But I really didn’t.

“They’re going away, Mike,” Jeff offered.

“Ten o’clock, 50 feet, goin’ right,” Pedro added.

“Still see ’em, Jeff?” I whispered.

“Uh, I did,” he responded.

Guide Pedro Thurston steadies the boat as Mike Stern's bonefish makes a brisk run over white, sandy shallows.

I moved my eyes toward the noon position, and bam! The whole bunch turned straight away. Fifty dark backs materialized where there was nothing. Nearly 30 years of bonefishing taught me that a cast over the backs of Florida bones rarely has a happy ending. But I had no choice, so I cast to the rear of the school. My leader settled over them but they didn’t flinch. Yes! I was still in business. My Gotcha sank in their midst, I stripped once, and went tight. Nice, dumb bonefish. That spunky little bonie actually took a little backing before coming alongside.

After my second fish, Jeff hopped to the bow and caught a bigger fish, one of a pair, and within a minute of releasing it, hooked another from a school of over 20. The tide was rising as fast as the sun was setting, and our light was failing. Tailers weren’t an option in the deep water, so we headed for the ranch. We rendezvoused with Mike and Jim on the run back, and they gushed about tailers everywhere, plenty of shots and eight or nine fish landed between them. In short, they kicked our butts. Not bad for two guys with only a few years of saltwater fly fishing between them.

Before returning to the launch, we stopped at a big “house mud,” catching a half-dozen spirited schoolies on heavy-leaded No. 4 Gotchas and pink skimmer jigs. Not classic sight fishing, but Pedro and I agreed that a short session with these mudding herds would provide a raw novice fly-casting practice, and, more importantly, a chance to practice clearing line to the reel after the hookup. A perfect primer before heading to a flat to sight fish conventionally.

The weather was on our side for the next two days, and we were in fish a good deal of the time, mixing wading with skiff fishing. Banyan guides either prefer wading to poling or vice versa, but will do whatever you prefer.

It seemed that the flats adjacent to basins with numerous muds held the most fish, and the biggest specimens I saw were over mixed grass-and-sand bottom on flats that had abrupt dropoffs. Jim O’Brien and I had a good go of it on our first morning of the trip. Guide Darrin Russell poled us along a large cove ringed with low mangroves. Small crabs scurried along the shore, and little mojarra and glass minnows flashed over the marly bottom, which was peppered with numerous bonefish “blow holes,” much like most Marls flats. A few faint muds appeared ahead of us. A pair of fish swam out of the first one and I put a bead-chain Gotcha on their nose and the lead fish ate before it sank. I strip-struck, but my fly pulled as I raised the rod. As we approached the next mud, Darrin suggested bailing out. Jim and I waded into position, but failed to spot a few pairs of fish in the silty water before they slipped between us. And these were not little “bananas” by any means. A few appeared to push eight pounds. As new muds formed ahead, Darrin poled up and we hopped aboard to catch up and gain some elevation to spot fish sooner. Jim took the bow first, and had successive shots at a few fish in the 6- or 7-pound class, but was off target, rushed one cast and didn’t stick the hook on a fish that ate.

When conch is available, Pedro Thurston whips up a mean conch salad shore lunch.

“That old buck fever, I still get it,” he laughed nervously. “Take the next shot,” he said, offering me the bow.

Truth is, when you stop getting occasional buck fever, it’s time to check your pulse.

Another pair of fish zigzagged our way, and I cast a little conservatively, giving more lead than necessary. With heads down, they stopped and sampled the bottom, so I picked up, shortened my line on the backcast and shot it a bit too close, I thought. Forgivingly, one spun, pounced and hooked itself as it bolted. It was my biggest fish of the trip—about a 6-pounder, although others in our group caught a few to seven or more. I landed the fish thanks to Jim, who went overboard to provide interference (to Darrin’s amazement) when a shark closed in for the kill. If Darrin suspected stateside bonefishermen are a little fanatical, we confirmed it.