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Christmas Island Diary

By Scott Richmond

Six days for sun, bonefish, and the hunt for big trevally. First cast, first success. After that, it got a little tougher.

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otes and Impressions from a one-week trip in February 2006.

Day One

My guide has pointed out a bonefish. The sky is clear, the bottom is white, and I can easily see the fish in about 8 inches of water. The cast is directly downwind, about 50 feet. My fly lands about five feet in front of the fish. I make a short strip. The fish moves toward the fly. Two more strips, and he has it. He rips line off the reel like no fish I've ever hooked before. In seconds, he's 150 feet into my backing. I bring him close, then he sets off again, only going about half as far as the first run. And finally he's back to me. I measure from the nose to the fork of the tail. Twenty inches, about 3.5 pounds for a Pacific bonefish. Kodak moment!

It was my first-ever cast to a bonefish, and it was textbook all the way. My guide Eketi (pronounced "Eck-iss") is probably thinking this week will be a piece of cake. After all, I saw the fish, made a perfect cast, and played it like I knew what I was doing. I soon disabuse him of any notions of my competence, however, as I flub crosswind casts, tangle my line, hook myself in the butt, etc.

Despite my rookie mistakes, several more bones come to hand. Then Eketi quickly takes my 8-weight rod and hands me my 12-weight. He points to the right. Huge fins cut the water at the edge of the flat. "Trevally," Eketi says. I panic; a giant trevally is a primary goal of this trip, but this fish is huge. After taking too long to set up, I finally get off a 70-foot crosswind cast that hits the trevally on the tail. There is a brief splash, and it is gone.

It was not yet noon of the first day. Bonefish normally feed with their noses into the wind, which on Christmas Island comes 20 mph from the southeast with only slight seasonal variations in direction and speed. This means morning is the best time to fish because the sun is at your back, making fish-spotting easier. It also means your fly will be between the sun and the fish; a backlit fly always works best.

The afternoon is cloudy, so fish are tough to spot. Eketi, however, continues to put me onto bonefish. Sometimes I even do enough things right to catch one.

Day Two

This is the second of our "skiff" days. You get four skiff days and two truck days. The skiffs are 35-foot outrigger canoes with a 40-horse Yamaha. They're roomy and stable. Colors are orange, white, and blue: three of the four colors that appear on the Kiribati ("Kear-a-boss") flag.

There are eleven anglers--eight from the Northwest--in our group at the Captain Cook Hotel. They divide us into two groups of four and one group of three. Each group travels in a skiff or truck for the day's fishing. My group includes Stan Smith, from Portland, and Dick Todd, from Sammamish, Washington.

My guide, Eketi, is a marvel. Thirty years old, he's been guiding for 10 years. He's quiet and supremely competent, spotting fish in places I can't even see a rock. "Forty feet," he says, showing with his hand the direction to cast. By now I've learned to read his body language. I've also learned that "40 feet" means 55 feet. Rule one: calibrate your guide.

I don't see the fish, but I trust Eketi. "Strip," he says. I strip. "Stop," he says. I stop. "Long pull," he says. I pull long. "Yes," he says. I set the hook and we're off to the bonefish races. More times than not, I never see the fish. Yet he spots it and monitors its behavior so he can tell me what to do. I feel blind as a bat, but thankful that I signed up for a private guide and took a friend's recommendation for Eketi.

Again, he hands me the trevally rod, which is rigged with a popper. I don't manage the popper correctly, but manage to hook and land a five-pound giant trevally anyway. A five pound trevally on a 12-weight is equivalent to a two-pound bonefish on an 8-weight. I imagine what a 30-pound trevally would be like, and shiver slightly despite the equatorial heat.

Because Christmas Island is so low--maximum elevation only 12 feet--the horizon is vast. The colors of the water are intense and varied, showing every shade of blue and green I can imagine. It's a world of super-saturated color; I feel like I'm living in a Cibachrome print. Large cumulus clouds continually scud across the sky.

Day Three

It's a truck day to the Korean Wreck. From my casting spot, I can see the remains of the wreck, but the term "Korean Wreck" is used loosely to describe a miles-long fishing site on the south side of the island where a reef breaks the surf. Small waves wash in over a shallow, rocky bottom. After two days on the lagoon's flats, I was beginning to spot fish fairly well if there weren't any clouds and it was morning. Which means, I could spot fish about 30 percent of the time. The bottom is brown and rocky, and I can't see a thing here.

I begin with the trevally rod, casting toward the surf. I put the rod under my arm and strip the popper with both hands, fast. On the third cast, there's a splash and a grab. I soon have a nice blue-fin trevally in hand.

A few minutes later, there's a splash on my right. A big trevally is slashing through some baitfish. I'm too slow getting the rod around and miss an opportunity.

We continue to fish for bones, trevally, and anything else that moves. I land several bones, some small blue-fins, and a sweetlips. The latter is good table fare. Eketi debates taking it home, but releases it.

I blind-cast the 12-weight, trying to excite a giant trevally which may or may not be there. No one answers, and after 20 casts my arm is tired. My Winston Boron IIX casts easily--for a 12-weight. But it's still a hell of lot of work, and moving the popper takes more effort than casting. I hand the rod to Eketi, who makes 30 casts before giving it back. I make another 10 casts, he makes 15. That's enough of that.

Next time I come here, I'll bring a 10-weight for this part of the island. Because of the reef, there's no hope of landed a really big trevally anyway, so you might as well target the 5-10 pounders and have something easier to blind-cast.

Tonight's dinner is a luau at the Captain Cook hotel. There's curried octopus, roast pig, and other delicacies. It's a good feast, and is followed by native dancing. I've been pleased with the food at the Captain Cook; it's better than I'd been lead to believe. Dinners consist of a fruit salad, rice, fish, and meat. There's ice cream for desert. Breakfasts include cold cereal, eggs, ham, pancakes or french toast, and of course coffee. My room is simple but neat, and it's cleaned every day and fresh linen is set out. I open the windows and let the trade winds blow through. The major drawback is the bathroom: don't drink the tap water or brush your teeth with it; close your mouth in the shower.

Day Four

It's a skiff day. At the first stop, Eketi yells, "Trevally!" and I try to get the 12-weight ready. I flub it big time; too slow, not accurate. At the next stop, a trevally is spotted before I even get off the boat. I try to cast against the wind and wrap line over half the boat.

I vow to follow the advice of a character in a Monty Python movie: "Don't be wattled by a cwowd of wowdy wuffians." I will control my excitement and stay cool and focused. I will strip off enough line, judge the speed and direction of the fish, know where the wind and sun are, take time to set up the cast, execute my retrieve properly. Next time, next time.

We are, of course, picking up bonefish left and right. I try to explain steelheading to Eketi: fish may or may not be in a run; fish may or may not take a fly even if they're there; you rarely see them; you wade in cold water and may make a thousand casts, perhaps more, without a fish. He is polite, but clearly perplexed as to why anyone would fish like that. At this point, I'm wondering the same thing myself.

After three and a half days, I've learned a few things. I can spot fish better. I can tell the difference between bones, surgeonfish, puffers, mullet, and other reef species. I've learned that when you see a triggerfish with its tail out of the water, you should look for blue-fin trevally, since they often hang out together.

Day Five

Another skiff day. I've been trying different flylines. I now have on the Wulff Triangle Taper bonefish line. I love it. My main rig is an

8-weight Winston Boron IIX with a Nautilus 10 reel and the Triangle Taper line. It's a superb combination. I can't speak too highly of the BIIX for bonefish. It loads quickly and has backbone, yet it is light in the hand and a joy to cast. The Triangle Taper casts better in the wind than my other lines, and delivers the fly with less fuss and splash. Better accuracy and a more stealthy presentation: what more do you want for bonefishing?

Early in the day, I hook a very nice bone of 4-5 pounds (two pounds is average here). Under the arc of the rod, an enormous trevally cruises by. It's just a few feet away. I gag. "Seventy to 80 pounds," Eketi says. When it's three hundred feet away, we can still it. Wow.

In the afternoon Eketi takes me to a spot where there's a natural channel about a foot deep. Bones rest in the channel, where the incoming tide generates a three mph current. I cast up and across, and retrieve quickly. It's like fishing streamers in a river. I can't see a thing against the mottled brown coral bottom, but Eketi sees fish 40-45 feet away and directs my casting. In an hour I land eight bonefish and a small blue-fin. I'm not a "counter," but figure I've landed 25-30 fish today.

Day Six

It's a truck day. It's just Stan and me; Dick's back is sore and he's staying at the hotel. We're fishing the back side of the lagoon.

After yesterday, I feel like I've made progress--slow and slight, but progress. I can spot bones if the conditions are right. My casting is fairly accurate even when crosswind (there are many notable exceptions, however). I've gotten over my disastrous habit of raising the rod when setting the hook. My line management has vastly improved, although it's still far from perfect. I have a better sense of what to do when I see a trevally, although I still haven't hooked a big one.

I feel that I've advanced to the point of being a slow, but marginally trainable student (Report card: "If he continues to improve, Scotty could be trained as ditch digger.") But I'm soon back to feeling like the village idiot. I lose five nice bones in a row. I'm skunked on bones by the first break.

But after the break I see a nice bonefish and easily hook it and land it. Things are looking up. I have one more shot at a giant trevally of about 15 pounds. I see it cruising toward us, take time to set up the cast, and perfectly present the fly. I strip it like a pro. The trevally turns and chases the fly for about ten feet, and I think I'm going to get him. But he suddenly turns away from the fly and leaves. I look at Eketi. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. You did it well. He just didn't want the fly, or maybe he saw us." He shrugs. I'm philosophical and resolve to be satisfied with having done my part correctly.

Today I've caught six species of fish: bonefish, blue-fin trevally, small giant trevally, goatfish, yellow snapper, and a puffer; the latter three really count as "mistakes," kind of like hooking a whitefish in the Deschutes. Near the end of the afternoon, I land a nice bone of 3-4 pounds. It's my last fish, a good one to end on. This fish and my first are like bookends for the trip.

That night, a local group sings for us after dinner. It's a sort of Kiribati barber shop quartet, although there's actually five of them, with guitar and ukulele accompaniment. They have great voices, and it's enjoyable. The last song is hymn-like and sung a capella. The words are Kiribati, but there is an English refrain that says, in part, "Don't forget the beautiful nights." I won't. Nor will I forget the beautiful days, the many-hued water, the gorgeous fish. I'll be back.

For related articles, see Fly Lines for the Flats, What to Wear on the Flats, and Tips for Christmas Island.

Scott Richmond is Westfly's creator and Executive Director. He is the author of eight books on Oregon fly fishing, including Fishing Oregon's Deschutes River (second edition).

Uploaded 03/06/2006.

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First cast, first bone--and it was a good one!

Arrival at the Christmas Island International Airport

A wing of the Captain Cook Hotel.

Some rooms are in two-room "bungalo" units. My room is on the right.

Blue-fin trevally will take poppers or small streamers. A bonefish rod and fly will work fine if presented right.

London, where the boats leave from.

Local outrigger skiff. Stable and roomy transportation from one flat to the next.

A sweetlips from the Korean Wreck area. Reputed to be excellent eating

A small giant trevally. At five pounds, it put up as much fight on a 12-weight as a two-pound bonefish on an 8-weight. Imagine a 30-pounder!