughed for at least an hour straight afterwards. We had a great day and have a story to laugh about at Slack Tide every year now. The Texas Bonefish Shufffle
I was reeling in a small barracuda in Deep Creek with Andros South when a flash came by and sheared off the back half of the fish. It was a larger cuda that cut it cleaner than any “cutlass” on the Bahamas ever could.
I had enjoyed a productive five days of fishing at Andros South with my new Sage ONE rod. My equipment had been rinsed and placed on the rack ready for my final day of fishing. The next AM, Rick Sisler walked up with what used to be my new rod. A potcake (local dog) had chewed the handle, the rod completely in half, eating apparently about six inches of rod. Also gone was the fly, leader and six feet of fly line. There were a number of other rods available to eat, but the potcake chose the only new rod. Yes, you could say he had good taste. I had another 8# rod, but no extra fly line. Rick immediately went to his stash and brought out a new in the box fly line, so that the day was saved! Thanks Rick and Andrew.
The guide has gone back for the skiff and is about 2 hundred yards away when I catch a decent fish. I’ve finally cracked the code and the school—about 500 strong—hasn’t spooked. I cast again and hook another. There are a few confused runs as it spreads alarm in the ranks but just as I think it’s over the fish bolts wildly.
A shadow parts the school: Shark! I reflexively throw slack in my line. With no pressure to run against the bonefish stops dead. This fools the shark, which swims off to investigate the rest of the school (which stretches downwind 50 yards or so). I quickly come tight and try to drag “my fish” out of the school before the predator returns. The fish feels the hook and runs past me, but it’s tired and I stop it easily. Then something causes me to glance around. The shark is swimming straight at me. It’s only a four-footer, but I’m barefoot in knee-deep water so it’s still a scary sight.
I stomp my feet, hoping to scare it off as I had done with other sharks earlier, but it came straight on, homing in on the bonefish behind me like a guided missile. At the last second I jump. The shark swims directly under me, but about halfway up I got mad—crazy mad. I stomped down with all my might, right on the shark’s back, and immediately jumped off again. The shark shot off in a boil of sand, disappearing into the glare upwind. Angry and shaking I quickly land the fish and look up to see myself surrounded by at least four more, all lemons. They are arranged neatly in a semicircle between the bonefish school and me, as if they know.
Yelling, I stomp toward the sharks, stabbing them with my rod. They move off but unfortunately all the noise has scared the school of bones as well. I’m afraid to lower the bonefish back into the water for fear of attracting the sharks, but know I cannot wait much longer. Quickly I wade as near as I can to the school of bones and release the tired fish. It doesn’t get 15 feet before a shark materializes and cuts it cleanly in two. I stomp at the shark, yelling, but it’s too late.
Now the shark is angry; I’ve come between it and its meal. It turns on me, its body language an exaggerated threat. I retreat, but it stays a rod-length behind as I wade in and out of the mangroves. In desperation I circle back past the severed bonefish head, sitting in blur of pink water. The shark smells the blood and forgets about me as it finishes its meal.
Minutes later I’ve made my way to the far channel and meet the guide and Kat. I tell them about my adventure and they both start laughing. “What?” I ask.
Kat tells how the guide was already laughing to himself as he got back to the skiff where she was waiting. He had looked back and saw me fighting a fish. When she asked what the joke was, he said “Dose sharks, dey prob’ly chasin’ him right now.”
Nice.
Words can’t begin to describe our bonefishing adventure on Lanai, Oahu, and Kauai. So, here’s a video instead http://vimeo.com/thuytran/sharedechoes. Enjoy!
I was fishing with my 17-year old son, and our guide, Garth, on Great Exuma. My son was a decent trout fisherman, and had never fished for bonefish before. As you can imagine, I really wanted him to hook a bone.
So, Garth put Neal in a perfect position, wind at his back, to cast to a bonefish that was coming out of the mangroves into the creek. Neal made a great cast to the fish, and the take was almost immediate. I was taking photos, talking a mile-a-minute, and generally being a proud Dad. Neal was trying to figure out how to deal with this energy machine at the end of his leader.
As Neal began to get the fish close to the boat, a small shark appeared, and made a beeline towards the bone. Garth was up on the motor, pole in hand, watching the whole scene. Garth was very aware that this was Neal’s first bone. When the shark went for the bone, out of the corner of my eye I saw Garth raise his pole, and throw it like a spear at the shark. Now, this shark was not large, probably 3.5 – 4 ft in length. Well, Garth NAILED the shark with the sharp end of his pole, and still held the pole in his hand. It was really an amazing athletic feat. The shark was probably ten feet from the boat when Garth struck. I felt the impact of the pole onto the shark. That shark took off, and Neal managed to land the fish, his first bone.
In my mind’s eye, I still can see Garth with that pole in his hand, a smile on his face, hopping down off of the motor to help Neal land the fish. Great memory!
Yesterday morning I picked up James and Mike, both from New York. We went fishing on 3 of the best spots but could not score a bone, the weather was bad and luck was not on or side. A little disappointed we went back to drop off James at his hotel and on our way to Mike’s hotel. When I decided to stop for a second to look at this small flat next to one of the hotels. We walked to the flat and saw this 10 pound bonefish and our rods where still in the car. Mike was very impressed with the size of the bone and I was running to the car and broke the record for setting up a rod! When I came back to the flat, Mike was still looking at the fish. I give him the rod and told him to go for it and he did! Because he was a little nervous he hit the bone straight on the head and spooked him. It took like four beers before we could talk about anything else! Due to my busy schedule I asked Mike to come fishing with me again the next morning at this spot, but he had no time. I got up this morning at 6.30 and the only thing on my mind was that little flat. Two minutes later I went to that spot and as soon as I got there I saw 4 bones tailing in different directions! Making sure that the wind was in my back, I cast to the one bone 20 ft in front of me with a shrimp imitation that Mike had made …………………twitch twitch bang! It was not the big bone from yesterday but it was a beautiful fish! So you can never tell one day you fish for hours and can’t catch them and the next day you do one cast and you land a great fish. Leaving the flat with mixed emotions I was happy to catch that fish but would have been more happy if Mike or James would have caught it!
We hadn’t expected him. I had called to cancel the bonefishing trip. The night before an intruder had robbed us. We had no money, no passports. I’d spent the last three hours cancelling credit cards.
Now Ansil Saunders stood before us – a wiry brown man with white, white teeth and strong hands. He smiled showing all of his teeth and brushed the events away with a swish of his hand.
“I will take you for free.”
We followed him like children to his big American car that seemed out of place on an island where most people traveled by golf cart. The thief had made his escape in a golf cart. – putting up the narrow Queen’s Highway along the rocky beach.
We were quiet as Ansil drove us to the spot here his boat was tied. It was a beautiful boat – wooden – made with his own strong hands.
“Do you have any hardboiled eggs or bananas…those are very bad luck on a boat, you know” We had neither but his words reminded us how hungry we were. We hadn’t had breakfast. As if reading our thoughts, he pointed to the picnic basket beside the boat. It was filled with fruit, bread and water.
Ansil guided us through the mangroves. My mind fidgeted but my eyes found his hands and they focused there. I watched as his hands on the oars guided the wooden boat through the mangroves. Soon my mind joined my eyes and forgot to worry. I was present. For the rest of the day Ansil guided us through the shallow waters, through the mangroves as we tried to put the events of the previous night behind us and concentrate on spotting the nearly invisible bonefish. We quickly learned that the best approach was to stop trying to see the fish ourselves and to just cast where and when Ansil pointed. When we did that, we caught fish.
Ansil brought us to an open space in the mangrove. “They call this Bonefish Hole…” I looked around. I saw no hole and I saw no bonefish. He continued “…but I call this Dr. King’s Creek of Peace.” Ansil went on to tell us about the first time he brought Martin Luther King to Bonefish Hole. Dr. King had come to Bimini at the invitation of Adam Clayton Powell for a rest and to work on his acceptance speed for the Nobel Peace Prize. He had spent the day with Ansil not for bonefishing, but for relaxation. I wondered how long it had taken his mind to stop fidgeting and focus with his eyes on Ansil’s strong hands.
Ansil stood in the bow of his boat resting his chin on his oar. Then, with one arm, he gestured to the sky, the water, and the mangroves. “Dr. King asked me what I told people who came here and still doubted the existence of God. I told him I didn’t have an answer for him then, but I would when he returned to Bimini.”
Ansil kept his promise. He wrote a Psalm. The next time Dr. King visited Bimini Ansil had an answer for him. While John and I sat in the back of his boat in the middle of Dr. King’s Creek of Peace, Ansil recited for us the Psalm he had written for Dr. King. “…and God made the fish that swim in the ocean, the cows the graze on the hillside and the stars the shine in the sky…” As he spoke he gestured to the Ocean, the shore and the sky. I knew that no one could sit in that boat in that beautiful space and watch this beautiful brown man reciting this psalm that had sprung from his soul and doubt the existence of God.
That was Martin Luther King’s last trip to Bimini. A short time later he went to Memphis where he was shot to death.
My favorite Bonefish story isn’t some heroic saga of a monster fish or an epic day in an exotic location or even the big one that got away. I wasn’t with a guide or on a fancy boat, and I was nowhere near a lodge: I was on Grand Cayman Island for a distinctly non-fishing related wedding with a $20 rental car, some basic gear I had managed to sneak into my luggage, a screenshot of a satellite map of the island (no internet), and absolutely no clue where to begin. I should probably mention that I can easily count all the Bonefish I’ve ever caught on two hands, and that the only other wedding guest even remotely interested in joining me for the one free morning we had before the ceremony had never wet a line in the saltwater anywhere. Ever. So at this point, you can imagine that our chances of even seeing a Bonefish over the next few hours were somewhere between slim and none, but this wouldn’t be my favorite story if we hadn’t beaten the odds.
We decided to drive to a deserted park on the North side of the island, which turned out to be a maze of unmarked dirt “roads” cut through the mangroves. After braving several stretches with mud up to the doors, we finally arrived at a small clearing and decided to step out and have a look. Now keep in mind, we’re just two clueless dudes who may or may not have been drinking already that day, with a few hours to kill before a wedding. We walk out onto the ankle-deep flat, look left, look right…and suddenly notice the 6lb Bonefish cruising with its fins out of the water not 30 feet away. I take one casual flop-cast as it swims right in front of me…and it pounces on my fly like it hasn’t eaten in a week. I’m not sure which was more surprised when the line came tight – the fish, or us. We ended up catching two Bones each before lunch, apparently having found just the right flat on just the right day in a place not exactly known for its Bonefish. I mean really…what are the odds?
Christmas Island 1988- out on an island flat in the middle of the lagoon. Nobody around. Seven pound bone on hand-tied Crazy Charlie #8. Fish tired after three runs when four foot black-tip shark cuts it in half! Enormous bloody pool, me knee deep and dancing- wind blowing, tide running. Looking over my shoulder for the eight foot shark coming out of the blue water dropoff for me- but must get half fish in to retrieve my fly! So said, so done- and scooted out of there big time!
Last year a friend of mine, Kelly, was hooked up to a bonefish in Ascencion Bay. The fish made a run towards some mangroves, only to be intercepted, with fatal consequences, by a cayman that came exploding out of the bushes. Now Kelly is from Chicago, and not so accustomed to scaly aquatic reptiles as those of us blessed to live in Florida. So he turned to ask his guide what he should do, only to realize that the guide was “high tailing” it back to the boat as fast as a Mayan can go in knee deep water. Kelly would pass for an NFL interior lineman, but he damn near beat the guide back to the boat. I’ve lost a lot of bonefish to barracas and sharks, but who knew that a cayman could run down a bonefish? That was Kelly’s first experience fly fishing in salt water. He stayed away from the mangroves for the rest of the trip. He caught a permit later that day. Beginners!!