When the north wind cut like an icy dagger knifing through the foothills of the Tobacco Root mountain range in gusts of laser cold intensity, some January mornings in Twin Bridges were unbearable. Fumbling for the keys to open the front door of the shop, horizontally driven snow would rivet exposed flesh with frozen shards intolerable to endure if not for the heat that waited on the other side of the lock. Once inside, another day of rod building began, but not without longing for the warmth only a tropical day could bring. When living in Montana, a winter never went by without visions of a turquoise flat somewhere, anywhere, devoid of blizzards and three-foot snowdrifts.

Often my mind wandered to the days when summer visitor Bonefish Bob Berger stopped in at the Winston shop and regaled us with stories of the big fish his nickname implied that roamed the water near his fly shop in the Florida Keys. Another summer visitor Dr. Norm Christiansen regularly related his tales of epic bonefishing he encountered on annual trips to the south Pacific atoll of Christmas Island. The fire these guys ignited during those summer months seemed particularly appealing during the bleak depravity of a Big Sky winter when snow piled in windrows as far as the eye could see. So when local friend and Big Hole River resident John Rich would tell about the several weeks he spent annually chasing bonefish and enjoying the local culture on Andros Island in the Bahamas each March, the temptation became too much, especially after he encouraged me to join him for a week. It took only one more glance out the window before deciding to take him up on his invitation.

After getting together with John on Andros in March 2002, it turned out that the experience was all he said it would be – great fishing and wonderful Bahamian people. So the next March, when Tim Tollet of Frontier Anglers in Dillion had an opening to fill with a group of fisherman bound for Abaco, I did not hesitate to sign up. And once again the trip was wonderful. Although the fishing was spectacular, the charming warmth of the local people living a life of tropical simplicity was the highlight of the journey.  After that trip it was easy to understand why John desired to spend several weeks on the Islands each spring. And if life hadn’t gotten so complicated for me during the years that followed, I could have seen myself doing the same thing.

Since the 1930s the water of the Bahamas was a best-kept secret by the fishing elite.  Frequented by Zane Grey, Ernest Hemingway, Joe Brooks, Lee Wulff and others, it wasn’t until the popularization of fly fishing in the early 90s that the Islands caught the attention of the broader fly fishing public. Subsequently, business opportunities for traveling anglers popped up including the development of lodges that provided easy access to the multitude of flats available throughout the Islands. For the years that followed, the Bahamas became an easy destination for serious anglers seeking a taste of the tropics in the pursuit of bonefish dreams.

Thus, it has been with overwhelming sadness to observe the destruction wrought by Hurricane Dorian upon the kind souls of the Bahamas as it churned its misery for days on end earlier this month. To the dismay of all decent folks around the world, the entire island of Abaco was virtually flattened. In an age when the chaos of natural disasters has become more frequent and the severity of storms more intense, numbness tends to desensitize the perception needed to comprehend the enormity of such devastation. There are no words. In the aftermath, the somber sea may now be silent and still, but we must not forget the people of the Bahamas and the struggles they will face for years to come.