The year was 1993? Maybe? I don't know. It was my first trip to Kiritimati Island. I was out of high school, but hadn't met Mrs. Moosefish yet, so '93 seems about right. My father and I flew from Seattle to Honolulu on a regular passenger plane. As you do. Then we boarded a FREAKING LEAR JET and flew to Kiritimati Island. Given that it was 10 years ago (I refuse to believe 1993 was more than 10 years ago), I don't remember too much and it was before I bored the internet with stories.

So jump ahead to February 2002. September 11 was still on everyone's mind, but we were flying again. This time we flew on regular-sized planes on both legs to Kiritimati Island, fished with my aunt and uncle, and returned to Hawaii. The others headed back to Seattle, but I made my way to arrivals to reunite with Mrs. Moosefish for another week on Maui. You want more details? Too many details? I wrote about this trip on the before-kids moosefish.com.

It was nine years between the first and second trip, but a solid 15 before I could return again. In 2018 my father and I spent another week on the island, this time at a new lodge. Hours of video and thousands of photos later, I published this bit of nonsense.

I was pretty sure 2018 would be my last trip. It's a huge time commitment, but my father wore me down. While I'd endured the winters my father had been visiting Kiritimati Island each year. He went in early 2020 and had convinced me to go in 2021 when... COVID. Kiritimati Island shut down completely. No planes. No boats. No fuel shipments. No food. No thing. We had artificial toilet paper shortages. They had actual toilet paper shortages. They tried to open again, but an irresponsible number of fisherpeople arrived with COVID so they shut down again.

Finally, they opened safely and we booked for 2024. Here's how it went.

Fly Seattle to Honolulu. Stay the night. See the aquarium. (Be disappointed.) Have dinner. Wake up. Return to the airport. Board a flight for Kiritimati Island. (Be reminded how awesome Fiji Airways is.) See the island emerge from the clouds as a speck of land in the middle of nowhere. Land (Be impressed at the new Cassidy Airport.) Board trucks to the lodge. Collapse.

Fishing began early the next morning. We were assigned a guide that would help me and my father. We were paired up with a couple of other fishermen and boarded a boat headed out into the lagoon. (We fished exclusively in the lagoon this trip, but there is fishing along the outside of the island, too.) Somewhere between 30 and 60 minutes later, we'd hop out of the boat and wade in calf-deep water fishing until lunch.

What is fishing like? It's tough. Honestly. Not tough like doing manual labor or even fighting off devious hackers, but still tough. Here's why.

Bonefishing requires you to see the fish. Yeah. Good luck. Well, good luck seeing them before they were too close and saw you. The guides, on the other hand, have preternatural vision and they can see the fish hundreds of feet away.

Then you have to make a cast to get the fly close to the fish, but not so close that you spook it. If you could see the fish, you could cast to the fish. But as previously established, that was unlikely. Instead, you'd rely on your guide who would direct you. "Cast 12 o'clock; 50 feet!" The best guides (I'm thinking of you, Chris) would help you make corrections while your fly was still in the air. "More left. More left. Drop!" If I was a better caster, I'd have caught more fish. More often than not, I'd cast behind the fish or drop the fly right on its head. Pro-tip: They don't like that.

If we pretend I executed a decent cast, I'd wait until the fish was close enough to the fly and then start stripping. (No. Not like that. Weirdo.) I tended to strip quickly when I needed to go slowly. I used long strips when a short strip was required. Again, the guide would, uh, guide me. "Wait. Wait... striiiip... striiiip... fast strip! Fast strip!"

If all these things go just right the fish might, just might take your fly. DON'T STRIKE! These aren't trout. Just keep stripping until the fish turns and sets the hook. And then you hold on.

Bonefish are all muscle. They are strong and fast. Off they go, your reel screaming in protest. Eventually, the fish tires and you reel it back in. Sometimes this is reeling hundreds of feet of line. Then the fish sees you and off it goes again. A big fish might do this twice more. Land the fish. Get a picture. Let it go. (Bonefish were eaten during the pandemic, but the lagoon is largely catch and release to provide better fishing opportunities for tourists. More on this later.)

My father and I would trade the guide's assistance after each fish for the morning. By lunch, we were both smashed. We'd climb back on the boat and relax in the shade of the awning as we moved to the next destination. I'd be rejuvenated by cold water, a sandwich, and chips and ready to go. My father, though, often opted to stay on the boat for the afternoon so I had the guide for the entire afternoon. (This might have been a devious plan by the retired lawyer to make me give him a higher percentage of time with the guide in the mornings when the tides are better.)

Each night, we'd have dinner. (Big surprise, right?) Almost all the food we'd eat was imported. Each flight from Honolulu brought in all the supplies the tourists would need for the week. Were we eating Kiribati foods? Nope. Mostly an American diet. Hmph. (More on this later.)

After six days of this, I was done. Mildly sunburned in spite of twice-daily application of SPF65 sunscreen and being 100% covered. Tired because I was on my feet for seven hours a day. Fingers torn up from having line pulled through by big fish. It was pretty much this.

So yeah. I was tired. But all I had to do was get to the airport and get home, right? WRONG.

First, I had to go climb to the high point of Kiritimati Island. Duh. Of course I did. With that done (13 meters doesn't take long to climb), I did get checked in for my flight at the airport.

Except I wasn't returning north with everyone else. Nope. I was heading farther south to the magical island nation of Fiji where I would meet Mrs. Moosefish to celebrate our 25th anniversary. But more on that later.

But before we talk about Fiji, let's talk about the moral ambiguity of being a western tourist in a place like Kiritimati Island. in 2019 19.5% of the population of Kiribati (the country Kiritimati Island is part of) live below the $3.65 USD poverty line. That means for an adult to have enough food for a year, they need $1,332.25. Or, you know, about the cost of the flight from Honolulu to Kiritimati Island and back. Now add in travel to Honolulu and the cost of the lodge, guides, and food and a week fishing could support a family for a year.

The flight I took from Kiritimati Island to Fiji was the second leg of the flight from Honolulu. I saw the passengers deplaning and I counted. There were about 50 people that got off the plane. All white. Mostly over 60. All over 40. All but a few were male. From my own experience, most weren't at all interested in the local culture. They were arriving exclusively for the fishing. Even the lodges have done away with the practice of presenting local cuisine and talent in favor of making westerners comfortable.

While at the lodge waiting to head to the airport on the last day, I talked to two guys from the World Bank. They were there to meet with local officials to discuss potential projects. Things like improving the road around the island, building a desalination plant, and moving from oil to solar. I confessed my unease at coming to a place like Kiritimati Island.

They explained that short of sending money, the type of tourism I was engaged in was one of the best ways I could help. Tourism providers jobs and transfers wealth into communities. In this way, tourism is a tool to reduce poverty. Do some googling and you'll find all kinds of reports that discuss the merits of tourism.

I still don't know how I feel about it. Don't get me wrong, it was great. I had an amazing time with my father and I caught some beautiful fish. But also because it was a lesson that people live differently in different places. Not better or worse. Just different. It's seeing the differences around the world or around town that make traveling so fascinating.

If I do go back in 10 or 20 years, I hope to see tourism's dollars (and grants from the World Bank) have made life for the people of Kiribati and Kiritimati Island better. Not my "better", but theirs. And I hope I'll be able to appreciate it.