Bonefish, Bush & Cheeca: Investigation Was My Last Resort

If it seems like this has place has been rather slow lately, forgive me. I was on "assignment", as it were, and now that I'm back I can tell you about my covert reconnaissance mission to the Florida Keys.

Ever alert for all things conservative, I received a tip that there was an alleged bonefish tournament sponsored by former president George H.W. Bush in a tiny town in the Florida Keys called "Islamorada." I was told that this tournament was a ruse of some sort and that there were really dark forces at work: the former president, I was told, was planning to take over the world in a bloodless conservative coup -- all from a tiny fishing boat less than a mile from the shoreline.

As a writer and professional angler (I was on the team that won $10,000 in the "5th Annual Upper Bay Rockfish Tournament" in Elkton, Md. in 1998), I had no choice but to sniff out the lead. I immediately dispatched myself (along with my wife, lots of suntan oil and two sets of snorkels) to the Cheeca Lodge & Spa, which was accused of co-sponsoring the event.

The key facts are incontrovertable, even if the final results of my thorough and intense investigation were obscured by foul deception, complex trickery and highly addictive distractions.

In the first place, I uncovered that Georgie-Boy had been there -- and often. He did his best to appear busy with heavy issues of international importance in between bouts of fishing, but the facts are clear that he was not only fishing -- he was also having fun. And not only was he having fun, he made a point to donate the proceeds of the fishing tournament to a variety of noble charities -- no doubt, some insidious ploy to deftly cover his tracks with acts of altruism.

While I was there, I had to check out these bonefish for myself. I had to make sure they were real, and that the Bush people weren't just making up some fairytale to tell the world, while the man himself was actually floating around on the water plotting the downfall of liberalism as we know it with his newly-anointed son (at the time) and child-president, Georgie-Boy Jr.

It wound up being a dead end. In fact, there is a small lagoon, just behind the open-air bar and kidney shaped pool adjacent to the main lodge, filled with a rash of greedy thrashing bonefish. Of course, I had to check out the bar and pool before examining the lagoon. I am, after all, a professional.

I am not, however, an ichthyologist, so while it seemed clear to me that the fish were indigenous to the area, I had to be sure. The following day, my wife and I booked a snorkling trip to the "Cheeca Reef," a glittering underwater aquarium featuring all sorts of sea turtles, parrot fish, barracudas, and even a few nurse sharks. While I didn't see any bonefish at the bottom of this underwater coral wonderland, our snorkel trip guide, an alleged fish expert, confirmed the presence of bonefish in this part of the Atlantic Ocean as well as the Gulf of Mexico on the other side of the key. I immediately suspected him of being a conspirator.

Without proof, however, my mission was doomed to failure. After carefully examining the cigar bar inside the main lodge, and sampling Cheeca’s trademark wood-fired mini-pizzas (making sure to sample the famed flatbread “shrimp scampi” selection), I gave the facts a thorough review. Clearly, Bush had been there. That was evident from the sign and pictographic evidence on the walls behind me. It was also clear that Bush sponsored a tournament of some kind – the giant tarpon fish on the wall beneath his name gave it away. But was he really plotting the end of the world? Did the mysterious bonefish truly exist? Would my sunburn every go away? Somehow I believed the water just off the sandy shore held the answers.

The following morning, I got up early and was momentarily distracted by the glorious sunrise. After shaking myself from the trance that gripped me as I watched a fat pelican and a mystical blue heron search for food just after daybreak, I searched for clues by the waterside. About an hour later, I woke my sleepy wife and we paddled around the shallows in kayaks, searching the sparkling turquoise water for some kind of evidence.

We never found it. We even fished off the pier, but to no avail. Not a single bite.

Unfortunately, the mission ended inconclusively. If Bush -- a former CIA mastermind -- truly was plotting the end of liberalism from Islamorada, Florida, he was doing it with incredible precision and exhibiting a skillful slight-of-hand I’ve only ever witnessed on street corners in New York City.

In the end, my wife and I barely made it out of the Keys with our lives. Hurricane Fay moved up the Caribbean toward our headquarters and eventually chased us out of the state altogether. The storm was obviously sent as a warning from the former president, who has miraculously figured out a way to manipulate the weather to his own advantage. The message is clear: don’t mess with things you can’t possibly understand.

By cleverly using the breathtaking Cheeca Lodge & Spa as cover, Bush has succeeded in distracting the best criminal minds in the business. As a conservative, I’m proud. As a fisherman, I’m humbled. As an investigator, I was beaten.

What can I say? The guy's a pro.