“Dem Bones” or “Understanding Rule #13”
By MIKE STUBBLEFIELD, East Coast correspondent

Having been soundly and repeatedly thrashed by redfish in every nook and cranny of East Central Florida, I decided I should try fishing elsewhere. Some friends, who consider themselves comedians, advised me to surrender unconditionally and take up knitting. Others hinted that a trip south might do some good. "Yeah, Stubb, them bone's down'n the Keys look like good fun. Whyn't ya head down there?" So, dodging tropical depressions, I did go.
 I had good advice, however: "Buy live crabs." "Fish this Key's flats right here, on the Bay side ..” “Stay away from that Key, nothing there.”

“ Man, they're spooky, they're fast, you got one shot..." I was given annotated charts by a frequent and successful bonefisher who'd nailed 10 and 12 pounders in May. I knew where to stay, how to get there, what to fish with, had the tides right (I thought), had all the borrowed camping equipment in the world and a campsite reserved.
 
 I arrived at Long Key State Park with a grin on my face. The ranger who checked me in eyed my kayak and tackle in the truck bed and asked what I was going after. "Bonefish," I repled. He just sighed and shook his head: "Then go after them on the Bay side. Your campsite's right on the beach but no structure for bones there." Ok, good advice. That's what others said so I was ready.
 
 I set up camp in minutes, launched the Gray Ghost into 15 knots SSE and proceeded to ease my way across the southern flats of Long Key. It was ocean side, the wrong side, but it was there and easy. Flats, right? Falling tide in the evening, yes? Gotta be something out there. And, indeed, there was. Within 300 yards I spooked a school of incredibly fast, noisy fish and not even in casting distance? Bones? Didn’t get a good look at them nor any time to react.
 
 For the next 30 minutes I continued a rapid drift with the wind and tidal current and spotted what was probably the same school. I still couldn’t tell what they were but this time I swooped down, they spooked, I cast and suddenly I had a small rocket on the end of my line. He zoomed around, then, as I got him in I saw it was a small bone .. maybe a pound and half but, by golly, a bonefish nonetheless.
 
 I let him go, retired to the camp, and celebrated. How tough was this? I didn’t even catch the little guy on a live crab. And, caught him where I was told not to bother looking for them.
 
 I tell you, I couldn’t have been more smug about it and chortled to myself later as I drove by the ranger shack. I was on my way to a bit more of a celebration at an Islamorada watering hole. “Don’t bother with the ocean side..” Mr Ranger said. Well, ha!
 
 Early the next day, I joined Miami veteran ‘Glades fisherfolk TK and Vivian. The plan was to use the charts and expertise I’d been given and the three of us would prowl the flats around Shell and Lignumvitae Keys’ no motor zones. Guaranteed bones. We loaded up with shrimp, crabs, and other necessities; we checked our drags, expensive braided lines, looked at a rising tide and went for it. I dimly recalled the bait shop guy muttering about “new moon tides” but let it go.
 
 The flats around Shell Key were under 3’ of water and a swift current. Wind was still SSE at 15 knots, cloudy, and all in all, not a sight fisherman’s kind of day. TK nailed a bonnet head on a pinfish out in the channel, Vivian and I saw not a thing; neither baitfish nor gamefish. Around noon Vivian allowed she was uncertain about this bonefishing business in a roaring tide and my cocksure confidence was a bit shaken. Crabs were two bucks each and wanted to die quickly, too. Vivian headed back to Miami while TK and I went up to Key Largo to chase tarpon. But that’s another story for another day.
 
 Back at the camp that evening, I was frustrated by the tide that seemed not to end. I took off on my 3rd launch of the day right out of the campsite. Again, just yards away from my tent, I saw the school that I now knew was bonefish. I stalked, prowled, circled, pondered, paddled like the devil and couldn’t get within a cast. It was like chasing a herd of antelope: one sniff and they’d move out of range. Just before dark and completely exhausted, I walked the yak down the beach to the tent. Anesthesia was called for and I took it.
 
 Now .. dawn of day three. All conventional and local wisdom says go back to Shell or Lignumvitae Keys. I went. I fought wind, another raging new moon high tide, and stumbled across not a swimming creature. I retreated to Largo around noon and chased tarpon again with some success but was absolutely confounded by the bonefish. I traipsed back to the Long Key campsite and put in a 3rd time (two days in a row!) about 5 p.m. and … you guessed it .. there was that damned bone school not 500 yards to the east.
 
 It’s a good thing I’d forgotten to bring my shotgun or I would have been emptying it at the school after two long, hard, tough hours. Not having the shotgun also saved me some explaining as I drifted around a point and saw the local ranger wading with a fly rig in the area described as “no good.”
 
 I couldn’t help it. I said to him: “Thought you said weren’t any bones on this side?” He grinned and said: “Aren’t any here. You got one? I don’t see any” and all the while swiveling his head looking intently.
 
 Back at the camp, I found I was out of anesthesia. I limped back to Islamorada and my watering hole. I sat with half a dozen other skunked looking fellas who appeared too tired to make up fishing tales. The one to my right kept muttering: “New moon tide, you know….” I just nodded at my glass and asked:
 
 “You bonefishing t’day?”
 “Yup.”
 “Do ennygood?”
 “Not much…”
 
 I wasn’t sure what “not much” meant but I knew how he felt. My backside hurt, my hands were sore, I was sunburned and about broke. I went home to the tent and fought what surely must’ve been a nameless hurricane at two a.m. The only thing keeping the tent on the ground was my weight.
 
 Moving slowly and stiffly the next morning, I decided to hunt the bones off Long Key again. My one very small fish was not enough; not nearly good enough, no, sir. And just like clockwork they were there feeding around the same bunch of seedling mangroves. The chase was on.
 
 I won’t go into detail about the next 3.5 hours. Suffice it to say that by mid morning I was almost relieved to see across the eastern horizon a very nasty, black, huge and awful looking front thundering my direction. I was able to break camp, pack up and be loaded when an unbelievable rain hit. Driving was close to impossible over 20 mph. So, there I was in the Islamorada watering hole mumbling to the same fishy looking fellas from the day before. One said to me:
 
 “New moon tide an’ wi’ the rain it’s floodin’ upper Keys…”
 “At so? Guess we gotta ride it out here.”
 “Yup. Ennythin’ this mornin?” He asked.
 “Not much.”
 
 “Rule #13..” and I looked at him in surprise. He went on:
 “.. if they’s where you never seen’m, then they ain’t where they always was before..”