The Family Trevally

Terrors of the Pacific, Whatever Their Size

by E. Donnall Thomas Jr.

I was living in Alaska when Christmas Island—once known, if at all, as nothing but a remote speck of land in the mid-Pacific—began to emerge as a saltwater fly rod destination. One of the first lessons one learns upon arrival in Alaska is that going somewhere warm and sunny during the winter is more a matter of necessity than indulgence. For several years running I’d headed to the Caribbean, where I’d learned at least the basics of flats fishing for bonefish and other species. Traveling due south to Christmas by way of Hawaii sounded a lot easier than traversing the continent, and in the wake of glowing preliminary reports, a regular fishing partner and I signed up.

When the great British navigator Captain James Cook arrived at Christmas Island in 1777, he launched a skiff from HMS Resolution and sent it through the leeward gap in the reef to explore the atoll’s inner lagoon. His log reports that the crew returned with tales of abundant “crevallies”  (perhaps a clue to the origins of the name for our Atlantic jack crevalle). This was welcome news to a hungry crew eager for a break from salt pork.

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