In the Bahamas, bonefish aren't an easy catch

Not every fishing trip can be a bonefish bonanza -- even in the Bahamas where it's often possible to trip over scores of the speedy, silver bomblets. But even under the worst weather conditions, a competent guide ensures the angler gets to bend a rod.

On a visit earlier this month to the bonefish-rich flats of Green Turtle Cay in the Abacos, a large cold front that had stalled north of the region edged south and unleashed near gale-force winds on the only day I had to fish.

I thought veteran guide Ronnie Sawyer might cancel our trip. But he showed up on time at the Green Turtle Club to take my friend Linda Luizza and myself fishing.

Foolishly figuring the conditions would be similar to my last trip with Sawyer -- a late-summer romp in perfect weather -- I had brought only a measly 7-weight. Trying to punch a fly through 20-knot winds with this flimsy little switch was bound to be a challenge.

Sawyer tied a Peterson's snapping shrimp to my 10-pound tippet. We then set out for the south side of the island, trying to find a lee from the howling breeze. After bumping across the bay's short chop, he stopped the boat and began poling along a rocky shoreline. The sun and wind were at the worst possible angle for me to spot the fish and get off a cast.

Sawyer picked up a fish right away, but it was at my 2 o'clock position, forcing me to make a back cast against the wind to try to drop the fly behind me -- hopefully somewhere near the fish. Needless to say, I failed miserably.

We motored around seeking sheltered waters and finally bounced across a mile-wide channel to a secluded creek that was partially shielded from the wind. The already high tide was enhanced by the wind, so that discerning the silver-gray shapes of bonefish on the bottom was difficult.

``There's a bone at 9 o'clock!'' Sawyer barked, and I strained to see it.

I made a couple of false casts, but the wind caught the line and sent it so far behind the fish they weren't even in the same settlement.

``You had to be Lefty Kreh or Chico Fernandez to land a cast on a day like this,'' I grumbled inwardly.

My failings were not lost on my eagle-eyed guide.

He poled a short distance down the creek shoreline and spotted a cluster of mud puffs on the soft bottom. Holding the boat in position about 40 feet away, he directed me to make at cast at my 11 o'clock position. ``Let all your line out,'' he said.

I cast the fly in the direction he indicated and put the rod tip in the water, swishing it back and forth to pay out all my stripped-in fly line.

At first, nothing happened. Then I felt a tick, and the slack line began to come taut.

``He's on!'' Sawyer said.

I reeled up the remaining slack, and the reel's drag began to shriek as the fish darted away. I kept my hand away from the handle to avoid getting rapped as it spun madly backward.

When the drag stopped screeching out, I carefully began to reel, then sped up manically as the fish charged toward the boat. I was beginning to think this might be a really nice bone, especially when it reversed course and yanked another 25 yards of fly line off the reel. I had to wait until it stopped before cranking against it.

After a 10-minute fight, I brought the fish close enough for Sawyer to grab it. As you can see, it weighed maybe 4 pounds. I guess the oxygenated water must have boosted its energy level enough to make it pull like Jaws. We photographed it and let it go. It swam away acting as if mortal combat never had taken place.

We neither caught nor hooked another fish that day. The only thing we brought back to the dock at the Green Turtle Club was an errant tender that some yachtsman from Montana left drifting in the anchorage.

It was one of those days.