Tracy&James | Sunday, 14 April 2024
Today as I write (Saturday) is the first time Tracy and I have arrived back at our accommodation in daylight for quite some time, as we've been hitting the flats hard often doing 8 hours of wading plus the travelling time. Today was a case of 'bad light stopped play' though. When we set out it was pretty much flat calm, sunny and humid, we had quite a walk to get to our chosen fishing area and a bit of wind is always good to try and stay cool. As it was, we were pretty hot by the time we arrived, I was struggling to keep the sweat out of my eyes and was desperately trying to keep my glasses pristine (usually on days like this I have a 'walking' pair of specs and then change to a fishing pair). However, the prospect of catching finning and tailing bones that were unable to hide their positions due to the glassy surface of the flat made the uncomfortable walk worthwhile. It wasn't too long before we were both seeing fish and had a couple of hook ups, however the weather then changed almost like someone had flicked a switch. In a matter of no more than a minute, the wind went from zero to gale force and stayed there. Strong winds are to be expected in tropical climes, but I don't think I've experienced a change quite like the one today. Our thoughts of spotting fish from miles away disappeared with the appearance of waves and foam. To make matters worse, not long after we also lost the light with the sun being obscured by a thick blanket of cloud that seemed to be in for the day. Tracy and I pottered about for a bit, sat down for a drink and a ginger nut biscuit and checked out an adjacent channel for cudas etc. With little visible chance of an impending improvement in conditions we decided to head back on the long walk to our car. I did jokingly suggest that we'd be removing our wading boots in glorious sunshine and sure enough we were, however it only lasted less than an hour before going cloudy again.
Other than today, the fishing has been going pretty well. We're into triple figures of bonefish landed and many of these have been good fish in the 4 – 5lb range. What is missing so far though is a 'special' fish, not that every bonefish isn't special, just a fish that will make an overriding memory of the trip. I've hooked three such fish, but my luck hasn't been great at landing them.
The first of these fish was a bone, a big one. Over the years I've been saltwater fishing I think I've developed a pretty good mental gauge for how big bonefish are when seen in different situations. For example tailing bonefish always look much larger than they actually are, whilst in other conditions the opposite is true. I'll also say that many of the 10lb fish proudly displayed on social media are more like 6 or 7lb. Anyway, I estimated the one I hooked at 8lb. Before I even cast at this fish I knew I would probably be in trouble. 70 yards to the left of me was one of the many miles of man-made channel that is a feature of a lot of the flats we're fishing. I think the fish knew about this also, perhaps that's why it tailed on my fly with such gusto – it fancied some sport with me that day. Once hooked the fish took the shortest possible route to the channel. All I could do was watch it empty the line and the backing against as much drag as I was prepared to set and admire its ability to scribe a perfect perpendicular into trouble. The leader parted a fraction of a second after I saw the bonefish dive over the edge.
The next loss was more annoying as it was a result of a tackle failure that really shouldn't have happened. I've mentioned Rio Saltwater lines on here before, unfortunately like many people who plan longer than normal trips, I'd stocked up with spares so, unless I was prepared to throw a £100 fly line in the bin to buy a replacement I was going to have to use it and hope for the best. It turns out that hoping the coating is attached to the core is too big an ask for Rio. The circumstances of this line failure involved a huge barracuda. We'd not had great day in an area that we'd done very well previously. As such, we were a bit dejected as we decided to turn for the wade back. We'd stopped at a rocky outcrop that protruded into the flat (also a rocky, difficult wade) for a drink. As we were discussing the lack of fish that we'd seen on our respective routes to this point (we don't typically fish together – we wander in our own direction and communicate via walkie talkies), a very big cuda sidled into view. We both carry #10 weight outfits with big streamer flies tied on substantial wire for such circumstances (and for sharks). Tracy suggested I should be the one to go for it and I wasn't going to argue with her. With cudas I like to get sufficient line out to carry the bulky fly well away from the target area. I extend the line to the distance I think I need and then start a series of PULD casts edging towards the fish. In this case the barracuda launched at the fly on my first 'distance measurement' cast. Now cudas hit hard, probably harder than any fish in Caribbean waters, and this one had a good run up too (their typical modus operandi, which I've witnessed many times, is to hit their prey so hard with their scissor like rear teeth that they cleave their victim in half. They then mop up their meal leisurely). The excitement lasted a fraction of a second before the dejection of a completely slack line dawned. The nail knotted loop on the fly line had failed. 4 nail knots for overkill, but the core of the fly line had pulled cleanly out of the coating. I vowed never to buy a mono core fly line ever again.
The third loss, and definitely the most painful (emotionally) happened at a southern beach – the same beach that Tracy lost a 100lb plus shark many years ago. We were at the beach because Tracy had sustained a foot injury, a large, painful burst blister that was refusing to heal (and still is). On recent visits this area hasn't been anywhere near as 'fishy' as in years past, but we still took rods anyway. I took a walk down the beach, in the direction of a creek opening, whilst Tracy rested up her foot on a lounger that's outside of a beach bar. After about a mile's walk I noticed a bait ball – a large grey shadow with the occasional light patch moving through, like a torch beam, indicating a parting of the bait to allow a predator to pass. I obviously waded out to get a better look and found a reasonable sized lemon shark patrolling. I cast my streamer at it but, apart from one hefty nudge, and a naughty run at me, the fish wasn't going to take the fly and disappeared. I stood, perched on the highest rock I could find awaiting its return. It didn't come back, however three very large Jack Crevalles did and smashed into the bait ball, scattering small fish everywhere, then they were gone. I looked at the streamer in my hand and contemplated removing the wire and tying the fly direct to my 50lb leader. Jack Crevalles are a very rare sight for me whilst wading, in fact I've never caught one – I've always either had the wrong rod in my hand, when on the very rare occasion that I've seen one, or the rod has been rigged with a wire - which I attributed the failure of the one shot I've ever made at a JC to (i.e. the fish failed to take the fly). Whilst I was thinking about this, the Crevalles came in at pace again, directly towards me. I instinctively flopped the line and fly in front of me (trying to cast such a big fly, complete with wire, on a short line is very much a case of 'flopping' rather than fly casting). The biggest fish of the trio immediately inhaled my fly. I think we, the fish and me, were surprised by this as nothing much happened. The jacks started to leave the area at a modest pace which subsequently built, no doubt as the realisation that something was up dawned. The reel then started to sing and continued to do so for some time. What ensued was one of the toughest fights I've ever had. I would crank as much tension as I dared into the line and then watch as the reel, with a very tight drag, would slowly rotate backwards at first and then build to an alarming 'keep your hand away from the handle for safety reasons' type speed. Thus a minute of gains on my behalf was routinely undone in a matter of seconds. This went on for half an hour or more, long enough for Tracy to arrive to help take photos etc (I'd called her on the radio once the fight had settled down). At this point I started to get confident – I'd hooked my first ever Jack Crevalle, it was a big one but I had a 50lb straight through leader and a wire, I'd got to the point where briefly I had a few turns of fly line back on the reel and I could see the fish – what could go wrong? Tracy was gearing up to take some action shots when another slow starting run gained momentum and built to full speed and then the sickening slack. I knew instantly it was gone, not a mad rush in my direction that many saltwater fish do. On inspection my leader had caught something – maybe some rock or something, but it was chaffed through.
Incidentally, I've caught a number of GTs of a similar size, if not bigger, and I have to say that this Jack pulled way harder. In fact I don't know why they are sometimes viewed as a 'trash' fish by some – they've gone right to the top of my wish list as a result of this experience.
I hope you have more luck in landing fish than I do this week,
James.
