Well, hell. But at least I’d gotten a refusal. And confirmed that this was possible.
That kept me going through high tide, at which point the afternoon sun in my face made conditions tougher than ever. And that’s when I saw the second fish, twice the size of the first and heading slowly in my direction from dead downwind, as though I’d choreographed the encounter. I knew this was going to work, and it did. The Gotcha hit the water a dozen feet in front of the bone’s nose, I waited a few seconds and twitched the line, and the fish pounced. Epiphany. Transformation. End of backstory.
Of course this wasn’t my first bonefish on a fly. Over the years I’d caught who knows how many—hundreds? thousands? And although many came from places like Christmas Island and the Yucatán, where there are few big bones, there were still some double-digit fish. But this Hawaiian bone was qualitatively different. I never saw the first hundred yards of backing disappear and was barely aware of the second. I cranked down the drag on my excellent reel and it had no effect.
But my problem wasn’t getting spooled, even though that appeared likely. My problem was coral. As the fish headed down the sand channel for the reef and the open sea beyond, I could only keep my rod tip high and hope. As the fish hit the reef, I felt dead weight, followed by no weight. The good news: the coral had cut through the leader, and I still had my fly line.
Often, as I learned on subsequent trips, that’s as much you can ask.
HAWAIIAN IS A LANGUAGE OF VOWELS. No gruff gutturals or abrupt glottal stops for these folks. They speak instead in open rhythms suggesting sunshine, music, and a relaxed attitude toward life. Aloha. Mahalo. You get the idea.
Or, o’io, the delightfully consonant-free Hawaiian name for bonefish. Of which the islands support not one species but two: the sharp-jaw (Albula virgata), which spends most of its time in deep water, and the round-jaw (A. glossodonta), which regularly ventures onto the flats.
Large numbers of bonefish otoliths in ancient Hawaiian middens confirm the traditional importance of bonefish as a subsistence staple. Regrettably, that tradition continues today in the mostly unregulated free-fire zone that constitutes Hawaii’s marine habitat. At some point, the state may recognize that 15-pound bonefish are more valuable on the flats than in nets, but that hasn’t happened yet.
Subsistence fishing for bonefish implies their consumption, something I long regarded as impossible despite the efforts of friends around the Caribbean to convince me otherwise. Years ago I likened dining on bonefish to eating a hairbrush laced with cat food, even when prepared by expert local chefs. That opinion never varied until our Hawaiian friend Walter brought over a big o’io one night. Walter simply skinned the fish, raked the loose, uncooked meat off the bones with his fingertips, rolled it into balls fortified with grated onions and peppers, and deep-fried them in a wok. I hesitate to admit how good they tasted, although it scarcely matters. Because hunting Hawaiian bonefish with a fly rod is one thing, and landing them is very much another. Visitors interested in eating bonefish should invest in heavy conventional tackle or befriend locals with gillnets.
Hawaii is no longer flying entirely under the radar as a fly rod flats destination. Its developing reputation is largely driven by the size of its bonefish. However, it pays to remember that if it were easy, everybody would be doing it. And everybody isn’t, with good reason.
