A Time For Predators

As the sun sets in the Caribbean it is gradually replaced by the moon, which, depending on its phase, can be pretty darn bright. For a fly fishermen, the night is a time for predators. Usually, the darker it is, the better. Tarpon, cuda, jacks, snappers, and of course, sharks are all on the prowl. All one has to do is find a source of light shining into, on, or in the vicinity of water and you will find predators. The light draws in the prey, baitfish and other assorted goodies, which, in turn, makes them an easy meal for the big guys.

On my first few trips to these islands, most of my fishing took place at night. I was all about the tarpon. My brother and I zeroed in on a few spots and found a few others. The fish were untouched and obliged on cast after cast. On the last two trips, the fish had grown weary of our techniques and flies and were much harder to catch. Subsequently, I had grown more fond of stalking fish on the flats. The tarpon were more of an afterthought. On these islands, the fish are resident juveniles. Only around fishing docks, where the fish gorge on scraps, do they approach one hundred pounds. On average, they are around 30-40 pounds.

Tarpon and barracuda tend to position themselves in areas where they can ambush their prey. They congregate on the edge of the light or lay and wait in deeper areas around structure. Tarpon's eyes have evolved to be highly effective nighttime hunters and are angled upwards to see their prey. Fishing towards them is all about having a silhouette against the light and purple tarpon toads are usually the fly of choice. For the cuda, one will have a much better chance with a spinning rod. It is hard to trick these monsters into taking a fly because you can't generate enough velocity to get them to take.

My brother and his friends have made it a habit to routinely get together for an evening session of fishing. In these gatherings, fly rods, spinning rods, and hand lines join forces to catch a wide variety of fish. All three disciplines usually receive action, which can make for a great night out. 

My Last Day

I remember the first morning of the trip vividly. The wind was lacking overnight and awaiting my brother and I outside of our bug nets, was a swarm. Visible on the mesh netting, were seemingly hundreds of no see ums intermixed with dozens of mosquitos. Overnight, they were drawn in by our carbon dioxide emissions and awaited us like a pair of Pavlov's dogs anticipating a bone. I checked out my knee caps that had drifted onto the mesh netting as I slept. They were covered in red bumps. That was just an appetizer before the main course. My brother and I contemplated strategy, before exiting our hammocks and having to untie several knots in shorts, t-shirts, and bare feet as the bugs came in for the kill. I learned the hard way that morning and by the time my last morning arrived, I had trimmed my set up and take down time to under a minute.

I could have left the island on any of the previous days. I decided to stay for the entire week because I never had a day that left me satisfied. I never had really good fishing and I had yet to catch a monster bone. I  just wanted one of those things to happen before leaving and not coming back for some time.

On the morning of the last day, I settled on the same strategy from the previous session. A super low morning tide had me off the coast, wading a thigh deep flat. It was there, that I found what I was looking for: steady shots at bonefish for two solid hours.

I started the morning by breaking off a bonefish. A jack took my fly in a small pod of bonefish so I let my line go limp, hoping for the jack to drop the fly. Unbeknownst to me, the jack did drop it and a bonefish picked it up. I tried pulling the jack out of the pod but it was a bonefish. Clamping down on a line as a bonefish runs is dumb, but I didn't know, and my tippet broke. That left me thumbing through what was left of my fly box, or the  E,F, and G choices.

With the pod still circling in the area, I re-tied and was super focused on the task at hand. In the distance, a dark shape was heading my direction as I casted to the bones. It was a big shark. Sharks are always on the flats swimming around you and coming right up to your legs before peeling away. But those are 2-3 feet, not close to 7. I noticed him at about 30 feet away and turned to face him. The sharks zero in on your electromagnetic field, similar to the insects tracing your carbon dioxide emission, so the big guy was heading right towards me. I remained super calm, stuck my rod in the water and placed the tip along his side and gave him a little push. He didn't budge. As my rod started to bend awkwardly, the  lemon shark slowly turned, realized I wasn't food, and bolted leaving a swirl of sand and mud at my feet. Forty feet away, my pod of bonefish erupted as they finally sensed the shark.

I was a little peeved that the shark scared away all my bonefish so I returned to staring at the void in the my fly box. A cloud covered up the sun for a few minutes, so I reluctantly tied on a darker version of my "go to". The entire week, the darker version of this fly was refused, but since I was over a darker bottom, I decided to give it one last chance.

After about twenty minutes, and no bonefish, I was beginning to feel like it was going to be a repeat of my previous day, where the action was fast and furious before ceasing to exist. Suddenly, I heard a noise that I had grown familiar with. A large slapping sound had me turning completely around and staring off into the distance. A minute later, I saw what I was looking for. A large silver tail protruding straight up out of the water as a bonefish went to town feeding. The slapping sound reoccurred as its tail flapped back and forth desperately trying to suck his breakfast out of its lair. I saw this all week long but it was usually at too far of a distance for me to give chase. That would give you an idea of how loud the slapping sound is and how visible a silver tail is sticking a foot out of the water on a calm flat.

I moved perpendicular to my quarry and got into position. It was a small school of large bones strolling across the bottom. I made a long cast and instantaneously hooked up on a really nice fish.

Just before things got really interesting, my Go Pro battery ran out. The conditions were perfect and I had an incoming tide. I was able to spot singles and pairs of bones coming at long distances and try fooling them in less than a foot of water. I landed another nice one after a long stalk with multiple shots. He had a large scar on his side and was missing half his tail. I lost another fish when my running line whipped up and caught the handle of my reel. I also lost several one on one battles, no doubt because of lack of fly choices. I finally began performing hair cuts on several larger shrimp patterns I brought along. One particular trimmed down fly, scored a large solitary bone close to shore. I was able to get a self-portrait on that guy before leaving the flats for good and finally content. 

Leaving the flat, I stumbled upon a good friend of ours named Alex. Out of touch with civilization, there was no way for me to know that he was taking the morning ferry to go fishing for the day. I found him walking a few miles back on the road to the bars for a drink. I gave him a ride and we discussed our polar opposite morning sessions. A few weeks after I left, he went back and absolutely killed it. Hopefully some of our talking points on the ferry ride home paid dividends.

Before the ferry arrived to take me back to the daily grind, I went to a cool little spot I found that is home to a lot of sharks. In the deep channel patrolling his daytime lair, was the BEAST. All 70-80lbs of him. The local legend, if you are unfamiliar with our stories, is said to be uncatchable. My brother and his friends have hooked him over 10 times on spin and fly gear. My brother fought him for an extended time period before it shattered his Loop Evotec Salt 10wt. in half. I did battle with him as well before he pulled a factory rated 60 lb. wire leader through its factory knot. Up to this point in time we only saw him patrolling the dock at night where he ambushes anything that can fit in his mouth, including hooked tarpon up to thirty pounds. In no way, shape or form, does this picture do him justice. He is this BIG. 

I went back to the car and rigged up the spinning rod for one last shot at the Beast (named accordingly after Sandlot). I tried everything I had left with only one measly follow. 10 inch plugs, 12 inch hogies, a few mushy mouth flies, and musky patterns. Too damn smart and too damn big. It was fitting that the last fish I saw and fished to was the Beast. I bid him farewell and headed to the dock. 

As the island quickly disappeared, I was able to reflect on three summer's of memories. Almost all of my flats experiences occurred here, sleeping in the sand and getting tortured by bones and bugs. This was where I caught my first bonefish and landed my first permit on my birthday. Knowing it so well, I know I'll be back in the future. Until then, the memories, experiences, and fish will keep me going.

Good Morning

Morning of day four by myself on the island and I am beginning to feel the affects of the week. A diet of nuts, cookies, pop tarts, and cans of chef boyardee are beginning to take their toll, my feet are rubbed raw from my flats boots, and fishing has been for the most part: slow.

The last two days I have on the island are punctuated by extremely low tides in the beginning of the day that make my favorite places to fish almost un-fishable. I decide to do some wading off the beaches. At the lowest of tides, previously in-accessible areas are now able to be waded. I immediately find some unsuspecting fish.

A pack of four bonefish are spotted coming from a mottled bottom over a patch of sand. They are easily spotted before their colors adjust to the new surroundings. The first cast of the morning produces an average (for here) bonefish. He behaves slightly different than most of the bones I catch, in that he doesn't do the standard two runs. He stays in close, going in and out making circles around me, before going on a short backing run. I bring him in for the land and get some Go Pro stills. What is interesting about these Go Pro stills is that they produce the reverse effect of your typical fly fishing shot. Rather than making a fish look large by extending your reach, the fish appear smaller because your arms are the closest thing to the camera. The fish appears small when it is actually close to six pounds.

After releasing the fish, I spot another bonefish on the same sandy bottom. I make the cast and find myself fighting the mirror image of the previous fish in terms of size and attitude. After I release the second fish, I spot a large barracuda in the vicinity. Is that why they weren't taking off? Either way, I was lucky to not have lost the two bones.

That morning, I made two casts at bonefish and landed both of them. For the next six hours, I don't recall seeing another fish. A band of heavy clouds rolled in, occasionally dropping some rain. They appeared to only come over the small island. To the north and south of the island, there was nothing but clear skies. Overhead, a long line of clouds put a damper on my fishing. For the afternoon session, I had some close quarters combat with some nice bonefish under the heavy cloud cover. With visibility already low from wading in knee to waist deep water, the cloud cover really limits your chances. Often, you'll see your adversary at the last second, sometimes only twenty feet away. By that time, he sees you too, and you can't get a cast off.

Parched and looking for a meal, I spent an hour gathering driftwood along the shore to make a fire. Surprisingly, the wood was bone dry, despite all the rain the past two days. That should give you an idea of how hot it is here.

I made my fire on the beach that night, under the stars and what could be seen of the milky way. I carved a stick with my Gerber survival knife, cracked open a can of Spam, and stuck it on the stick. I gave it a slow roast over the fire. When the outside is extra crispy, you can eat the top layer of the brick and it tastes good. After that first layer, its spam from the can again, and you have to roast it some more. I ate a whole can, lost a few years off my life in the process, but it sure beat chef boyardee.

A Game of Bones

The Beginning of a Palm Tree

After my night from hell and a few precious hours of sleep, I awoke for another day in paradise. I unrigged the hammock and hopped back into the car to head to the dock. At the rallying point, I used the bathroom, brushed my teeth, changed into my gear, and spotted a nice bonefish on a micro flat as I exited an outhouse. Excited, I hunched down to hide my silhouette and made my way to the trunk to get the rod. I used the car to hide myself and awaited the bonefish's arrival. I've had several chances in years past on this small flat beside the dock but the fish are really spooky so I took extra caution. My unweighted fly landed with a whimper and after one small pop, the bonefish was on it. He was really big and I soon realized that I was doomed. The micro flat has an edge to it with a drop off into deeper water. The edge, a hundred yards aways, is lined with a hard bottom and turtle grass and he was heading right for it. To prevent a break off, I was standing on some rocks by the dock, about to jump onto the hood of the car to get my rod up higher. However, bonefish don't really care for expensive reels and great drag systems. The initial run can't really be stopped no matter how much pressure you put on them. Once he made it over the edge he rubbed off, leaving me to reel in my backing and fly line as some ferry travelers asked me a hundred questions. 

Looking East on the Top Half of Beach #3

I headed to an upper beach to spot some tailing fish on a morning low tide. My intention was to just fish this beach and then head west to walk a much larger area, so I only brought one water bottle that was half full. Looking out onto the beach and seeing nothing, I decided to mix up my strategy. Rather than walk the shoreline, I waded into about thigh deep water to walk down. By doing this, I could still see the skinny water bones along the beach but I could also have chances at fish coming into the shoreline. The first hundred yards I walked, I came away with six chances at bonefish, an incredible amount here for an angler on foot. I struck out on all six. 

By this time, my fly box was looking pretty weak. I still had some nice flies, but I was missing ones that were properly weighted for this type of water. I was either too heavy or too light. When I switched it up with a fly that had the right weight, I learned that the bones did not like colors that were lighter or darker than the bottom. In short, I had to run the chances of spooking the fish with a heavier pattern or not getting a proper presentation with a lighter one. It was frustrating.

Looking West on the Bottom Half of Beach #3

Halfway down the first beach and after changing my fly for the fourth time, I spotted a pair of bones in close to shore. In the high winds, I didn't get the presentation I wanted but it didn't matter. My fly landed right on top of them (which can be a good thing). With their competitive nature for food, the second bonefish took it before it hit the bottom. He was a pretty decent fish.

At this point in time, I was having a great day with a lot of chances. I had to keep going down the coast. With half a water bottle, I made it all the way back to the vicinity of the dock. Using google maps, that is a three mile hike (without taking into account, the curvature of the beaches). There are three sections of beach each about a mile in length. In 90+ degree heat, with raw feet, and half a bottle of water, I was pretty dumb. Only thing was, I had to hike all the way back. 

The bonefish kept me going. I couldn't believe the amount of chances I was getting but even more unbelievable was my batting percentage. I was getting schooled. With the high winds, there was a nice chop on the surface of the water that was disturbing sand and mud on the flat making visibility difficult, but I had a cloudless sky and the sun overhead. Often, I could see the bonefish but by the time I got into position for a cast, I couldn't see them anymore. Taking your eye off a fish for a split second or even blinking resulted in missed opportunities. I left a lot of big bonefish on the table.

On the way back, on beach number two, I spotted a tall and round fish working its way down the coast.  The presentation was directly into the wind. The big bone meandered over to my fly and plucked it off the bottom. With a large sandy flat, I had no worries of him breaking me off. He ran, ran, and ran some more before I brought him in. It was the heaviest fish of the trip.

Tall, Round, and Mean.

After releasing this guy, I continued my journey back to the car. On this sandy flat, there are a lot of baby sharks that often are easily confused with bonefish, especially the lemon sharks. Walking into the wind and chop, I spotted what I thought was a nice bone. It ended up being a lemon shark. I watched him swimming away from me and to my right, when something scared him causing him to dart off the flat. The shark was easily three feet long and something spooked him? That something was a gigantic bonefish. He was swimming the same path I was walking about forty feet away when he turned and heading to my left. I made the shot directly into the wind and put my fly 10 ft. in front of his projected path. As he got closer, I popped the fly and he was on it. Heading directly toward me, I crouched so low, my pack, and chest were in the water. He kept following so I stopped the fly. Nothing. I popped it again. He followed. I stopped it again. Nothing. I popped that fly all the way into my leader and still he was there, a foot behind it. By the time I was stripping tippet, the bonefish finally turned. He was at the end of my rod tip and didn't spook like most bonefish do when they see you. He simply turned and meandered away without a care in the world. He was definitely just messing around with me. He knew this game, and he knew that the fly at the end of my line was not something he should be eating.

After that encounter, I power walked the last beach and drove directly to the nearest bar to get some cold drinks. I was exhausted from the day long pursuit of bones on foot. I caught two big fish, several hours apart, with nothing in between but adrenaline rushes, blown chances, and a whole lot of walking.

Good times. 

Bad Company

They get you with water coverage.  It's simple math, really.  So I put down the flies for some big stupid shiny things that came in a tangled mass of hooks and glitter.

The high-speed chases and explosive reflex-like reactions of big toothy fish are nice, don't get me wrong.  But I still felt as though I could quit at any time and go back to the long rod, pick up that 10wt quietly collecting dust back at the house...

It would be so easy, I told myself.

Then out came the sabiki rigs and the big nasty circle hooks.  We started jigging for....bait.

Sitting on the dock or bridge with some beers and pizza, there was time for socializing instead of the endless mental challenge of scanning for fishy shapes in shallow water.

It felt wrong.  It was too easy.  Big fish need to be earned.  Right?

But we caught some monster fish.  The conversion to the dark side was complete.

This is a cautionary tale, lest you find yourself sleeping in bus shelters near secluded docks on more-or-less deserted islands, with racks of spinning rods, coolers of beer and good friends snoring on the wooden benches after fishing into the wee hours.  Consider yourself warned.