Dec 14, 2004--Fly Fishing off of Cruising Boats?
by Scott and Wendy Bannerot

The term "fly fishing" conjures for many an elitist image of someone with too much money and time on their hands, who is now wasting plenty of both waving some expensive little wand around in order to catch one six-inch, suicidal fish every 1,000 casts. Actually, fly fishing has come a long way since the days of blueblood exclusivity on English dry-fly streams. It's a mainstream sport, now widespread in salt water as well as fresh, and a cornucopia of highly realistic fly patterns make it possible to out-catch folks using other kinds of tackle in a number of situations. It's no big deal to get started casting; you can purchase a decent outfit for no more than you'd spend on other quality tackle. Stalking fish in quiet, shallow waters is challenging. The environments ideal for the pursuit are usually pristine and lovely, full of other wildlife to appreciate. It's good, clean, educational fun. So what are you waiting for?

We review the nuts and bolts of gear, casting, knots, and flies in Appendix 3 of The Cruiser's Handbook of Fishing (pages 391-395), so we won't bog you down with that here. Instead, let's assume you've followed the advice and purchased, say, an 8-weight fly fishing outfit, rigged it up with backing, floating fly line, leader, and fly. What kind of action might you expect? Where do you go, what do you do?

Well, let's fast-forward to a sunny morning on Arno Atoll, a remote ring of islets east of Majuro, Marshall Islands. I'm walking along in shimmering shallows, maybe a foot of water over brilliant white sand. The dinghy is parked nearby, and Wendy and 18-month old Ryan are exploring along with me, exclaiming over crabs, mantis shrimp, and assorted sea shells. Two small terns appear to my right, dipping and hovering frantically over small greenish torpedoes racing along the edge of the sand flat. I snake out a fast cast, flicking a small, glittery fly called a Lefty's Deceiver out in front of the speeding fish. The leader bursts forward and nails the fly, I set the hook, and we're off to the races. The drag on my small reel screams; Ryan shouts with excitement. Ten minutes later, I'm pressuring the tired bluefin trevally in towards our feet. Iridescent blue spots and fins glow as if powered by neon lights. The sides and belly are impossibly bright silver. Ryan can't believe his eyes. I hand Wendy the fly rod and she kneels in the crystalline water, gently holding the fish under the belly, for Ryan's inspection. I snap the camera. Then we unhook and release the little fellow-we have no ice or cooler with us, and this is the beginning of our outing, so we'll keep one later for dinner.

OK, let's reverse back a few years to a similar flat at Palmyra Atoll. We'd come to the Line Islands, in the equatorial North Pacific, to avoid the South Pacific cyclone season. Christmas Island had provided a wonderful three months of diving, fishing, surfing, and exploration, so much so we had to tear ourselves away to see something else. Ryan wouldn't be born for another three years, so it was Wendy and I who motored in with the dinghy and parked near a small islet crowned with towering coconut palms. The tide was coming in, and we'd been finding good numbers of bonefish, one of the world's most vaunted fly rod targets, near this particular area. I had a similar 8-weight outfit to the one in the Marshalls, with a small tan fly called a Crazy Charlie tied to 20-pound test monofilament leader. When twitched in 2-inch jerks along the bottom with pauses in between, it looks for all the world like a little shrimp kicking off the fine sand bottom. Soon the fusiform, grayish-green shadows began to appear, and I began casting the fly 8 to 10 feet in front of the cruising fish. No one fishes here, so nearly every cast resulted in bonefish trying to beat each other to the fly. I'd set the hook when I felt the hard tug of the winner grabbing my offering, and these exceedingly strong, lightning-fast 2- to 8-pound fish would bolt for the horizon, whipping off my fly line and most of the backing in what seemed like a few seconds. Occasionally blacktip sharks or giant trevally would shoot out of the lagoon and eat the hooked bonefish, leaving me with a bloody head to reel in, or sometimes a cut, empty line. More often than not I'd gradually tire the fish, take the hook out, revive, and release it. Wendy took some photos. Bonefish have firm white meat but lots and lots of fine, branching bones, and with a frig full of yellowfin tuna from trolling outside the pass there was no point in keeping them. On one outing I released 22 bonefish. This is a dream come true for many an avid fly fisherman, and voyagers like us have opportunities like this in many different areas we frequent. Now, if so many are willing to pay so much do this thing, there may be something to it. We're out there anyway, so it's a chance to try something epic "for free".

Last, let's fast-forward again, this time to a completely different environment, although using the same 8-weight outfit. The boat is safely secured in a New Zealand marina for cyclone season, and we're traveling inland in a rusty little red van we got for not much money. We've got the dinghy on board. Ryan won't arrive for a while yet, so it's just Wendy and me again. We stop at a country store to buy provisions and a few trout flies, then proceed to a lake to set up camp (a plastic awning stretched out from the van). Within 90 minutes we're putting out on the lake. Wendy is trolling with a sinking fly line, using a green fly called a Woolly Bugger. We haven't gone 100 yards when she gets a violent strike, just as the fly is going past a large patch of floating weed. Wendy expertly plays the fish to the net a 5 1/4-pound rainbow trout, destined for the skillet that evening.

Fly gear is light, compact, and clean. It's versatile. It's fun, and it produces. While we're just as happy to fish a weighted handline or heavy offshore trolling tackle depending on the situation - we recognize that having fly gear aboard opens another world of delightful fishing opportunities as our voyage continues.