The sun pours down in waves of invisible light. The oppressive heat clouds my mind, making me forget my idyllic surroundings. The crystalline waters softly lap at my legs, and I stare into them, looking for the telltale shadow that belies my quarry's presence. This is my chess game. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a movement. Glancing to my right, I spy the tail of a feeding bonefish. The most elusive game fish in the world is at my fingertips, and I must be careful not to scare the skittish fish away. Slowly I pull my fly rod to eye level checking for any snags or imperfections in the pattern I had tied the week before. I smoothly start my cast, aiming five feet ahead of my partner in this complicated game of tag. My dance may look bizarre to anyone on the outside of the exclusive world of the fly-fisher, but I can't concern myself with that right now. I generate all my power into the last stroke of my cast, and it lands perfectly. Strip, strip, strip. I pull my fly in front of the bone and - zoom! The fish is off like lightning. I stare in disbelief at the vacant water where the bonefish once stood. What could have gone wrong? I wonder. I then realize that there is no room to wonder, and head off to the next virgin flat with high hopes, and lasting memories. 1