Hurricanes be damned! Andros for summer
bones was the plan and we got it done. We
head down there in July to get away from the
other fishermen and also because people just
think it is "too hot." There is also a
perception that there are no fish this time
of year. They are a little correct in the
heat factor but dead wrong in the fish population.
Add in hurricane season and being flexible and
prepared is mandatory. The rewards are plenty
if you have a plan and roll with the punches.
Our plan this year was for ten people to fish
in two groups (4 and 6) for a week each group.
The Mars Bay Bonefish Lodge is under new management
and well on the way to being the best in the south
end of the big island. Bill Howard, owner/manager,
offered to open his lodge to us in July after
shutting down in mid June. He had another call
for his boats for the Redbone people and we could
take our weeks either side of them and make the
month for him. Storms, although having little
affect on Andros, changed the number of visitors
and the plan. We had four go for a week, redbone
cancelled and we got four of the six for the last
week. Bill rolled with the punches and made those
that made it feel very welcome.
Our first four folks lost the first two days
of their week to high winds. They reported
the last three days as fine fishing and had
a ball overall with Bill's hosting getting
very high marks.
The second six folks, whom I herded over there,
dwindled to four when hurricane Dennis hit the
homes and lifestyles of two of the fishermen.
One could not even get to his condo on Navarre
Beach to get his gear in time for the trip, let
alone find a place for his wife to live while
he fished. For some reason he choose not getting
divorced over fishing. The good thing was the
travel insurance we all carry is going to help
them recoup losses of the wallet. Nothing makes
up for lost fishing.
The four survivors were Peck, Todd, Ron
and I, Scud. The travel from the states
can be a problem and a hassle if you use
the airlines. Andros is out of the way
with few, if any direct flights. Congotown
is another airport altogether from anything
else on Andros. We took an "on demand" charter
out of Ft. Lauderdale, which also gave us the
option to evacuate if necessary. Air Flight
is the outfit and they have planes to carry
six to eight, depending on the size of the
people and what they carry. Four of us fit
like a dinger in a bell but we sure enjoyed
the one and half hour flight with the extra
elbowroom. When we had dropouts and I put
the word out the weight restrictions were
"off," some brought so much "stuff" we came
close to over packing the taxi at the other
end. The lodge has everything, and will do
your laundry, so packing light does not hurt
at all.
Arrival at the Congotown airport, if you can
call it that, lets you know you are in a different
world. One building sits at the end of one
straight piece of concrete. There was one old
airplane sitting there and that is unusual.
About half way down the piece of concrete
there is a tail of some old airplane sticking
out of the jungle. You have to pay the customs
inspector to come to the airport to process you,
$40-50 will get someone to meet you on Sunday.
I grabbed a cart to put the bags on and we filled
it up before a kid showed and complained that it
was "his job" to do that. He pushed it to the
taxi a hundred feet away and stood by for his
tip. Had he not chewed me out for him being
late, he might have gotten one.
The Van is paid for by the lodge and takes
about forty-five minutes unless you stop and
shop for drinkable substances you forgot to
pack from the States. Beer is mighty expensive
over there but rum and some whiskeys are not.
Go figure. The local beer is very good but
still a tad pricy. Note for next year is to
bring beer if we have weight allowance left
over. Ena is the local driver and this nice
lady will give you a running tour with many
historical notes while she whisks you to the
lodge.
We arrived for dinner, well marinated (us, not
the food) and were more than surprised to find
a real fancy layout waiting. The cook was Melissa,
an American-Bahamian who moved back to take care
of her grandmother. She left her cooking job at
the Four Seasons. She cooked for the first four
days and did many repeats of the first night.
Breakfasts were just as fine and she did some
great sandwiches for our lunches too. There
are no supermarkets down that way and most of
what we ate was caught that day. If not caught,
it came in a can. Fruit is hard to find and
packing in some on the charter might be a better
use than beer...or maybe not.
The party continued after dinner with rigging
being the remaining task. All of us planned
on two rods on the boat and some took three;
one for bonefish, one for permit or a back up
for the first and the last was for barracuda
and/or shark. Permit is the only thing we never
had the conditions to try for on this trip.
The boat or truck to the boat (depending on
tide) leaves each morning at 0700. The wake
up call is Bill pounding on the door or just
the activity of the cook down the hall in the
kitchen. With only four of us, and Bill, we
did not use the second building. Bill can
nicely handle eight at the lodge. The morning
noise did not wake all us up this first day.
Some needed a little more sleep and some, like
me, slept very little in anticipation of day
one. There might have been a correlation between
rum consumption and sleep required. Some of the
rigs from the night before did not look so fine
in the morning light.
Ok, we made the boats by 0815 with new knots
and all. Tides were not a factor in being a
little late. The boat ride, the worst part of
fishing in South Andros, started. Worst, because
most of the time the trade winds blow from the
east southeast at about 15-20 MPH. The run to
the south flats is in open water and takes between
30 to 50 minutes depending on the roughness of the
sea. This is the most southern lodge in South
Andros so if you stay in any of the others you
can add 20 minutes to our ride to fish the most
productive flats.
Day one was going to be rough with the normal
winds blowing at 15-20MPH. The boats are
Rahmings made on the island. The hull shape
and size is pure Dolphin Skiff and the boats
are tough as battleships but do not give you
a dry soft ride in two to three foot seas. There
is actually only a small part of the run that
is really bad and the guides slow down so as not
to turn your teeth to Chicklets or your back to
more parts than it already has. They want you
to get fishing and you may need to ask for less
"banging" if you have a real bad back, like I do.
I can afford 10 minutes more each way to be able
to stand when it is time to fish. It does get wet
but that is why you have jackets along. It is
also warm water and the wind dries you out
pretty quickly.
The boats split up when we hit the flats at
the south end of the islands. I had Ron with
me this day, as he had never caught one of
these fish before. We also had the oldest
most experienced guide in Wilford Andrews.
Ron jumped at the chance to stand on the bow
first as the tide was high and we were going
to pole first. For never having seen the
bonefish before and it being a low sun angle,
Ron did well. He saw the first couple of fish
but the late sightings did not offer any good
shots. Pretty soon, Wilford announced we would
jump out and stalk the fish he spotted in a
little corner or the mangroves just out front.
Out went the anchor and over the side went Ron
and Wilford. I exited the other side and pulled
away from them to watch. I could see the fish
"tailing" but let them creep forward without
me. I was planning on holding out in the
slightly deeper water as the big ones hang
out a little from the masses of smaller fish.
It took about five minutes and a couple of
casts and Ron was hooked to a running bone
that took him to the backing. Wilford coached
and they had it in without spooking the whole
flat. Ron quickly hooked his second and did
a masterful job of this one also.
The two of them worked through a slight
depression in the flat and toward me and
got yet another fish and released it. I
was having a flash back to my first
bonefishing adventure. I went four days of
pure frustration before I got my first one.
Better preparation on Ron's part paid off.
As they came towards me I spotted another
pod of fish off the point ahead and I went
further out to give them room to approach
them first. Ron hooked one right on the
point by throwing into the fifty fish
holding there. That one ran him into
the mangroves and he eventually had the
fish wrap around a stalk and break off.
I was still scanning the deeper water
for the big one when not watching a new
guy catch four fish in just under twenty
minutes of his first hour of fishing for
bones.
About this time I hear a plaintiff call,
"do you have any flies with you?" It seems
Ron was taken by surprise at the quick
departure from the boat and did not have
flies in the pocket case I gave him. He
did have the case though. I pulled out a
"pink puff," the guide's choice, and
started towards him. Out of the corner
of my eye I caught sight of a monster
fish 20 feet away coming at me. I looked
and first thought it was a 'cuda because
of the size but realized too late that it
was the biggest bone I had ever seen. It
was the size of my leg and just what I
was waiting for. I could not get the fly
in front of him before he saw me. My guess,
and the guide's, was this one might have
been near 20 pounds. The cost of the pink
puff went from a gift to $100 on the spot.
I take part blame for not making him go
back to the boat to load his box.
We did not go back to the boat for almost
two hours. I had to stay close to provide
a fly if he lost another. Ron had six fish
when I got my first; a normal sized one
(3-4 pounds) cruising where the big ones
were supposed to be. I had caught up a
little during the first hour and he had
seven to my four. We started across a mile
long flat when Wilford said, 'walk straight
ahead and he would return to the boat and
catch us on the other side.' He told us
the fish were starting to flow out of the
mangroves on the far side and would all
come to us on the walk. It was so shallow
and the water was going down fast that I
thought nothing could swim. Boy, was that
wrong. We would only get a few minutes
between swarms of fish flowing right at us.
Ron was a little slower at fighting and getting
them off but during any fight herds would get
spooked while passing during the fight. As
soon as you got the fish off and looked up
there would be another wave right in front
bearing down on you. It lasted for about
a half hour and I think I got six during
that walk. Ron had a bunch fall off for
bad sets but got so many he lost count. I
think he was a fish ahead but I was not
really sure either. Wilford could tell by
the smiles that he had presented quite a
morning for us.
The rest of the day was a blur but there
was a little lapse in the action when the
tide went slack. We ate a lunch and got
into another flat full of fish in the PM.
We also tossed at a few small groups from
the bow, which brought the wind and some
aiming into play. Ron noticed it was not
as easy as throwing down wind at masses
of fish. He was spoiled and in need
something to humble him a little.
All in all, the pounding on the way home
did not diminish this day. Ron finished
with 16 plus fish and I was probably just
one or two behind him. The other team was
on the back porch with drinks in hand
waiting with their wild stories. They did
not find the masses we did but both had
good numbers and a couple of bigger fish,
around six pounds, to their credit. A few
beers and many stories of the wonders of the
South Andros flats followed by a fantastic
dinner made the bumpy ride seem like a cakewalk.
After dinner Peck went into action. He,
somehow, got all his lines filthy and reels
clogged with salt, or at least it seemed
that way. He had lines, rods, reels and
gear of all sorts taken apart and spread
over the whole living area. He was moving
so fast we could not even see him as we
wandered from the back deck to the refrigerator
to get more ice. Again, a mystery for sure,
most all of it got back in place before bedtime.
When the stars were bright enough to still be
seen full bright with the full moon, we retired.
I had little problem sleeping this night.
At 0500 I found Ron on the deck with coffee
pondering the past day and what was to happen
next. I joined him and was almost blinded by
the stars. I know most of the names of the
stars and most of the constellations but could
not find the constellations, as the stars were
all too bright to tell apart. The following
sunrise was special and the wind kept the bugs
at bay.
The fresh day started with me fishing with Peck
and the other guide, George Brown. George really
had the driving trick down and we worked our way
down south without so much as a cry of pain from
going airborne. I checked the timing and we lost
only about 10 minutes going a most comfortable
speed.
The tides were higher longer this day and we
did not find the massive piles of fish early.
I had only a couple of fish in the morning.
As far as I could see, George was doing the
same thing as Wilford in the same places.
Fish move. In fact, the second half of the
day we went out to an outer island flat to
cash in on the fish he found flowing out the
first day. We were on the flat most of the
afternoon with him amazed there was nothing
there. Wilford and the other two folks came
up and started on a second flat that was less
than 100 yards away but on the other side of
a flowing stream between the two flats. We
returned and walked our empty flat a second
time while the other group fished for two hours
in a constant fish flow they described as
'several thousand' fish. I ended up with
three for the day and Todd had a couple more
than I did. The other team had 8 to 10 apiece.
The ride home was as nice as the ride down and
the beer even colder that evening. Once again,
Peck seemed to have need to polish the insides
of everything he owned and had the inside of
the lodge looking like a cob web with lines in
various stages of rebuilding or reweaving or
whatever. If I ever wanted to buy a used reel,
it would be from this man.
Third day for me was with Peck and guide George.
We'd decided as a group to go all the way to
the farthest flat of the Water Keys while the
tide was high and fishing limited closer in.
We actually did not get out of the boat for
the first walk for almost 2 hours. We got
there earlier but were trying to find some
place shallow enough to find the fish. One
opportunity got thwarted when we were going
along slowly with the motor jacked up and a
large school was busting their way towards us.
Peck was napping and did not get the gist of
the hurry we were in to shut down and ground
the boat on a sand bar. He had his rod in his
hand and handed it to me. I thought he was
going to climb out and toss at the onrushing
mob of fish but he turned around to get his
water bottles or something. I looked back
and yelled he was going to miss the shot at
which time he bolted into action and started
stripping line for a cast that was just about
five seconds late to connect.
We walked the next flat with one bunch playing
out in front of us for about 50 yards of trudging
through holes and rocks before they turned and
made a run towards us. They were headed at me
and I picked the biggest to throw at. I had about
two strips in without a bite before Peck landed
his special little fly about three feet to the
side of my following fish. The fish were not
in love with my offering and just pounced on
the chance to go over and leap all over Peck's
fly. If I had not been refused I am sure we
would have had a double.
At one point in a polling run a three-foot
barracuda shadowed the boat long enough for
me to get Peck's big rod out and toss at it
with a special fly a mutual friend made. The
'cuda showed interest on the second or third
"splashy" toss and finally came all the way
out of the water to take the thing in the air.
The back hook fouled on the body of the fly
and it did not hook that boney mouth. Too bad,
it would have been a tussle. That was just
about all we saw for the rest of the morning.
George was getting frantic, due to lack of
fish count, and started us working back
toward the east side as the water started
to fall. He stopped at another spot I remembered
from my last visit and my spirits soared. It was
his "honey hole" the last time. Sure enough,
we paced ourselves across the flat to the far
end and, just like last time, the fish bunched
up on the falling tide. Peck got a couple
really quickly and I finally got one to stay
on the hook. I seemed to be trying to get to
them with too much line out and the stretch
in the line made it hard to get a good hook up.
When I let them get within 40 feet before
throwing it got easier and I got a couple.
Peck tried to ford a deep spot I remembered
was pretty mucky. On the way back from the
aborted crossing he, always the entertainment,
scored a near perfect 9.5 on his half gainer
with a face plant. I heard the splash and all
I could see was his hat, which, by the way,
was in big demand by Wilford. He had been
trying to talk him out of this very seasoned
piece of cloth that looked like a pillbox with
a fringe. Well, the "hat" just got a well-needed
oil change.
On the way back to the boat a "mud" popped
up off our right side about 50 yards out.
George started us toward it and left it to
us. I usually hate to do muds (schools of
smaller fish eating off the bottom with mud
coming to the top) but the lack of fish so
far and the flashing fish at the leading edge
of the mud got us excited. The first thing
that happened was a barracuda ripped through
the school and we could not get them settled
down to toss at until he had his fill. He
finally left for a nap and we got down to work.
I decided it was time to throw all the odd
things in my tackle box and manage to have
fish swim by my feet while I was tying on
different flies. Peck was working like a
lumberman catching one after another. I
managed a couple of refusals and a couple
of fish. I think Peck must have had a half
dozen before they seemed to catch on to us
making their jaws sore and left.
We did several more stops on the way home
but could not find but a couple of fish to
throw at. Not a bad day for sure but not
one of the best. George did a masterful
job of keeping the boat's ride soft and
fuzzy so we could actually enjoy the view
and talk.
The gear show went on to some extent on
Peck's part but a flurry of knot tying
overtook us as we planned to go to the
west side and find tarpon the next day.
Ron was a sponge for knot knowledge and
he had more opinions from us, and Bill,
than he could cope with. The "different
kind" of line discussion lasted an hour
and my brain was full before we got out
the spools and started tying around the
dinner table after eating. About the time
everybody was in mid knot of some sort,
the power failed. Out came three types
of LED flashlights and one old style. I
ended up just a light post for Peck. Nobody
stopped tying or talking and teaching. The
lights in the teeth muffled some of the words,
but the talking never stopped. Bill and I went
outside, as it was getting hot in there, and
from the back porch looking in it seemed like
a LAZER light show or a scene from the first
Star Wars.
This went on for an hour and just about
the time I was going to figure out how
to sleep out in the wind the power came
back on. The knots were all tied and
teaching over early.
Ron, after hearing about a bar by a bridge
and tarpon fishing available in the night
declared that, 'Wednesday is let's get
liquored up and catch tarpon night.' I must
have heard this mantra in my sleep as he said
it enough that evening. Fear of the "morning
after 'tarpon' night seeped into my brain. ~ Scud
Concluded next time.
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