Forty Feet

Forty Feet Apparently little has changed in my world. I discovered this entry the other day in an old journal that I pulled from under a pile of maps. Thought you might be interested: Under a searingly hot sun, I hiked to the end of a long, sand spit that had been exposed by the falling tide. The moon’s power had sucked the water away revealing a huge white sand bar framed on either side by deep turquoise that quickly faded into cobalt blue channels. Sweating as I finally reached the end of the spit, a flash of silver, then another, caught my eye. I waited patiently on the far side of the spit, kneeling on the soft, wet sand. Finally, as my knees were beginning to feel the strain, a tail once again popped up only a foot from shore. The bonefish stood on end, clumsily straining to reach a tasty morsel at the bottom of a pothole. I threw my line in the air and cast across the spit.

Forty feet of line and eleven feet of leader settled on the sand. A little over a foot of leader and the fly made it to the water.

I bumped the fly with one slow strip. No response. Apparently, his line was busy. I decided to wait and call again in few minutes. When his tail briefly flashed at the same spot I had seen him before, I stripped my line once again and his tail magically reappeared. I knew I’d made a long distance connection, but because my line was laying on the sand, I felt no telltale tick. Assuming he had eaten my fly, I strip-striked. The bone shot off the flat before I could stand on my cramped legs. The fish was well into my backing before my legs regained their feeling. After a few more spectacular runs, I managed to land the fish just as a three foot lemon shark zeroed in on his scent. I released my bone on the far side of the spit, far away from the prying nose of the shark. I looked around now suddenly aware that white sand spits and cuts stretched endlessly off into the distance. I walked on, prepared to search them all if I had to.” SSH April 1993