Most anglers who chase bonefish often seek out exotic destinations: flights to the Bahamas, lodges in Mexico, five nights in Belize. 

I didn’t have that privilege. When my plane landed in Honolulu this past March, I had a 10-hour layover, not five days. Just enough daylight to hope for the best on the Oahu flats.

I was in the liminal space between dirtbag and desk job particular to one in his 20s, with a checking account that totaled two digits. My saltwater skills were on par with my financial ones, but when a guide emailed back to say he could fit me in, hope and self-delusion somehow melded into one word: yes.

Ten minutes from the airport, I walked down a dock and met Capt. Chris Wright, a 40-year-old fish whisperer born and raised on Oahu. He put a 7-weight fly rod in my right hand, shook the other and emitted a reassuring level of infectious enthusiasm. Wright, who appeared on the fishing show Top Hooker, describes Hawaiian bonefish the way surfers hail waves: “They’re hard. They’re wily. They’re big.”

Bonefish are large and wily on the Honolulu, Hawaii flats. They grow upwards of 14 pounds in these waters. Chris Wright

Hawaiian bones are among the largest in the world. “These giant bonefish are a top species people want to catch, and we’re so lucky to have the biggest ones here,” Wright says. Both the roundjaw (Albula glossodonta) and sharpjaw (Albula argentea) are at home on Honolulu’s flats, where they feast on crabs and mantis shrimp, and grow to 14 pounds.

I stepped out of the boat and onto the shallows as the skyline receded and planes cruised over the flats. Gusts blew a floral fragrance across the surface, mingled with salt. The water was warm, knee-deep, an aqua borealis of blues and greens suspended over white sand. Nobody else in sight. My rod was cocked when Wright pointed to the lime-colored water and whispered, “Bonefish.”

“Where?” I asked.

“There,” he said.

“Where?” I asked again.

“Gone.”

I stared at the inscrutable ocean. Ten feet away, a green sea turtle surfaced, its beaky mouth parted in a laugh. My education had begun. “You gotta walk slow,” Wright said. “Summertime we get the numbers, a lot in the 3- to 5-pound range, which gives you a lot of shots and fun. November to March you don’t see as many — you have fewer shots, but they’re in the 8- to 14-pound range. You might see 12 fish, get shots at six, and it all matters.”

Without an educated eye, spotting bonefish on the flats is a very challenging endeavor. Chris Wright

I slowed down. I looked at the imitation shrimp swinging like a talisman from the leader. I lifted another cast and mentally prepared. The slow strip required for bonefish belies the fish’s personality once hooked, when line rises toward the sky, the bonefish speeds away, and the angler feels like a jockey trying to restrain a racehorse with yo-yo string. Suddenly, I was tight to one. The line stretched, burned off the reel for three seconds, then slacked like a sail robbed of wind.

Somewhere through my disappointment, I heard Wright say, “rocks.”

We tied on another shrimp pattern. “It’s all nice and easy,” Wright said. “One foot strip. You’re like an ultimate ninja — just ninja that thing in there.”

Those who target Hawaiian bonefish leave the Crazy Charlie flies at home. I was throwing a pale, unadorned fly. “These fish are big and spooky and really want natural colors,” Wright whispered. “There’s no bright colors; there’s no flash.”

Across the flats, a silver tail broke the surface. I waited for other anglers to circle like gulls, but we had the place to ourselves. “It was a hush-hush thing for a while,” Wright says. “A lot of people come to Hawaii for vacation or a wedding and say, ‘Holy shit! I had no idea these fish were here.’ ”

Four hours later, I felt less like a ninja and more like a clueless, sunburned, back-casting trout fisherman who continued to stare at the water as if willing a glittering tail to emerge. Wright looked at me with a mix of pity and empathy. He told me to take a few more casts while he went to retrieve the boat.

In fishing, as in life, the boat ramp sometimes approaches after a day with no fish to hand. Other times, cosmic benevolence steps in. A blind cast lobbed toward a violet sunset and cobalt water at the edge of a reef carries a shrimp pattern into the path of a bonefish that arrives at precisely the right moment, turns and inhales the fly. I stood in disbelief until the fish sped straight for the horizon. I palmed the reel before it could find shoals or leave Earth’s orbit, and after three more turns in the dance, the bonefish appeared, quarter-sized eyes widened, ringlets of silver scales a mirror of the sky.

Mission accomplished. Writer Austin Hagwood poses with his Oahu bonefish before release.Chris Wright

Wright arrived with the boat as the bonefish came to hand. His “yee-hee!” matched the reel’s scream. Green turtles rose around the boat’s wake on our way back to the dock. If there’s a better mai tai than the one I sipped at La Mariana tiki bar one hour before takeoff, I’d like to know where it is. The layover had ended perfectly.