Editor’s note: This is a tale told by my friend
Tommy Baranowski. It highlights a type of fishing that doesn’t grace
these pages often, in a place I’ve never been, but his story and photos make me want to
change that.
Ever since things got serious between Amanda and me, we
discussed spending the holidays far away from the usual hustle and bustle. I
never thought we would be able to pull it off our first year as a married
couple but thanks to a mix up by our wedding caterers, a little money found its
way back to us and the planning snowballed from there.
As we both had the week off between Christmas and the New Year,
the when was already settled; we just needed nail down where we were going. Eddie,
a close fishing friend of mine, is a seasoned veteran of sight fishing for
bonefish in the Bahamas. He’d told me for years I needed to get my ass down to
the Abaco Islands to experience it. It only took a few discussions between Eddie
and Amanda before she was sold. The trip
was booked.
The months leading up to the trip entailed stockpiling an obnoxious amount of
gear for a few days fishing. I have a habit of doing this every time I go on a fishing
trip. For me the preparation is half the fun. Researching fly patterns,
scouting on Google Earth, and grilling friends with experience in specific fisheries—these
things help build anticipation. By the time we boarded our plane at Bradley, I
had enough flies to supply every angler in the Bahamas. My fly boxes teemed with Spawning Shrimp,
Gotchas, Crazy Charlies, and a crab pattern my buddy Todd had perfected. The
final rod count was absurd as well—five fly rods and two spinning combos for
good measure.
Although our adventure got off to a rocky start, we
eventually found all of our luggage as well as our rental car and were happily
driving along on the opposite side of the road.
At our rental, we met Rex and Judy, our hosts for the week. They were
honestly two of the nicest people you could ever meet. They helped us get
situated and I got to work assembling rods and gear for the next day’s guided
trip.
The following morning we woke up to the sound of a shitload
of Abaco parrots. I think the island’s whole population was roosting in the
trees next door. Things got real when JR, my guide for the day, pulled up in
the driveway with his Hells Bay in tow. He stepped out of the truck in a full
camo jumpsuit—my kind of dude. JR is a native Bahamian that happened to live
just three houses over from our rental. We hit it off swapping hunting and
fishing stories on the way to the boat launch. JR told me about the history of
the island and its famous fishery, as well as what he does when he’s not
guiding…hunting wild boar.
We turned off Abaco’s main highway onto a single lane
logging road. It was straight as an arrow and went on so far that the two tire
tracks on the ground seemed to disappear into the horizon. The thick pine and palmetto
forest eventually thinned out and opened up to a small boat launch called Netty’s
Cut. After splashing in, JR hammered down the throttle and headed to the fabled Marls
of Abaco, a vast expanse of prime, wilderness and bonefish habitat situated
along Great Abaco’s western shore. It consists of miles of mangroves and mud
flats. The only way to reach them is in a skiff or small craft.
JR cut the motor and poled into the first spot. We immediately spied water being pushed along
the mangroves. After poling toward the commotion, we found a nice, lone bone
milling around. JR positioned the boat and I launched a 40’ cast. The fish
swirled on the fly, ate it, and peeled off to the races, putting me into my
backing in seconds.
It’s hard to put down in words that feeling of catching my
first bonefish on a fly that I tied. For as long as I’ve been into fishing,
it’s a moment I’d dreamt about. A species that’s always been high on my bucket
list. And, there I was, in a tropical paradise with a perfect specimen in my
hand after a hard fought battle. Day one went on like that. Poling new areas,
spotting fish and making casts. It was everything I wanted it to be.
The agenda for the ensuing days following the first guided
trip went something like: wake up, eat breakfast on beach, walk up and down
shoreline with wife and rod-in-hand, eat lunch, hammock nap, explore flats on
foot while my wife reads in said hammock, watch sunset, eat dinner, sleep and
repeat.
After a few days, I had learned a few things. One being sun and clear skies were vital to sight
fishing success. Being able to see the fish before it sees you is crucial. Two,
wind sucked and I knew it would. Everyone I spoke to about fishing the Bahamas
in December had one word of caution…wind. Not only does it make casting a
bitch, it kills the ability to spot fish. Combine slightly overcast skies and a
stiff wind and good luck with that.
On the day before my second guided trip, we took a ride to Cherokee,
a small town that is home to the longest pier in all the Caribbean. The pier is
situated on a picture perfect flat and while standing on it we spotted schools
of cruising fish. Amanda and I found a spot on the small beach at the base of
the pier where she could relax and read while I ventured out to fish. As I searched,
I let myself get distracted by the crazy amount of conch shells I saw. I stopped to pick one up that had particularly
wild colors. When I picked my head back up, no bullshit, there was a school of
at least 40 bonefish swimming by me. They were cruising up and down the shoreline
and for the next hour I tried everything I could to get one to eat. Longer
leader, lighter tippet, more lead time—it didn’t matter. On a whim I tied on
one of the small crab patterns that Todd taught me a few months back. I made a
cast and began stripping. A single bone in the big pack that kept swimming by peeled
off like a rocket and wolfed down the crab! That eat was definitely one of the
highlights of the trip.
The weather turned to complete shit for my second guided trip. The day promised
cloudy skies and wind forecast to 40mph. Yet, the show had to go on. This time the
ride out to the Marls was wet and nasty. JR had to anchor the skiff once we set
up on the spot. Not exactly how you draw up an ideal bonefish outing but
fishing isn’t always sunny skies and butterflies. We waited and watched. I have
a difficult time just sitting idle on a boat, so i stripped a bunch of line off
the reel and started blind casting. A small patch of turtle grass about 60’ straight
out in front of the boat caught my eye and I put my fly right in the middle of
it. As I stripped it back, I was paying more attention to the scenery than my
fly. When I focused, there was a monster bonefish right behind it. I didn’t
even have time to think, just stripped, came tight, and let a string of
profanities flow out of me.
That fish was in a different class altogether than anything
I had come in contact with prior. Just crazy strong. The first run was so long
that the fly line completely disappeared out of sight. When I finally gained
back the line and got the fish boat-side, it called bullshit and made the same exact
run. This back and forth from the boat to my backing happened four times! Even
when JR finally landed the fish, it was still green and didn’t give in easily.
I needed every bit of my nine-weight rod was to tame that
fish, a battle-scarred beauty of seven or eight pounds. After a few quick
photos to capture the moment, the fish swam away strong. It was surreal;
absolutely unbelievable. I took a little time to collect my thoughts, but was
back blind casting before long. This time I didn’t see the fish before it ate
the fly, but I could tell by its initial run that it was another brute. With
the bone now in my backing, we saw what you don’t want to see—a dorsal fin
poking out of the water behind it. The line went limp and a shark won that
round. A heartbreaker.
At that point in the day, the wind was no longer bearable.
JR pulled anchor and we began the bumpy, wet ride back to the launch. Even
leaving on that note, it was a truly a day to remember. A day that I am going
to be telling other anglers about for the rest of my life. Before flying back
to the frozen north, we savored a few more days on the island. We spent them soaking
up every ounce of relaxation we could, already scheming about the next time we
could return.
With just a few hours left of our trip, Amanda and I
ventured down the beach one last time to an area I had spotted a few fish
earlier in the week. The wind had yet to let up but at least the sun was
shining. I waded out to a small piece of flat scattered with patches of coral. A
few rays and a small shark swam around me. As I stalked up to some coral, I
came up on a bonefish so big it made my heart sink into my stomach. The fish
was a rod’s length away, partly obscured by waves that were now crashing into
me. Before I could do anything, the bone saw me, turned, and hightailed the
hell out of there. The long walk back to the cottage gave me plenty of time to
think it over. On one hand it was a tough way to end our Bahamian holiday, but on
the other hand “the one that got away” meant that I had some unfinished business
to take care of. Until next time, Abaco!
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