Bahama Bones
By Zac Glaser
Unfortunately, I’m back in Boston, daydreaming about days spent on the beautiful rivers and creeks in Alberta and British Columbia. I did some fishing in Roscoe, NY in the fall, but honestly, I haven’t been able to get out much.
As the cold weather began to hit, I thought to myself, “Daddy needs a tug,” that could probably be phrased better, but you get the point. The wheels started spinning and I reached out to a friend who has done some cool saltwater experiences, I told him my budget and he didn’t hesitate. “Go to Andros and get into some Bonefish, I have the perfect spot for you.” I thought, screw it, I don’t have any Christmas plans, why the hell not.
Enter Frankie's Two Boys Inn on Andrés Island in the Bahamas. The reviews were excellent and the price was right so I called them up and sent them a deposit, now I was committed. I Booked a flight for Christmas Day, and I would fly back on New Year’s Eve. When you’re ballin’ on a budget, you take what you can afford.
Once everything was booked the real fun began, I started tying flies, size two and four Gotchas with and without rubber legs, some Spawning Shrimp, some Mantis Shrimp, and mostly shrimp patterns. From everything I had read, the bones in Andros were not particularly picky, so as long as you had some different size/color and colors you’d be good. What matters was the sink rate.
The thing about bonefish, so I read, is when they are tailing and happily digging in the sand for their food, you’ve got to get the flies down to the bottom if you want to catch them. For some of those deeper holes during cooler weather, you need some heavy lead eyes to get that sinking line down. For the real shallow flat stuff, bead chain eyes are the go-to. They sink slower and they kind of fall gently right in front of the fish if you hit your spot like you should, which I rarely did.
I should preface this by saying my saltwater fly fishing experience is insanely limited. I can count on one hand the amount of times I have done it.
I texted my friend no less than a dozen different times asking for advice on gear, stripping technique, flies, casting strategy, fly placement, etc. I went into this pretty much blind, and I learned a ton thanks to my man Frankie, an absolute legend of the bone fishing game.
When I got on the puddle jumper to Andros, after a couple of wild nights in Nassau, I quickly realized how different it was from New Providence. Just a 30-minute ride, you quickly see the vast flats that surround the entire Island from the plane. It was exactly as advertised, bonefish Mecca. I touched down, took the 30-minute cab ride to the inn, had some dinner, and went to sleep anxiously awaiting my 7:30 a.m. date with Frankie and the skiff.
When I woke up, I quickly tossed my Orvis Helios 2 nine-foot eight-weight together, with my large arbor Redington Rise reel with a Scientific Angler Bonefish Mastery line on it. I threw on a 12 foot 16 pound tapered saltwater leader from RIO, and I tied on my size two white Gotcha. I hurried to the dock with my little lunch box, my oversized waterproof backpack, my boat box full of flies, holding my flats boots, my windbreaker, my extra rod tube, and a partridge in a pear tree. As I hustled to the boat, I can only imagine I looked like some combination of a kid off to his first day of summer camp, and Private Upham in Saving Private Ryan, marching off to war with my typewriter in tow. Frankie, my guide, and the owner of the place gave me a disapproving shake of his head but followed it with a small chuckle that put me at ease.
As I got on the boat I let him know how limited my experience was, he seemed unfazed, and said he’s taken people out that have never cast a fly rod, so he wasn’t concerned. That made me feel a lot better. Then he had me cast, and he was pleasantly surprised, which was a feeling I shared when he expressed it. “I can work with that,” he said curtly. Now, if you’ve never seen anyone fly fish for bones, or read about it, then you don’t know that it is almost 100 percent sight fishing. It’s a lot closer to hunting than it is to trout fishing. The guide motors you out to the flat and then cuts the motor, he then takes a 20-foot pole and climbs up onto a platform above the motor and pushes off the bottom of water that is anywhere from 2-5 feet in depth, usually closer to the former. While he rolls around, you, the angler, stand on the front of the boat with about 50-75 feet of line emptied behind you in the boat, all the while he is searching for a subtle shadow, or 1,000 subtle shadows swimming in the right direction. When your guide spots one or ten, you better be ready, “Ten o’clock 40 feet, start casting.” These fish are quick and don’t hang around long, so you better go. I look to see if I can spot the fish, but I see nothing, so I cast where I think he wants the fly. “No, too long, too far right, pick it up, go again… ten feet shorter, ten feet right.” I spot a small shadow for a second I cast about three feet in front of it, the fly lands heavy with a splash, and in a puff of mud it’s gone. I look back at Frankie and see an exasperated look on his face. I messed up, way too close, way too heavy. I start to apologize but before I can there’s another fish, “12 o clock, 30 feet, go!” This time I see the fish instantly, I take a deep breath, and drop the fly six feet in front of the fish. “Strip! Stop! Strip! Strip long!” I’m so confused, I try my best to follow the instructions, but I haven’t figured out what they all mean at this point. By the grace of the fish gods, the small bone slurps my fly and I pull hard like I’m fishing for Bull Trout. “ Good, now UP!” I lift the rod tip, and the reel starts screaming. I do my best to manage the line and I fumble through the fight, pulling as hard as I’m comfortable with in hopes I don’t break him off.
All said and done it was about three minutes from the time of the cast, to fish in hand. It was incredible, the power of a fish not much bigger than two pounds, I was hooked, and all I could do was hum to myself, ”It’s only just begun…”
Sometimes the tug really is the drug, and these bastards tug with the best of them. Keep ‘em tight, and don’t forget to leave your camper for some aerial adventures.
