On Soul
I often struggle to write ‘trip reports,’ those chronological narratives filled with, “and then…” For me, it’s typical that my trips and travels have to marinate in my mind and soul for a while before the noteworthy moments and reflections bubble up to the surface for identification, further chewing, digestion, and then, finally, some regurgitation.
But I do return home from each trip with a variety of notes, one-liners, questions, and to-dos, and these snippets help grease the pan of my thinking about the experience and the education and understandings that follow, either rapidly or eventually. When the larger epiphanies resurface — days, months, or sometimes years later — these notes hold the smoldering embers for larger fires. However, sometimes revisiting these notes promptly upon returning home ignites my mind and my pen and if I’m able to expound on the snippets while still fresh, I end up with some time-specific musings that are, at the minimum, amusing, at some point, to at least one person: me.
So, here then, in no particular order, are some time-stamped ramblings following our trip to Soul Fly Lodge which, at the time of this writing, is barely a week old.
Colors
I can only think of one other place that, when visiting for the first time, made my eyes bulge and my head spin due to the uniqueness of the colors of its environs like the Bahamas just did. The Olympic Peninsula in Washington had this same effect on me but the palette there is, obviously, much different. The colors of the Bahamas are light, bright, warm, humid, tropical, and inviting.
The water is crystalline and composed of vivid, blues, aquamarines, and sapphires. The depth is hard to determine and, unlike the Pacific Northwest, could be either shallower or deeper than what I initially thought (here in the Northwest, the waters are generally deeper than they appear).
The sand is golden, white, pink, or some combination thereof. It is baked, fine yet smooth, like a layer of sugar on the exterior of a pastry puff. When submerged with the Bahamas water, the result is stunning: like a barely-goldened pie crust filled with the sweetest, shimmering, blue-green gelatin.
Above it all is an ever-changing sky, reflecting and projecting. Sunrises and sunsets burn and glow; pinks, purples, greys, and oranges mingle with one another and the settling clouds. During daytime, bright, bold blue asks for states from squinting eyes.
Belief
Sightfishing always bends my mind and sense of what is possible. First, there’s an entire ocean, devoid of fish. An instant later, a fish is there, as if just for me. I can cast to it and hook it, but only if I do all the right things. One thing I have to do is believe. I have to believe that I will see the fish, and then I have to believe it when I do see one.
There’s no way around the fact that they’re hard to see. They’re fast, they’re camouflaged, they reflect light; the water’s tinted and flowing. They don’t want to be seen, but can indeed be seen, if you know where to look, what to look for, and are open to believing what you see. It’s always fun to see what you can spot before your guide does, though it’s often not much.
The casts aren’t easy, either. Practice and experience cannot be replaced by confidence but it’s close. As one good friend and angler likes to say: skills or confidence, all you need is one. I have to believe in my abilities and my cast, believe I can make the shot and hook the fish, believe that the whole thing is possible.
Did anything happen without someone believing beforehand that it was possible?
Permit Pie
I got a super-sized service of Permit Pie on this trip and chewed on it for a long time. And, the thing about Permit Pie is that it tastes exactly like Humble Pie.
Is the permit so desirable to catch because of its inherent challenges and of its own accord, or because it has been made so? In other words, is the mystique and difficulty in catching a permit because of the fish itself or because of those who fish for the fish? Has the permit been put on a pedestal so high that few can reach it, and infrequently at that?
Or, is the prospect of catching one of these fish matched equally by its cultural significance? Further still, do we underestimate the permit when we speak and write of it? As an angler who has now, officially ‘permit fished’ for two whole days in his life, my opinions should certainly be asterisked but nevertheless, I wonder, what is going on here? Is there another fish that leaves its pursuer with more emotional distress? Is there another fish that makes the angler question they way they live, than the permit?
So far as I can tell, I was presented with an A+ shot at a large permit: a happy fish, easily spotted from a long way away, cruising slowly into casting range. I made a good-enough cast and the fish followed, and followed, and followed. Twice I felt slight resistance while stripping my fly in front of the fish and neither came tight. So what happened? Why didn’t I hook the fish? Why didn’t I catch it?? I could guess and have — a lot — but I will never know, for certain. The fish is gone.
Actually, the fish is not gone — it lives happy and healthy in my mind, and will, for sometime; likely, hopefully, forever. Maybe that’s part of this whole thing: the fish that live on in the angler’s mind the longest, are the ones we want to fish for, and catch the most.
Oxymorons
Our first day on the water was a giant learning curve for both Stacey and me, as neither of us had bonefished before. As predicted, seeing the fish was, by far, the hardest part but beyond that, determining and executing the appropriate presentation — where to land the fly and how to move it — also took time to grasp. Thankfully, we had ample opportunities to test ourselves and get feedback that day, which set us up for success on the following.
Of the many things that we were taught or absorbed that day was a series of oxymorons that our guide Chester said. I’m not sure if he was intentional in his phrasing of these concepts or if he recognized the pattern, but they appealed to me instantly, and I wrote them down, as they could all be applied to many other types of fishing and probably more aspects of life, in general.
The wind was a constant that day and the casting was not straightforward. Still, presentation — how the fly and line landed — was important, so there was a balance to be found in wind-cutting and delicate-landing. Be subtle but brisk, Chester said as we both experimented with our techniques, meaning do not overemphasize or over-power the cast, but do it efficiently and with authority.
Standing on the bow of the boat as we poled around the flat tested our balance, as our position was constantly changing and, as such, the wind direction was too. Shots at bonefish came at all times during this dance of directions so we had to be ready at all times, try to spot the fish, and not fall off the boat. More often than not, the shots appeared quickly, and Chester urged us to cast urgent but calm. The cast needed to be made as soon as possible but it certainly be impossible if attempted in a mental state of distress.
Finally, when summarizing our entire approach, Chester told us to be relaxed but agressive. We needed to fish with assuredness and authority but remain loose and clear-headed; we were to press on the gas pedal, but hold the steering wheel tenderly, to make the turns. We had to try hard but not so hard that we prevented ourselves us from actually doing it.
Others
As on most, if not all fishing trips, at some point, the enjoyment of the company of others becomes equally as enjoyable as the fishing and the place itself. Such was indeed the case at Soul Fly Lodge. Every day we were surrounded by people who oozed soul — the guides, the staff, the hosts, and the managers.
Some rough math tells me that there is easily over 100 years of guiding experience within the guide team at the lodge. How do you even begin to tap into that wealth of knowledge in a single day of fishing together? Every guide has their own personality and their own degree of extroversion so lessons are not constantly free-flowing. As the ‘sport,’ the exercise is in asking questions, listening, and absorbing. From each guide and staffer, I tried to learn things, both large and small.
For us, East Coasters by birth, Pacific Northwesters by residence, the energy of the Bahamas was entirely unique; we could feel the islands, and not just the literal warmth they offered us. Kindness and positivity filled each of the Bahamians we fished with and they were entirely infectious.
What is soul, as it pertains to fly fishing? It’s a lot of things but one is paying attention to what’s around you; there’s a lot to see. In doing so, I think that kindness and positivity naturally blossom.
On our final day on the water, we fished with Freddie, who grew up on Andros. He filled our day with stories and one that stuck was a brief conversation with a client, years back:
“How do you be a good fishing guide?” they asked.
“Same as being a good husband,” Freddie replied. “Pay attention.”
