Back in the Seventies...

I happened upon this little treasure of a snapshot as a half-hidden artifact lodged in the roller track of a dusty photo drawer. It was faded, scratched andd gummy, yet I felt that I'd unearthed the Star of India.

Like an old song gone unheard for a long, long time, it unleashed a torrent of feelings, ideas, and companion images (each with their own qualities)- kind of like diving into an exponential recollection vortex.

I sat gazing at this image of Bill Curtis and I that was recorded in the summer of 1973. Most importantly, I remembered so much of that day, that year, and that era. It was a time when the flats boats in Biscayne Bay could be counted on one hand. No doubt, many of the light tackle personalities that grace the TV screens of the new millenium were children or adolesents playing ball in driveways or chasing grasshoppers for bait along a stream in some western state.

The angler in me was most interested in relishing the exact details and circumstances of this trophy bonefish that made us one hell of a trio. My historical muse got first dibs and would certainly relent, but not before noting our sideburns as well as the cigarette(s), the latter of which no longer belongs in our lives.

The memories unfolded... that day was one of the bright types of early summer experiences that featured loads of sun but the gusty northeast winds that high pressure off the Carolinas would bestow upon Florida. Although the water temperatures and overhead light were fine, the bonefish seemed scarce- until we got to the Featherbeds. As soon as Bill poled onto the southeast corner of that huge crescent, we saw bonefish cruising, mudding, and following rays. It felt downright delicious having the luxury pondering which of the fish we'd pursue.

Since I was never one for patience, I asked Bill to go for the fish following a ray only fifty feet
away from us in the twelve o' clock position. He pushed hard into the wind and in short order my shrimp landed between the ray's tail and three feet in front of the bonefish. I feathered the landing to minimize the plop and it quickly eased to the bottom in seconds. The fish gobbled it like there was no tomorrow. The first run almost spooled me, but Bill poled furiously in pursuit. I slowly regained line and my concerns eased a bit. Two more runs and ten minutes later, the fish was brought alongside the skiff, lifted aboard, and posed by two happy adventurers to create an image that would be rediscovered with such delight by a much older man far in the future.

I do recall that after we released that big boy, Bill mentioned there was a stretch of flat a hundred yards ahead that would likely have some permit casually cruising the edges in all this wind. I remember saying, " let's go for it." But that's another story, and I do have all those requisite snapshots... right here in my heart and my mind.

Jan
www.flatsfishingonline.com