Pulling up at the boat ramp, you move around to the back of the van to gather your belongings. Uncle Boy, Master of the Ramp, is there to greet you.
A vibrant and overtly non-suspicious Border Collie Uncle Boy is, and his stock in trade is sniffing all outgoing guests for expert bonefishing skills.
Yesterday morning I fooled Uncle Boy by stuffing my wading pack with beef jerky. He took to me like I was wearing a freshly woolen coat, herding me every which way until the moment I stepped on the skiff. It’s hard to have a bad day when such a fine pup starts it for you.
The team of Kirk “Cool Backhand Luke” Deeter and Michael “I’ll lose this fly I tied if it kills me” Gracie tallied 15 bones to hand. Cool Hand was an “A” student while the impetuous author scored 66% – three modded Veverka’s Mantis Shrimp and a Creature Feature attached to about a foot of 1X IGFA tipped are now firmly ensconced in the mouths of southern tip shrimp patrols. You can do the math.
Our guide, part-time tide clock repairman and full-time wisdom dispenser Torrie Bevans put us on schools of fish sometimes several hundred strong, and often within minutes of when he told us impatient
bastards trout-oriented anglers they would be there.
“Mine is a boat for chillin’…Once the rod is loaded, there is no more loadin’ you can do…Bonefishin’ makes sense mon,” Torrie says. “And if your cast don’t make sense to you, stop, think about it, and recast.”
“After I pull the fly out of my hat,” I retort.
MG signing off (to meet my maker – so stay tuned)