Lithe, elusive and fast as forked lightning, the bonefish is one of the ocean's sportiest prizes. Any man lucky enough to bring home a specimen like the one below cannot help but wear a grin, and the man holding this fish does a lot of grinning. He is Sam Ellis, alias Bonefish Sam, the busiest and most renowned citizen on the island of Bimini, Bahamas. He has caught three times as many bonefish on rod and reel as any other person on earth--some 7,000 in all.

 
The way Sam gets this figure is by counting all fish caught by anybody in his boat. And this is fair enough. Without him an ordinary angler might go for a year without even getting a nibble. The most famous of Bimini's bonefish guides, Sam finds the fish, does the casting and just before the strike and the electrifying first run hands the rod to the client. With Bonefish Sam along anybody can catch bonefish. A 10-year-old boy went out with him several years ago and, after one of Sam's perfect casts, landed a world record 15-pounder. Of 468 bonefish caught on Bimini so far this year, Sam's boat has brought in 226.

[At this point, there are several photos with captions. The wording of the captions follows.]

SAM CASTS accurately and delicately in path of cruising bonefish while his clients, Mr. and Mrs. George Lyon of Detroit, watch. After casting he handed rod to Mrs. Lyon.

CLIENT FIGHTS nine-pound bonefish close to boat after breathless struggle as Sam completes job with net. Sam not only builds his own boats, but decorates them.

FAMILY MAN, Sam sits for portrait with wife and nine of his 10 children. He is also Sunday school teacher and ex-Bimini heavyweight boxing champion.

LEADING PARADE of the Burial and Aid Society on Bimini's main street, Bonefish Sam struts and swings cane going past the shop he owns and operates. [The name of the shop, strangely enough, is "Bonefish Sam's Tackle and Barber Shop"]

A DAY'S CATCH from Bonefish Sam's boat gleams in the Bimini sun. The fish are good to eat, but it is hard work separating the meat from the bones.

Thrills Along The Flats

One of Bonefish Sam's recent clients was William Shelton, Life's Miami bureau chief. Shelton spent several days observing Sam in action, then tried his own hand at the sport. Now he's a confirmed bonefisherman, and here, in his own words, are the reasons why.

There's something elemental about bonefishing that can convert a man for a lifetime. For one thing, finding and fighting these fast silver swimmers is really a combination of fishing and hunting. You hunt them with your eyes. Bonefish like to steer over shallow flats in gin-clear water, maybe three or a dozen at a time, searching for shrimp. You look for that small dorsal fin that courses above the water like a little sail. You go out in a shallow skiff and wait quietly as the water laps against it. Sometimes you pole a little over the flats. You can see every tiny seaweed bush, every shell and starfish, and the water mixes the green with dancing amber and occasional red. If you didn't have bonefish on your mind you could look long into the liquid mosaic. But bonefish have keen eyes of their own, and if they see you first they run. So you hunt carefully, feeling light and alert like a man with a rabbit gun.

When you see the fins you freeze. Now the trick is to cast your shrimp where they'll find it. You have to figure where they are going next. Are they zigzagging or beelining? Are they feeding or navigation. Is there a big fish flanking the bunch--maybe a 10-pounder--you'll play for? You need the eyes of an eagle.

Practically all bonefish are worked with spinning tackle. If you want to play it safe, you'll let the guide cast. But if you're a gambler, you'll try it yourself. No weight on your shrimp, just a light flip so you don't scare them, not too close, not too far, maybe about four feet from the fish. You can almost see the bonefish make his decision. It's food, it's his, no other fish can have it. He comes on aggressively, takes, it, shoulders out the competition. Then he's off. That first incredibly swift flat run can sing out yards of line in just seconds--as fast and as peace-shattering as ripping canvas. At that speed if he cut back suddenly he'd leave you with whirls of loose line. With his full fresh strength he's got all the best of it--cutting in and out, darting short, flanking long. He doesn't jump. He can't submarine. You're working him in a sheet of clear water nine inches thick. And it's his part of the ocean.

He seems tireless. He fights like a Spanish bull, as if he's prepared all his life for just such a struggle. Even when you get him up close to the boat, you can see him at full speed drumming his head against the hard bottom, trying to knock the hook out. You work him carefully right to the en, feeling your fatigue as he feels his. The water about you is crisscrossed with white lines of sediment his runs have stirred up. Now the light shines off this bright mail. Now he sees the net and is smart enough and still strong enough to dodge it. But he can't dodge the net forever. In the boat and in defeat his magnificent fight plays out. You've finally matched his reserve of power, and he is a fine and beautiful fish. Immediately, you'd like to hunt again.