North Andros – From Top to Bottom: Part 2 of 2
by Glen Zinkus
originally published in Tail #22 - March 2016
The next day was calmer and we motored out of Cargill Creek with Ricardo. Ricardo was one of our first guides on Andros. He always had this habit of breaking away from the pack and motoring north out of Cargill Creek towards some flats somewhere in the vicinity of Fresh Creek. Ricardo explains “I just like that area mon” and heads off to the north. Ricardo also breaks from the standard Bights area technique and does not hesitate to get out of the boat and wade the flats.
Ricardo is our youngest guide but has experience beyond his years. He has been boating and fishing since he could walk. Several years back, while we were on a lunch break, Ricardo regaled us with a story of a bad flats incident. He was fooling around on the platform while a friend was slow motoring the boat. It pitched unexpectedly and Ricardo fell. Then, as he jumped aboard the stern, he hit the running prop which ripped right into his torso. While telling us this story, Ricardo provided more detail than most of us wanted. Ricardo ended with “the doctors told me that the salty ocean water kept me from getting an infection.” That, with a life-saving flight back to Nassau saved his life. I don’t know whether to call this seriously bad luck, good luck or something in between. Ricardo lifted his shirt to reveal a scar that runs up from somewhere below his belly button to his ribcage. It left us all uttering a dumbfounded “wow” at the end of his tale.
We had another incident with Ricardo that we all thought would end in a hospital. Sharks are ubiquitous throughout the Bahamas. Lemon sharks and the occasional black tips are always cruising the flats. If there is any ocean side exposure, the sharks will appear. If there are schooled fish, the sharks are sure to follow. We fished a mottled flat today, complete with turtle grass patches and schools of bonefish between the mangroves and the deeper green water. It seemed too easy. Then, on what must have been our tenth fish of the afternoon there was a splash on the surface and then nothing. All went slack and I reeled in. The cream colored Clouser was intact—not bent—and all seemed fine until the sulky shadow of a shark appeared and we knew what happened. Ricardo walked back to the boat for a “shark stick” that could be used to poke at any sharks near us and our bones.
It was on our next fish when the day’s events turned exciting. The gregarious Ron, our bonefish camp entertainer and unofficial group ambassador, had a fast fish on. This fish shot off for the Tongue of the Ocean as the line ripped across the flat creating a rooster-tail as tall as any of us. As the school of bones shot themselves towards the deeper eastern edge of the flat, all became quiet. We looked over the flats for any signs of sharks and were relieved to see none. Ron brought the bone closer and as we continued our watch, it made another mad run. The bone was just two rod lengths in front of us and suddenly a shark brushed Ron’s leg as it made a dash for the distressed fish. Ricardo jumped forward to give the shark a discouraging tap with the stick but just then the bone darted for shelter…and the nearest shelter was between Ricardo’s legs. “Shit…… this bone wants me to take a shark bite for him!” I’ve never seen anyone leap out of knee deep water like that and he somehow evaded losing a hunk out of his calf. Problem was, the bone was hooked and made another run through Ricardo’s legs. By the time we refocused our attention, there was a splash on the surface and the line seemed to go dead. Ron yelled out “The bone is gone.” He cranked in and the rod still had quite a bend. But the feeling of dead weight stirred something in our guts. Sure enough, as the leader came close we could see the distinct dark trail of pinkish red against the tan flat. Ron pulled the bone up and only the head and shoulders remained. We snapped a few obligatory photos and then threw the bone back out as an offering to the flats gods. We hoped this bad fortune would turn to good.
Our offering must have been accepted. Although a cruising lemon still prowled the edge, our next fish escaped the fate of the first. I cast out a pink Gotcha to a small school of five fish and one bone broke from the school to inhale the fly. “This one feels like a nice one!” I let out. “Loosen up your drag mon! He needs to outswim that shark!” I turned that drag knob out and the ole Abel 3N let the fish make a run for it. It worked. The shark made a fast run towards the bone but was not even close. I let that shark fin it’s way out of sight and reeled in the bone. We walked backwards into the mangroves and brought a five pound bonefish to hand for a safe release in the shallows of the mangrove roots.
Finally, the day had come. Two weeks in paradise were up until the next time. I had already spoken with our pilot the night before to confirm our pickup. Heavy rain pushed the “Carolina High” off into the deep blue ocean. Glen touched down in Andros Town right on time. All of us are seasoned travelers and our group even includes a couple of small plane pilots, but that day we had a wicked crosswind that caused us all to pucker in our seats. Glen casually commented with his constant smile that he does this seven times each day as he feathered the Piper Aztec into an amazingly smooth touchdown at what seemed to be a 30 degree angle that should have run us into the palms. Somehow on this day, this last bit of North Andros adventure just seemed like a fitting end.
