Over some fifteen years of bonefishing in Hawaii an impression of what bonefishing in The Bahamas would be like gradually formed in my mind. I imagined a place where little bonefish traveled in bunches – sometimes vast mobs, across endless sunny flats. It was a place where you could have 100 shots a day at feeding fish and never wade deeper than your knees. This Winter we headed north from our Eastern Caribbean outpost to finally hunt some Bahamian bonefish. The reckoning had come!
Part 1: Great Abaco Island
In Hawaii the flats aren’t really flat. There are deep spots and high points, some of which rise just above water level to form small islands. My first observation of The Bahamas from the airplane window was that it wasn’t so much an archipelago of islands as it was one huge flat whose high points just happened to be big enough for people to live on. Truly, it did look like a place that should be ruled by bonefish rather than human beings.
We landed in Marsh Harbor and found our Airbnb, which clearly existed to provide medium-term lodging to visiting construction workers, but was comfortable enough for a couple of days. Had we stayed longer it would have been almost essential to rent a car as Great Abaco is over seventy miles from tip to tip as the osprey flies. We were situated close to the windward coast of the island. Being north of Miami, the weather felt pretty chilly to us, and it was a brisk and breezy walk through a residential neighborhood to the water.
The shoreline was pretty rugged, and the water was certainly not teeming with bonefish. In fact, I was surprised that even our light tackle lure couldn’t elicit a chase from a needlefish or a small barracuda. We picked our way along the rocks and rounded a small point with a good vantage over a small bay. Out in the middle I spied a school of bonefish cruising slowly over the sandy bottom. It took several minutes to climb carefully down the rocks, and then to catch our breaths when we slipped into the shockingly cold water, and by then I had lost track of the fish. But as we waded across the bay I spotted a lone fish on the inside, feeding over a small patch of turtlegrass. Mind you, I hadn’t cast a fly at a bonefish for about seven months, but I managed to put my little brown Molokai shrimp just off the edge of the grass. I waited until the fish started moving, made a short strip, and hooked right up.
We covered about three quarters of a mile of shoreline in total and saw only one more bonefish. It was out in the open where small waves were rolling over a sandy bottom. This time I made a terrible cast, dropping the fly right on top of the fish, but it didn’t seem to mind and quickly scooted over to eat.
After that, we made our way back to thaw our toes and find some lunch. My first two Bahamas bonefish were larger, but much easier to catch, than I had expected. We planned to take the ferry to Green Turtle Cay the following morning where we were staying at the Bluff House Beach Resort for a week. How would the fishing unfold there? Was my impression of The Bahamas all wrong, or would I finally find the swarms of hungry little bonefish I had been looking for? (Next time in Part 2: Green Turtle Cay…)
The Fishing Dojo 