So here I am at the beginning of 2009 and I’m in a bit of a
slump. I have yet to land a bonefish this year, and it hasn’t
been for lack of opportunities. Our Christmas trade winds died
off just before New Year’s Day and the conditions have been
outstanding. I should be racking up bones left and right but I’m
becoming convinced that the fishing gods are conspiring against
me.
Take last Saturday for example. I had a great angler on my boat,
a young college student named Kurt who was a real artist with
his fly rod. He had great eye sight and spotted every fish I
pointed out to him. On top of that, he followed every single
direction I gave, starting his casts and presenting his flies
exactly when I asked. In other words, he was a guide’s dream,
and he didn’t catch a damn thing with me.
Kurt had great shots at over a dozen bonefish and actually had
two eat his flies, but both came unhooked through sheer bad
luck. Sometimes my most deserving anglers are the ones that come
home empty handed. So after six hours and nothing but pure
frustration, we gave up and headed back to the beach.
I launched my boat that morning at a spot called La Platita, a
little clearing in the mangroves out in Ensenada Honda. Platita
is at the end of a five mile dirt road a few miles short of the
old Navy bombing range. After I launch the boat I’ll park my
Jeep and trailer back under the trees and go fishing.
When we came back to shore and pulled the boat out I noticed
something unusual tucked into a corner of the Jeep’s canvas top.
It had a lot of hairy legs and clearly did not belong in my
vehicle. I poked at it with a tire gauge, hoping to convince it
to leave, but the giant freaking spider had other ideas. It
dropped right into the passenger’s foot well and disappeared. I
wasn’t exactly sure what species of spider this was, but it was
definitely a member of the
I-Really-Don’t-Want-This-Damn-Thing-In-The-Car-With-Me! order of
arachnids.
Kurt and I spent a long time poking under the Jeep’s seats
hoping to chase the spider out into the open, but it didn’t
happen. We finally climbed in and headed down the bumpy dirt
road, hoping the little monster would decide to stay hidden and
not crawl up one of our legs during the next half hour. Talk
about a long ride home. When I got back to the house I emptied
half a can of Raid under both seats. Goodbye, spider.
So the next morning I decided to head down to my favorite beach
for some wade fishing since I had the day off and really needed
to catch a bonefish. I had forgotten all about my lack of fish
and other troubles from the previous day and was just enjoying a
drive through Vieques on a warm January morning. Then I looked
down and THERE‘S MY BUDDY!
It was a definitely a tarantula, and he was climbing up the
steering column, clearly getting ready to do something radical,
like drop right down on top of my crotch. If I were James Bond
driving his Aston Martin I would have hit the ejection seat
immediately. Unfortunately, the ‘89 Jeep Wrangler didn’t come
with that option so I aimed for the sidewalk and jumped out just
as the front tire thumped the curb.
Tarantulas
are actually common here on Vieques but rarely come out in the
daytime. I’m not arachnophobic and I’ve gotten quite used to
finding them in the dark corners of my garage and laundry room,
but this was too much. Why can’t they at least chirp like a
friendly cricket to let you know they’re coming? Somehow this
guy avoided the Raid fogging and was clearly trying to make a
statement. He crawled to the top of the steering wheel and was
staring me down when I stepped back towards the Jeep. This was
one tenacious spider with a twisted sense of humor ,so I decided
not to kill him. I snapped his picture to send to my
spider-hating mother up in Florida and flung him on to the road
with my hat.
I could write a whole book on all of the creepy-crawly things
I’ve encountered down here in the tropics and tarantulas are far
from the worst. They’re totally harmless and their bite is no
worse than a bee’s sting. No one has ever died from being bitten
by one, but if I had been careening through traffic in San Juan
instead of cruising an empty road on Vieques, I may have become
the world’s first tarantula-related fatality. What a humiliating
way to go that would be. On top of that fun little incident, I
didn’t even catch a fish when I finally got to the beach. That
was a really fun morning here in Paradise.
Capt. Gregg McKee,
WildFly Charters
