BAHAMA BONES: PART DEUX
By Zac Glaser
For Bahama Bones: Part I, click here.
After that first eat, I sat down on the bow of the boat and just stared at the scenery around me while taking in the deafening silence of the flats. In front of me, the gnarly mangroves gave way to a maze of coves and tributaries as far as the eye could see. Behind me, an endless horizon of sea to sky with a gloomy gray haze offering cover for weary fish. I, as I often am in moments like this, was overcome with a sense of gratitude for all of the things that came together to allow this moment to be possible. I allowed myself about 30 seconds to take it all in, I turned to Frankie, quietly thanked him for the opportunity, and stood back up on the bow, poised for my next shot.
Mistakes on day one are a good thing (most of the time). They’re a good way to learn your guide, or more accurately, a good way for your guide to learn you. After all, this was a completely new experience, and above all else, I wanted to learn. One of my more embarrassing lessons was that of the clock method of directing my cast. Very simple, in theory, the very front of the boat represents 12 o’clock, the back, six o’clock and so on and so forth. Unfortunately for Frankie, I turned myself into the clock, wherever I was facing was 12 o clock, behind me, six o’clock, and well, you get the picture. This led to quite the learning curve and some casts that Stevie Wonder would’ve placed closer. After it was all said and done, I had about 10-12 good chances at fish and I put five modest-sized bonefish in the boat. A percentage that I could live with, and one that Frankie would begrudgingly accept. Luckily, for me at least, I had two more days to fish. I was anxious to take what I learned on the first day and apply it to the rest of this trip.
Day two would be a lesson in frustration, mostly for Frankie. Before we get into this proverbial shit show of a day, I should preface this, like all men who pride themselves on humility, with some classic excuses; The weather was not ideal, with copious clouds, raucous rain, and whipping wind, making it almost impossible to see the fish. Alliteration aside, the fish were “exceptionally choosey” on day 2, Frankie’s words, not mine. Now as far as my mistakes were concerned, I put on an absolute clinic on how to not only miss fish, but spook every fish my dumbass came across. You name the mistake, and I made it.
Opportunity 1:
Frankie: “Eleven o'clock, 50 feet coming right at us”
me: “I don’t see it”
Frankie: “There are six of them”
Me: “Correction, I don’t see THEM”
Frankie: “Forty feet, start casting 7”
Me: “I see them” (I did not)
I unleashed a cast at what I thought was about 30 feet, my eyes followed the fly as it sailed through the air directly over the pod of fish approximately ten feet past them and landed with a splash, the fish scattered. I turned back just in time to see Frankie’s head and shoulders drop in unison. The silence was deafening.
Opportunity 2:
Frankie: “Hurry up, 12 o’clock 20 feet”
Me: quietly, “Oh shit, on it”
I quickly snatch my fly rod and rush to hop up onto the bow of the boat. In my haste to get casting, I make a fatal mistake. My left foot gently kisses my beer that sits unassumingly on the cooler in the boat. Looking back, I swear it happened in slow motion. I can still see the glass bottle floating through the air, making its way towards the deck of the boat. As it hits the floor, it creates a thunderous boom that echoes throughout the flats. When I look back to the spot where the fish were, all I see is a small wake caused by fleeing fish. I can feel Frankie’s eyes on me, this time I don’t turn around.
Opportunity 3:
Frankie: “ 3 o'clock 60 feet slowly swimming towards the boat”
Me: “Okay I actually see them this time”
Frankie: “Good, the one on the left in the front, drop it 10 feet in front of him”
Me: “You thinking that I have that kind of control over my fly is both very kind and incredibly misguided”
Frankie: “Do your best”
Me: “As you wish”
After this conversation they are about 50 feet from us, I begin my cast, take two false casts, and set it loose. Much to my amazement the fly gently flutters down, without much of a splash, about a rod’s length (9-10 feet) in front of the correct fish. The fish continue to meander towards the fly and begin to inspect.
Frankie: “Strip, Stop! Okay, strip, strip, stop! Strip hard.”
As the curious fish takes the fly, I pull hard once to set, and again to make sure it was really in there. Frankie instructs me to lift the rod. As I do, I hold the line gently to keep tension while still allowing the fish to run. As it begins to run, I feel something on my foot, I look down just in time to see that my piled-up fly line is wrapped around my ankle. As the line gets tight, I try to untangle myself, but the damage is done. The rod loads up and snaps back towards me and the line goes slack. I reel in my fishless, flyless, and leaderless line and sit down with a defeated sigh as the rain begins to pepper my face.
Now it wasn’t all mistakes. I did end up again, with five modest-sized fish. I think my frustration with myself came from the lack of progression from day one. I had way more opportunities on the second day and I made significantly more mistakes. I came in a little cocky, thinking I knew what I was doing, when in reality, not much had changed from day one. I think what I was most worried about was disappointing Frankie. I know what you’re saying to yourself right now, “Why on earth would you be worried about what your guide thinks if you miss a few fish?” and more importantly, “Why would a dude you are paying thousands of dollars to care about your mistakes?”. Two great points, reader, thank you for your feedback. Firstly, I’ve got daddy issues, and apparently over-sharing issues. So if any shrinks are reading this, including my own, please take my money. Secondly, it was Christmas and I was literally (using this word the way it was meant to be used, you’re welcome) the ONLY person at the lodge for the 4 days I was there. Frankie is the owner of “Frankie’s Two Boys Inn” and he has several guides that work for him, however, I’d imagine asking a guide to come in for one angler at the time of year is a tough sell. For that reason, I got the legend himself. Incredible for me, but probably not what he wanted to be doing during the holidays. The least I could do, other than be relatively funny and decently witty, is be a solid fisherman and get him some big bones for his website/lodge photos.
When we sat down to dinner that night (yeah, he also made me dinner every night, no pressure though…), I avoided talking about the fishing that day. We talked about our lives and what had led us to where we are today. Maybe a bit deep for a dinner conversation with a stranger, but it ended up being incredibly interesting. I won’t presume to share the intimate details of Frankie’s life, but I will say this, the man had an absolute journey to get to where he was. We had a lot more in common than I had initially thought. I opened up as well. I talked a lot about my divorce, my year on the road living out of my camper, and the gratitude I had for all of the things that I had been through, both good and bad. We shared a couple of pours of some nice bourbon that I happened upon in the airport, and it was honestly exactly what I needed to feel more comfortable. I don’t know if the rest of you have this feeling when you are on a guided trip, but I often put my guide on a pedestal. Like they are this deity, and that I will never be able to do enough to appease them. Again, shrinks, have at it. Our dinner helped to bridge the gap between him and I, and It allowed me to feel more comfortable talking about the screw-ups of the day. When I finally mustered up the courage to talk to Frankie about it, he immediately put my mind at ease. “Today was tough, but you battled through it and you landed fish. Period.” He said, “You need to relax, don’t put so much pressure on yourself, the fish feel it. At the end of the day, you’re in a beautiful place, fishing for beautiful fish, and you’re on vacation, try to enjoy it” he finished with a chuckle.
It’s so easy to get caught up in the negative side of things, the mistakes made, the missed opportunities. It’s important to remember that we, or at least I, do this not only for the “hell yeah” moments but for the “ah shit” moments, that it’s all part of what makes this sport so beautiful. You learn from the mistakes, you celebrate the wins, and you enjoy the quiet comfort of being fully invested in the moment.
After dinner and a few too many pours of bourbon, I returned to my room and organized my gear for the morning. I took out my journal and wrote down two words, “enjoy it.” A perfect microcosm for fishing, and life in general. I had one more day of fishing, and that was my goal, simple and achievable. Enjoy it.
Tight lines and don’t forget to enjoy the present moment, it’s really all we’ve got.
