The Unheard Voices of Abaco
By Eric Schuhrer
Photo by Dylan Schmitz.
Millions of tourists visit Abaco every year with intentions of snorkeling, relaxing on beaches, or fishing. However, beneath all the hustle and bustle of tourism is an undertone of struggle and hope for a better future.
During my time in Abaco I was blessed to stay at Abaco Lodge—a prestigious fly fishing destination that is the epitome of flats fishing. I was fortunate enough to visit the community of Sand Banks, a Haitian refugee village, while on a weeklong Fish for Change program. This trip presented me with the sharp contrasts between upper-middle class American life to the day-today realities of living as a refugee. This allowed me to understand that opportunity is everything. By adventuring to these areas that tourists rarely stumble upon, I was able to peel back the layers of this island and greet stories of hope, success, and adversity.
Pollution and overdevelopment are rapidly becoming a standard of life. However, the Marls of Abaco seem to be an exception; its flourishing ecosystem promotes incredible fishing.
Myself along with a ragtag group of teenagers from Texas, California, Florida, New Jersey, and Abaco found ourselves in this paradise where we fished almost every morning with unbelievable guides that pointed out endless bonefish. Many memories were made on those skiffs that I will never forget, including catching my first bonefish.
I was guided by the famed Travis Sands on my first day fishing the world renowned Marls. The sun was playing peek-a-boo with the clouds all day long, while surges of wind made fishing tough. We found refuge fishing behind a mirage-like
island, where the wind was calmer. At one point the sun appeared through a gap in the clouds to reveal twenty bonefish.
Travis whispered “11 o’clock, 40 feet” and my heart started racing. I started double hauling like I was casting into a 20 mph headwind for GTs on Alphonse Atoll. After what seemed like seconds I had 40 feet of line out of my rod, and when I went
to shoot it collapsed dead in front of me. Travis laughed hysterically with his push pole in the air and yelled “dead cobra!”. I couldn’t help but laugh. Luckily that school had no clue we were there and remained tailing at 11 o’clock. I made my casting strokes lighter and laid 40 feet of line out straight as an arrow. Travis exclaimed, “Strip, strip, strip, set!” and before I knew it my drag was screaming.
During my time in Abaco I was blessed to stay at Abaco Lodge—a prestigious fly fishing destination that is the epitome of flats fishing. I was fortunate enough to visit the community of Sand Banks, a Haitian refugee village, while on a weeklong Fish for Change program. This trip presented me with the sharp contrasts between upper-middle class American life to the day-today realities of living as a refugee. This allowed me to understand that opportunity is everything. By adventuring to these areas that tourists rarely stumble upon, I was able to peel back the layers of this island and greet stories of hope, success, and adversity.
Pollution and overdevelopment are rapidly becoming a standard of life. However, the Marls of Abaco seem to be an exception; its flourishing ecosystem promotes incredible fishing.
Myself along with a ragtag group of teenagers from Texas, California, Florida, New Jersey, and Abaco found ourselves in this paradise where we fished almost every morning with unbelievable guides that pointed out endless bonefish. Many memories were made on those skiffs that I will never forget, including catching my first bonefish.
I was guided by the famed Travis Sands on my first day fishing the world renowned Marls. The sun was playing peek-a-boo with the clouds all day long, while surges of wind made fishing tough. We found refuge fishing behind a mirage-like
island, where the wind was calmer. At one point the sun appeared through a gap in the clouds to reveal twenty bonefish.
Travis whispered “11 o’clock, 40 feet” and my heart started racing. I started double hauling like I was casting into a 20 mph headwind for GTs on Alphonse Atoll. After what seemed like seconds I had 40 feet of line out of my rod, and when I went
to shoot it collapsed dead in front of me. Travis laughed hysterically with his push pole in the air and yelled “dead cobra!”. I couldn’t help but laugh. Luckily that school had no clue we were there and remained tailing at 11 o’clock. I made my casting strokes lighter and laid 40 feet of line out straight as an arrow. Travis exclaimed, “Strip, strip, strip, set!” and before I knew it my drag was screaming.
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Above: Bonefish & Tarpon Trust Bahamas manager, Just in Lewis , explains proper f ish handl ing techniques. Top Right: No better way to cement new friendships than wit h a barracuda minutes within arriving to Abaco Lodge. Photos by Knox Kronenberg.
“We were ten teenage boys running around a fisherman’s playground, and our close knit bonds provided for an electric atmosphere which Abaco Lodge had never seen before.”
Time came screeching to a halt when I lifted the seventh fastest fish in the world out of the water. He took off straight for the mangroves after I released him back to the sanctuary of the Marls. For the next ten minutes I was shaking from a rush of adrenaline due to the realization of the reality that I was blessed to be experiencing. That deer hair “gotcha” fly now lives on the bill of my Yeti hat and carries a story I will never forget.
After sharing a few tall tales of the ones that got away, we realized most of the kids caught their first bonefish that day. To celebrate, we decided we would spend the afternoon swimming at the fabled blue hole that Christiaan Pretorious told us about. Christiaan was the lodge manager at Abaco Lodge during our time there. He is one of my biggest idols within the fly
fishing industry; not in a million years would I have imagined I’d be cliff diving with the guy that influenced my obsession with fly fishing.
He drove us to a place so off the grid that the directions were: 30 telephone poles down after the gated house. After counting to thirty, we turned down a dirt path and found ourselves at a circular oasis where the water was aqua blue and hundreds of feet deep surrounded by a sea of untouched forest. After hearing stories of crocodiles and rumors of its endless depths,
everyone was a bit hesitant to dive into the unknown. Eventually, we all left our worries behind as we dove, flipped, and cannon-balled into this treasure of Abaco.
As our time was coming to an end, one of the counselors, Knox, said “whoever caught their first bonefish today has to belly flop!”. One by one we hesitantly hiked up to the peak of the surrounding cliff and jumped before overthinking. I landed flat as a board on the water, and immediately felt the pain of what I had just committed to. This special moment of shared pain is what sent us well on our way to becoming a family.
Throughout the week, we continually got closer as a group. The dinner table was filled with laughter and jokes, which would
continually get louder as the week went on. Within a couple early mornings and long nights, we got so comfortable around each other that we would start finishing each other’s plates at dinner. Safe to say, every night only clean plates went back to the kitchen. Soon enough we were waking each other up with snakes—we had metamorphosed from a group of friends to a dysfunctional family. We were ten teenage boys running around a fisherman’s playground, and our close knit bonds provided for an electric atmosphere which Abaco Lodge had never seen before.
Dinner table stories slowly shifted from feats on the water to stories about the local people. The group focus of catching a permit or a trophy bonefish left the spotlight, and connecting with the localstook its place. Our first experience with the locals was our visit to Sand Banks, a small community of Haitian refugees who are escaping poverty and natural disaster in
hopes of making it to the United States for better opportunities. We hopped out of the vans to find a village where a traffic barricade serves as the welcome gate. The moment we climbed over the barricade we became guests in an unfamiliar world.
After sharing a few tall tales of the ones that got away, we realized most of the kids caught their first bonefish that day. To celebrate, we decided we would spend the afternoon swimming at the fabled blue hole that Christiaan Pretorious told us about. Christiaan was the lodge manager at Abaco Lodge during our time there. He is one of my biggest idols within the fly
fishing industry; not in a million years would I have imagined I’d be cliff diving with the guy that influenced my obsession with fly fishing.
He drove us to a place so off the grid that the directions were: 30 telephone poles down after the gated house. After counting to thirty, we turned down a dirt path and found ourselves at a circular oasis where the water was aqua blue and hundreds of feet deep surrounded by a sea of untouched forest. After hearing stories of crocodiles and rumors of its endless depths,
everyone was a bit hesitant to dive into the unknown. Eventually, we all left our worries behind as we dove, flipped, and cannon-balled into this treasure of Abaco.
As our time was coming to an end, one of the counselors, Knox, said “whoever caught their first bonefish today has to belly flop!”. One by one we hesitantly hiked up to the peak of the surrounding cliff and jumped before overthinking. I landed flat as a board on the water, and immediately felt the pain of what I had just committed to. This special moment of shared pain is what sent us well on our way to becoming a family.
Throughout the week, we continually got closer as a group. The dinner table was filled with laughter and jokes, which would
continually get louder as the week went on. Within a couple early mornings and long nights, we got so comfortable around each other that we would start finishing each other’s plates at dinner. Safe to say, every night only clean plates went back to the kitchen. Soon enough we were waking each other up with snakes—we had metamorphosed from a group of friends to a dysfunctional family. We were ten teenage boys running around a fisherman’s playground, and our close knit bonds provided for an electric atmosphere which Abaco Lodge had never seen before.
Dinner table stories slowly shifted from feats on the water to stories about the local people. The group focus of catching a permit or a trophy bonefish left the spotlight, and connecting with the localstook its place. Our first experience with the locals was our visit to Sand Banks, a small community of Haitian refugees who are escaping poverty and natural disaster in
hopes of making it to the United States for better opportunities. We hopped out of the vans to find a village where a traffic barricade serves as the welcome gate. The moment we climbed over the barricade we became guests in an unfamiliar world.
We found ourselves in a labyrinth of one room shacks; in place of doors, each doorway featured a homeowner adorned with pride and an infectious smile. After walking through dirt and limestone that was varnished with litter, we entered the heart of the community.
The sea of shacks opened up into a dirt field where kids ran wild with sticks and played basketball using a hoop fashioned out of a milk crate and a rotting pallet. It looked like a scene from Lord of the Flies. These kids were sporting ill-fitting clothes, and an apparent hierarchy existed amongst them as they commanded
each other in this fantasy world they had created.
Nature served as their Toys R Us where they found sticks, rocks, and bottles to play with. Throughout our exploration of this uncharted area, we acquired a following of twenty curious kids. They brought us to their playground which was a church’s grass yard, and the fun began.
A game of tag in the primarily Haitian community of Sand Banks,
prior to Hurricane Dorian. Photo by Dylan Schmitz.
prior to Hurricane Dorian. Photo by Dylan Schmitz.
Balls were flying everywhere while packs of ten year olds ran circles around us. Within a couple hours, they had put us through the wringer; we were covered in sweat and dirt, and it was time to take them home. As the kids caught on to us leaving, they desperately wanted us to come back, so we returned later that week. The next day we went to play basketball at a local community center. We unknowingly pulled up to fifteen teenage boys playing basketball. Most of them lacked shoes, and had to walk miles just to play at this dilapidated court covered in ants. We played against them for hours and despite their adverse situation, they played like kids from back home who sport top of the line shoes in indoor courts.
This was more than just an everyday neighborhood scrimmage; it was a coming together of two different cultures through a common sport where we learned from each other and became more empathetic through exposure to a foreign environment from our lives in the states. This single event embodies the essence of Fish for Change, that is, a coming together of kids from different cultures with the similarity of our obsession for fly fishing in hopes of creating a better, more understanding world.
As the games continued, we let some of the kids borrow our sneakers. From the moment I found myself sharing shoes with someone to play basketball it hit me that this is more than just a fishing trip; we were there to learn from the locals.
A couple days later we returned to Sand Banks, this time with the intention of getting to know their stories. I was lucky enough to sit down with Wesley, an eleven year-old boy, to interview him and in return he would interview me. Wesley lives in a one room house with two aunts, three siblings, and his father. He was born in Nassau and has lived in Sand Banks his
whole life. Despite his outwardly challenging situation, he loves where he lives and is able to attend school where his favorite subject is math. His favorite item is his cell phone because he can read the Bible, text, and call. I asked him if he had one wish, what would it be? He quickly responded “a plane so I can fly to the United States,” like I should have already known. I asked him why and he said, “so I can go to college and so that my family can work.”
This was more than just an everyday neighborhood scrimmage; it was a coming together of two different cultures through a common sport where we learned from each other and became more empathetic through exposure to a foreign environment from our lives in the states. This single event embodies the essence of Fish for Change, that is, a coming together of kids from different cultures with the similarity of our obsession for fly fishing in hopes of creating a better, more understanding world.
As the games continued, we let some of the kids borrow our sneakers. From the moment I found myself sharing shoes with someone to play basketball it hit me that this is more than just a fishing trip; we were there to learn from the locals.
A couple days later we returned to Sand Banks, this time with the intention of getting to know their stories. I was lucky enough to sit down with Wesley, an eleven year-old boy, to interview him and in return he would interview me. Wesley lives in a one room house with two aunts, three siblings, and his father. He was born in Nassau and has lived in Sand Banks his
whole life. Despite his outwardly challenging situation, he loves where he lives and is able to attend school where his favorite subject is math. His favorite item is his cell phone because he can read the Bible, text, and call. I asked him if he had one wish, what would it be? He quickly responded “a plane so I can fly to the United States,” like I should have already known. I asked him why and he said, “so I can go to college and so that my family can work.”
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Photos by Dylan Schmitz.
"Sure, this trip made me a better fisherman, teacher, and student. However, most importantly it taught me an invaluable lesson: to make the most of my opportunities."
For an eleven year old to recognize his lack of opportunity, and process that his solution is to leave Sand Banks is mind blowing. For him to already be stressing over college shows how fast these kids need to mature in order to define their future rather than let this situation determine it. Most kids I know in America obsess over what Santa is bringing for Christmas, whereas Wesley is worried about his dad’s ability to find work. I can’t even begin to comprehend having
to bear this weight as an eleven year old and still be able to wear a smile. After this life altering interview I had with him, we brought the kids back home, but before he ran back to his paradise he grabbed my arm. He looked me in the eyes and said “when are you gonna come back?”. Having known we weren’t coming back during this trip, I said “soon” as not to make him upset.
On the drive home, I vowed to make the most of all the opportunities I’m granted in honor of Wesley and his struggle to find opportunity. If I meet him again, I can guarantee he will still be wearing the infectious smile I left him with.
At the lodge, we casually made our way down the dock to continue casting our thousand dollar fly rods; meanwhile, people down the street were struggling to make a thousand dollars a year. This sharp contrast that I experienced is something I will take to my grave with me. Realizations like this hit hard and make me rethink who I am and what my purpose is.
This trip was full of life long memories and friendships; from traveling around Abaco one day in an old truck, to cliff jumping into a blue hole, to catching my first bonefish on the fly. However, the stories I will be retelling the most will be our
basketball game with the locals, the interview I had with Wesley, and the smiles that the kids from Sand Banks wear. Sure, this trip made me a better fisherman, teacher, and student. However, most importantly it taught me an invaluable lesson: to
make the most of my opportunities. The harsh reality is that a kid from Sand Banks will never have the same opportunities as I, a college student in the States. I have so many pathways I can take from this point in comparison to Wesley, who has so few to follow. But still, he dreams of what it would be like to have his wish granted one day: a flight to the United States.
Though I wasn’t in Abaco, I felt the wrath of Hurricane Dorian, despite being on the island for only a week. Having to sit in my dorm room, imagining Wesley sitting in the basement of the Church that I interviewed him a month prior while a biblical storm ripped apart his world made me feel beside myself. Forming this sense of a second family isn’t done with just fishing
24/7; it’s accomplished through immersing oneself in a community and listening closely to what others have to say. This was no ordinary fishing trip, something greater than fishing occurred during my week in Abaco. Without Fish for Change, this trip would remain a dream for me, so I’d like to thank them for opening my eyes to this little island that I can now call my second home, and the friends and memories I made within the greatest week of my life.
to bear this weight as an eleven year old and still be able to wear a smile. After this life altering interview I had with him, we brought the kids back home, but before he ran back to his paradise he grabbed my arm. He looked me in the eyes and said “when are you gonna come back?”. Having known we weren’t coming back during this trip, I said “soon” as not to make him upset.
On the drive home, I vowed to make the most of all the opportunities I’m granted in honor of Wesley and his struggle to find opportunity. If I meet him again, I can guarantee he will still be wearing the infectious smile I left him with.
At the lodge, we casually made our way down the dock to continue casting our thousand dollar fly rods; meanwhile, people down the street were struggling to make a thousand dollars a year. This sharp contrast that I experienced is something I will take to my grave with me. Realizations like this hit hard and make me rethink who I am and what my purpose is.
This trip was full of life long memories and friendships; from traveling around Abaco one day in an old truck, to cliff jumping into a blue hole, to catching my first bonefish on the fly. However, the stories I will be retelling the most will be our
basketball game with the locals, the interview I had with Wesley, and the smiles that the kids from Sand Banks wear. Sure, this trip made me a better fisherman, teacher, and student. However, most importantly it taught me an invaluable lesson: to
make the most of my opportunities. The harsh reality is that a kid from Sand Banks will never have the same opportunities as I, a college student in the States. I have so many pathways I can take from this point in comparison to Wesley, who has so few to follow. But still, he dreams of what it would be like to have his wish granted one day: a flight to the United States.
Though I wasn’t in Abaco, I felt the wrath of Hurricane Dorian, despite being on the island for only a week. Having to sit in my dorm room, imagining Wesley sitting in the basement of the Church that I interviewed him a month prior while a biblical storm ripped apart his world made me feel beside myself. Forming this sense of a second family isn’t done with just fishing
24/7; it’s accomplished through immersing oneself in a community and listening closely to what others have to say. This was no ordinary fishing trip, something greater than fishing occurred during my week in Abaco. Without Fish for Change, this trip would remain a dream for me, so I’d like to thank them for opening my eyes to this little island that I can now call my second home, and the friends and memories I made within the greatest week of my life.
Eric Schuhrer, 19 years old, New Jersey.
This was Eric’s first experience abroad, but definitely not his last. He currently runs cross country for Rowan University.
Find him on Instagram @ericschuhrer_ and buy his flies @SouthBranchFlyCo.
This was Eric’s first experience abroad, but definitely not his last. He currently runs cross country for Rowan University.
Find him on Instagram @ericschuhrer_ and buy his flies @SouthBranchFlyCo.