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Streep, Streep, STOP, steep very liddle, set the hook!!” I was into
my first bonefish and I had no idea what I was doing.
Two hours earlier I had landed on the ridiculously beautiful and
ramshackle island of Gran Roque – the biggest island in the
archipelago of Los Roques which lies 80 miles north of Caracas and
the Venezuelan coast. I had come in search of bonefish, tarpon,
permit and a variety of other fish which I knew very little about.
After years of fishing for rainbow trout in the biggest of the UK
lakes and every now and then fishing for salmon in Scotland, when my
father in law was kind enough to invite me, I wanted to try
something different.
After yet another fruitless week fishing the Tay for salmon I
decided to take the plunge. I wanted to go somewhere where I would
catch a fish, get a tan and at last find out for myself what the big
attraction was.
When I looked into the options I was amazed at the range open to me.
I could go fishing in Dubai for a sailfish, I could go to Cuba and
fish non-stop for six days on one of the world’s most remote
floating hotels, or I could go just about anywhere in the Caribbean
to catch “trophy bones”. I could not bring myself to admit that I
didn’t care what size they were – I just wanted to feel something on
the end of my line that was going to put up a fight. In the end I
plumped for Venezuela as I was told that there would be endless
opportunities for bonefish, large tarpon and the chance of a permit
which was described as the Holy Grail of saltwater fishing. Frankly
I just wanted to have a picture of me holding something. Anything!
Another attraction for me was the promise of an exceptional lodge
with superb food. If my breakfast on the first morning was anything
to go by I was not going to be disappointed – fresh melons and
mangoes, ham omelette, rocket fuel coffee and enough toast to supply
me for the week let alone until lunchtime!
“We go for pancakes today” – this was the description of our day’s
activity by Jose, my guide for the first two days. Being a typical
Brit I was far too embarrassed to ask what on earth he was talking
about. Were pancakes a type of fish I had not heard of, were they
what he was cooking for lunch? Not a clue, but still, I sat in the
boat and simply enjoyed the scenery, confident that someone must
know what was about to happen. After around twenty minutes of flying
across the open ocean the engines were cut suddenly – still I was in
the dark (I subsequently found out that this was my fault – ask no
questions and everyone thinks you know what you are doing. If only
the rest of life was so simple!) Jose jumped out of the boat into
what I assumed would be at least neck-deep water, to land up to
about his calves. Then I realised what a pancake was. It is almost
like a sandbank in the middle of the sea which rises mysteriously
from the sea bed and is home to the elusive bonefish, where they
root around looking for all manner of crustaceans. First find your
fish!
Jose scoured the flat while I wandered behind him praying I would
not do something stupid. After a minute or so he stopped dead and
whispered “bonefeesh, 30 feet at 2 o’clock, cast – now.” Could I see
it? Could I hell! Still, he was the expert, so I did as he asked and
put a cast roughly where I thought he was looking. Suddenly, the
water where I had put my line erupted as bonefish (yes I could see
them now) disappeared at roughly the speed of sound. Feeling like
the school dunce I asked feebly what I had done wrong. “You did not
see lead feesh? You put your line over his head and they gone now.”
I had grasped the last part for myself.
All, however, apparently was not lost. Jose quickly spotted a
bonefish about 40 feet from us and instructed me to cast again. As I
shook with the thought of getting it wrong I unfurled a pretty bad
cast but God and the wind was on my side and took the fly to where I
in fact wanted it to go. Rarely have I been so proud as Jose
whispered “good cast”. Which is where we started.
I pulled the line as hard as I dared in order to make sure that the
fly was securely in the fish’s mouth and within about 0.001 seconds
my world was turned upside down. Now I know about trout – they
splash around and run up and down the river and before this
millisecond I thought that they were just the best fun to catch. Not
any more. With no river banks to keep the fish hemmed in, the
bonefish simply headed for Caracas. With an obvious intention to get
off the flat as soon as possible and into the deep blue water, the
fish screamed away from me. Just as soon as he had done that he
decided that I was not so bad after all and came back to me at 25mph
(trout have a maximum speed of 8mph). After about five minutes of
this and much sweating from me, I finally landed and held a
beautiful 5lb bonefish. This may not sound huge, but without any
doubt it gave me the best fight of any fish I have hooked – and that
includes a 14lb salmon taken in Scotland.
The rest of the week continued in much the same vein and by the end
of the week I was quite proficient in seeing the bonefish for myself
– but never before the guide! I also managed to land a 60lb tarpon
that came fully out of the water three times before being released
gently (as all the fish were) and a variety of other species that I
had not even known about, all of which fought harder than any
freshwater fish possibly could.
It was something that I could not have dreamed about before as it is
impossible to imagine the power of these fish, but it is now the
dominant topic of my nightly musings. With accommodation to die for,
meals and guides of the highest class my only real dilemma now is
whether to go back or try another option. One thing for sure –
Venezuela will not be the last time I go salt water fishing.
The trip was organised by Roxton Bailey Robinson Worldwide Ltd, 25
High Street, Hungerford, Berkshire RG17 0NF. Call Charlie White for
more details or Sarah Parker on 01488 689 701, or
e-mail: fishing@rbrww.com
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