Source by permission: The Rotarian, December 2012, pp.50-53
I got into fly-fishing in high school in California, USA. A good friend taught me how to tie flies and build fly rods, and we’d catch steelhead trout in the Russian River. Since then, I’ve gone as often as I can. With this sport, you’re not out relaxing on a dock; you’re hunting. You’re trying to fool the fish by imitating how their food moves in the water. It’s a physical and mental game, and it gets you out into some amazing places.
In 2004, my wife, Sharon, and I flew to Kiritimati, or Christmas Island, as it’s known, which is the world’s largest coral atoll. This is one of the few places where you can fly- fish in saltwater. We took a chartered turboprop plane out of Honolulu, a five-hour trip.
The island, which is part of the Republic of Kiribati, has coral flats that are about 2 feet under water. You take a boat way out into the Pacific Ocean and stand on a flat, and then you wait for the bonefish to come in from the deep water. They’re called “gray ghosts” because they blend in with their surroundings. Many times, you won’t see the fish; you’ll just see a shadow. This is a very strong fish – it can take 45 minutes to land one.
On Christmas Island, there are no minerals in the soil, no natural resources, so there aren’t many things the people can manufacture. The country’s only industry is copra, which is dried coconut meat. The government also licenses fishing rights to other nations. As much as a quarter of the country’s income comes from foreign aid, but most of that goes to the capital, Tarawa, which is 2,000 miles from Kiritimati. It was astonishing to see how little the islanders have.
Our fishing guide’s name was Biita Kairaoi. He was a joy to talk to. He was learning English from all the fishermen he met. My wife asked him, “How many children do you have?” He said, “Oh, I’ve got a lot. Would you like to meet them?” We went to his home, and those children – well, they just wanted to be close to you. He had six children then. And they were very, very poor. When we left Kiritimati, we hugged Biita, his wife, and his children, and my wife said, “Biita, it’s like I’m leaving my family. If you ever need anything, please give us a call.” There were only five phones on the entire island.
We consider ourselves “retired to Rotary.” We’re members of the Rotary Club of Commerce City, Colo., and we log about 40 to 50 hours of volunteer work every week. But at that moment, we had never done an international service project.
After we returned home from Christmas Island, we got a call, and it was Biita. He said, “George, my church has never had an Easter candle. Could you get me a candle?” I said, “Sure, no problem.” I picked one out, and we sent it off. When we went back the following January, we got a tap on our door, and it was the church’s priest. “A committee would like to meet with you,” he said. We thought we would see five or six people, but there were about 500, from four churches. “For months we prayed for a candle, and no candle arrived,” one of the oldest men said. “Many gave up, but we continued to pray, and then, from above, it was a miracle. You are our miracle.” And we were hooked.
We spent the next week talking to people in the government and going to the hospital and schools, getting an idea of their needs and what Rotarians might be able to do. We asked the nurses and doctors, “What could you use?” They said, “Maybe some aspirin and some Band-Aids.” I said, “No, what do you need?” The nurses actually took a step back. They didn’t know what to ask for. Finally, a doctor said, “Do you suppose you could get us some beds?” We said, “Oh, yeah.” They said, “Really?” Then we found out that the maternity area had no birthing tables. The operating room had no anesthesia.
