Fly Punk - Issue 3

BONE FISHING
IN FRENCH
POLYNESIA
(WITH SHARKS)
― stephen eder―
I
t all begins on the edge of a frozen pond
in Woodstock, New York. I’m standing
ankle deep in crusty snow whipping my
8 wt. in the 30° F breeze. Dude, I’m practicing
my double haul cast because I’m
about to go on a fly fishing trip of a lifetime
and I don’t want to blow it.
My destination is Rangiroa, located in
French Polynesia. Rangiroa is the worlds
second largest atoll. It was formed by
a lava dome that collapsed a gazillion
years ago. My mission: catch a bonefish
- and the ones in Rangiroa are among the
world’s largest.
Weeks earlier, I began researching
YouTube bone fishing videos. Boners like
the shallows where they forage for little
crabs and other goodies. Glib experts
warn that these shallow flats are often
raked by high winds. You have to have
a good double haul cast to get your line
out through these gales or the only way
you’ll ever catch one of these skittish
fish is if it dies of laughter watching the
wind send your fly into your face.
On my first back cast, the business end
of my line snags the windshield wiper of
my Subaru. When I climb up the snow
bank to free the tippet I try to act like this
was part of my plan.
Weeks later I arrive at toasty Rangiroa
airport. 93° F 1000% humidity. I’m here
directing a documentary film shoot
on sharks. Whenever I can, I get up
early to practice my double haul on the
ocean side of the atoll, hoping if I can
cast in the heavy winds there, I might
have a chance of getting the line out a
respectable distance inside Rangiroa’s
coral confines.
The shoot ends successfully and next
morning after the crew departs for
the States. I rush down to the dock by
Rangiroa Divers to join the one man who
can make my bucket dream come true:
Ugo Angely. Half Italian, half Polynesian,
Ugo served as the skipper of our camera
boat. A mass of muscle, stealthy
intellect and intensity, Ugo’s booming
voice cuts through the wind so cleanly
he almost blew out the eardrums of our
sound mixer one day. Using his marine
radio is a mere a formality.
Ugo knows “the flats and where are
the bonefish.” So far he only knows me
as a film director, but as far as fishing’s
concerned, he has no idea if I’m just
another careless poser who will plant a
fly in his neck.
Ugo’s boat, manufactured by Tahiti
Nautic Center, is operated from a cockpit
in the bow. Ugo can steer with one hand
and harpoon Mahi Mahi with the other.
As we clear the cement wharf , he puts
the pedal to the metal. Two hours later
we are on the far side of the 43 mile-long,
16-mile-wide oval-shaped atoll. The flats
where we anchor are breathtaking, and
the heat is intense. I thank the fish gods
that the winds are kind of manageable.
Ugo and I load my backpack with my
extra rod, some water bottles and a point
and shoot camera. We slip overboard
into what feels like bath water and
immediately we are dogged by a half
dozen, yard-long black tip sharks and
blue remoras. Ugo dials down his voice
volume from fortissimo to subito. “Steve
I don’t like the sharks, they are a pain
always.”
We wade a dozen yards from the boat
14 | 15
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