Day one.  I stood on the bow of Coach Duff's boat and strained my eyes for a solid day, catching glimpes of a tail, a moving shadow, or slightly nervous water.  The fish were definitely there, but I wanted to clearly see the monster Hawaiin Bonefish that make this destination a trophy fishery.  It seemed as if I were trying to see a nighttime star that was only visible out of my peripheral vision, with eyes slightly blurred.  I questioned whether I had it in me.  Was I one of those anglers that just can't see them?  Was I doomed to be a blind caster, flailing in vain?  I was aware that most anglers needed solid time on the flats for their eyes to adjust, but I wanted it so bad.  I wanted to see with my own eyes the subjects of tall tales about Bonefish 3 feet long.  As the day's last rays began to dim, and the beautiful Hawaiian dusk settled in, we headed for the ramp, haunted by what could have been.  Coach Duff has a way of very plainly putting all aspects of fishing and life into sharp perspective.  It's part of what makes him a great guide and a supportive motivator for his clients.  As I sat on the boat, fly in my hand, doubt subtly creeping in, Duff and I talked about the challenges of chasing these awesome creatures.

These fish are big, by any standard you could say huge.  In a world where Hawaiians harvest anything that moves, they didn't get this way by accident.  They're long life span means they have years to perfect the art of cruising the flats, eating until their heart's content, and avoiding danger at all costs.  Fish are not smart, they are instinctual.  When Bonefish are as big as these guys their instincts become sharply tuned.  Generations upon generations of fish have grown up in this environment over thousands of years, eating the same organisms, visiting the same flats, and avoiding the same predators.  Natural selection working over time to produce specimens that are bigger, stronger, more wary, and just as your body tells you that you might get jacked in a dark alley, so do theirs when a glint of line catches their eye, or the splash of a fly hits the water.  This fishery is not easy.

Day two.  We hit the water and found perfect fishing conditions.  The surface of the water was slightly rippled by moving water created by the slow outgoing tide.  The flats were lit up and bright skies revealed all of the wonders of a Bonefish flat.  Small, brilliantly painted reef fish darted in and out of the coral heads.  A six inch, perfectly camouflaged Lizard Fish attacked my fly with reckless abandon as it twitched in the sand.  Puffer fish of several varieties made good practice targets as I worked with Duff to twitch and tease them into eating the fly, only to watch them spit it out and continue on their search for bottom critters.

I still struggled to see the fish, but caught a heart-racing glimpse of a school of 35 "Rats" as Duff calls them.  "Rats" are schoolie Bonefish of 5 - 7 pounds.  I would of had an accident in my pants upon hooking a "Rat", but Duff is after trophies.  Our eyes were peeled for double digit fish.  After all, a couple of weeks before, two Boga gripped and pictured fish pushing 11 pounds were caught and released.  Then it happened.

Moving left to right at 10 o'clock, 50 feet out, a crystal clear image of eight pounds confidently cruising by itself.  I of course decided a good way to catch it would be to dump a pile of line right across its back.  Duff's advice echoed in my brain, "Don't look at the fish once you see it, look 6 feet in front and put the fly on a dinner plate."  That definitely didn't happen.  It was more like a wad of half cooked spaghetti piled right on the fish.  No dice.  A short while later, I found myself looking right into the face of a fish bearing straight towards us.  The head-on view made it look like an oval basketball, squished from both sides.  It's body slowly pulsing back and forth on a collision course.  My cast landed short but in line.  As he crept near the fly, the boat entered his view and he was suddenly gone in a swirl of sand.  I had thrown up another air ball.  I did however hit the rim a short time later as a fish chased down my fly and ate it.  I set the hook too early and never felt a thing.

The first fish came as I dropped the fly in-between three fish at 60 feet.  The fly landed softly this time, and after an initial panic one of the big boys picked it up.  I set, and felt the weight of a big fish on two consecutive strip-strikes.  The Bonefish spent a couple of seconds trying to figure out what happened, and then sped towards the boat at top speed.  In desperation, I stripped in as much line as I could and raced to the back of the boat trying to keep the line tight.  It all happened in a flash, and as I crumpled to the deck in a cluster, I realized my trophy was long gone.  We peered over the gunnel of the boat and watched it cruise away.  I untangled myself from the loops of fly line wrapped around my legs, and rubbed my sore knee from slamming it against the deck.  I had truly received a Hawaiian style ass-woopin.  Duff punctuated the moment by estimating the fish to be 11 pounds... plus.  All I knew was that It looked longer than some adult Chinook I've caught.

Photo: Dave McCoy - Emerald Water Anglers

My next shot occurred not more than 15 minutes later.  Positioned at 9 o'clock to the boat, I had plenty of room to cast.  I crouched on the deck as this time the fish was pretty close.  I saw the fish clearly and the fly dropped 10 feet in front of him.  It all came together.  "Hit 'em!", Duff yelled. 

I didn't wait around and stuck him with a hard strip set.  They say Bonefish can hit 35 mph in the time it takes to travel the length of their body.  Two-hundred yards of backing disappeared from the spool of my reel and a couple of minutes later, I found myself grinning and examining my frayed, coral sliced leader (I still have it).  Evidently, 20-pound mono is no match for Hawaiian coral.  The fish was gone, but it didn't matter.  Simply hooking that fish was an accomplishment.  There's nothing you can do about the coral, it's just part of the game.  You win some... You lose some. 
 
On the poling platform, Duff wants nothing more than to watch you hook a trophy Bonefish.  He'll play it straight with you about your chances to hook up.  He also understands that this is not easy, and even after you blow it 20 times, he's still in your corner.  As a fellow guide, I understand the importance of working as a team with your client.  In Hawaii it's more important than ever, and Duff is great at it. 

If you go, there is no doubt you'll see some big, big, fish.  There is no doubt you'll screw up a few casts, everyone does.  If you hang in there, leave your ego at home, and bring your "A" game, you've got a shot at a truly monster fish.  I had an epic couple of days of fishing, and as any good experience in life, it left me wanting more.  Those two fish haunt me.  I've got a fever, and the only cure is another big Hawaiian Bonefish.

Please find out more about fishing with Coach Duff at www.hawaiibonefishing.com