Rick Crawford
I was swinging in a hammock listening to the vibrant green and red-throated Abaco Parrots squawking while also admiring the pink oleanders that surrounded me. I was perfectly content. Well, more than content in fact, as I had just landed the biggest bonefish of the trip and I hadn’t even had breakfast. It was only 8:15 AM.
I had come down to Abaco, Bahamas to conduct a Sustainability Assessment for Abaco Lodge in June 2018, and after a week of excellent bonefishing at the Lodge, my wife and I rented an AirBNB on South Abaco called Parrots Perch for a baby moon. It was a fantastic place to unplug for a few days as there was no wi-fi and I had brought along a good book and a fly rod. Not to mention a beautiful white sand beach with turquoise waters to the east, and crystal clear water filled with mangroves filled with bonefish to the west. Speaking of mangroves, did you know that mangroves, along with sea grasses and tidal marshes are 40-50 times more efficient at sequestering carbon than terrestrial forests? Gotta love natural climate climate solutions! Anyways, mangroves also play a valuable role in the life of bonefish by providing them with shelter during high tides from predators such as lemon sharks. However, as the tide begins to recede, the “ghosts” begin their disappearing act on the flat and that’s where this story begins.
I woke up at roughly 6 A.M., as I had every morning the last week or so, in the Bahamas seeking the illusive, beautiful and perhaps even my favorite saltwater species to catch on the fly rod, the bonefish. I caught my first bonefish on our honeymoon in Turks and Caicos in 2013 and have never been able to shake them from my mind. I think the fact that bonefish live in the most tropical and paradisiacal places has something to with it, but I digress. The tide was outgoing as I drove about two minutes and parked the rental car on the side of the road, rigged my fly rod and tied on a pink and white Crazy Charlie. I scanned the water for signs of life, but the sun hadn’t quite risen above the hillside to the east so it was difficult to see. I decided to go ahead immerse myself into the surprisingly cool water and began to slowly make my way towards some mangroves where I would wait and observe.
The warm sun began to climb over the hillside and the water suddenly came to life. As soon as the sun beams hit the water, there were small schools of baitfish that were instantaneously visible as they darted in and out of the mangroves and I started to focus my eyes for tails or any wakes on the surface. It was our last day in the Bahamas before heading back to Charleston and nothing would cap off an already outstanding trip than just one more bonefish. However, I have been fishing long enough to know that just having that thought may have doomed my chances of even seeing a bonefish. I gently waded around the vegetation in an effort not to spook any of my target species, but I was not careful enough. I spotted a bonefish as it was hauling ass away from me. Bonefish-1, Rick-0.
I continued my gradual wade seeking any sign of a tail. I made it about ten feet when I spotted not one, but two bonefish cruising out of the mangroves moving left to right at about a forty-five degree angle away from me, but they hadn’t noticed me. I felt the gravity of it being my last day on Abaco, and probably the last bonefish I would cast to in the foreseeable future with a baby girl on the way and due in September. My first cast was behind both fish, but they didn’t spook! I couldn’t believe it. I did my best to remind myself that it wasn’t D-Day, that I wasn’t about to storm Normandy Beach, so I could go ahead and settle the hell down and remember that I was bonefishing in the Bahamas. All I had to do was make a 25 foot cast in front of those bonefish and call it a day. I took a deep breath, made my cast, but it was a couple of feet short and didn’t get far enough in front to catch either of their eyes. Bonefish-2, Rick-0.
Feeling somewhat deflated as my internal pep-talk didn’t do me any good, I wondered how long I would have lasted on D-Day. Apparently, not very long. The sun was gradually rising and I knew my window for opportunity was shrinking as I had told Jodie that I would be back before breakfast. I decided to walk a bit further west, away from the mangroves and into more open water away from the road. It was officially getting hot and I could feel the water warming quickly as the tide was unhurriedly dropping and the back of my neck likely needed another shot of sunscreen as I began to sweat out last night’s rum drinks. That’s when I saw a decent size school of fifteen bonefish ping ponging between two bunches of mangroves about fifty feet apart. This time, I had more time to gather my composure as I watched them go right to left, then right to left and so on as I crept into casting distance. I decided that this fourth volley might be my last opportunity before they spotted me and I made my cast about ten feet in front of the school whose tails were glistening in the rising sun and began to slowly twitch and retrieve the trusty Crazy Charlie as they swam closer. When they were about three feet away, I saw a particularly large tail deviate from the pack and aggressively bury its nose in the sand and felt the pressure from those pink rubber lips and set the hook.
That bonefish made four ferocious runs and two of them into my backing. My hands were shaking and I could taste the salt from my sweat dripping into my mouth and was audibly panting as the fish wrapped itself around the only mangrove plant within forty feet, but I managed to keep the bonefish from breaking off and eventually held the magnificent creature in my hand. I made sure to spend some extra time reviving and admiring the iridescent bonefish that I estimate to have been 5-6 pounds, and watched it swim off into distance. I couldn’t believe it, and I made it back before for breakfast with enough time to rest my rod against a palm tree, lay down in a hammock, listen to the parrots and admire the pink oleanders. Life, and bonefish, are beautiful.
