Bonering

Those two lunky cruisers looked like a pair of lazing grey torpedos as they nosed the edge of some clustered mangroves adjacent to a channel. I chose my path down to the water from our perch atop the rock ridge paralleling the channel. we had hiked well over a mile along this difficult, spikey, ridge and the creek, our destination, was in its lee. I edged into the water limiting my disturbance.  I spotted the fish, still milling and calm.  I spotted also a 4-5 ft lemon enter the scene and pass by the bones, if not between them.  I tensed, but no action passed among the fish.  The bones remained. I had lost full vision of them but knew where they had to be.  Picking them up, I presented.  They cruised past, unengaged, I had missed and needed to represent, but they had come towards me and the window tightened.  I withdrew the fly and recast with a chicken-winged wrist flip.  It entered without spooking those big bones cruising closer by the heartbeat. I got small, and tight to the fly. I drew it in.
"They're big," Kyle said. "Don't fuck it up."
I saw a fish move left to right to engage and I just did what I knew: keep the fly moving until the whole shit show comes tight. Then, clear the line and don't say a thing till he's runnin' out in the open. And, no smiling 'till he's in your hand.
This 21.5 inch 5# bonefish never did go out into the open, but by hook and by crook I did end up smilin'.  I had to thread the entire rod right through mangrove roots a couple times, but he did eventually come to hand.  I was amazed at his width at the shoulders, the transluscence of his olive toned headplate, and the size of his eye.  He showed marks of wear below the dorsal, and was olive dark olive mottled on top.   I wish I had examined his nose and sides more.  His pectoral girdle almost filled my hand and the tail touched 2" above my crooked elbow.
But this fish was all about the getting there.  And seeing it first.

Kyle Zempel Photo Credit.