A couple years ago, a friend called me with a fishing report. He was fresh back from a do-it-yourself bonefish trip, and I could tell right away from his amped-up voice that it had been a good trip. I won’t go into the details, but it’s safe to say they caught more and bigger bonefish than they had a right to. It sounded like the kind of trip that would be listed in the top five when he’s an old man sitting in the rocking chair, recounting his fishing exploits. And don’t even ask where they were, I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Bastard.

After he’d gone on for a while, and seemed to be tiring (I don’t think he’d stopped to breathe for 20 minutes), envy struck. I couldn’t help but be a smartass.  So I asked him “What species were they?”
“What species were what?”, he said.
“The bonefish, which species did you catch?”
“What do you mean what species? They were bonefish. You know, tailing on the flats, all that stuff.  Don’t tell me it’s been so long you don’t remember.”
“I realize that, but they could’ve been a couple different species.”
“Get out of town. Really? You’re full of shit.”
“No, really. There’s a couple different species they could’ve been.”
“They all looked the same, so they must’ve been one species. I thought it was the same species everywhere.”
“Dude, sounds to me like you need to go back, for research purposes.”

Life used to be so simple. Through the 1970s, the belief was that there was pretty much just one species of shallow-water bonefish worldwide. This made a lot of sense. After all, bonefish throughout the world look virtually identical. So whether you fished in the Keys, Belize, or Christmas Island, you were catching the same fish. But now we know better. Or, more correctly – we’re in the process of knowing better.

The first inkling of something amiss came in 1981, when scientists used genetics to determine that there were two species of bonefish on Hawaii, and determined that the bonefish in the Caribbean was a different species, among other findings. But for the most part, the other bonefish all pretty much looked the same.

Then the geneticists really got rolling in the 1990s, delivering a full broadside in 2001, identifying eight species of bonefish worldwide. With continuing research, the worldwide count is now up to 9 species – 8 in the Pacific and 3 in the Atlantic/Caribbean.  The challenge is that most of these species of bonefish are too similar for most anglers (or scientists) to tell apart visually, so genetic analysis is necessary. And, potentially, there are more – we’ve only just begun to look at this in detail, so with more research sampling, it’s possible that another species or two might be identified. Here we are in 2008, and we’re still just learning the basics about bonefish that support fisheries worth billions of dollars a year worldwide.

Of the four bonefish species in the Caribbean, one species is rare in scientific collections, and probably occurs only in deep water. The other three species pose a challenge to science, conservation, and management. Albula vulpes is the name that was once assigned to all bonefish worldwide, but now is the name of the species that occurs exclusively in the Caribbean. Until 2001, we thought this was the only species of bonefish in shallow waters of the Caribbean. But in 2001 a second species, officially named Albula species B until everything gets figured out, was identified on shallow flats habitat. And now, in 2008, we learn of a third species occurring on the flats. This third species is not yet named.

So the question you are probably asking is ‘so what, if I can’t tell the difference between them, why does it matter?’  Because knowing which species occur in the recreational fishery is important for conservation and management.  So far, our results show that it’s mostly Albula vulpes that supports the fishery. But in summer 2007 we received samples from recreational anglers fishing in a couple locations in the Bahamas (Walker’s Cay and Grand Bahama) that were identified as Albula species B.  

In contrast, we know more about juvenile Albula species B (which, so far, is uncommon in the fishery) that juvenile Albula vulpes. Juvenile Albula species B use shallow sandy bottoms, often along beaches. But despite a lot of sampling and searching, we still don’t know where juvenile Albula vulpes live.  Before the geneticists discovered that Albula species B existed, we would have assumed that the juvenile bonefish we caught along sandy beaches were the same species that were in the fishery as adults.  But now we have a new challenge – finding Albula vulpes juvenile habitats must be a top priority.  Juveniles are often the most vulnerable, so identifying their habitats is essential for bonefish conservation.

So, now back to my friend. He did go back to his personal Mecca, and he helped out with research on the trip. I sent him a couple of fin-clip kits – scissors, some vials, a data recording postcard – so he could take small tissue samples from the dorsal fin. Although the fishing wasn’t as good as the first trip (it never is the second time around), he said it was still excellent. And much to his credit, he brought back 10 samples, all of which were identified as Albula vulpes.  

We still have a long way to go in collecting bonefish fin clips to really understand the fishery, and which species occurs where. We need the help of recreational anglers to get it done. Think of taking fin clips as yet another justification for a bonefish excursion. If you’re willing to help, send an email to bonefish@mote.org and a fin clip kit will be sent to you.

All material copyright Aaron Adams 2007, 2008, and beyond, unless otherwise noted.