In the wake of last week’s troubling loss of my new Winston Pure 590-4, I do have some good news to report: the lost rod has been replaced with something new. Well, new to me anyway. My recently acquired Sage Z-Axis 590-4 is at least 9 years old and likely it’s older than that.
Why this old rod to replace the lost Winston? The answer is simple:
- The Z-Axis is the best rod Sage has ever made (my opinion, but also one held by many others).
- Before I bought the Winston I looked far and wide for a used Z-Axis 590-4 but was always too late to the party by the time I’d found one for sale.
- See #1 above.
The Z-Axis model lineup was in production from 2007 through 2011 and my love affair with the Sage’s “Generation 5 Technology” began in late 2007. Prior to that I had happily fished a Cabela’s 5 weight rod and had no complaints: the rod cast as well as my abilities allowed at the time. But, as is so often the case with we fly angling gear whore types, we begin to acquire more rods over time. I then upgraded to a Sage FLi 6 weight and a Sage Launch 4 weight (both were Sage’s less premium-priced rods). Shortly thereafter I had begun to hear an awful lot of praises being sung about the then-new Sage Z-Axis and, being that Sage is a local-ish western Washington-based company, it seemed appropriate to throw some business their way. With that I decided to splurge on my first high-end rod, a Z-Axis 490-4. It was love at first cast it, and since then my love for the rod has only grown. The 4 weight Z-Axis remains my favorite all-around rod of any weight. I have a couple of slower-action Sage rods which are nice for delicately presenting dry flies, but the 4 weight Z does a fine job of that and it casts much better in the wind than a slower rod. However, while it is a fast-action rod, it doesn’t feel like a broomstick by any means. It’s light in hand and the tip section has a lot of feel. It also has plenty of backbone for fighting bigger fish than a 4 weight should probably be targeting.
Because of the last statement, I picked up a gently used Z-Axis 690-4 in the winter of 2008. Now I had a stick that could throw bigger bugs, fight the wind even better and handle bigger fish than the 4 weight. I still use the 6 weight when the situation calls for it but it shares duty with my Sage XP 691-4 (purchased used in about 2010). I may prefer the XP just a tad more simply because it has a fighting butt, but the XP also has less feel so there’s no clear winner between the two. If the Z-Axis had a fighting butt, I’d probably never fish the XP.
I also have a couple of 2-handed Z-Axis rods in the 7136-4 and 8134-4. The 7136 has been my go-to steelhead rod (when I was doing more of that). The Z-Axis 7136 established a name for itself amongst the lineup of Sage Spey rods, and for good reason. A couple of years later I picked up the 8134 on the used market, thinking I might go to Alaska some day where a beefier rod would come in handy. So far the Alaska thing hasn’t happened (yet) and subsequently I’ve only fished the 8134 a couple of times. It’s similar to, but different than, the 7136 which is not surprising given that no two rod weights from the same lineage are going to feel the same. The 7136-4 and the 490-4 are particularly sweet spots in the Z-Axis lineup, in my opinion.
This brings me back to the Sage Z-Axis 590-4 which I just picked up on the eBays. Years ago I made the decision to fish even weight trout rods in 4 and 6 weight and because of that I don’t really need a 5 weight. So why, then, did I purchase the Winston 5 weight in the first place? Plain and simple: I had a 5 weight line sitting around that someone had given me a couple years ago. The line needed a reel and the reel would need a rod. It would have been a shame for that 5 weight line to go to waste, right? I made a point to fish the Winston 3 times this past Summer and Fall and really enjoyed it. Yes, my 4 weight would have served just as well on the waters I fished and the few fish I caught and I did bring the Z-Axis 490-4 as a back-up rod on one trip. And yes, I felt a twinge of guilt for having left the 4 weight Z-Axis wrapped in its tan sock, tucked inside its brown rod tube.
Was it a cruel (and expensive) twist of fate that brought me to the Z-Axis 5 weight? I believe so. Will I be disappointed? I highly doubt it. Since I love my Z-Axis 490-4, and really like my Z-Axis 690-4, I have no reason to think that the 590-4 is going to be anything but a delight. It was also consierably less expensive than had I elected to replace the lost Winston with another Winston. In the eBay listing this particular rod was described as being “clean” and I would have to agree: it appears to have been lightly-fished and well-cared for by its previous owner. I just need to take it fishing now.
For anyone interested in a model history of rods from Sage, this article is straight from the horse’s mouth: The Sage Story
I recently had my best day on the Yakima river in 2 years, which also happened to be my first day on the Yakima river in 2 years. My long hiatus may be due to the fact that I just haven’t had the opportunity to fish the Yakima, or that I haven’t had the desire to fish the Yakima. Whatever the case may be, I got an email a couple weeks earlier from my buddy “Bob” asking if I’d like to join him for a day on the Yakima.
I fish with “Bob” about once a year, maybe less, depending on his tolerance for slow days on the water. He’s a good dude and an accomplished angler if you factor in that he’s been catching fish since he was a kid (which is long before I was born). But when we fish together he seems to fare as poorly as I do—sometimes worse—which can only be attributed to my bad luck as an angling person. Often the dark cloud that follows me around rains on others as well. So you can see why he doesn’t want to fish with me more often.
Anyway, I met up with “Bob” at a mutually convenient location and loaded my gear into his car, which was hitched to his chartreuse Aire raft, and we headed to Cle Elum. Once there we arranged for a shuttle at the Troutwater fly shop ($40, which we split) before heading to Pioneer Coffee shop for a cup of joe and a raspberry oat bar ($2.95). I skipped the coffee. We drove to our put-in at Bristol, a private launch that requires (on the honor system) $10 to launch. “Bob” tried to split the fee but I insisted on covering the entire $10. After all, he did drive and provide the boat. I had spent $32.95 and I hadn’t even put on my waders yet. It’s a good thing “Bob” wasn’t my guide because his tip would have been insultingly small this day.
It was a clear, cool morning with an upstream breeze. We set out toward our eventual take-out at the Green Bridge several miles downstream. Along the way we would attempt to fool one of the 11 dish in this stretch of the Yakima. The breeze turned to a wind, which was the leading edge of a system that would eventually bring cloud cover. We looked forward to the clouds, anticipating that it would bring the fish to the surface. We awaited the arrival of the clouds, which would take their damn sweet time arriving, and angled away over cold, clear and low water.
Eventually I landed my best Yakima fish in nearly 2 years: a 15” cutthroat that turned on my dropper and proceeded to become ass-hooked. Oh well, it made for a good initial fight on my 5 weight Winston Pure (which I had picked up last Spring and really enjoyed while in Montana and Idaho in July). It was my first Winston and I really liked the way it cast and presents dries. But I digress.
About the time that the wind peaked we decided it was a good time to stop for lunch. After consuming a light bite I took a spell on the oars. I hadn’t rowed a boat since selling my Streamtech a year and a half ago, and I had to admit that it felt good to be on the sticks again, despite that the wind meant having to row with the current much of the time and my torn rotator cuff argued with me the entire time.
The remainder of our float was fairly uneventful, and other than the fact that the wind saw to it that we enjoyed a couple of impressive wind tangles, there wasn’t much worth noting. As the oarsman I may have put “Bob” on a small fish, but the Yakima tends to suck the life out of a person so I cannot accurately recall. We stopped to work a particular fishy looking run where “Bob” allegedly caught a decent rainbow. I was upstream not catching anything so I cannot confirm the honesty of his claim (I don’t have any reason to doubt him, but you know fishermen and their lofty exaggerations). Apparently pleased with himself, “Bob” resumed command of his watercraft and we continued downstream. Along the way I added 2 more rather unimpressive fish to my list.
The clouds finally arrived, and the wind died down, though too late to make any sort of difference in our favor. We reached our take out, geared down, and hit the road toward home. Once back at our rendezvous location, “Bob” and I bade farewell under the cloak darkness and went our separate ways. Upon arriving at home 45 minutes later I unpacked my gear. I placed my boots on the boot dryer, hung my waders from the handlebars of my upside-down-hanging-bike, stowed my other gear in the cabinet where I keep my other gear, and reached for my rod. It was nowhere to be found. I looked under the seat and in the back of my truck (where I know I hadn’t put it). I looked under the seat again. Then I mentally retraced my steps: I vividly recall removing the rod from the back of “Bob’s” car, and placing it on top of my truck bed cover as I loaded the other gear into the back seat of my truck. A sick feeling overcame me as I realized that on top of my truck bed cover is exactly where I had left my rod before driving off.
In a panic I sent Marck a text, asking him if he would take a look on his way to his office the next morning (he works close by and drives right past this spot). Jump ahead 12 hours and unfortunately Marck did not find the rod.
Whomever did find it got themselves a sweet rod. I hope they enjoy and catch many fish with it. The rod had pretty good mojo in the short time I’d possessed it.
But it was just a rod and I have several others. Just no other 5 weights, and no other Winston rods. And now I have a 5 weight reel and line with no rod to match.
Misery loves company so please share your most expensive day on the water (guide fees/tips don’t count).
The UA was spawned in September 2009, but please hold off on the drumroll. While a decade of unaccomplishments may sound like quite an accomplishment, I can’t really take credit for a full ten years because the past couple have entailed little more than paying the hosting fees to keep the lights on. Meanwhile the shelves have been pretty bare.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s move on to a bit of
Weekly Drivel® Occasional Drivel® .
In mid-July (should that be hyphenated? Looks like it should be so I’m sticking with it) I made a jaunt to Montana’s Flathead Valley to fish with my buddy, Chuck the Cook, and my old pal, ol’ Lary Hutcheson. Chuck is fairly new to fly fishing, having taken it up in moderation since moving to Whitefish about 3 years ago. We hadn’t had a chance to wet a line together prior to this trip, and I was rather looking forward to seeing how his stick-waving abilities had progressed. I hadn’t fished with ol’ Lary in a few years, though I had bumped into her since then when I convinced her to buy my boat a year and a half ago. Since then she’d been insisting that I come to the Flathead Valley to see the boat. I figured the only way to get her off my back was to give in and finally accept an invitation. And so a date was set for a mid-week float in mid-July. Lary set aside the date on her busy summer guiding schedule and Chuck arranged to take a sick day off from his job as assistant daytime manager at Chuck E. Cheese. I told him to tell his boss he couldn’t come to work because his arm was in a cast (come on—that joke never runs out of funny and you know it).
Back home, July had been struggling to resemble one of Summer’s months, appearing more like March, April, May and June (which are horribly disappointing months in the PNW). I departed western Washington under cloudy, moist skies that persisted for much of the 9 hour drive, with intermittent, heavy downpours. A final, intense deluge ceased just before I arrived at Chuck’s driveway, where a cold beer and a plate of ribs welcomed me after my long drive. Chuck knows his way around a grill, and upon consuming no less than 8 pounds of pig flesh, we had a few more beers. After a few more, the time seemed right to teach Chuck how to tie an Albright knot so he could splice leader to tippet. Up this point I think he’d been fishing a single leader all season long, wondering why, by the end of summer, was so hard to tie a size 18 Royal Coachman to the end of his remaining 4 feet of leader. He looked in wonder at this magical thing called 5x that could be acquired in multiple yardages, all nicely wrapped around a thin spool. There was some fumbling with thick fingers and choice words, but I assured him that the knot would get easier with time. And if that failed, his young kids—with their small, delicate fingers—could certainly help him out in a pinch.
The plan was to meet up with ol’ Lary at her fly shop in Columbia Falls (
Hilary’s Fly and Supply) at 8 the next morning and we did just that. Greetings were exchanged between old friends, introductions made between new, and we embarked on a long-ish drive up the Middle Fork of the Flathead River to our put-in. No rain fell that morning although there was a promise of it later in the day. As we rigged up our rods I noted to myself that it felt more like a mid-September’s morn, although truth be told the last time I fished with ol’ Lary on the MF Flathead it was September and it was a much warmer day than what we encountered on this trip. But enough about the weather, for now.
With the assurance that there would be mustard for our sandwiches, ol’ Lary loaded us into my old boat, which is her new boat, and we were off. Chuck took the hot seat in the bow and quickly revealed that he’d been doing some casting since moving to Montana. He handled his rod with deftness and looked like an experienced fisherman. If one didn’t know better they might think Chuck was a dirtbag fly fishing guide, what with a scraggly beard and long hair and Patagonia hat. But he’s no poser and didn’t suddenly transform himself when he moved to Montana. No, he’s looked like this since I’ve known him. I don’t recall exactly how long it’s been since he shaved or got a haircut, but he’s been farming hair far longer than the UA has had a blog. But I digress, back to fishing. We caught some fish throughout the day (all native Westslope Cutthroat trouts with the exception of one whitefish), enjoyed a beautiful float on a beautiful river, consumed sandwiches that included a magical yellow condiment, and only got rained on incessantly for the second half of the day. I think Chuck learned a lot, which was exactly why I wanted him to spend a day on the water with ol’ Lary. It was a fine day of fishing with a couple great people. I look forward to going back, assuming I get the invitation.
The next morning I woke up in ol’ Lary’s driveway, wondered how I got there, and reluctantly took my leave of the Flathead Valley, driving south toward my next destination—a favorite Idaho Panhandle River—where I would meet up with Jimmy for 3 days of hiking and wading. It rained (again) on my drive south, and as I pulled into the campground it was coming down hard. I must admit it was dreary, and the only bright spot was that on this Thursday, not many campsites were occupied. The other good thing was that typically dusty drive was dust-free, and not surprisingly the fire danger was low. Also thanks to the weather I was able to procure the best site in the campground (one that we’ve never managed to get before). Fortunately the drizzle let up and I was able to set up camp in relative dryness. It wouldn’t rain again the rest of the trip, but the tail end of the low pressure system that had been parked over the region for days ensured cooler than normal temps the first two days. Fishing was slower than we’d have expected for this time of year due to cooler than normal river temps which translated into fewer hatches. Fishing was—at best—hit and miss, such that on the first day Jimmy caught one fish while I landed several; the next day just the opposite occurred. Overall it was not as productive as what we typically encounter on this river in mid-July but the weather cooperated and it was hard to complain about anything, other than the fact that we did see more angling types on the river on the second day than we have ever seen before.
Well, thanks for the last ten years. I can’t promise that I’ll keep the shelves well-stocked, but I’ll continue to keep the lights on for at least a while longer.
“There’s more to fishing than catching fish.”
While perhaps an overused cliche, the above quote really is true and was particularly relevant on Kiritimati. We went there to fish, and were not disappointed in that aspect of the trip. But it was the people—our fishing companions and the locals we met—that made the trip special. I certainly came away with an appreciation for the people of this remote place in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
We met a few other foreigners on the island that were just passing through, but Kiritimati is not what anyone would consider a popular tourist destination. Two sailboats were anchored just off the beach at Sunset Horizon and we briefly met the crews from each boat. One boat was owned by The Great Danes, a couple from Denmark and two young crew members who had been at sea for 15 months. Kiritimati was their furthest point of travel before they would soon begin their return voyage. The other boat was under the command of Crazy Larry from Kansas City, whom we met briefly one day as we returned from fishing. Crazy Larry had a most impressive mustache that curled under his chin and muffled his voice and made it nearly impossible to determine whether or not he had a full set of teeth. He was quite the character, traveling with his two crew members: a very attractively-built, late 30-something woman from Italy with unshaven armpits, and her
son boyfriend much younger male companion. I’d love to have had time to sit down with this crew and hear their full story because it would no doubt have been rather intriguing. Crazy Larry hadn’t been home to the States in nearly 20 years and this was his second trip sailing around the world. Yeah, his story would probably be the stuff movies are made of. Apparently he and his crew had been “stuck” on the island for 5 months, waiting for a necessary part for their boat that had taken 13-1/2 weeks to arrive. They were eager to get back out to sea, however some sort of hold-up with the immigration office had prevented them from departing the island. Apparently they did resolve the immigration issue and had left before we did. I wish I’d been able to capture a photo of Crazy Larry, but my hunch is that he wouldn’t have wanted any public exposure.
Our lodge companion, a young woman by the name of Waltzing Matilda, had departed her home in France after graduating from college. From there she set out to travel the world by herself, first going to Russia and from there to South Korea, the Philippines, Hawaii and then Kiritimati where she undoubtedly encountered a place very different from what she had expected. After a few days she realized that if one were not here to fish, there wasn’t much to do (she was not there to fish). Sharing our evening leisure time with Waltzing Matilda was a nice reprieve from talking about fishing with a bunch of crusty old farts. Matilda was a great sport as she accepted a gift of the Big Sexy shirt. Speaking of good sports, I promised Goose that this would be the last time I post a photo of the Big Sexy.
Our lodge was in the heart of Ronton (London), which is the main settlement on the island and home to somewhere around less than 2000 people. We spent our days fishing and didn’t have much time to take in the town until our last evening. After returning early from fishing, we decided to take a bag of candy and walk around the streets near the lodge, meeting the locals and passing out sweets to the kids. We took our French traveling friend with us lest the children be put off by a bunch of old American fishermen walking around handing out candy
from a van. Mathilda’s charm obviously worked because the candy didn’t last long.
The locals were friendly and politely accepted candy with warm smiles. None of the children were greedy and freely shared their bounty with others.
After the candy was gone we decided to walk down the street to one of the local bars and see what the evening night life on Kiritimati was like. Passing through town we got a very small glimpse of life on the island. The people were friendly and quick to greet us with smiles and waves. The town was bustling in the relative comfort of the evening.
One of the bars bore a large sign that said, “Anglers”, making it a clear choice for our group. However the joint was closed so we headed to another nearby establishment that was open for business. The barkeep at the Lady Wheel Bar was undoubtedly glad to sell us a round of Budweiser from the slightly-below-room-temperature refrigerator. As we
choked down enjoyed our beer, our hostess from the lodge, Lisa, joined us, though not to drink, mind you, as she was 7 months pregnant. Lisa had seen us enter the bar and was concerned we would get sidetracked and not make it back to the lodge in time for dinner. It was her job to herd us back in time for a very special celebration that the staff had prepared for us on our last night. We would not be late for the festivities.
Back at Sunset Horizon Lodge, it was time for our big feast and celebration (luau) to begin. The staff had prepared a grand feast that included a spit-roasted pig and more side dishes than I can recall. The pig was perfectly cooked and absolutely delicious. I think even the boys from the Lone Star state, Gus and Woodrow, agreed that it was worthy of Texas BBQ standards.
As we feasted we were entertained by three very talented youngsters who performed a traditional dance. It was quite a treat.
It was a fantastic last evening and a really nice show of hospitality by the staff at the lodge.
And that’s a wrap on our visit to Kiritimati. The next morning we would rise at 4:30am for an early morning truck ride to the airport and 7:30 flight back to Honolulu. Next year I hope to go back and spend more time outside of the lodge, seeing more of the local flavor.
Here are a few more random shots from around Ronton and other nearby villages.
I discovered this blog while doing a search for local information about Kiritimati. It’s quite well done so if you have interest in reading some firsthand insight into the island I recommend having a look-see: A Snapshot of Life on Kiritimati (Christmas Island)
After dinner on our first night, fishing partners were chosen, guide assignments were determined and sandwich orders were taken. This vital information was marked on the whiteboard (Command Central) each evening. Anticipation of the next day’s activities hung as heavily in the air as the humidity.
We rigged our 8 weight rods (for Bonefish and most everything else) and Joe passed out the heavyweight rods he had brought for those in need. 11 and 12 weight rods would be used for Giant Trevally (GT for those who are too busy to spell it out). I won’t mention that Joe inadvertently rigged me up a Winston Air Salt 7 weight instead of an 11 weight. It would be another couple days before this became apparent, and fortunately I hadn’t really needed a GT rod to that point anyway. In his defense, Joe did set the rod up with a 12 weight reel and line so I had that going for me. Meanwhile the Bonefish rod he would be carrying around was an 11 weight Winston Air Salt paired to a 7 weight reel and line. As our host on the trip (meaning he was akin to a camp counselor for a bunch of homeschooled kids who’d never been to camp before), Joe also provided us with several flies we would need: Christmas Island Specials for Bones and most other things, and a handful of bigger baitfish patterns for
GT Giant Trevally. Joe then sat down to tie up a few more GT flies (apparently the good ones, which he would keep for himself). Most of us had picked up a few flies on our own so we were well stocked in the fly department. I expected to lose most if not all of them to the coral reefs. Fortunately I lost only one fly all week and never had either my leader of fly line severed by coral.
I won’t go into detail about every flat fished or every fish caught because I can remember neither. A few fish do stand out, however. Most notably my first Bonefish. The learning curve required some getting used to, and the most challenging aspect of fishing the flats was training the eyes to spot Bonefish, which are perhaps better suited to virtually disappear into their environment as any fish I’ve encountered. When the wind wasn’t blowing too hard and there were no clouds, it was difficult to spot them. When the wind blew harder and there was cloud cover, it became damn near impossible to see them. Fortunately, or otherwise, we seemed to have plenty of sunshine, clouds, and varying amounts of wind. The first Bonefish came after great difficulty and was the only one I caught the first day. What I lacked in skill, the fish made up for with its diminutive size.
As the days progressed, so increased the ability to spot Bonefish (at least a little bit). As the ability to see them improved, so did the hook setting skills, and subsequently the size of the fish. I was continually blown away by our guides’ abilities to pick out fish that—in my eyes—did not exist.
Most of the Bones we encountered were either solitary or in very small groups. Occasionally we encountered greater numbers as they fed on the incoming tide, their quantities making them easier to spot. Despite that, they never became easy to catch and in several instances they were downright spooky and wanted nothing we threw their way.
One thing I quickly learned is that Bonefish, no matter their size, pull with a sense of great urgency unrivaled certainly by trout or even steelhead. My first Bonefish of decent size took me quickly into my backing. I don’t remember the last time I saw my backing and I was relieved that my knots held. What a thrill to have line ripped from the reel a breakneck speed as you ponder what size fish was on the other end of the line. Nearly every time the fish was smaller than I would have thought. Amazing fish, those Bones.
There’s more to fishing the flats than just catching Bonefish, and I wanted to experience as many species as possible. From the get-go we spotted a few other interesting characters and would continue to do so throughout the week. Most notable were the Milkfish, which get beginners all excited because we think they’re Bonefish until we learn otherwise (think bait and switch). Milkfish are easy to spot as their topsides are very dark and they swim in large schools.”Milks” rapidly became a familiar term issued forth by our guides as they sensed our misguided enthusiasm at the sight of these Bonefish imposters. It didn’t take long before we stopped casting to them.
Different species of Triggerfish were occasionally spotted in the shallows, their tails breaching the surface as they fed nose-down on the bottom. Despite being easy to spot, Triggers are very spooky and I must have cast to a half dozen fish before admitting to myself I wasn’t likely to get one. I was, however, very fortunate—and quite likely very lucky—to have caught two. These I considered real trophies because I’d made up my mind months earlier that I wanted nothing more than to catch a buck-toothed eater of crabs while on the island. The first was a smallish Yellow Margin Triggerfish (aka Pineapple Triggerfish). When fleeing from prey, Triggers hide under large rocks (chunks of coral). They also do this when hooked by an angling person, and if not for Max (our guide that day) I’d have never landed the Pineapple Trigger. Going the extra mile for me, Max knelt down in knee deep water and lifted the huge chunk of coral so that the Trigger could be extracted.
The other specimen was an even more smallish Reef Triggerfish (though not all that small for the species that typically only grows to a length of 11.89 inches). Also known as the Humuhumunukunukuāpuaʻa, the Reef Trigger is the state fish of Hawaii.
We also encountered quite a few Puffer fish, which are rather odd and very common inhabitants of of the flats. They’re also undoubtedly the ones who get teased by the other fish as these portly individuals don’t put up much of a fight and grunt like small pigs when reeled in. I didn’t target any more Puffers after catching my first one, but nonetheless it was another species to check off the weird/cool list. Bluefin Trevally, a smaller cousin to the mythical
GT Giant Trevally were an occasional thrill to catch. We saw several, caught a few, and they are—like Bonefish—very strong fish for their size. They’re easier to spot than Bones due to their brilliant blue accents, and also unlike Bones, which slowly cruise the flats, Bluefins are predators that boldly enter the flats to chase down anything they can eat. I was standing in shin-deep water doing who-knows-what as my fly dangled in the shallows behind me. Suddenly my line went tight as a 14 inch Bluefin tried to make off with my fly. This fish was bold and aggressive, if not a tad careless and naive. They’re such cool fish.
One more particular moment bears mention. No, not when Marck knocked his new prescription sunglasses off his head into the water and our guide had to dive in retrieve them, nor when he mistakenly drank the frozen bottles of tap water in the cooler (he never got sick). No, the noteworthy event occurred on our last day of fishing as we were headed back toward the marina earlier than usual. It had been a tough weather day, with some rain and a lot of cloud cover. We’d caught some fish but it had been challenging, so the idea of getting back to the lodge early didn’t disappoint us. It had also been a very windy day, the water was much rougher than we’d seen all week. As we rounded the point off the marina, suddenly the boat came to a stop in about 4 feet of water. As waves crashed against the side of the boat, Max—our guide that day—hopped out. The marina was only a couple of hundred yards away. The tide was coming in. What the hell was he thinking?
Trust your guide Blind allegiance to your guide is the way it works, so Marck and I dutifully followed. We were soon blind casting and hooking up regularly. The Bonefish were stirring up clouds of sand as they foraged for supper, and we caught them in the middle of a feeding frenzy. For a good while it was some of the best fishing we’d had all week with some of the nicest sized Bones we’d yet to catch.
Meanwhile the water grew deeper by the minute. This wasn’t so much of a problem for Marck, since he’s about a foot taller than me. By now the water was up to my chest and my waterproof backpack acted as a kind of flotation device: handy if I’d needed to stay afloat, but troublesome each time a wave hit me. Max saw me bobbing in the waves, struggling to keep my footing, and signaled for me to come over to where he was. “Stand on this rock,” he instructed. I did as he ordered and was glad for the elevated perch, which bought me 20 more minutes of fishing before we called it quits for the day, and for the week. Fishing ended on a high note, and with a good laugh.
A trip like this is filled with simply too much to write about, and even if I could capture all the moments in words, nobody would take the time to read it all. Anyway, a picture paints a thousand words, so I’ll leave you with a few more fishing-related shots from trip.
It was a fantastic trip with a great group of guys. I can’t wait to go back again next year, when I’ll be a seasoned Kiritimati flats veteran and will only cast once or twice to Milkfish before realizing, on my own, that they are not Bonefish.