AS SEEN IN THE 2004 FALL ISSUE

If you’re angling taste buds are yearning for a dish of big bonefish
with a few spicy permit and tarpon to bring out the full flavor,
then Great Inagua Island should be at the top of your tropical menu. 

Great Inagua is the third largest island in the Bahamas. The area is divided into Great Inagua, referred to as the Bahamas’ ‘Great Outback’, and Little Inagua. Little Inagua is completely uninhabited except for wild herds of donkeys, goats and a variety of bird life.

Inagua is a naturalist’s paradise where rare birds and reptiles thrive in the rugged and salty environment. Surprisingly, there are also herds of wild cows here. Inagua is also the breeding ground of the largest colony of West Indian Flamingos. Hundreds of thousands of Flamingos live in Inagua National Park, a protected 287 square mile reserve.

I had spent a week on this remote island in 2002 and ever since I left, I couldn’t wait to get back. Due to Great Inagua’s remote location, the island experiences only occasional visits from traveling anglers. It is one of those spots that sticks in your brain and exerts a steady pressure until you relent and begin planning a new foray. As a result, I just had to get back and when I decided to visit recently, I invited writer, photographer and guide Jon Cave to join me. As luck would have it, we would be the first anglers to visit since June. Considering there is only one guide on the entire island, the flats are hardly pounded, but with months of rest, we were expecting them to go from great to phenomenal!

Inagua is definitely unique. While I consider the Bahamas to offer the best bonefishing in our hemisphere, if you’re also looking for shots at other Grand-Slam species, the Bahama Islands would not be your first choice, except that is for Great Inagua Island. This beautiful slice of tropical paradise lies in the most southern reaches of this island nation, just 60 miles off the east coast of Cuba. In addition to the world class offshore opportunities which I have yet to explore, Inagua offers multitudes of shots at medium to large tarpon in Lake Windsor, the most reliable permit fishery in all the Bahamas and stunningly great bonefishing!

John and I arrived at Mathew’s Town, the only inhabited town on the Island. We set down on a soaking wet runway and scurried our way to the new terminal under light showers. Little did we know that these conditions would set the stage for our entire visit. It rained every day we were on Inagua, not always directly on us, but the island turned a lush green during our visit. The exceptional amount of rain became the talk of the town, along with the resulting infestation of monster size mosquitoes we experienced.

Rain and bugs were the bad news. The good news was that we were the only fishermen on the island! We couldn’t believe it. We had it all to ourselves! Imagine having a 596 sq. mile island with more flats than you could possibly fish in months all to yourself. Even with the rain, this wasn’t such a bad assignment!

The island’s only guide, Ezzard Cartwright, met us at the airport and drove us to one of the two cottages he recently built for visiting anglers. The attractive cottages are located on the water’s edge directly across the street from his home. We would hardly be roughing it, as to our surprise the living quarter’s featured air-conditioning, two bedrooms, full kitchen, hot showers, and living room with satellite TV. After a quick walk-through, we stowed our gear, rigged our rods and off we went to the lighthouse flats located less than a half mile from our digs.

We came out of the gates at a full sprint and immediately met with success. I released eight hefty bones from only 2:30 – 5:30 p.m. I couldn’t help but count. It was exceptional! Classic fishing to hungry 4-8 lb. fish that were either tailing on the turtle grass sprinkled, white sandy flats or cruising the pale blue channels that connected the shallow areas. It couldn’t have been any better and was an exciting way to start our five day adventure.

We spent the next two days tarpon fishing on Lake Windsor known locally as The Pond. During each day we spotted close to 100 tarpon. These fish were generally 20 – 60 lbs. but due to the unsettled weather, they were hard to find as singles and doubles. On most occasions we saw them cruising in large schools of 10 – 20 fish. They were very spooky, nervous and very hard to fool. We did manage to jump a couple on our first day but Ezzard was frustrated by their behavior. Not us, we were thrilled to death to see so many fish, even if they weren’t very obliging. Since Jon and I both guide a bit ourselves, we rolled with the punches and we’re totally relaxed as we knew we’d get our shots! We also spotted two small schools of permit in the 25 – 30 lb. range. A thrilling sight, even if we never did get a good shot.

The third day we ventured down to the bonefish flats on the south side of the island. Angry squall lines hung just offshore with menacing storms threatening to come on at any moment. By the time we reached our creek system, the sunlight was gone and the breeze was crisp. While we waited for the tide to drop a bit, the first squall hit us and hit us hard. We donned rain jackets and anchored the skiff. The downpour passed quickly and with tide levels now approaching good-to-go, we were happy to slowly motor into the creek. By the time we reached the first flat, the darkening sky had again opened up and high winds and pelting rain threatened to ruin our day, but even in the storm we could see big numbers of large bones hanging just off the shallows in about 3 ft. of rain softened, pale blue Bahamian water.

Jon and Ezzard eased their way off the skiff and immediately hooked up. I waded past both as I spotted fish after fish up ahead. It only took one well placed cast at a small pod for me to also get connected. I just landed my first bonefish as the squall went from level 1 (wet, annoying and inconvenient) to level 2 (soaking wet, very breezy and plain old nasty).

Through rain spotted glasses, I noticed another big bonefish probing the edges of the mangrove lined shoreline. I tossed a sloppy wind-destroyed cast somewhere toward the fish. I know not where the fly landed, but luckily this big boy did. He jetted in from 6 feet away to inhale my fly. After securing himself to the sharp end of my hook, he retreated through, under and around as many mangrove roots as he could, creating a cat’s cradle of epic proportions. My only choice was to retrace his movements through the web of bushes.

With cold rain soaking me from above, I relished in the relative warmth of the ocean water as I kneeled down to pass my rod under the arches and branches that were entangling my fly line. I managed to land this fish and only briefly enjoyed the heft of his 7 lbs. before yet another big fish appeared further up the edge.

As the storm advanced from level 2 to level 3 (blinding horizontal rain with crazy winds), I could no longer see much of anything. I did manage to deliver a short cast somewhere towards him, but it was really nothing more than a swing and a toss in the fish’s general direction. I couldn’t see a thing and it was only the pull of the fish that let me know he was on. This time I couldn’t even see where the fly line went through the mangrove roots. Twice I almost broke my rod as the fish pulled just as I tried to pass my fly outfit under the wrong root. With rod bent at a sickening angle, I waited for a loud crack that luckily never came. Miraculously I somehow managed to land the fish on this day where seemingly no rules applied. I didn’t break any rods, I couldn’t see a thing, I couldn’t cast and somehow I couldn’t fail. By the time Ezzard, Jon and I met up again at the skiff, we were all laughing out loud at both the unforgiving weather and our good luck. Jon said, “Just think how good we could’ve done if we could see!”

Right at low tide the weather finally broke a bit as the sun attempted to shine through the edges of the next squall line. We squeezed in two more full hours of non-stop action to feeding, tailing fish. I think I caught ten more in those two hours…all 4 – 7 lbs. Incredible! And the action would have continued if it had not been for the torrential squall that finally chased us off the flats and towards home.

On day four we headed back to Lake Windsor where we encountered more tarpon than I could count. They were still skitterish, schooled up and acting weird, but we managed to stick four and jump three. We saw tarpon swimming in daisy chains and this spawning ritual might explain some of their abnormal behavior.

At days end, we came upon a hundred big tarpon holed up at the downwind end of a large flat. We stuck one, but lost the whole leader to an Albright knot which was apparently damaged by a big tarpon that had made a leaping juggernaut through a maze of mangrove roots just a few minutes earlier. The end result was we couldn’t stay buttoned-up and didn’t boat any, but all in all it was another great day.
On the last day of our adventure we headed north to Alfred Sound. We trailered the skiff through deep puddles and over sandy, hard packed dunes. We never saw another vehicle or boat and had the entire north shore to ourselves. We decided to focus on permit and ignore the bonefish… at least until late afternoon when the tide got low. We hooked no permit, but that hardly describes the thrilling, knee knocking moments we experienced that beautiful morning. We each had three excellent shots at fish from 15 – 30 lbs. Each examined our fly so closely that we were sure they were going to tip up and eat. Each time our breathing stopped and our voices dropped to a mere whisper. Each time we came up empty. Such is permit fishing. These were the kind of heart stopping moments that make you ask yourself when you’re coming back before you even leave.

We finished out the day successfully stalking an endless amount of tailing bones. As the afternoon progressed, yet another darkening sky had managed to eat up our sunlight. We all agreed that if we would have had sun for more than just brief periods at a time, the fishing would have been nothing short of stupendous. We always felt we were surrounded by fish, we just couldn’t see them unless they tailed right in our vicinity. We drove home over flooded roads vowing to return to Inagua.

This was an absolutely wonderful trip. Unfortunately, we had more rain and bad weather during our five day stay than the natives experienced in the last five years. Yet we still managed to catch lots of fish!

Ezzard Cartwright did a fantastic job. He always found fish and was always a pleasure to be with. I would recommend Ezzard’s services to any diehard angler looking for a remote and prolific fishery. Having said this, this trip is not for the faint at heart. You’ll fish long hours, need to have decent skills and have to be mentally tough enough to endure the twists and turns remote destinations always manage to deliver. But you can count on this – a great guide, comfortable air-conditioned accommodations and an unusual, prolific and untapped fishery.
 
Scott Heywood has explored the world sometimes as a mountaineer, sometimes as a white water kayaker but always as a fly fisherman as he’s always managed to hide a travel rod somewhere in his gear.
He was inducted into the Explorers Club in 1994 and has fished all over the world both in fresh and salt water. Scott is a partner in Angling Destinations, Inc. and having learned early in life that ‘real work’ was to be avoided, Scott can usually be found traveling the world looking for new, remote water with big, naive fish.

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