They were on the runway, inside the open air airport, and waiting in the same area we were for our luggage.  When we got in the taxi to go to the Captain Cook motel, the driver carefully negotiated his way through hundreds of red crabs.  I think it was government policy to carefully drive around the crabs when the tourists first arrive so they wouldn’t freak out if you hit one.  The fishing guides didn’t drive like that.  They squashed every one in their path and even swerved to get a few more.  It was like a video game but more fun.  The squash sounded like a greasy brown paper sack that was inflated ¾ full and popped with a fist. 

I always take my running shoes and I have run everywhere from Alaska to Christmas Island to Austrailia on Fishing trips.  I should have learned my lesson and stayed with the tourists after encountering an armed truckload of rebels in Honduras, but that is another story.  Running in Christmas Island was an experience of a lifetime, hell walking on Christmas Island was an experience.  While running, the road would be blood red with crab bodies.  I would run hesitantly at first and try to jump over or go around the crabs but soon found that if I did not deviate, they would part and let me through only to cover the road again as I passed.  They would be crawling through the mangrove-like bushes over the dead, dry leaves making sounds like a much bigger animal. 
I was training for a marathon and the running was a major priority.  I had to make some long runs of 14-15 miles a few times and found that getting 7-8 miles away from the lodge can put you in some rather interesting places.  The sun would sear the back of my neck and behind my knees but I kept running through the crabs.

The fishing was incredible, the water was a blue color that I had not seen before.  Puffy clouds streamed across the sky as our big boat cut through the waves.  The boats were bright red on top which made for some interesting photographs against the blue water.  We would stop and they would put out a ladder for us and we would begin wading.  I let the others have the guides and I gladly went off on my own to see if a South Pacific Bonefish would act anything like a Florida Keys bonefish.  This trip was a little bit of a déjà vu as it had striking similarities between the way I felt as a high school wrestler making a trip to St. Edwards in Ohio to compete against their team.  The whole way up there we talked about how we were going to teach those Yankees a thing or two about wrestling.  In fact, we were going to kick their ass.  We were 7 time State Champions and NO ONE was going to tell us any different.  We quickly found out that they obviously felt different and obviously fed their kids something that our parents didn’t know about as we got beat 62-2  (The worst you can possibly get beat in a wrestling match is 64-0).  I was hoping that there would be a different result this time.

I waded out and saw my first bonefish.  I made a good cast in the 25 mph wind on my right shoulder and delivered my backcast exactly where I wanted it.  The fish pounced the fly and I knew it was going to be a different result than my Ohio wrestling trip.
I continued on like that all day and did not stop for lunch. 

The next day I fished from a truck.  The roads or trails of Christmas Island wind around the productive areas and the trucks can actually get into some incredible wading areas.  I saw a dark shape moving towards me and stuck the 8 weight fly rod down the back of my pants and pulled out the 11 weight that was in its place.  A big white and blue streamer was on the first stripping guide and I quickly pulled line off the reel.  Closer the shape came and I hurried and got a cast off in time for the trevally to blast the fly from the water and circle underneath it until it returned to the water.  He looked like a cartoon dog to me with the giant head and teeth bit the little legs.  Whe the fly returned to the water he engulfed it and was surprised when I set the hook.  He fought like a big Jack Crevalle, a fish I was very familiar with, enventhough this fish was only 12 pounds.  “I could catch these all day long”, I thought and I searched for another. 

This type of wading was fantastic but I had another experience waiting for me that I truly looked forward to.  I was going to be able to fish with Moanna T Kofe, legendary guide of Christmas Island and everyone told me that Moanna would be able to get me a big trevally.  Moanna had a little boat with twin 25 hp outboards.  It wa a funny little boat but to get that thing to Christmas Island was a major feat and it was the equivalent of a Ferrari Testarosa to the locals. 
Moanna was the man.  He could have been president of that island if they had one, or if the people could vote.  He was building a restaurant, had a boat and truck and all the gringo tourist from around the world came here to fish with him.  He was truly a legend.

I was honored to be able to fish with him.  I asked millions of questions and I am sure that Moanna thought I was a freak.
He took us to catch some bonefish first and after he saw that we could fish, he asked if we wanted to try for trevally.  I was all over the idea and begged him to give me a chance at a big one.  He kind of chuckled and started the boat.
It was always blowing 25 miles per hour on Christmas Island and no matter which way you turned the wind came over your casting shoulder.  This sucked because the stremer or bonefish fly would come careening back at you and sink into the flesh of your shoulder muscle.  I was glad I could deliver the fly accurately with a backcast.  I used it the entire trip.  Moanna was also glad to see that I could do that and took me to a place that would hold some fish.

We started idling down the bank and soon we spotted a dark shape.  This fish was at least 3 times the size of the one I caught and I was a little nervous.  Moanna positioned me as well as he could with the wind and tide forcing the little boat in other directions.  The engines seemed to spook the fish a bit but I delivered the fly anyway.  The fish came up to the fly but did not eat it.  I was convinced he was spooked by the engines. 

Around another corner, we saw two giant shapes and even Moanna got excited.  These were 2 100 pound fish cruising slowly down the bank.  I surveyed the bank and saw that it extended 2-3 miles in front of us.

I told Moanna that I wanted to fish out of the boat.  He looked at me with the same crazy look that most people give me when I proposed an idea like this.  I told him I wanted to run ahead of the fish and then wade for them.  I was sure this would work. 

I was training to run the Disney Marathon in 3:10 minutes and I was on the taper phase of my training.  Probably no other time in my life was I more prepared to catch these fish.  Moanna had probably seen some real stupid stuff from the tourist and he must have thought that this one would top them all so he pulled into the bank and let me off.  His eyes burned into my back as I hit race pace with only my fly rod with me.
The water was so clear that I could easily make out the fish and as I approached them, I swung really wide onto the bank so they would not see me.  Once passed them, I ran backwards for a bit until I could see the fish again and gained speed to get a little farther ahead of them.  These fish were moving faster than I thought and I was having to run much farther.  When I was sure I was far enough ahead I entered the water and watched as they closed the distance.  Feverishly stripping the line from the reel I became mentally ready for this shot.  They were farther offshore than before so I waded up to my waist in the warm Pacific Ocean. 
“Wow” I said as I saw that these fish were bigger than I had previously thought.  Here they came and I had worked too hard to give up now.  I began my cast as they entered within 80 feet of me.  Laying the fly down at about 50 feet and a little across the path of these two bruiser fish I waited until they got a little closer. 

“Ca-splash, ca-splash” sounded the popper and the attention of the fish shifted to my fly.  They began chasing it and I was sure that they would eat it.  One fish bolted out and made a giant swirl on the fly but missed.  Now both fish were frantic. 
I pulled the fly again and again trying to get their attention.  Finally as the fly is now only 25 feet away from me the biggest fish began charging the fly that was coming directly at me.  I sped up the retrieve and the fly drew closer.  Realizing that this fish was way bigger than I had thought I suddenly had a bad feeling in my stomach.  There were now 2 100 pound fish charging me at 20 mph.  The only thing separating me from them was my wispy fly rod. 

The fly came closer and closer and the fish picked up speed.  The leader was now in the rod and the fish were within a foot of the fly.  For the first time in my fishing career, I was unsure of whether these fish were charging my fly or actually charging at ME!  There was nothing left ot do but continue stripping the fly.  Closer and closer, faster and faster to fish came to me closing in on the fly but also on my legs.  As the shock tippet entered the rod the fish finally made a slight deviation upward for the fly.  I am screaming ‘Shit, Shit, Shit” as I prepared for impact or for a massive explosion on the fly.  I am hoping for the latter.
The fish came within 1 inch of the fly and made a wild attempt at it but missed.  The second fish also exploded on my fly which was a good thing because I was running through how I was going to defend myself with this little fly rod.  All I could think to do was try to poke out an eye ball.  Not a good strategy.

The fish both swirled outside of me after missing the fly and, with a very shaky hand,  I reeled in my line, and started running.  Most sane people would be running for the boat to get the hell out of there but I decided to run the other way; to get ahead of the fish for another shot. The scene repeated itself again as I ran the mile to get in front of the fish and made my cast and felt as though the fish were really after me, not the fly.  Surely I was imagining this.  These fish resembled a pit bull and I had heard that they were very aggressive, but could they really try to rip a leg off?

“Hell No” I thought as I passed them a second, third and even 4th time for another shot.  Each time it was the same result but the fish became closer and closer to me.  They also seemed to be drawing me to deeper water.  I became tired, and frustrated or at least that is what I told myself.  I would not admit that I was scared to death by two fish.  What kind of fisherman would do that?
I finally called it quits as I was wading up to my arm pits to get a show and the fish swam past the fly and blasted me in the leg with its side.  I backed out of the water quickly and headed back for the boat. 

Moanna saw me walking back and met me with his little boat.
I told him about the experience and he stared at me and quietly said,
“Those fish get to be 300 pounds…and they eat people”.
That was all Moanna had to say about that and I knew exactly what he meant. 
Maybe those fish were trying to come past that fly and get to me.