By Mike Conner, Editor

What has not been written about bonefishing? Albula vulpes has certainly been publicized. And romanticized, personalized, lionized and scrutinized. In the most hallowed shallows, even privatized, given the way some anglers and guides guard “their” fish. But, that’s grist for another mill.

Much praise is heaped upon Albula vulpes, the heralded gray ghost, or silver fox. Tales of screaming drags and 200-yard runs abound. Truth is, drags don’t “scream,” but they do emit a satisfying buzz when a bonefish heads for the horizon. But reels not up to snuff make disconcerting sounds, like three dimes tumbling in the clothes dryer. A big bonefish’s first run will give you strong feelings about your reel, one way or the other. But that fabled 200-plus-yard run is baloney. A big bone will sprint goalpost to goalpost on a good day, and that’s impressive enough.

The gray ghost isn’t always gray, but is definitely ghostly, and will vanish if you wade like a blind hippo or clumsily clang a pushpole against the hull of your skiff. Or, simply clear your throat on one particular Florida Keys flat, known for its dinosaurs, that I haven’t bothered to fish in years due to a growing mid-life affection for “greener pastures.”

As for being “foxy,” bonefish are not really clever, or sly, in the literal sense. Like all fish, they’re just wired to survive, that’s all. But silver fox is a colorful name, and I do hope pretty women call me that when I’m older and there’s even more snow on my roof.

Bonefish are famously spooky in shallow water, but don’t have the exclusive on this behavior. Any fish that feeds on tidal flats will have its ears on, and will go on red alert when alarmed. That goes for big seatrout (listed first for good reason), permit, snook, tarpon, stripers, and heck, even those dumb ol’ redfish aren’t laid back anymore, thanks to sports who insist on running ’em down in the shallows with their boats. Again, bonefish are survivors, and I’m betting that a thousand years from now, they’ll still be here, although predicted sea level rises may have them scrounging for mantis shrimp in the bottom around the crumbling, barnacle-encrusted ruins of Orlando’s Disney World. Whether man will be around to give chase remains to be seen.

Bonefish spend most of their time in deeper waters, mainly swimming into the shallows to feed, where, depending on where you fish, they may be as carefree as pigs at the trough, or as neurotic as cats in a dog pound. They’re conspicuous, constantly evading big birds of prey early in life, and then sharks and barracuda for the rest of their days. If that’s not enough, life has gotten tougher for bonefish in the last 40 years or so because of Bonefishercus fanaticus (common name bonefisherman). This creature can be classified further into the subspecies, Bonefishercus fanaticus skifficus and Bonefishercus fanaticus wadeicus. But whether in a skiff or afoot, unlike apex marine predators, fanaticus is only out to capture, not eat, its quarry. Fanaticus actually releases Albula vulpes after a loving little squeeze, a photo for posterity, and maybe a kiss on the snout. Albula vulpes becomes all the wiser with every encounter. Its demeanor and defensibility depend on the number of these encounters, and, the number of Bonefishicus fanaticus frequenting a given body of water. Once bonefish exceed the 10-pound mark, they develop an uncanny ability to detect fanaticus at a great distance, like at the boat ramp, backing his skifficus into the water.

So, Albula vulpes has done some serious evolving. Could big, smart bonefish be passing defensive traits to their young ’uns? It’s believable. Next time you get snubbed by a bonefish, just blame it on natural selection, and go brush up on your skills.

There are signs of such learned behavior all over the big pond. A 3-pound bonefish in a school of a hundred mowing across a remote Bahamas or Central American tidal sand flat is one thing. A 10-year-old, black-backed 12-pounder nervously flitting about on a prop-scarred grassflat a stone’s throw from the Jetski rental dock on a sunny South Florida Sunday is quite another.

Basically, your chances of catching bonefish depend primarily on where you fish for them. Where, when, then how—in that exact order.

Florida bones are no longer pushovers. In the late 1970s and the ’80s, on days providing a good number of “shots,” I thought nothing of landing five to eight bones, on flies, on a single tide. That’s a rather exceptional day in South Florida today, though it does occur on occasion, under ideal conditions. Unlike 30 years ago, the best flats are fished nearly every day. Recently, I read a passage by Miamian and world-class fly fisher Chico Fernandez that puts Florida bonefishing in perspective: “...good casting skills and a brown trout presentation are of the essence with a fly rod or any casting tackle...”

Anglers out for gaudy numbers and forgiving fish should hop on a plane and fish abroad. However, some of those avenues are becoming well-traveled, too, though you can still play with some un-pressured fish if you do your homework and find the right place. If you have rather deep pockets, there’s always Pacific Ocean destinations such as Christmas Island, or The Seychelles in the Indian Ocean, now touted as nirvana for battalions of big bonefish. The attraction of bonefishing abroad is understandable—remote, lightly fished or nearly virgin waters brimming with lots of “dumb” bonefish. Does that sound good to you? Of course it does. In time, it will spoil you rotten and make you yawn, eventually. Many lifelong bonefishers get their fill of small, easy fish, and then turn their attention back to Florida, and the biggest, most challenging bones on Earth. In a perfect world, fish in Florida primarily, and “over there” occasionally, just to keep things real.

In my flats guiding days, my toughest bonefish charters were first-timers who fly fished for freshwater trout all their lives, but never touched spinning gear. Most struggled mightily with the wind and moving fish and moving water, and basically, had little chance of hooking a bonefish on a fly, or struggled with spin tackle, in many cases. I’ll never forget a Michigan gentleman and his son, who had just fished in The Bahamas, where they landed over 150 fish on fly tackle in three days of fishing. They contacted me for a Biscayne Bay bonefish trip earlier that year, but neither of them had caught a saltwater fish of any kind on a fly rod, so I suggested The Bahamas to put a few notches on their belts before fishing in South Florida. And it worked out like a charm. The man called me from The Bahamas one evening.

“Mike, it was just like you said,” he gushed. “There were thousands of bonefish! We caught around 150 fish in three days, all on flies!” Turned out they were flying through Miami to get back home, and had a day or two to kill. I had an open day for them, and he booked it. Before ending the call, he said they would be happy even if they caught only a “dozen or so of the big boys” on fly, which kinda made me cringe.

You can probably guess the rest of the story. The Michiganites, though fast learners with “notched belts,” struck out on world-class Biscayne Bay. For the most part they were unnerved by the size, wariness and selectivity of the fish.

“These bonefish are smart, Dad. They could eat the ones we caught in the Abacos,” his teenaged son lamented during a sandwich break.

Dad stuck with his 8-weight through it all, but Junior made me happy by caving in, and grabbing one of my spinning rods. He made the cast of his life with a fresh shrimp to a pair of big mudding bones. He landed an 11-pound trophy, and it mattered little to him that it wasn’t caught on fly. However, good to excellent fly fishers catch Florida bonefish regularly. Bad to mediocre fly fishers do not. Good spinfishers with bait fare better, on average. Bad spinfishers do not. You just can’t bop a big, self-respecting Florida bone on the bean with a live shrimp. Now that you have some background, here’s the drill: If you are a beginner, hire a guide. Collectively, Florida bonefish guides are superior to those in Yhe Bahamas or the Caribbean, though things abroad are getting better. Established bonefish lodges have some crack guides, and many are good to excellent fly casters. And some of the best Bahamian guides are striking out on their own, and trailer their skiffs to launches on bigger islands such as Grand Bahama, Andros and the Abacos, Exuma and elsewhere.

Most Florida bonefish guides are either experienced or expert fly fishers, so positioning a skiff for a fly fisher is second-nature. A good fly fishing guide will get you up to speed, and has the best flies for the area. If you are a spin fisherman, steer clear of any bonefish guide who suggests that bait fishing with spinning gear is somehow inferior. That’s not the “skiff chemistry” you’re looking for.

Because bonefish are bigger, warier, and fewer in number in Florida in comparison to some tropical destinations, Florida guides work hard to make the most of your opportunities. Florida bonefish get a lot of fishing pressure, and deal with pleasure boat traffic, particularly on weekends from April through November. Winter weather is more extreme in Florida (and in the northernmost Bahamas) than in the southern Bahamas or Caribbean destinations, so your fishing calendar window is narrower. In spite of all this, the best Florida guides, and local anglers, catch bonefish nearly year-round. But there are midwinter days when the water is just too cold for bonefish to creep into shallow water, and incessant winds can blow you off the water altogether in late winter and early spring. If you must book a trip from mid-December through February, pray for a warm snap and reasonably light winds. Otherwise, the southern Bahamas, Mexico or Belize is the mid-winter place to go. On the flip side, from mid-July through mid-September, hot water limits best fishing hours to dawn through mid-morning, and again from late afternoon until sundown. Best bet is to book a half-day for bones, though most Florida bonefish guides double up on permit, which revel in water in the 85- to 90-plus-degree range.

Between the months of March and May in Florida, and again from roughly mid-September through early November, you will see and cast at good numbers of 7- to 10-pound bonefish most days out. You can’t say that about The Bahamas or Central America.

South Biscayne Bay, and the flats of the Upper and Middle Keys (and in particular, Islamorada) give up plenty of 11- to 13-pounders every year, and a few exceeding 14 pounds are caught. Skilled fly fishers do catch them, but the great majority of these giants are caught on spin gear by anglers baiting with shrimp and small crabs. Many come from 3- to 5-foot depths, where they can be spotted cruising or mudding (foraging in the soft bottom). And chumming certainly helps when fish are hard to come by or indifferent. Some Keys anglers even fish well after sunset, and they land some real giants.

Bahamas bonefishing varies from island to island, depending on latitude, makeup of flats, and again, the level of fishing pressure. Be aware that flats close to the biggest towns see more bonefishermen and pleasure boating and water sports in general, so the fish there are not always the pushovers you’ve been reading about. The best skiff guides will get you away from the beaten path, and will cover a lot of ground. Others, sadly, will not, which can also apply to some guides in the States. It seems that every Bahamas island has a so-called “airport flat.” As you might imagine, they are close to airstrips, and consequently, town centers, though not always. I have fished a couple of airport flats, on foot and via skiff, and by no surprise, fish were fewer and tougher to catch.

If you are planning a D.I.Y. (do it yourself) bonefish trip abroad, there are pitfalls. For one, the most accessible wading flats can be hard-trodden places where the fish are pressured, and you had better know the tide-clocks of the fish; otherwise, you can strike out altogether. So by all means hire a guide for at least a couple days of your stay and then do some wade fishing on your own. But, if you do arrange to rent a little runabout to get you to the flats, don’t horn in on the flat your guide took you to yesterday. That might not go over too big, and you should not need me to explain that any further.

Traveling bonefishers should not assume that those strapping 10-pounders in the magazine ads and brochures are a realistic representation of what to expect in The Bahamas or the Caribbean. They are the exception. After bonefishing in various Bahamas and Belize destinations, I feel that the most honest and accurate measuring stick is just that, a measuring stick, with regards to bonefish size. Some islands are known for hordes of 12- to 20-inch fish, and others have a good population of 16- to 24-inchers, with just enough in the 24- to 28-inch range to make you pay attention. Andros Island and Grand Bahama probably have the biggest fish on average, with more 6- to 10-pounders than other Bahama islands combined, though you can be overrun with little fish there, too, depending on the season. And when you do land that chunky 7-pounder, and your happy guide says it’ll go 10, just be happy, and share in his enthusiasm. I’ve had great trips to The Islands when I caught more fish in one day’s fishing than in 10 back home, and honestly, few exceeded 5 pounds. Book a trip in Florida to get your 10-pounder.

It’s been said that a lifetime of bonefishing will drive you to drink and drive off your friends. There’s an old joke about the development of a Florida light-tackle saltwater angler. He fishes for seatrout, snapper, maybe mackerel with bait, then dabbles with plugs and jigs. In time he graduates to shallow waters, and discovers sight fishing, and lands some snook and redfish, and then tries his hand at bonefishing, first catching them on bait, and in time eschews all, and specializes at bonefishing on fly. And now he’s mostly fishing alone. His wife thinks he has a girlfriend. His friends, who won’t fish with him anymore, say he needs one. And on and on it goes. There are many versions of the joke, as there are many levels of bonefishing.

Recently, I talked to an old running buddy who has dropped out of the bonefish game, in favor of bluewater and bottom fishing. When I asked him why, he said, “I just like to catch and eat a few fish now and then, Mike!” And that’s okay, because if bonefishing was too easy, I imagine that everybody would be a bonefisherman. And you think bonefish are hard to catch now?

SWA