|
|
|
CROOKED ISLAND BAHAMAS
By Captain Bart Miller
| | (Click to View) |
Small Island – Small World – Big Memory of Wahoo
My first visit to Crooked Island in the Bahamas was
a surprise trip in May 2000. I knew I was going
fishing but had no idea of where or for what. The
good part was I didn’t care, nor worry, as I knew Stewart Rales to
be a good friend and solid fishermen. Whatever our destination, I
knew the fun, as well the fishing, would be outstanding.
Stewart was smiling from ear to ear as he boasted, “There
are lot’s of big fish where we’re going and they bite.” He was
pointing his finger out the window of the small plane as if
touching the surprise island destination. “You’re going to love it,”
he said. There was no doubt in my mind as to the validity of his
enthusiasm. Still, I wasn’t ready for what was about to become
another cherished memory in my global fishing adventures.
What’s not to love? We were flying private charter, were
going to stay at a secret hide away, and were going fishing where
the fish bite every day. And, they’re big!
While in flight it didn’t take me long to realize we were
going somewhere in the Bahamas. Finally, I heard the words
“there it is, we have arrived.” I looked down and saw a short
private runway. “This is Crooked Island,” Steward said. “We
will be staying at the Pitt’s Point fishing lodge. Captain Carter
Andrews will be our guide. His boat is a 35 foot Lurhs named
Thunder Bird.”
I was told that Captain Carter was a famous fly fishermen
who had made Crooked Island his home, and that he wanted to
meet with me, fish with me, show me his beloved fertile fishing
fields and, hopefully, to maybe even learn from me.
The landing was short and bumpy. The runway is near the
beach. It is in proximity to the shallow emerald-clear water that’s
nestled up tightly to the deep azure blue-purple pelagic zone
that streams by off the beach. That’s where the fish were big and
would bite, I figured.
The lunch bell was sounding as I stepped off the plane.
Lunch must have been timed to our arrival; I liked this treatment
already, this gesture is certainly a classy touch in an otherwise
world of personal amnesia toward service.
A tropical food fare made up of fresh seafood, salad,
homemade bread and icy fruit drinks was waiting in the quaint
dining room and bar. All the kitchen attendants visited our table
and introduced themselves.
Baggage and other items were promptly sent to the simple
oceanfront cottages assigned to each person. Right away I knew
I was going to like this place.
After getting checked in and taking a nap, the dinner bell
rang. Captain Carter was waiting for us with plenty of fish
stories and photos of catches from recent fishing trips One of the
photos showed a trip made by the Anhauser Busch family, four
wahoo all more than 100 pounds each. The largest was about 135
pounds.
There were lots of photos of people from all over who had
discovered the magic of Crooked Island, including singer Jimmy
Buffet who often visited the Crooked Island hideaway. Out here,
Buffet would never need to worry about any invasion of privacy
like the paparazzi.
No frill accommodations, no TV in the rooms, no phone
-- just a clean room, table and chairs, bathroom shower, hot and
cold water, and air conditioner with fan. That night I was lulled
asleep by the soft lapping surf.
My first fishing trip to Crooked Island came shortly after
a hearty breakfast; the friendly kitchen staff had earlier packed
each of us a lunch box. Captain Carter showed me a chart and
pointed to a sea mountain named Diana Banks where he had
good luck earlier in the week. He handed me a double 12/0
stainless steel hook rig that was mangled after a recent hook up
and loss; both hooks had been spread open during the first run
from a big wahoo. Carter described how the wahoo stopped its
crazed first run, how the line went slack, and how the wahoo
left this mystery to be solved, along with the evidence.
How could this be, the captain asked, while I fondled
the tortured out-of-shape pair of hooks, now only useful as a
conversation piece.
I offered my two cents worth, which was “something ate
the wahoo.” Considering that the depth on the edge of the banks
was around 250 feet, it would make a good ambush spot for a
giant shark, which can also eat a hooked wahoo.
Before the lines went out for the morning on this particular
wahoo hunt, Robbie Gibson, the mate, showed me a photo
of his personal best wahoo catch. I asked him how big? You
know, the usual question you ask of someone’s big fish photo.
His response was anything but usual as he mouthed the weight,
“150 to 200 pounds.”
I told him he had caught a world record wahoo; the IGFA
record is 158 pounds. His reply was “yes, so I have been told by
others. I was very excited.” “I fought the wahoo alone, and also
I did the boat handling,” Robbie added. He said he fought the
wahoo for nearly two hours. He also said the battle made him
very hungry. “I was hungry, and I had no scale to weigh my
wahoo.”
Robbie repeated the story he had related so many times
in the past; he was well rehearsed, fully animated, none of the
sparkle, excitement or luster had been lost during his brilliant
retelling of his catch.
World record or no world record, Crooked Island and
Robbie were no less, or better, for it. Why didn’t I know
Robbie would be telling his fish story over and over during
my stay at the Pitt’s Point fishing lodge. It would appear that
every fishing lodge has its special story tellers ready to recant
their favorite yarns. These are often some of the most telling
moments spent with fellow fishermen.
A few of my favorite moments still echo in my head
with the voices of men like Lee Marvin, Richard Boone, Bob
Conrad and Curt Gowdey -- as well many others that could sell
tickets to events such as I’m referring to.
All the talk of days gone by quickly ended as three lines
set for wahoos all hooked up. Stewart fought the first wahoo,
a 70-pounder. I took the second one, about 80 pounds, and
Stewart the third, about the same at 75 pounds.
The strategy used was high-speed: Black Bart Wahoo lures
with shock leaders, torpedo lead, and stainless wire through
lure to hook; fishing the Diana Banks on the 40-fathom drop,
or other quick drops coming off the banks of the sea mountain.
Bait fish were prevalent and could be seen with the naked eye;
they were also bunched up in the depths being recorded on the
depth sounder, all good clues. Stewart, Captain Carter and I
went on to catch eight more nice size wahoo, as large as 85
pounds that fine sunny day.
Now, just six years later, I have seen on ESPN Saltwater
Sundays three different sport fishing shows that were shot on
location at Crooked Island.
|
|
|
|
;)
