In three days I head to Belize for a 40th birthday trip with my college girl friends. Technically not a fishing trip, but how could I pass up the opportunity to look for bonefish, and potentially….I don’t want to get too excited here…but my first-ever permit?
The Professor has hooked me up with his favorite guide down there, George Bradley. So I have two days scheduled and I am over the moon. My dad tied some flies for me. I have new leader and tippet, rods and reels are set out. I am good to go.
At our breakfast table banter yesterday we were talking about the trip and well-into his second cup of coffee, the Professor started giving me a a pretty good lecture about the fishing. Bluntly he told me to make sure to tell George I wanted to look for bigger bonefish, sight-casting only, and that I didn’t want to get planted on some big mud, picking off small bones hand over fish. I mean fist.
Whoa there! Speak for yourself hoochie coochie man!
I cried foul on that. I do not get to bonefish nearly enough to be that high brow. I am here to tell you I have no problem setting up on a mud. I mean of course I’d rather stalk a pair of 8-lb bones that are cruising the flats at perfect speed at a perfect distance, coming at me at an angle, with the sun just so I can see them before they see me, with the wind at my back so I can make the perfect cast. Who wouldn’t?
But when it’s been a long day, and you’re singing the bonefish blues because the only fish you’ve seen was about 5 hours earlier as he was wrapping your line around fourteen different mangrove bushes, then frankly my friend, a fresh puff of mud is clearly a welcome sight.
This launched a vibrant debate over coffee and cereal. The Professor was adamant that I was better than that. I assured him I was not.
The whole thing exploded with the Professor’s final proclamation on the topic, “Frankly an Exuma veteran like yourself doesn’t need to be whoring herself out to the mud!”
Then he called me a tension junkie.
I love a fresh puff of mud when saltwater fishing. I love Muddy Waters on the jukebox. I bet the father of the Chicago Blues could fish the heck out of the bones because that mannish boy would have gotten down and dirty with a lead-eye fly if circumstances called for it. Muddy could sink it low, plug it in, amp it up, and deliver.
So what do you think? Saltwater fishing….would you pass up a good mud, or starting blind casting right in the middle of it?
I am a fan of Muddy Waters and I’ve got the playlist to prove it. I will be singing the blues while searching the big blue flats and if I see a mud, I will have my mojo working my friend.
“Everything….everything…everything gonna be allright this mornin’”