Arrival.

There I was, standing alone in my bedroom packing a swimsuit and flip flops on Christmas Day. The weather outside is frightful but I am taking delight in the fact that I have a place to go. For the first time I am heading to the saltwater flats of the Caribbean to try my luck at the variety of saltwater species that make the place home. The following afternoon, in driving sheets of freezing rain, my sister and I depart for the Newark, NJ airport for a four hour flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico. As we make our way onto our first flight, my sister turned and reminded me that the last time we were on a plane, we jumped out of it.

The View From My Seat on the Cessna.

Lagoons That Hold Puerto Rican Tarpon.

We arrive late, and have an eight hour layover in the airport. I spend the time reading about the mangrove lagoon surrounding the airport and how it is one of the premier tarpon destinations in Puerto Rico. I occasionally glance at the ten weight and the freshly tied tarpon toads in my carry on. I am debating whether or not to sneak out of the airport and try and find a dock with some lights. I resist the urge to leave my sister behind and instead begin to contemplate the challenges that are sure to await me on the island of Tortola, of the British Virgin Islands.

Surf in Puerto Rico.

Flying Into A Rain Storm.

A Beautiful Tortola Bay.

I am considering calling this the first time I am ever fly fishing in saltwater. Yes, I have fiddled around for a few days in the backwater bays of the Outer Banks, but this is an entirely different ball game. Crystal clear water, shallow long flats, and extremely wary fish that are some of the most sought after species in the world await me and my decade plus of trout fishing experience. Will I be up for par? Will I be able to handle the power of a tarpon or the cunning of a permit? Will I even have a shot at these species? The thoughts are flowing at a mile a minute and I am left sleepless as I pull an all nighter in the deserted airport. Finally, it is my turn to depart and I make my way over to the small prop plane that is going to take me on the last leg of my journey.

Bro's Apartment.

The View From My Brother's Front Porch.

Lucky Bastard.

I take a seat directly behind the pilot and am treated to an aerial tour of the Caribbean as we make our way eastward over the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea. Below boats of all sizes dot the open sea and resemble small ants making trails in the sand. We make our way over many islands all resembling something out of the helicopter ride in Jurassic Park. I make a mental note about how developed the US Virgin Islands are compared to the underdeveloped British Virgin Islands. Finally, after a brief forty minute trip the pilot veers and conducts a turn downwards into the runway. It was quite thrilling looking directly out of the cockpit as we swooped down for the landing. When the airline attendant finally opened the small door he had some kind words for our arrival, "Welcome to Paradise."

Moray Eel From a Small Lagoon.

First Day Weather. 

Would Be A Re-Occurring Theme.

Super Pumped.

Weird BVI Beer. Power Stout.

Strong Mocha Flavor With Some HGH Mixed In.

Awaiting me at the Airport gates are my brother and sister, ready to take me on a brief tour of the small 12 mile island. We zoom around the main highway that encircles the island and I take in the sites and sounds of Tortola. My neck (as it did for most of the trip) began to stiffen from all the time I spent scanning the water. Everything looked ideal to me and I kept asking my brother about the various spots. I had not slept for 36 hours but I was super excited to start fishing. My mind continued to race just like in Puerto Rico and when we finally stopped at his place, I immediately began thinking fish. For the majority of the trip I suffered not from Island fever but from something a lot worse. A fly fishing sickness that can wreck havoc on usually calm nerves. I was suffering from a strong case of buck fever.

Wish You Were Here.

I dig my toes into the sand

The ocean looks like a thousand diamonds

Strewn across a blue blanket

I lean against the wind

Pretend that I am weightless

And in this moment I am happy...happy

I wish you were here.

-Incubus

Greetings and Happy New Year from the British Virgin Islands!

Vote! Fish of the Year.

Updated: 2009 Fish of the Year: BVI Tarpon

Help us settle a year end holiday dispute at This River is Wild. Which fish over the past year was the greatest? We each put in two entries for fish of the year and hopefully our small readership will help end the bickering between us (there really is none). So what makes the fish of the year? Is it the size of the fish, story and experience, or beauty? Here are the entries with an accompanying link to the post. Vote on the top right of the blog. Happy holidays!

Option 1: Adam's First Canal Carp

Weeks of toiling in the mosquito infested canal of Walnutport culminated in this massive golden bone. Story & more images here: Flawless Victory

Monster Golden Ghost of the Walnutport Canal.

Option 2: Savage River Brown Trout

A successful first trip to the Savage River in Western Maryland produced some gorgeous wild brown trout in a scenic setting. This was the prettiest. Story and images here: Savage

Beautiful Savage River Brown.

Option 3: Anegada Bonefish

As a birthday present for my brother, Stacy took Matt out to Anegada where wading the flats, he landed his first ever bonefish. Story and pictures here: Chasing Tail in Anegada.

Bro's First Bonefish.

Option 4: British Virgin Islands Tarpon.

Out with a friend, Matt tied into a 80 pound tarpon that schooled him in the surf while evading a curious shark. Story and images here: Megalops Atlanticus

The first Tarpon: Deliverance

Epic Tarpon Battle From the Rocks.

Option 5: Salmon River Brown

As the rain began to fall, Adam tested out a tri-cluster egg sucking leech. The brown exploded off the bottom as the fly hit the water. Story and images here: Salmon River Revenge

More epic brown trout: Shooting Stars

Salmon River Brown on the Tri-Cluster Leech.

Option 6: Lago X Carp

My best day ever Carp fishing culminated in this brute that was slowly stalked and picked off some weed beds. A blistering run and my fly line disappeared into the middle of the lake. Story and images here: CARP!

Goliath Lago-X Carp.

Although these fish may not be the largest fish we caught all year, they certainly were some of the more memorable. As the new year approaches, new water and challenges await us that are sure to produce more memories and even more epic moments.

Looking to the future

Scuba diving has opened up my eyes even more to a whole bunch of species that would be great fun on the fly rod. Jacks, snappers and groupers sporting double-digit weights swarm you at depth.

Horse-eye Jacks

50" barracuda

30lb snapper inside the wrecked hull

On the wreck of The Rhone yesterday, a monstrous permit cruised by in 80 ft of water. The fish was truck-tire sized, 8-10 inches across the forehead, and came within 20 ft. I know fish appear larger underwater, but correcting for this enlargement, I would guess the fish to be in the neighborhood of 50lbs.

I snapped a pic and spent the next few minutes imagining the day when I get a shot at one of these pigs on the flats. All it is is a matter of time before I surprise one right where I need it to be...

The only way to give this brute a sense of scale is to hoist her from the water...

One day she will be mine.

Chasing Tail in Anegada

For my birthday, Stacy planned a trip to Anegada, a small coral atoll just north of, but still a part of the British Virgin Islands. Anyone you speak to down here says that Anegada is ground zero for bonefish. Jimmy Carter even dedicated an entire chapter to fishing the Anegada flats in his memoir, or so I've heard. So, while the rest of This River is Wild was freezing their asses off on Great Lake tributaries, Stacy and I were wading tropical flats in search of bonefish.

We picked up our sweet ride for the four days we'd be there and went to fill it up at the gas station. I asked the attendant if he knew anything about bonefishing around the island.

He perked up and said he knew a thing or two about bonefishing. It turns out that the owner of the gas station was none other than Garfield Faulkner, the one and only bonefishing guide on the island. He has guided the likes of Jimmy Buffet and others who have come to Anegada to try their luck on the flats.

A Wrangler can hold a 9wt and 10wt quite comfortably...

He told me the best option for wading was to head to the bridge and walk east. The farther east you go, the better. However, the farther east you go, the muckier the bottom becomes and soon, it becomes unwadable.

He left me with the words, in his thick accent "don judge Anegada by what you see out der, mon. Wait 'til you go wit a guide." Not exactly instilling a sense of confidence. He then gave me his card and invited me to check out his fleet of skiffs. I told him I just might give him a call if we didn't have any luck wading. We fist bumped and parted ways.

Anegada is the same size as Tortola (12 x 3 miles) but has only 1% of the population. About 200 people live here year-round. It's highest point is 28ft above sea level and we saw way more cattle and goats roaming the settlement than people. It is also home to the critically endangered Anegada Rock Iguana. We didn't see any.

What also seemed to be critically endangered were the bonefish. Dreams of flats sparkling with waving tails and dorsal fins evaporated when we arrived at the access, rigged up in a stiff wind and hit the flats. Knee-deep water with breaking white caps due to the wind is what greeted us. We walked for an hour and half and saw nothing alive save mangroves. The rough surface made spotting a tail impossible and the angle of the glare from the height of a wading person made looking off into the distance for a fish impossible, as well.

As far as the eye can see.

A wreck on the edge of the reef.

Prime habitat for bonefish prey.

We hopped back in the jeep and explored the island. The next morning, at 6am, we hit the flats on a falling tide. We hiked for a mile, eyes straining, shuffling our feet and making little wake, for two hours east. We saw absolutely nothing. I whispered to Stacy that bonefish were a myth. We were speaking in whispers because it seemed natural when compared to the way we were sneaking around the flats, tip-toeing like ninjas.

The only other fisherman, straining to find some prey.

Stace rounds a mangrove cluster, looking for movement.

Stalking.

Making a U-turn and heading west, we saw two rays and a shark. Then, an impossibly fast shadow zoomed out across the flats trailing a wake. Our first sighting, or so I told myself. It saw us way before we knew it was there.

We were now on high-alert. Five minutes later, I saw two big bonefish cruising perpendicular to me. I made one cast but they were moving too quickly. They scattered and fled as my line splashed to the water above them. Our first confirmed sighting and our first cast! Progress.

Half an hour after that, We saw a single fish slowly meandering through the turtle grass. One cast, perfect placement, and the fish bolted. We were getting frustrated but at least we were seeing fish.

A few minutes later, miraculously, two bonefish were swirling and actively feeding twenty five feet to my right. They had not spotted either of us. Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good. Trailing the fly behind me, I made one quick flick and landed the fly about 6ft away. Immediately, a tiny little grunt tried to eat my fly. It seems that bonefish have some attendant fish that devour any of the shrimp or crabs that try to scoot away as the bonefish muddles for a meal. One of the bonefish moved over, deliberately, then paused right above my fly. I pulled in the slack and felt the fish. I offered a slight tug and held on tight as the fish took off like a bullet in a half-circle around me towards deeper water. The reel screamed as the line lasered through the water, throwing spray 3ft into the air. Into my backing almost instantly, I tightened the drag and slowed the fish. I frantically reeled as it swam towards me, then it took off again. Into my backing for the 2nd time, the fish slowed and then seemed to play dead.

Coming to hand.

Success at long last.

Epoxy shrimp, not the most elegant of flies.

Active Camo

Silver Bullet.

Bonefish obviously have excellent eyesight.

After two blistering runs it was totally and utterly spent. I hauled the fish in and tailed it. I hoisted it for a pic, then placed it back into the water and walked it towards shore to take the hook out.

As I fought this fish, my knees were literally quivering. I was laughing out loud and hoping against hope that it wouldn't break me off. Hour upon hour upon hour upon hour of wading through flats in the burning sun since I've arrived here in August finally paid off with this solid hook up, quick fight and decent fish landed. I was more than pumped.

Bonefish are almost totally invisible on the flats. Especially to a wading angler, who can only see about 20ft in any direction and spends most time frightening anything within earshot of their sloshing towards deeper water before the angler even knows anything was there. Add to the inadequacies of the angler the almost perfect active camouflage that bonefish sport. Their body is covered in tiny mirrors that reflect whatever color the bottom is. They are the predator and you are Arnold.

Thousands of reflective surfaces...

mimic the bottom coloration...

and make them disappear.

Stacy had a great shot at another, larger fish almost as soon as I released mine. She took one cast and the fly was gobbled by the the bonefish's attendant grunt, which dragged the line across the bonefish, spooking it for good. Nothing after that.

The next morning, I jumped a good-sized tarpon off of a dock outside of our hotel. Later that day, I tied on a 7inch baitfish pattern to try for a big barracuda. We spotted a 4 footer in 8 inches of water. I jogged 200 yards to get in front of the fish and laid my fly 20ft to it's right. I began to strip the fly towards me with both hands when the fish accelerated and nailed the pattern. I strip set, and with one mighty shake of it's tooth-lined head, the nail knot on my 30lb pike leader exploded. The massive fish broke the surface trying to shake free of the hook in it's mouth and moved off only a few feet. I re-tied, anxious to see if it would still bite and I didn't have to leave it with a giant hook and 8 inches of wire dangling from it's jaw. The fish wasn't interested and swam off. I felt pretty bad about that.

Tarpon inspecting a floating leaf.

As fresh as dinner can get.

Four days on a deserted coral atoll, one bonefish, a jumped tarpon and a missed barracuda made for pretty much the coolest birthday present ever.

Chasing Tail in Anegada

For my birthday, Stacy planned a trip to Anegada, a small coral atoll just north of, but still a part of the British Virgin Islands. Anyone you speak to down here says that Anegada is ground zero for bonefish. Jimmy Carter even dedicated an entire chapter to fishing the Anegada flats in his memoir, or so I've heard. So, while the rest of This River is Wild was freezing their asses off on Great Lake tributaries, Stacy and I were wading tropical flats in search of bonefish.

We picked up our sweet ride for the four days we'd be there and went to fill it up at the gas station. I asked the attendant if he knew anything about bonefishing around the island.

He perked up and said he knew a thing or two about bonefishing. It turns out that the owner of the gas station was none other than Garfield Faulkner, the one and only bonefishing guide on the island. He has guided the likes of Jimmy Buffet and others who have come to Anegada to try their luck on the flats.

A Wrangler can hold a 9wt and 10wt quite comfortably...

He told me the best option for wading was to head to the bridge and walk east. The farther east you go, the better. However, the farther east you go, the muckier the bottom becomes and soon, it becomes unwadable.

He left me with the words, in his thick accent "don judge Anegada by what you see out der, mon. Wait 'til you go wit a guide." Not exactly instilling a sense of confidence. He then gave me his card and invited me to check out his fleet of skiffs. I told him I just might give him a call if we didn't have any luck wading. We fist bumped and parted ways.

Anegada is the same size as Tortola (12 x 3 miles) but has only 1% of the population. About 200 people live here year-round. It's highest point is 28ft above sea level and we saw way more cattle and goats roaming the settlement than people. It is also home to the critically endangered Anegada Rock Iguana. We didn't see any.

What also seemed to be critically endangered were the bonefish. Dreams of flats sparkling with waving tails and dorsal fins evaporated when we arrived at the access, rigged up in a stiff wind and hit the flats. Knee-deep water with breaking white caps due to the wind is what greeted us. We walked for an hour and half and saw nothing alive save mangroves. The rough surface made spotting a tail impossible and the angle of the glare from the height of a wading person made looking off into the distance for a fish impossible, as well.

As far as the eye can see.

A wreck on the edge of the reef.

Prime habitat for bonefish prey.

We hopped back in the jeep and explored the island. The next morning, at 6am, we hit the flats on a falling tide. We hiked for a mile, eyes straining, shuffling our feet and making little wake, for two hours east. We saw absolutely nothing. I whispered to Stacy that bonefish were a myth. We were speaking in whispers because it seemed natural when compared to the way we were sneaking around the flats, tip-toeing like ninjas.

The only other fisherman, straining to find some prey.

Stace rounds a mangrove cluster, looking for movement.

Stalking.

Making a U-turn and heading west, we saw two rays and a shark. Then, an impossibly fast shadow zoomed out across the flats trailing a wake. Our first sighting, or so I told myself. It saw us way before we knew it was there.

We were now on high-alert. Five minutes later, I saw two big bonefish cruising perpendicular to me. I made one cast but they were moving too quickly. They scattered and fled as my line splashed to the water above them. Our first confirmed sighting and our first cast! Progress.

Half an hour after that, We saw a single fish slowly meandering through the turtle grass. One cast, perfect placement, and the fish bolted. We were getting frustrated but at least we were seeing fish.

A few minutes later, miraculously, two bonefish were swirling and actively feeding twenty five feet to my right. They had not spotted either of us. Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good. Trailing the fly behind me, I made one quick flick and landed the fly about 6ft away. Immediately, a tiny little grunt tried to eat my fly. It seems that bonefish have some attendant fish that devour any of the shrimp or crabs that try to scoot away as the bonefish muddles for a meal. One of the bonefish moved over, deliberately, then paused right above my fly. I pulled in the slack and felt the fish. I offered a slight tug and held on tight as the fish took off like a bullet in a half-circle around me towards deeper water. The reel screamed as the line lasered through the water, throwing spray 3ft into the air. Into my backing almost instantly, I tightened the drag and slowed the fish. I frantically reeled as it swam towards me, then it took off again. Into my backing for the 2nd time, the fish slowed and then seemed to play dead.

Coming to hand.

Success at long last.

Epoxy shrimp, not the most elegant of flies.

Active Camo

Silver Bullet.

Bonefish obviously have excellent eyesight.

After two blistering runs it was totally and utterly spent. I hauled the fish in and tailed it. I hoisted it for a pic, then placed it back into the water and walked it towards shore to take the hook out.

As I fought this fish, my knees were literally quivering. I was laughing out loud and hoping against hope that it wouldn't break me off. Hour upon hour upon hour upon hour of wading through flats in the burning sun since I've arrived here in August finally paid off with this solid hook up, quick fight and decent fish landed. I was more than pumped.

Bonefish are almost totally invisible on the flats. Especially to a wading angler, who can only see about 20ft in any direction and spends most time frightening anything within earshot of their sloshing towards deeper water before the angler even knows anything was there. Add to the inadequacies of the angler the almost perfect active camouflage that bonefish sport. Their body is covered in tiny mirrors that reflect whatever color the bottom is. They are the predator and you are Arnold.

Thousands of reflective surfaces...

mimic the bottom coloration...

and make them disappear.

Stacy had a great shot at another, larger fish almost as soon as I released mine. She took one cast and the fly was gobbled by the the bonefish's attendant grunt, which dragged the line across the bonefish, spooking it for good. Nothing after that.

The next morning, I jumped a good-sized tarpon off of a dock outside of our hotel. Later that day, I tied on a 7inch baitfish pattern to try for a big barracuda. We spotted a 4 footer in 8 inches of water. I jogged 200 yards to get in front of the fish and laid my fly 20ft to it's right. I began to strip the fly towards me with both hands when the fish accelerated and nailed the pattern. I strip set, and with one mighty shake of it's tooth-lined head, the nail knot on my 30lb pike leader exploded. The massive fish broke the surface trying to shake free of the hook in it's mouth and moved off only a few feet. I re-tied, anxious to see if it would still bite and I didn't have to leave it with a giant hook and 8 inches of wire dangling from it's jaw. The fish wasn't interested and swam off. I felt pretty bad about that.

Tarpon inspecting a floating leaf.

As fresh as dinner can get.

Four days on a deserted coral atoll, one bonefish, a jumped tarpon and a missed barracuda made for pretty much the coolest birthday present ever.