George Town is one of the fastest growing destinations in the Out Islands for both tourism and new homes. ''Fast growing,'' though, is a relative term when it comes to the Out Islands.
''We just don't want the island to get to the point where everybody doesn't know everybody else,'' says our fishing guide, J.J. Dames, when we meet him at the Peace and Plenty Bonefish Lodge 10 miles south of town. The lodge is a fisherman's Valhalla. It's small -- only eight nicely appointed, air-conditioned rooms with waterfront balconies. A fine restaurant and lounge overlook the fishing grounds and are filled with trophies and photos of sports stars posing with their rods in their hands. There's a fly-tying station and an honor bar; you just know that the walls have heard a million lies. The lodge's guides are among the best anywhere -- we think.
''So how long have you been guiding?'' I ask J.J.
''This is my first day,'' he says as he steers his flats boat along the edge of the shallows.
My dad and I exchange eye rolls: The prospects are not good for admittedly neophyte bonefishermen teamed with a virgin guide. But there's something about the sparkle in J.J.'s eyes and his Cosbyesque laugh that makes me not want to trust him, at least not about his résumé. Then I remember why his name sounds familiar: I've heard other Bahamian fishing guides mention it with awe. ''First Day'' J.J. is actually a third-generation guide who has escorted the rich and famous to find fish for over a decade and has twice won the Bahamas National Bonefishing Championship.
Feeling cocky from yesterday's success, I trade my spinning tackle for a more challenging fly rod. When I blunder the first few casts, J.J. asks to see the rental rod to check it out. He makes an effortless cast twice the distance of my attempts, hands the rod back, nods his head and says,
''Yeah, it's you.''
J.J. acts disgusted and goes to the stern to help my dad release yet another fish -- bonefish apparently take pity on the older folks -- but he's watching me the entire time. A few minutes later, he gives me a couple of insightful pointers that immediately correct my technique. I start catching bonefish on every other cast. The fish are small but feisty, especially when several 4-foot lemon sharks charge in. We reel the fish to the boat as fast as we can and shoo away the sharks until the bones recover enough strength and speed to outmaneuver the predators. When the sharks start chasing every fish we hook, J.J. decides it'd be healthier for the bonefish if we moved to another flat too shallow for the not-so-mellow yellow sharks.
We then notice the sun has disappeared. It has been cloudy all morning, making it hard to spot fish, but this is different -- more Perfect Stormish: not something you want to see from a tiny flats boat. The sharp edge of a tropical wave hits with howling wind and horizontal rain. J.J. snugs the boat in behind a low, scrubby rock called Pigeon Cay, and we ride it out, huddling against the storm, laughing and telling stories until the seas drop enough for us to get back to the lodge. With no prospects for good fishing or for seeing the sun, we decide to test out another benefit of charter flying: flexible schedules and air evacuation. One call to Sky Limo gets a plane on its way. Flying a serpentine course through massive clouds, we actually outrun the storm and make it back to Florida before it even starts to rain. As the plane descends, I spot my house. The city hasn't trimmed the oak trees in front of the driveway yet, so we have to fly the extra minute to the executive airport. Traveling can be such a hassle sometimes.
Posted online 10/28/01.
