This River is Wild: Walking the Line

My parents took a lot of time, research, and savings, to plan a family vacation in the Bahamas. Due to the pandemic, it was canceled twice. When it was finally rescheduled and the green light was given, I was in the midst of a cross country exploration in the van. I ended up flying out of Boise and convened with my family members in Atlanta for the last leg to the islands. Unlike my prior trip, I decided to pack fishing gear this time. It had been over ten years since I did some legit flats fishing, and with the target species being one of my favorites to pursue, I was stoked. I also couldn't wait to walk a flat with my brother again. This time, I even checked a bag that was filled with fishing gear, cameras, foam rollers, straps, and other equipment to put a kayak on top of the rental vehicle. That's right, the family rental car. In order to bonefish proper, I'd be walking the proverbial line between family time and fly fishing. Lucky for me, my family understands who I am, what I love to do, and willingly embraced some exploration. Despite that, I put some boundaries on myself to avoid crossing the line...

This particular island did not have a lot of available information online in regards to do it yourself bonefishing. A few forum posts mentioned shots at large bonefish, but also told of how difficult wading was in most locations. Leading up to the flight, I scoured Google Maps looking for an accessible flat near our vacation rental. I eventually narrowed it down to a few different options. The key here would be finding an access point that allowed me to walk onto, or launch a kayak from, the scouted flats. Having fished extensively in the Caribbean, I knew that this would be a tricky proposition. I also wanted to fish a flat that the typical fly fishermen on vacation wasn't going to go to. I eliminated the obvious and went for the more obscure. On my flight, I started chatting with a guy sitting next to me who had spent some time on the island and had even done some gear bonefishing of his own. I asked him if he had any locations that I could access and he recommended the number one spot on my list. Apparently the restaurant at the end of the road was no longer in business and I'd be able to drive right up to a wadeable area. Coincidence, or not, the conversation gave me an added boost of confidence.

After settling in at the home my family was renting, I took the car out for a scouting mission. I arrived to awful conditions: super windy, low light, and a high tide. With the edge of the flat mostly waist deep, the wading was arduous. My "bonefish" eyes had diminished in the decade since and my goal was to hopefully re-familiarize my mind to what I needed to see. Off the flat and within casting distance, was a pod of bonefish churning up the bottom. I knew that they were in that mud cloud, but I couldn't lower myself to blind cast for one of them. I may have seen one, but it was most likely a mirage in my mind. I made it back in time for dinner, a sunset, and some pool time with the family.

Walking a much finer line was Matt. With a wife and a 3 year old, his window of opportunity was much smaller than mine. He came out with me the following morning to do some wade fishing. We arrived in the early morning with the sun rising at our backs. I gave him first chance walking down the edge during a low tide and he missed an opportunity. It was slow and we were rusty. Another moving mud cloud came our way and Matt gladly blindcasted into it producing several small bonefish. I eventually saw the image I was looking for and landed a respectable bonefish. Another decent fish broke me off in a flooded mangrove flat. The walk back produced a few more chances from the beach but those bones were on edge.

On the following day, I decided to take one of the rental house's kayaks out for a longer outing. I wanted to paddle across a channel to check out another mangrove shoreline that looked great from a satellite. Before the launch, I walked about hundreds yards of the shoreline and went 1/2 with some bones in inches of water. I then launched the kayak and paddled across the channel. It was an incoming tide and I stood up to drift with the wind. The higher vantage point was all I needed to spot incoming bonefish from a distance, drop anchor, and make a cast. Several were landed and released. Exiting the channel, I rounded a point and worked my way along a mangrove edge that was slowly flooding from the incoming water. Here, fishing became much more difficult do to the variations in bottom color and depth. If you hooked a bonefish, they'd run deep into the mangroves criss-crossing under and around dozens of mangrove roots. Most were lost and only a few ended up in my hands. I saw a few really big bonefish but they usually saw me first.

On day four, I finally I had a feel for the tides, weather, wind, and my bonefish "sight" had finally returned from the depths of my long term memory. Simply put, I had a plan. I woke up earlier and decided to skip the coastline and channel fishing. My idea was to park the kayak on an exposed point during low tide that bisected the channel and mangrove shoreline. The earlier launch would allow me to fish the earliest portions of an incoming tide and the point would give me a few more feet of elevation to see bonefish in almost all directions. An added benefit of low tide, was that the bonefish could not use the mangroves as cover but also could not run into them after being hooked. The sun and wind would also be at my back giving added benefits to sighting fish and casting. I got into position and I didn't have to wait long...

Bonefishing is all about moments and having the time to sight, think, stalk, and cast at a very large bone is at the top of the list. As I stood on that point, a single large bonefish emerged from a considerable distance. There was no guessing game here. I didn't have to wait to distinguish it from a small shark or barracuda. I knew exactly what my eyes were seeing and it was heading my way. I took a deep breath and slowed my breathing, as I stripped line into a pile at my feet. I even had time to double check the knot on my fly and prick my fingernail with the hook point. My casting motion began, and two double hauls later, my fly landed 80 ft. away in line of the approaching bone. I waited until it got a little closer and gave my fly two quick bursts. Immediately, the body language of the bonefish changed, as it charged forward coming to a stop on the fly. I stripped set tight to the fish and all hell broke loose...

Big bonefish are different. The initial run is scorching, far, and usually headed to some major obstruction to break you off. This particular bone had my fly line, OPST running line, and the yellow 30lb. dacron backing off to the horizon. I was into my orange 20lb. backing and lifting my rod as high as I possibly could. Silently, I was saying a prayer that I wasn't going to get hung up on anything. The bone was heading directly to a dead coral field that I floated over the day prior. I risked breaking off by turning my drag the final two clicks to the right. Thankfully, the bone stalled and I began the desperate reeling process of getting all of the line back onto the reel. As my line started to make an appearance out in the distance, the bone went on another long run. This one wasn't as far, but I began to get worried about the arrival of the taxman. I finally regained the line into the reel and the short battle began. Like landing a steelhead, it is a mix of a death grip on the line, a loose drag, and desperate reaches for a highly holdable tail. The size of this particular fish was evident from the get go, but I was shocked at how much of a brick shit-house it actually was. My entire outstretched hand fit on the underbelly. This particular fish was subconsciously duckface inducing. After catching my breath, I texted Matt a few simple words, "the deed is done". I paddled back and made it to the house to catch some breakfast.

I took Matt out the following day with the hope of recreating the experience for him. It was not to be. Thus on Wednesday, halfway through our vacation, we stopped bonefishing and focused on the family hang. I walked the line until I accomplished what I set out to do and then packed it up. A few days later, we said our goodbyes and I hopped onto my flight back to Idaho. I happened to glance out the window and immediately recognized the only flat I fished during the week. The point that I stood on was readily visible. The site of another bonefish memory to add to the books.

Skiff heaven...

Honestly, not the best flat to wade fish on foot, but we made it work...

That familiar sucking sound...

Underneath are the Orvis Pro Approach shoes. They perform excellently as a wet wading shoe in fresh and saltwater. I'd recommend wearing neoprene socks with them in both conditions. If you are looking for a wet wading shoe for both environments, this is a good "one" solution.

Early morning and looking for some tail...

Shuffling...

Shark.

Probably my number one fishing shirt for the last several years has been the Skinny Water Culture Hawksbill Hoodie. I wear olive for almost all of my trout fishing because it blends in so well with the leaves. It breathes super well, dries fast, and offers solid sun/bug protection. One of my favorite features is the extra button system that allows me to button up to almost my chin.