Welcome to The Bonefish Flat

There's a stiff wind in your face as you squint in the sun trying to see what the guide sees. "Bonefish at 12 o'clock about 90 feet, do you see it, mon?" You don't and keep squinting, your hat pulled low to keep the sun out of your eyes. "Bonefish at 11 o'clock 70 feet out. Come on man, do you see it?" As the guide is calmly shifting the skiff into position, this time you spot the fish, "I got, it," you reply.

"OK, Mon, Bonefish 50 feet at 10 o'clock. Cast when you're ready."

Cast when you're ready. And with that you drop your fly, roll out a cast, false cast once, and then...

Welcome to the bonefish flat.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Happy New Year from the Bonefish Flat

From Tarpon Hunting by Thomas McGuane

In the end, the meat bucket was a situation of mind where everything was going to be okay. When you had gone and messed up your intelligence with whiskey or worse, jacked yourself all out of shape, the meat bucket was the final pie in the sky, the universal trout or steelhead or permit or what-all run, the place where you always threw the perfect loop and never had to live with right hand winds, cold rain, broken homes, failed religion, or long-distance relationships.

The meat bucket was Jim Harrison screaming that his knees were buckling and "he's got all my line!" on his first hundred pound tarpon.

Happy New Year to everyone. I hope we all find the meat bucket, or M.B., as McGuane calls it, in 2010!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

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