Our good friend Toby Coe told us about one of those trips where the planets didn't quite align for him but it was a different story for James!
Typically, articles about trips abroad (my own included) gush with stories of big fish and singing reels and are accompanied by pictures of grinning anglers under crystalline blue skies. For the most part, such stories are true; fishing abroad is often a heady concoction of heat, unusual alcohol and exotic species that make one question whether perhaps global warming might not be quite so bad after all. However, as any angler who has taken a few of these trips will know, the reality can sometimes be somewhat different, if only momentarily.
And so it happened that on a recent trip I nodded off in the flats skiff; whilst standing up, on the fishing platform. Fortunately, the first slump of unconsciousness served to rouse me, rather than see me slide head first off the prow of the boat and the only damage I sustained was a quizzical stare from my fishing partner and some muttered words from the now furiously poling guide. The reason for such slovenly behaviour was the absence of fish. As we were chasing permit, this can be expected from time to time. However, we had been poling over an enormous flat for a distance of what must have been several miles without seeing a single fish. Not even a push of water. It was like the silvery little sods had all suddenly decided that now was the time for a rendezvous out back on the reef.
In reality, we had timed our trip rather clumsily to coincide with a full-moon phase. This made for eerie evening vistas as we watched crabs scuttling around on the beach under the brilliant white lunar light. Just as we watched the local beach-life, the local permit population was no doubt using the extra visibility to stuff themselves silly all night. As a result, despite the best effort of our guide, although we had several fish follow flies virtually to the boat, they were generally uninterested in the flies we threw their way. Many of the fish we saw were moving fast rather than ‘mooching’, presenting a short window in which to get a fly in front of them and as a result our casts were often off the mark.
Backcountry Bliss
Fortuitously, our destination for the week was the Yucatan peninsula and the twin bays of Ascension and Espiritu Santo. These two huge systems of flats, mangroves and channels are replete with the super-slam species of tropical flats fishing. In particular, the destination is renowned for large numbers of permit, including some of the biggest that you will find anywhere in the world. Whilst we were there, a lovely couple we met from the UK (who have been travelling to the area for several years) had a shot at a fish they found on a rubble flat in Espiritu Santo that they estimated at around 40lb. A true behemoth of a permit.
Less well known, or publicised at the very least, is the ample opportunity that exists for sneaking amongst mangroves in pursuit of tarpon and snook. Punching flies under branches and between roots, the constant expectation of a swirl and smash as the fly finds a hungry fish. I personally love this kind of fishing. It doesn’t have the visual thrill of sight-fishing, but the edge-of-your-seat anticipation can’t be beaten.
Our first foray amongst the mangroves was on the same day as the ‘napping incident’ and was an absolute hoot. Our guide, Hosé, managed to find a group of baby tarpon that were more than up for playing ball. We came across them almost by mistake as they ghosted out from underneath the mangroves through a narrow channel, before disappearing again. The first fish that was jumped shot out from the channel, hammered my fishing partner James’ fly, leapt straight into a mangrove and promptly threw the hook.
What then followed were a brilliantly fun couple of hours finding out exactly how many different ways baby tarpon can throw a hook when space is tight and the mangroves are thick. We managed to actually land only two fish and one of those was only because it leapt straight into the boat in a valiant attempt at harakiri.
This afternoon of thick and fast action whetted our appetites and on the way back to the lodge that evening, we discussed the options for more of the same with Hosé. He didn’t disappoint and painted a picture that had both James and I hopping in our seats at the thought. Between Ascension Bay and Espiritu Santo Bay is an enormous system of almost completely land-locked lagoons. These, we were promised, held some much bigger tarpon as well as the chance of something really special; monster snook.
Snook are the least glamorous of the big four flats species, for what is most likely a combination of reasons. They are comparatively rare, in part due to their delicious culinary reputation, and they lack the acrobatics of tarpon or blistering speed of bonefish. We hear little about them here in the UK, but they are something of a cult fish in the US and catching a big one is seen as a real achievement. To be presented with even the chance of a shot at a really good sized snook was too much to resist and once back at the lodge we made plans to head out to the lagoons the next day.
Bailing out
It makes for a mildly unsettling start to a day’s fishing when the first 15 minutes are spent bailing out one’s boat for the day, especially when it has very obviously seen better days. However, due to the location of the lagoons and manner of reaching them, the only way in is via an old fibre-glass boat, little more than a rod-length long that we could physically pick up and carry. A full sized flats boat was simply too big to get back into the lagoons we were heading to.
Once off, the sheer scale of the lagoons became very apparent. Even though the trusty old tinker we were in was not the most speedy, the first lagoon we crossed took us the better part of half an hour. We then made our way through a long channel that cut through the mangroves, literally the width of the boat. Whilst this initially seemed rather convenient, Hosé assured us that it had in fact been hand-cut in order to allow access into otherwise inaccessible lagoons. Given the density of the mangroves surrounding us, this must have been a mammoth task. Once out, the hunt started, with Hosé poling precariously from the back while we hunkered in the bottom of the boat in preparation.
The fishing itself was everything that we had been lead to believe it would be and a bit more. The water in the lagoons was tannin-stained and murky and as a result, fish only become visible at short range. This made for some electrifying scenarios when fish were spotted literally within a few feet of the boat. One snook in particular swam past us so close that you could have almost touched it. This is even more incredible when considering the size of the fish; it was absolutely massive. It is no exaggeration to say that it was fully 15” across the shoulders.
The largest snook we managed to land between us fell to James and it exploded onto his fly from a pack of fish hanging just off the cover of the mangroves. In its effort to back into the cover it literally towed the boat after it. James did well to land it and only managed by employing an extreme version of ‘hit and hold’m in order to stop the fish from snagging in the mass of mangrove roots running down into the water.
The prize was a truly magnificent fish of about 25lb. Unlike the silver fish we had previously seen on the flats, this was a deep olive colour, with stunning golden fins. I also managed a somewhat smaller specimen, but had an unforgettable few seconds when a 40 lb+ tarpon that cruised right past us grabbed my fly and rocketed skywards. When you are crouched in the bottom of a rickety boat a few inches from the water, it makes for quite a vista looking up into the tropical sky as a four foot long tarpon heads for the heavens.
There are precious few places where backcountry fishing of this quality can be found and it was with a real wrench that we headed back to the lodge from the lagoons. The monster fish we had seen weren’t figments of our imagination. Some lucky anglers down there have managed to catch snook in excess of 40 lb. One picture in particular that we were shown later showed a madly grinning angler holding a huge snook the colour of dark chocolate.
It is intriguing to contemplate quite how or why these huge fish were back in the lagoons. Fish of this size are essentially prisoners; their bulk prevents them from weaving through the densely packed mangroves and whatever tiny channels run between the lagoons and the oceans. As far as any of the guides we spoke to were aware, no thoroughfare exists joining these more remote lagoons to the ocean that would permit them to come and go. Whether they ever return to the expanse of the reef to spawn is a bit of a mystery, however given the presence of ancient Mayan channels cut through the mangroves in the area, it would not surprise me if there was a route in and out that only these fish are now aware of.
Last ditch attempts
In an effort to make good our early failures on the open expanses of the flats, we turned back to the pursuit of more fickle quarry for our last day. Straight off the bat, James landed two decent tarpon from a school lazily porpoising on the surface, while my casts fell wide of the mark. To add salt to the wound, I then failed to monopolise what was a golden opportunity at a school of feeding permit. Some days just go like this.
Not that I am jealous, but I then watched as my fishing partner neatly turned a similar opportunity into a veritable charge of black tails as a school of permit chased down his fly. The fish that eventually took was virtually frenetic in its attempts to inhale the crab seemingly fleeing ahead of it. The pictures tell the tale - have you ever seen a man look quite so happy with a fish?
A quick drift along a suitable looking shallow flat to finish was almost too easy. A bonefish came to hand and James had achieved one of the great milestones of a flyfishing career. Now, I could have my vengeance here and describe in detail the comic victory jig that I then watched James perform on the casting platform. However I won’t stoop so low and concede that sometimes when you’re fishing, things just don’t quite go your way.
Snook and Slams
To have a shot at monster snook or a Grand Slam of your own, Casablanca Lodge cannot be beaten. Sitting right on the Southern corner of Ascension Bay, it is also within easy reach of Espritu Santo. The lodge itself is impeccably run, very comfortable and the food is fantastic. As an added bonus, fishing from the beach in the evening can be hugely entertaining as permit can often be found cruising the beach outside the front of the lodge. It can be booked direct at www.casablancafishing.com or through UK agents Fly Odyssey (www.flyodyssey.co.uk; 01621 743711)
Toby takes some stunning photos, more of which can be seen at his website which we think is well worth a visit!