Rev. 3/10/01

Christmas Island
Land of the Bonefish

Laying on my bed, in that twilight sleep before drifting into full slumber, my mind was racing over the days events. In my mind's eye I saw a bonefish take my fly, my arms jerked spasmodically, like the involuntary reflex of the strike, and I distinctly heard the reel SCREAM as the fish tore line from the reel, as it bolted across the sandy flat for deep water I sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake now. The dream had been so real, exactly reliving the biggest fish I caught that afternoon. Sheepishly I look over at my roommate to see if I'd yelled and awakened him.

Laying back down, I mentally pinched myself. Yes, I really was on Christmas Island, some 1200 miles south of my home in Honolulu. After reading Randall Kaufman's book "Bonefishing With A Fly", I had dreamed of coming here. Truly, this was my dream come true.

For years I'd tried to locate someone in Hawaii that flyfished for bonefish. Then several years ago my son Rod, who lives in Kahuku, on the opposite side of Oahu from my home, told me he'd heard, second or third hand, that there was a guy from Boise, Idaho who flyfished the flat back of my home for Oio (bonefish). Hmmm, interesting. Then my daughter-in-law Claudia, Tommy's wife, said that a girl she grew up with, Shauna, was married to a fisheries biologist named Rick who lived in Boise. Little by little the pieces of a puzzle started to take shape.

Next, I started searching the Internet for this elusive Rick. Found papers published by Rick; found committees he was on; found an address in the Boise area. Was this the correct guy? As I recall, I finally got an e-mail address and wrote.

Bingo! He was the elusive Rick. We wrote back and forth about many things. He even attached a couple of photos of him holding an Oio to one of his e-mails. From the background of the photos I knew exactly where the pictures had been taken. Finally I ordered a 8 weight fly rod from the fly fishing shop in Boise that he had an interest in -- at that time there were no fishing shops in Honolulu that carried any fly fishing gear. I started fishing the flat.

Next I heard he and Shauna were coming to Honolulu. He was going to lead a group from the Boise area down to Christmas Island. Told me he'd meet me and we could go out on the flat in back of my house and fish. We met and did a good bit of fishing. Only thing we caught were a few stickfish. But Rick taught me a lot that day.

Over the next couple of years I fished the flat off and on, no luck with the elusive Oio. Finally, after returning from my Odyssey on the mainland in December 2000, I decided my next trip would be to Christmas Island. At a meeting of the Waikahe Olu Chapter of Trout Unlimited, I asked who knew anything about Christmas Island. Didn't get much information. Checked with the guys at Nervous Waters, the only fly-fishing shop in Honolulu. They weren't setup yet to offer charters but were helpful with gear.

So, an e-mail to Rick in Boise -- yes, they had a group going in early February and yes, they had room for me. That is how I joined the "Boise Doctors and Dentists Bonefishing Convention to Christmas Island." I figured I must be the only geek (computers have been my profession for over forty years) in the group.

Rick came out to my place with a couple of other guys to fish before heading south to Christmas Island. With him was Ken. I mistook Ken for a local guy, but his correctly enunciated speech gave him away he -- don't speak da pigin. Turned out he too was a geek -- he works for Micron in Boise. I had to leave early, so said I'd see them tomorrow at the airport.

Three AM my alarm went off -- who in their right mind would get up at this hour. It took more than a few minutes to get my head in gear. Down stairs -- get a quick bite -- get my bags to the door -- the taxi I'd scheduled arrived and I help get my gear in. Finally wide awake, driving through almost deserted streets of Honolulu to the airport was a bit eery. At the terminal, there was little activity except at the Aloha Airline counter. There were a gaggle of guys, all with fishing rods, lined up, all going on the one flight a week to Christmas Island. I only checked my duffle bag, after all, all it had was clothes. My brief case held my fishing gear, and my laptop. And or course I carried my rod cases.

At the gate I met Rick and Ken. Ken told me the story of fishing in my backyard -- he caught his first bonefish ever out there in my backyard -- luck!

The flight to Christmas Island took about three hours and gave a chance to relax after the early wake up. It is almost due south of Hawaii and only 2 degrees north of the Equator. On the landing approach, the pilot described what we were passing over but to me it didn't really register. Christmas Island is an atoll, about 140 square miles in size. It is about 40 miles long and 15 mile wide. The highest elevation on Christmas Island is about 10 feet. And the population is around 5000.

The history of Christmas Island is quite interesting.   Randall Kaufman's book "Bonefishing With A Fly" has a very good treatment of the subject.

There was the usual confusion at customs -- Christmas Island is part of Kiribati (pronounce keer-a-boss). And you need a Passport and Visa to enter. After claiming my duffle bag, gettiing through customs, I looked outside for transportation to the Captain Cook Hotel. It was provided in the back of a pickup outfitted with benches and a top to keep off the sun -- this would be our mode of land transport for the next week.

As soon as we checked into the Captain Cook Hotel and were assigned our bungalows, we all rigged our fishing gear, met in the dinning room to find our assigned vehicles and guides -- and took off for the flats to fish.

David, a Doctor from Boise, and I went with one of the guides. As I recall, I was the first to catch a fish. I cast where the guide told me to, didn't see what I was casting at, stripped line as he told me to, a sharp jerk on the line. The reel screamed as the fish ran and took line against the drag on the reel, all of the fly line and into the backing -- what a run.

It was a small bonefish, but what a thrill. Then it was Dave's turn. He caught his first bonefish -- on a fly he tied himself.

My next bone was much larger and took half my backing on its first run. This one ran several times before I got it in. I never caught a faster fish, and can still close my eyes and recall the vivid details -- it was a big fish.

At home I've worn shorts for the past six years, ever since I retired -- didn't give it a thought, went fishing that afternoon in my shorts. Got the worst sun burn on the back of my leg I think I've ever gotten. Long pants for the rest of the week, lathered up with SPF 35 sun screen -- even had to bum an tube of sun screen lip balm from Don and Barb, a couple of my fishing partners from Boise. And I thought living in Hawaii prepared me for the tropics -- but sure not for the Equator!

That evening, after a shower I wandered down to the cabana on the beach and ordered a beer. I sat outside on the beach, talking to the others about the days fishing. Then I noticed one of the local pigs coming down the beach, plowing a furrow in the sand with his snout. Periodically he would stop, nuzzle around, chomp chomp! He was rooting for sand crabs. He went on down the beach, plowing his straight furrow for another several hundred feet. Then he headed up the beach into the brush. In a few minutes he came down again, with a sow and her piglets following behind. Down the beach they came, both plowing a furrow in the sand, with the sow teaching her piglets how to dig for crabs.

The next morning we all ate an early breakfast. Boarded our pickups with our fishing gear and headed out for the first full day of fishing -- we would fish a full eight hours each day, not including transportation time. What a great way to fish!

As the day progressed, with the help of my guide, I started seeing bonefish on the flats, and also cruising along the edge of the flats. Seeing them in the water is something you have to learn, and this was one of the main things I came for.

I was doing pretty good, hooking my fair share of fish, always with that thrill of the bones first screaming run.

In the afternoon I was totally concentrated on a bonefish, couple of false casts to get line out. Last back cast there was a jerk on the line like a bonefish taking the fly, the reel screamed. Finally my slow mind registered -- this ain't right. Looking back over my shoulder, a large booby had my fly in its bill and was just flying away with it.

The next day I fishing some of the inside lagoon with my guide Taea. Slowly working along the shore line of the lagoon, I could see bonefish come in small schools in the shallow water near shore, feeding as they came -- wait for them to get into my casting range, trying to lay the fly ahead of them. Then wait until they come close to it, before stripping line in -- done right, I'd see one move for my fly, feel the take, a brief moments hesitation, then the blazing run with the reel screaming as it tore line off. But me, more often than not, I'd land the fly right on the fish's head, and the whole school would blast off like gray streaks in all directions.

There are a lot of sea birds on Christmas Island, many nest there. Male frigates gather in groups with their bright red throat pouches inflated, to attract females. Boobies are numerous, nesting directly on the ground and raising large, white, downy chicks.

Later in the morning a group of frigates and boobies start hovering around me. After the previous day's experience, I tried to be cautious. Suddenly my back cast wrapped around the wing of a large frigate hovering behind me, snagging it. It flew off down wind and kept stripping line. I finally had to tighten the drag if I was to catch and release the bird. When I tightened it, the frigate spiraled down and splashed into the lagoon.

Frigates, known at home as Ewa, their Hawaiian name, unlike most sea birds, do not have extra oil to make their feathers water proof, to allow them to float on the water like ducks do. They must always stay airborne over the water. At home they float high in the air, riding thermal up drafts. When a rain shower approaches, they simply fly to one side, out of the way, stay dry, and return after the shower passes.

I started reeling the frigate slowly back to shore. Another frigate flew over to the water logged bird, grabbed one of its wings in her beak and tried to pull it, unsuccessfully, up out of the water. It knew the other bird must fly to live. It kept trying to lift the downed bird by a wing until I'd reeled it in close, about twenty feet from shore, before it gave up.

The tangled frigate didn't understand we were trying to help it, and kept snapping at our attempts. Taea knew what to do, He waved one hand in front of it, as it struck, he grabbed its neck from the rear with his other hand. Together we untangled the large bird.

Then he tossed the frigate into the air. It tried to fly, but was too water-logged, and flutter back into the water. There it drifted with the wind down to a point of land where finally it was able to wade up on the bank. It stood there, wings outstretched in the sun, for a half hour or so, drying its feathers. Finally, a dry, and hopefully wiser bird, flew off.

Chris was my guide the following day. We fished some of the inner flats. In one large lagoon I could see a fish coming toward me. Wadding out as far as I dared in the soft shoreline mud, I cast to the single large fish. My presentation was right and he move toward my fly. Chris told me to strip line in short, quick strips -- the fish swerved and took the fly -- the bolting run took my line and way into my backing.

Wanting to get to firmer ground to fight this fish, I took a step to turn, my foot wouldn't come unstuck and I fell flat on my face in the mud -- but I had the presence of mind to hold my rod high up in the air -- with the reel screaming. Finally it slowed, and I was able to again stand up, dripping with mud.

When I finally brought it in, Chris unhooked it and said it was about 26 inches -- my biggest fish so far, my mud fish.

The only injury from my fall was a small cut on my thumb from a piece of coral. Living in Hawaii, I've had coral cuts before. And sure enough, this one got infected. I could feel something inside, so David met me at the bar that evening -- with his traveling surgical kit. After a few beers he started. Finally a small piece of coral came out and he quit -- told me if it didn't heal to see a hand specialist at home -- he didn't want to poke around any more (and I didn't want him to either). Band-aid and ointment, and it healed up find. Good to have doctors along on trips like this.

The next two days we fished the Paris flats. This was not skinny flats, ankle deep like much of the interior flats, but water usually waist deep -- with big fish. First day I got skunked.

On the way back we passed we passed a shore line covered with foam. No idea what causes it, but it's a couple of feet deep, maybe thirty or forty feet wide, and piles up on shore for half, three- quarters of a mile. If you kick it, chunks of foam blow up in the air and are carried by the wind. Of course some people had to stop and frolic in the stuff -- a Christmas Island snowball fight.

Second day on Paris flats, English was my guide. He was one of the senior guides. Talking as we waded out, looking for fish, gave us a chance to get more acquainted. English loved to fish, and considered guiding the best job on Christmas Island. He told me guided about three months out of the year, and then fished the remaining nine, just for himself. In a few months he said he was going to Fanning Island to train guides there for a cruise ship operation. He would have to train them to fly cast, and teach them all the necessary techniques a bonefish guide needs. The job would take him about four months.

English could see bonefish in the deep water we were wading in, I couldn't. He had me cast in a certain direction -- I had a sharp hookup, off it went, and went -- and went -- and went -- my backing was rapidly disappearing. Then nothing! Reeling all of the line in, I looked at the fly. The hook was almost straight, the fish had bent it. I'd like to have seen that fish.

Later on that morning, I hooked another good fish. On his first run, with the reel screaming, he took off, stripping the fly line and way into the backing, almost taking all of my backing, "spooling" me. Finally the fish stopped his run. Next, it was coming back at me as fast as he went out hold the rod high and reel in like mad, trying to keep slack line away from the coral. He made four or five more runs like that, and almost wore my arms out -- they felt like lead weights. Next he circled, refusing to come close, and would strip line from the reel when ever he wanted -- he was far from beaten. After almost a half an hour he slowed and English was able to catch the leader and lift him from the water. He was way by far the largest bonefish I'd caught.

English held him up to my rod, tail at the end of the handle and I put my thumb-nail where his snout reached. Then softly removing the fly from his mouth, English gave him a kiss, and lowered him gently into the water. We both watched him slowly swim away. What a fish!

At that point English took some leader and tied a tight wrap where my thumb-nail marked the big bonefish's length. Later, back at the hotel we measured it 30 1/4 inches, the largest bonefish caught by the Boise group that trip. What a great way to end my week on Christmas Island.

Yes, you bet I'll go again!

 Bob

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