Fishing boats are fishing boats. Some differences in beam and length, draw and height, construction material and means of propulsion, but basically, they take you to the fish. But when it comes to fly fishing, there is a clear-cut difference between a drift boat on a trout river and a tarpon boat in the mangroves. On a tarpon boat, prayer matters—and the scars run much deeper.

We had just slid into the mangroves to a deep hole called “Ensenada,” searching for the first tarpon of the day, when a 5-foot crocodile surfaced beside the boat.

My host, Alex Hernandez, pointed him out and said, “I think that’s the one that bit me last year.” He rolled up his pant leg and showed the scar on his foot. “A client got his fly stuck on a root and I went in to get it, when something grabbed my foot. Fortunately, he was a small one and I managed to get out of the water before any real damage.”

He turned to the back of the boat. “Pechugo, show him your arm.” The guide at the motor pulled off his shirt to reveal a long deep scar that ran along his left arm. “A large crocodile came into the city via the storm sewer, so a few of the men went after it. It got Pechugo before they got it.”

The croc submerged and the water started boiling in the middle of the open area. Tarpon. “Cast! Cast!” As I flicked out a short roll cast, all I could think was: Don’t get hung up on a root.

A tarpon blasted out of the water and shook my fly with such a fury that the line flew up and wrapped around an overhead branch. He hung on this mangrove crucifix, quivering in the light and spraying silver water as the three of us scrambled to pull the boat over to the tree. I reached out across the water and saw the croc surface again. All I could think now was: Don’t fall in. I wasn’t ready for my scar.

When anglers go to the Yucatán in Mexico to fly fish, they usually fly to Cancun and head south, ultimately going to Ascension Bay for the Grand Slam of bonefish, permit, and tarpon. I’ve caught bonefish and don’t have the cast for permit (yet), so tarpon it was. For the best shot at those, you need to hit the mangrove forests that wrap around the northwest side of the Yucatán, from Campeche to Isla Holbox.

There are a few big and well-respected fly fishing outfitters in the area. Alejandro Hernandez owns and operates Campeche Tarpon, while Holbox is home to the well-known Alejandro Vega, aka Mr. Sand Flea. The crocodile and tarpon above were with Alejandro’s son, who was kind enough to offer me a free afternoon of tarpon fishing during the two days I was in Campeche. I knew I was in the right boat when I spotted the “No Bananas” sign stuck to the gunwale beside a plaque declaring that this boat carried HRH Prince Charles on a tour of the area.

But this isn’t their story.

I was in the Yucatán to fish with a guide some 400 kilometers away from Campeche and well west of Holbox. Someone I didn’t know and could barely find any information on. An independent guide unaffiliated with any of the big operations. A guy named Ismael Navarro. 

Some things get caught in our heads. I first read about Ismael years ago. Rhett Schober out of Akumal—who was very helpful to me when I DIY’d my first bonefish in Tulum—mentioned him in a small book on fly fishing the Yucatán. But that was it. No website, Instagram, or other online presence. Then, during the early days of COVID, I saw a post from Rhett: Just a little plea to help a great fly fishing buddy in Rio Lagartos. Ismael is not only a great guide, but he is a super kind and generous soul. Please help him out if you can. Health-related travel mandates were especially tough on the small villages, which were cut off from everything but necessary supplies.

Most of my fishing is DIY and happens in off-the-beaten track locations, so when I do use a guide, I gravitate to guys in similar settings. And I have to admit, I was intrigued by a fisherman named Ismael. The name of exiles and outcasts, sure, but with the ear of God. Ismael in Hebrew is God will hear. The Spanish translation is more direct: God listens. I’m not a religious man, but I’m open to the idea that, as there are no atheists in foxholes, there may be none in fishing boats, either.

Río Lagartos (colloquially, River of Crocodiles) is a small fishing village accessible by a single one-lane road. As with much of that coast, the area is afforded government protection in a series of reserves commonly known as “biospheres,” and the village sits in the middle of the 48,000-hectare Río Lagartos Biosphere Reserve, a combination of coastal dunes, mangroves, small deciduous forests, savanna, grasslands, jaguars, crocodiles, birds of every type—and an exceptional baby tarpon nursery.

After months of WhatsApp conversations with Ismael, my wife and I finally rolled into town for a couple of days of fishing. We arranged to meet at the Yuum Ha Hotel, and as we pulled in front, a friendly guy waved from across the street and walked over. I jumped out of the car to shake his hand and we started talking about fishing. It took about five minutes before I realized he wasn’t Ismael. His name was Frank. I thanked Frank for his time and walked to the hotel to find Ismael waiting. How do you tell if you’re with a smart guide before you get to the water? He makes sure your wife has a great lunch then tells her a stupid joke that makes her laugh.

Half or a quarter Maya, Ismael stood—and I’m being generous here—5-foot something, with the something being pretty close to zero. But in that tight frame, he packed a lot of big and generous soul. We felt like old friends as Ismael took us around to get groceries, beer, and fresh fish from a friend of his, and then he pointed out the direction of our rental house. He would meet me at 7 a.m. on the beach in front of our place—a much shorter trip for both of us.

Forty minutes later, we pulled up in front of our house; as we unloaded, a small gray fox crossed our path. I took this as good sign. The Celts believed the fox was a spirit animal and would guide you on your journey. But then I recalled that it was the journey to the afterlife.

The wind had picked up in the morning and the waves were a good meter high when I saw the blue-green fiberglass panga round the point and come in parallel to the shore, just outside the breaking water. As the boat passed, it swung a hard 90 degrees and came in straight, slicing through the surf to the beach.

Ismael hopped out and took my rods and gear as I clambered in and introduced myself to the guy in the back of the boat manning the motor: Carlos Sansores, 68 years old, sun-worn and wiry, that no-nonsense competence that all fishermen seem to possess. No crocodile scars that I could see.

We pushed off and headed back toward the protected lagoons of the village. The great thing about Río Lagartos is that you are fishing just minutes from the center of town. I never asked, but I’m sure there are a few “pet” tarpon that hang around the dock.

On the way, I mentioned the fox, thinking Ismael might have some Maya insight. “A grey fox is good, man. Or bad. Neutral. Yucatán is going to let you decide.”

Saltwater guides can be tough. I haven’t fished with many, but my first bonefish guide put a deep mark in my psyche with his exasperated, “There, they’re right there!” and “Oh, you blew that cast.” What should have been a good day of fishing and camaraderie quickly turned into me just running out the day. Then there was the guide who drove around in the boat for an hour, “looking for fish,” until he dropped anchor in the middle of a bay. “This should be a good spot.” He pulled out his spinning rod and started casting for his dinner. The bottom was 30 feet down, and I had a floating line set up for bonefish.

But at the same time, I appreciate the hard work involved in getting on fish and the fact that some clients can be total dickheads—overestimating their skills, bringing unrealistic expectations, and treating the guy working his ass off for him like shit. Or they’re real sweet and then drop the bullshit line about not being too concerned with catching fish and “just want to go fishing.” Let’s see how you feel about that at the end of a skunked day.

But I had met and worked with more good guides than not. Far more, in fact. The guys who go that extra distance to get you to the fish. The guys who understand that if we agree to bring together our expectations, mutual skills and desires, and work together, we are going to have a good day. It all comes down to the first fish. Successful guide/client teams are laser-focused on getting that first fish. Jokes are left ashore, small talk is cursory, and the prep in the boat is paramount.

Within minutes, we passed the breakwater and were in the relatively calm lagoon. I tied on a Puglisi Peanut Butter and Ismael tested it by catching the hook on the seat edge and pulling. Satisfied, he said, “Now we look.”

“What are we looking for?” Even though I had hooked a tarpon once before while fishing for bonefish, I had no idea how I did it.

“Silver flashes on the water. Rolling tarpon.”

Tarpon school, or just like one another’s company, and they take in air to supplement oxygen levels. It’s what allows them to live in brackish water with low dissolved oxygen levels. This means that tarpon will gulp air and look as if they are rolling at the surface.

Ismael jumped up to the casting platform as we slowly motored across the flat. I searched the sides looking for any disturbance on the surface when a shift in the wind carried the prayer back to me. Maybe the extra height of the platform didn’t just give him a viewing advantage; it also raised him to be that much closer to heaven. The prayer was low and under his breath as he scanned the water. My religious Spanish is pretty awful and much worse than my fishing Spanish, so I’m going to interpret badly, but here goes: “It is Sábado. Please let David catch a sábalo.” He repeated the prayer over and over as we crisscrossed the water until we spotted a reflective cut in the water about 50 meters away and Carlos turned the boat to position us upwind and poled in.

I pulled off my shoes as Ismael washed down the casting platform to prevent my line from picking up any debris. Then he walked me through his prep list: “Stand here. Point out 11 o’clock—good. Not too many false casts, but if I say “drop,” you drop. Strip like this. Set hard three times. Bow to the king.” I’ll add prayer to the list. And hope God is listening.

My first cast landed at the leading edge of the group of tarpon and we watched as a good-sized fish turned and followed. A moment later, a glint of silver and the living tug. “Set!” I yanked back on my line hand and felt the hook dig it. “Again! Again!”

Another two hard jerks and the fish was on. He let me know by slicing through the water and exploding out. There’s something humbling about being in the open water with a good-sized fish on the line. I’ve caught big trout on a wild stream, and standing on land, albeit under the water, I am rooted and powerful. I command a stream. And the trout knows he really doesn’t have anywhere to go. But in a tiny boat on the vast ocean under a seamless sky, I had no supremacy. The word I’m looking for is insignificant. Despite the gear of boat, rod, and hook, the fish is going to go anywhere he damn well pleases. The tarpon took air again, and I got out of my head and dropped the rod until I felt the fish re-engage. Three more jumps and it began to tire. I have no frame of reference for what constitutes large or small in a baby tarpon. I’m just going to say that it was huge. Ismael unhooked the fish and let it slip back in the water.

First fish to hand, we relaxed and circled them for the next hour. I must have hooked 15 and landed 10. Lost a couple of flies to what I was told were barracudas.   

The tarpon eventually moved on, and so did we. We found smaller groups and chased them. Or didn’t. During a slow time, Ismael took the opportunity to work on my double haul (tippet isn’t the only weak link.) He had me skim my back cast along the water’s surface then use the wind to push my forward cast. Nothing new about a Belgian cast, but it’s a technique I never needed on a trout stream when a low roll cast will work. He also tightened my timing and backcast feed. The 8-weight Winston came alive, and I gained an extra 5 meters. Good guides give you something that will help you catch fish in their boat; great guides make you a better angler.

We fished out the day, splitting our time between the open lagoon and the edge of the mangroves, until the boat dropped me off on my beach in the late afternoon. I walked up to the house for a beer and a cigar—and to reflect. My hands were tingling. We know what muscle memory is—repeating an action over and over until it becomes so ingrained in your body that the action becomes second nature. You don’t think about driving; you just drive. The same could be said about my new double haul. But there’s another type of memory that lives in the muscles: the phantom existence of an experience. As I sat on the deck and looked out over the sun setting on the ocean, I could feel the rod handle come alive in my right hand as my left tensed with the hard strain of a strip-set and a racing tarpon. I relived that electric connection between angler and fish as I fought those tarpon again in my mind. I think I even bowed a few times. My wife popped her head out to ask if I was okay. I was. Very much so.

Second days on the water are either not as good as the first or better, which is to say they are always different.

With weather threatening the next morning, we decided to skip the flats and go deep into the mangroves, where I quickly lost track of the sights and sounds of ocean and sky. The boat slid through an opening in the tight branches and we came out to a pool where we could see tarpon cruising underneath. Big tarpon. There was just enough room to throw up a high back cast over the tops of the trees, then let it drop and drive it forward. It was a sloppy, stupid cast, but it received an approving nod from Carlos. Not the fish, though. They ignored every fly. I would literally drag a fly in front of a fish—a twitch to the right and I could have snagged one—and it barely elicited a glance.

Ismael was in the back of the boat quietly praying again, as I sat up front watching the water and cutting up a mango with a small knife when I heard a tremendous crash behind me. I thought for certain that a jaguar had attacked, and I whirled with the fruit knife at the ready. A meter-long tarpon had leapt out of the water and landed in Ismael’s lap. He was fighting it off as it flailed around, its tail slapping him in the face. You want to test your mettle? Go a few rounds with a pissed-off tarpon in a boat. Ismael managed to get both hands underneath and heaved it over the side. We caught our breath and started laughing as another fish slammed into the side of the boat. Then another. Tarpon were attacking the boat.

Sábalo! The terror from the mangroves!

Just as quickly, they stopped, and we collectively decided to get lunch.

Ten minutes later, we were at the docks. The tide had gone out, so we pulled up on a newly exposed “beach” in the middle of the lagoon and ate while watching shorebirds work the wet sand.

I asked Ismael about his background. He is 44 and was born about 40 kilometers from Río Lagartos. Though he’s a fishing guide, he was a professional bird guide for an ornithologist for a time. One day, he was approached on the Río docks by the ornithologist looking for a turquoise-browed motmot. Ismael had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but he was game enough to try and find one. Within two days, the scientist made Ismael his assistant, and they began a multi-year professional relationship that took them all over the Yucatán in search of birds. I asked Ismael why he didn’t work for one of the big outfitters. Our feet were resting on edge of the boat as we enjoyed a beer. He smiled and pointed out a flamboyance of flamingos gliding overhead, pale scarlet birds against an azurite blue like a ‘50s postcard.

“Would you leave?”

My eyes drifted down to the band of dark green trees edging the deeper turquoise of the water. And a flash of silver. Ismael saw my face. He tossed his empty in the cooler. “C’mon, let’s get you another fish.”

The next day, I started to pack for our departure. Grabbing some loose flies, I felt a sharp pain when a hook point pierced my thumb. Backing the hook out slowly, a drop of blood appeared at the wound and I instinctively put my thumb in my mouth. When I looked up, the fox was sitting on a small dune staring at me. My guide on the journey to the afterlife.

It’s just a small wound, fox.

We held eyes, then he turned and disappeared into the brush. In the end, the Yucatán let me decide and gave me my scar, which earned me the right to come back. When I do, I have guides waiting.

Bio: David. N. McIlvaney is an outdoor writer who splits his time between New York City and a tiny Catskill camp, where he hews wood and draws water. His fishing writing has been published in The Flyfish Journal, Hatch Magazine, Gotham Canoe and The Wading List. This is his first appearance in Tail Fly Fishing. Find him on Instagram: @the_real_dnm. Ismael Navarro can be contacted by WhatsApp voice call at +52 986 108 26 48 or by email at riolaga@hotmail.com.

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The post Río Lagartos Tarpon – Prayer and Scars in the Mangroves of the Yucatán first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Río Lagartos Tarpon – Prayer and Scars in the Mangroves of the Yucatán appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

AxisGo iPhone housing and a little luck produce stunning fish image
by Sonny Culp

The goal of any guided flats fishing adventure should always be some variation of improvement as an angler, having fun, and catching some fish. But the memories are what we bring home, so having a few fish pictures to share and savor is a big part of the overall experience. It’s always been that way, especially with the acrobatic and dinosaur-like Megalops atlanticus.

If you’re not convinced, just take a look at the famous fly-caught tarpon images taken by A. W. Dimock more than 100 years ago. How difficult it must have been to record and produce images like that. But he knew it was a worthwhile endeavor. Today, we all show up on the skiff with our fully charged iPhone or GoPro, the rain covers relegated to a lesser status than they used to be. But capturing decent fish pictures can be a challenge, and no matter the level of technological advancements in camera gear, some photographers are better at it than others.

I’m a point-and-shoot guy, simply hoping for the best. Sometimes, only family and friends might see the shots, but every once in a while I’m able to capture an image that really stands out. Such was the case on a recent tarpon trip to Southwest Florida.

I was fishing with Andy Lee out of Marco Island. The spring migration offers shots at swimmers on the outside when the tide, water clarity, sun, and wind all cooperate. Yep, you need all of those elements. We were getting our share of shots, and after landing a couple of smaller fish, a bigger girl ate the fly. She really gave us both a fit, and as the fight neared its finale, I started thinking about getting a photo of what appeared to be the fish of the trip.

If catching and landing a tarpon is a team sport, so is getting a quality picture of one. My iPhone 10 was already loaded inside its AxisGo waterproof housing, which is equipped with a pistol grip with a 6-inch dome housing around the lens. With the subdued fish on the sunny side of the boat, Andy readied the tarpon for release.

The shot you see here was the simple result of a good deal of pointing and shooting, which was made easier by the trigger-finger pistol grip. The only tip I can offer is that the dome lens effect requires the camera to be held much closer to your subject than you might think.

We released the fish and later scrolled through the results in the cab of Andy’s truck on the way home. Among the clutter of images facing certain deletion, there it was, a “keeper” as we say in fishing.

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How to Catch Big Fish by Andy Mill

The post Getting the Shot first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Getting the Shot appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

Editor’s note: These excerpts are transcribed from Mill House Podcast episodes. They’ve been lightly edited for brevity and clarity. Andy Mill has added recent reflections on the clips that are signified by italicized text.

Tackle was barbaric and fish were plentiful. Before GPS and sonar, navigation and exploration was about timing with speed and compasses. What was the evolution like for fishing sophistication?

Our history is told through decades of ageless, weathered anglers and guides who dedicated their lives to the pursuit of gamefish far and wide. Their quests and stories are riveting and compelling, instructive to those of us interested to know where we’ve come from and how we arrived where we are today.

If these stories are not told and documented, and if the emotion that accompanies them is not captured on camera, our heroes one day may only be remembered by name, their stories eventually lost with the trade winds.

Archiving our giants is our mission. For the rest of time, generations to come will have a chance to listen and see their forefathers and icons. Our goal at Mill House is to preserve these historical people and the lives they’ve led.

Included here are examples of two of our sport’s greatest statesmen, Flip Pallot and Steve Huff, speaking about when life gets closer to the finish line, a firsthand account of how weighted permit flies came into existence, and also how epoxy flies came to be. We also include moments from our time with Billy Knowles. We thought it would be valuable to share these snapshots as moments in time when a reflection made becomes a legacy for the ages.

From the Mill House Podcast interview with Flip Pallot

Andy: When I called you recently, I asked, “What are you doing, what’s happening?” You said, “I’m sitting in my Yeti chair looking at my backyard, looking at the woods, having a cocktail, trying to figure out what kind of mischief I can get into tomorrow.” What’s your life like now?

Flip: I sharpen a lot of things—hooks, arrows, and bullet points. I’m always happiest when I’m sharpening something or cleaning something.

Andy: I spoke to some of your buddies, great friends, prior to coming up here and they all agreed you’re the ultimate outdoorsman.

Flip: Well, I don’t know about that … but it certainly calls to me … always has. I never had an interest in sports, never knew who the biggest hitters were. It was never part of my stream of consciousness. I remember more than anything else sitting in elementary school classes looking out the window at the birds and wishing I was out there. School was always terribly difficult for me, not because of the school; it was because I didn’t want to be there, and I finished school because my parents wanted me to. It meant a lot to them. I wish I had those years in college back and do something really cool with them.

Andy: Your number-one rule, you’ve said, is to follow your heart. It appears as if you’ve done that now.

Flip: I have with the exception of a few little detours that were important to people that were important to me, family.  And so I spent some misguided years working in corporate situations which was like elementary school. I’d look out the window and wish I was out there, and then at some point I came to the full and certain realization life has a finish line and I was going backwards.

Andy: You know, I think, too, Flip, that we all go through those early years when we didn’t really understand who we were, and what our voices were saying, what our heart was saying. Are you listening to your conscience or your heart, but we’re not really sure until you get to the point with some experience and mileage. We all went through those years; it was painful but there was no way out, because we didn’t know the way out.

Flip: Exactly right! You have to find that, and there’s a price to pay for that, as there should be. But when you break through the veil, clarity exists. You realize this is what I was made for, this is where I belong and this is where I’ll stay to the finish line. And, just along those lines there is a point at which you clearly realize that you’re closer to the end than you are to the beginning. And so then every moment becomes precious. I mean, sometimes I’ll wake up in the morning and look at the clock and say what am I doing here? I could be doing something right now. And you realize there are only so many moments left, I should say so many vital moments left, and by vital I mean those moments you could spend on a poling tower poling, pushing a skiff into the wind. That comes to an end. How many moments are left that you could walk up a hillside at 9 or 10,000 feet and do your thing there? Those moments come to an end. And I don’t look forward to the time when all I can do is sit around and reflect and remember, I really don’t look forward to that. I look forward to to those vital moments that I just described, and many other things as well. You know what I’m talking about. It was so clear to me this past year when we lost Lefty, and I remember because I spent so much time with Lefty, and I remember when he couldn’t pole any more, and I remember when he couldn’t stand on the front deck of a skiff anymore. And I remember how sad … it wasn’t sad for him; he seemed to deal with it marvelously. It was sad for me because when vitality goes, you’re at the end of the trail.”

For me, closing in on 70 with a worn-out body makes it harder to stay in the game. When Pallot spoke of being at 9,000 and 10,000 feet, I knew he was directing that statement to me, knowing that’s where I live in the fall chasing elk. Since then, I dove back into a weight room and onto my bike. I want to still be successful at the things I love. Pallot’s voice hit me right between the eyes. But he’s telling us all to continue doing the things we love, the things we’ll be talking about for the rest of time. Take that fishing trip you always wanted to take. Keep skiing, rafting, hiking, and loving life to its fullest. Spend time with family members, grandkids. You can be tired when you’re dead. Do something this weekend so spectacular you won’t sleep all week. That’s a vital moment.

From the Mill House Podcast interview with Steve Huff

Andy: Tell me about those early years of permit fishing west of Key West with you and Del Brown.

Steve: Actually, I learned about permit fishing on Del Brown’s money. So he called me in 1980. He wanted to target permit and fish for permit a lot, and I’d done a lot of permit fishing, but had only caught 15 or 20 fish on fly so this was a learning experience … and we were using lots of different kinds of flies. Del was quite an innovator of flies. He was using other people’s ideas as well, so it wasn’t Del’s exclusively. There were a lot of guys trying to catch these things more frequently, but for whatever reason we started to catch a lot of permit and more permit than anyone had ever dreamed of catching. It was like if you caught a permit in your life it was a big deal. We had countless days when we caught five or six. Sandy (Sandy Moret) caught seven with me one day. That was the best permit fishing I’ve ever had, but also how the fish were getting in a feeding mode. Sometimes they were eating crabs off the surface like a dry fly. Basically, you could see them coming down a channel eating flies off the surface. It’s really cool, and that’s a caught fish when you get a fly in front of that thing. The right kind of fly, something that floats, quiver it, don’t strip it, shake it, cause these things are just coming down … they’re dead meat. The coolest permit strike I ever saw, I was with Charlie Causey, and we were going down this edge of a channel and the tide had fallen out, and we had on one of these floating flies looking for one of these cruising permit taking crabs and we weren’t seeing any. And this permit tailed in this little alcove maybe a foot or so deep, feeding on the bottom, you know. And we had the wrong kind of fly on, and he threw that floating fly over there and it drifted over this fish, and the fish had his head down and he looked up and saw this fly, and he was trying to get his head up to the surface but his tail was hitting on the bottom. He couldn’t get the fly and swam off into the channel, and Charlie said, “Goddamn, man, I thought he was going to bite that thing!” And I said, “Watch this.” And this fish went out into the channel, got a head of steam, and lunged up onto the flat and took the fly off the surface. His head was completely out of the water, like a 25-pound fish. So it makes your hair stand on end to see something like that.

Andy: Was there point in time with permit fishing when you got over the hump? Was it a fly design or you just understanding the dynamics of permit fishing?

Steve: So I could go through an entire talk about the evolution of permit flies, but nobody was putting weight in flies back then for permit. You know Nat Ragland came up with a little fly that had glass eyes on it, which was essentially weight. It had glass eyes on a piece of wire. Nat had somebody, a guy by the name of Bill Levy, catch a couple of permit on this fly. So I said, “Holy shit! We have to put eyes on our flies.” I’ll tell you where the epoxy fly came from. I was looking for eyes, because all of a sudden I knew that eyes were the deal, right? So my wife had some shelf paper in the drawers in our kitchen that had daisies on it, but the center of the daisy was basically an eye, right? So I cut the centers out and it’s got sticky paper, and I tried to stick them on and they wouldn’t stick on, you know? So I made this chenille body and I took some epoxy glue and I tried to stick these things on which made a mess. So I said, “Screw it! I’m just gonna cover the whole head of this thing with epoxy.” So that’s where the epoxy fly came from. Harry Spear came over a couple days later. I think we caught a permit on it because there was more weight, it added more weight. Screw the eyes. The eyes didn’t mean a damn thing. It was about the weight. So then we started adding more weight. The epoxy fly had its day and we started putting on little barbell eyes to get the fly down. I think the real thing was the right amount of weight, because sometimes they’re in shallow and sometimes they’re deeper and sometimes they’re in 4 feet of water along the edge of a channel and you can see them down there mudding, and you need something that gets down there, because they won’t see anything up there, you know? But that’s how the epoxy fly got started.

The epoxy fly, as Steve said, “Had its day.” But the way Steve layered the transition to the epoxy fly and ultimately fly weight is possibly the most important transition in all of shallow saltwater fly design. In another Mill House episode, Michael Guerin said the inventor of weighting flies was something on the order of a genius. Well, we don’t call Steve Huff the “God of Guides” for nothing. This story is one of a million pertaining to Huff’s creativity throughout 50 years of guiding.

From the Mill House Podcast with Billy Knowles

Andy: Let’s talk about Homosassa, because you were there with Carl (Carl Navarre), right?

Billy: No, I went there the first year in ’71 with Jimmy Lopez. The first morning out, we were the first boat down the river, and we got down to just before Chassahowitzka Point. I mean the tripod. He said, “Maybe there’s a few fish right here. Let’s stop and take a look.” And I shut down. We were in his boat, no electrics, strictly pole, and I was standing on the back of the boat and pushing around some. I see a fish roll. I said, “Jimmy, stand up. A fish just rolled and there might be more with him.” He starts shaking, and I said, “Hurry up!” I said, “Five or six fish just rolled.” He’s still shaking, and I said, “Forget it.” And he said, “Why?” I said, “There’s more damn fish here than I can count. He said, “You’re serious?” I said, “Yeah, it’s a big daisy chain.” Andy, when the sun came up, we weren’t outside the daisy chain throwing in, we were inside throwing out. That’s how big the school was. And he said, “How many fish do you think’s here?” I said, “I don’t know—1,000, 1,500, 2,000. I have no idea.” That day we caught seven and wouldn’t say how many we jumped. But we did catch seven. We were there for ten days. We ended up catching 77 fish in ten days. On the tenth day we never caught a fish. We hooked a fish in the morning about 7 a.m. and we fought that fish till a little after 12. The fish was way past two (200 pounds). He said, “We got to get a shot with the gaff.” I said, “You fight the fish. Let me worry about the gaff.” So not having electrics I had to pole outside of the fish to get up wind of him so the wind could blow me down on him. So I poled outside of the fish, laid the pole down real quiet, picked up the gaff, and the fish turned around and blew the fly right back in his face. He got so mad he threw the fly rod and reel down in the boat, bent the reel all to hell, lowered the motor down, cranked up, and we came in. And I said, “You’re a real sport, aren’t you?” He said to me, “Bring the boat back to Islamorada. I’m flying home.” Now, he had his plane there then. I said, “Whatever you want.” That was my last year with him.

Billy Knowles died January 4th, leaving a profound hole in the collective heart of Islamorada, Florida, where his family homesteaded in the 19th century. At 81, he was still on his tower chasing fish daily. He was one of the first skiff guides. He started fishing offshore as a youngster and over time became one of the planet’s best bonefish guides, winning some of the biggest tournaments on multiple occasions. Billy’s love for his fellow man was prevalent over his entire life, and deep friendships resulted from it. Considered the “Mayor of Islamorada” and a father figure to all, his was the voice of reason. Over the years he fished with Ernest Hemingway, President Herbert Hoover, President George H.W. Bush, and Ted Williams. The term legend often gets thrown around too casually, but Billy Knowles was the real deal, and even “legend” falls short when describing Billy. He was as big as they get in every way, Rest in peace, Billy. We miss you terribly, son.

If you’d like to hear more stories from fishing legends such as Chico Fernandez, Stu Apte, Al Pflueger Jr., and Mark Sosin, check out Mill House Podcast on any podcast app, or watch on YouTube.

Homosassa:  A Reminiscence of The Greatest Tarpon Fishery

Topwater Permit

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The post Reflections from the Mill House Podcast first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

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The 59th Annual Gold Cup Invitational Tarpon Fly Fishing Tournament, one of the most revered fly fishing tournaments in the world, is known wherever anglers pursue the Silver King with a fly. It has been referred to as the “World Series” of tarpon fishing and consists of 5 days of honorable competition. This year was especially exciting as fishing far exceeded previous year’s numbers as well as provided some real suspense each day.

Talented Fly-Anglers were able to pull in a total of 103 fish during the five-day stretch, consisting of 70 Release and 33 Weight Fish, the best tarpon fishing during this prestigious tournament in some time. Teams of Anglers and Guides compete for various trophy and sponsor-donated items. The real honor is for the overall winning team to have their names added to the 59-year-old perpetual trophy. The historic GCTT trophy is showcased locally at The Florida Keys Outfitters.

Second time Grand Champion Angler, Dave Preston from Miami, FL, and Guide to Grand Champion, Capt. Luis Cortes, earned their Grand Championship title with 6850 points, consisting of 7 Release Fish and 5 Weight Fish for the week. Preston and Cortes’s Weight Fish weighed in at 99.7, 132.5 96.8, 74.5, and 71.5 pounds. Dave Preston’s never failing positive attitude and passion for conservation has been evident over the 10 years that he has fished the tournament. Preston says, “It’s humbling to even be invited to fish the Gold Cup, and Capt. Luis and I consider it a great honor just to be in the room, trying to follow in the footsteps of giants. To come out on top in 2021 was the experience of a lifetime, and to be able to repeat and carry this feeling on for the next 365 days is everything we could dream of and then some. We’re extremely grateful to our fellow competitors, the tournament organizers, and the anglers and guides who have come before us to make the event what it is today.”

First Runner Up Angler, Mike Criscola from Fair Haven, NJ, and Guide, Capt. Eric Herstedt, earned 5295 points. They are one of one of the rare teams to catch the 5 weight fish limit by day 4, allowing the last day of fishing to consist of chasing release fish that are at least 4 feet long, instead of chasing the biggest fish that would count as weight fish. They also caught fish every day, which is an oddity during the Gold Cup Tarpon Tournament.

Second Runner Up Angler, Nathaniel Linville, from Key West, FL, and his Guide, Capt. Ian Slater, earned Second Runner-Up with 3226 points. This reputable team caught 5 Release Fish and 2 Weight Fish weighing 94.5 and 78.1 pounds.

The Largest Tarpon Award was earned by Angler Ned Johnson from Charleston, SC and his Guide, Capt. Craig Brewer with a fish weighing approximately 139 pounds.

The 60^th Gold Cup Tarpon Tournament will take place June 19-23, 2023. For additional information, including current results and sponsors, please visit the website at www.GoldCupTT.com.

Homosassa:  A Reminiscence of The Greatest Tarpon Fishery

Tarpon training: offseason work with retrievers

How to Catch Big Fish by Andy Mill

The post 59th Annual Gold Cup Invitational Fly Fishing Tarpon Tournament first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post 59th Annual Gold Cup Invitational Fly Fishing Tarpon Tournament appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

Captain Earl Waters stripped off 60 feet of line from the reel and handed me the thick, one-piece composite rod. “Here,” he said curtly. “Cast.”

I unfurled the length of the line after a couple of back casts, shooting the fly straight to nowhere in particular.

“Hand the rod to your buddy,” he said, directing Charlie Madden to do the same drill.

Waters had stopped his pristine, teal-green Silver King skiff, with a coral-colored cap, about a half-mile out in the Gulf, just outside of the Homosassa River channel. We were apparently being interviewed realtime for a skills check. 

Madden made his cast. Seemingly satisfied with the results, Waters fired up the outboard and zoomed south toward the flotilla of boats spread across the expanse of shallows outside of Chassahowitzka Channel.

It was May 15, 1993. Madden and I were, at last, tarpon fishing the equivalent of golf’s Augusta National. We were rubes, with about a year of saltwater fly fishing under our belts, and had thin wallets with just enough credit between us to split two guided days at Homosassa and two nights at the storied Riverside Inn.

Booking it had not been easy; we couldn’t find a guide who’d take us. Without a history and a bankroll to fund at least a week or more on the water, Homosassa guides were not particularly interested in taking on new clients, especially neophytes. 

We reached out to David Olsen, former manager of the now-defunct Fly Fisherman in Orlando, Florida, for help. A few days later, Olsen called back: “If you guys can fish May 15 and 16, I have a guide who’ll take you. Name’s Earl Waters. I vouched for you guys—told Earl you could cast and see fish.”   

Thus, the on-the-water interview, which had really begun at the Homosassa launch ramp.

Our initial introduction at the ramp wasn’t much more than a head nod of acknowledgement that we were Waters’ clients. After readying his skiff, he examined the four-piece graphite rod and Islander reel that Madden and I planned to share. 

“You can put that rod back in your car,” Waters directed. 

Reading the perplexed look on my face, he answered my unspoken question. 

“That rod is too small for these fish.”

I was bummed. The four-piece, 12-weight Loomis IMX, stamped “DEMO” just above the single cork handle, was my prized tarpon possession. I’d found it in a bin marked “half-price” in a sporting goods store in Denver on a recent business trip. That it was now being relegated to the hotel room, along with the dozen IGFA-leadered flies, neatly fixed in a new leader stretcher rigged specifically for this trip, was painful.

In retrospect, I fully appreciate the atmosphere of that morning. Waters expected much, considering his clients and friends included the likes of Al Pflueger and John Emory. Indeed, in Monte Burke’s Lords of the Fly (an extraordinary, must-read compendium on the 50-year history of fly fishing for tarpon—specifically for record fish at Homosassa), the arcing intersection of legendary guides and anglers, chasing tarpon for the better part of half a century, explains it all. 

Over our two days, Waters became genuinely sociable, and generous with information on all manner of tarpon fishing, even though finding the tarpon proved elusive. Shots were few and far between, but Madden did manage one bite and landed a classically average Homosassa tarpon.

Despite the slow action, Homosassa was mesmerizing. It possessed a magnetic draw for Madden and me that could not—and would not—be ignored.

In the Beginning

Homosassa, situated on Florida’s Gulf Coast about 70 miles north of Tampa, is legendary. Its legacy of tarpon fishing began about 1970. 

“When Lefty Kreh wrote about a trip he’d made to Homosassa in The Tampa Tribune, fishing with ‘the MirrOlure guys,’ Harold LaMaster and Kirk Smith, the word got out,” Captain Dan Malzone said in a recent interview. “LaMaster and Smith invited Kreh to fish with them as they chunked lures into the hole around Black Rock, which was stacked thick with big tarpon. I owned three sporting good stores at the time, so naturally, I’d heard about it.

“In 1972, Keys anglers Normand Duncan and Gary Marconi caught wind of Homosassa’s giant tarpon that nobody fished and started fly fishing there. They invited me to fish with them in 1974.  In the mid 70s, we were the only guys on the water.”

Subsequently, Malzone would fish Homosassa three days each week, Friday through Sunday, the only days his businesses would allow him, for the next several years.

In 1976, Florida Keys guide Steve Huff and angler Tom Evans, who would book Huff for 45 straight days, had had a rough spring, nasty weather keeping them dockside more often than not. One windy morning, with a low-pressure system settling on the Keys, they had breakfast with Duncan at a local diner. He suggested they drive up and fish Homosassa, where the weather might be better. “Where the hell is that?” asked Evans.

“We drove up to Homosassa,” Huff said in a recent interview, “launched the skiff … and never saw a fish all that first day. So the next day we hired a plane from a local airport to fly over the area to look for fish. And we found them … tarpon were everywhere.” 

Huff and Evans hit the water soon after they landed. “Tom hooked up on a big fish,” Huff recalled.  “He immediately became smitten with the big fish at Homosassa and wanted to come back.”

The following year, Huff and Evans spent three consecutive weeks fishing Homosassa. The flats were still mostly absent other anglers and skiffs, but record chaser Billy Pate had gotten word of Homosassa’s giant tarpon. Like Evans, Pate had the financial wherewithal to pursue big fish for weeks at a time, and he spent the entire tarpon season chasing records at Homosassa.

“On Memorial Day 1977, Pate and his guide (Hal Chittum) were the only ones on the water besides Tom and me,” Huff said. “About three in the afternoon, fish began pouring in from the west by the thousands. Tom caught seven tarpon that afternoon, all over 150 pounds. His seventh fish was 177 pounds.”

Continue reading this and the hundreds of other impeccable features in the pages of Tail Fly Fishing Magazine, the only magazine dedicated to fly fishing in saltwater.

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Alive & Well in the Florida Keys

A Fish My Age – Henry Hughes

Worm Swarming—At Long Last

The post Homosassa:  A Reminiscence of The Greatest Tarpon Fishery first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Homosassa:  A Reminiscence of The Greatest Tarpon Fishery appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

My good friend E. J. Sigety is a very skilled fly angler, creative fly tier, and a wealth of fly fishing knowledge. One of his favorite smallmouth bass patterns is the Lazy Stripper SBS. In this feature we’re going to put a salty twist on the pattern. We’ve dubbed this fly the Salty Stripper SBS. It’s an effective pattern to throw into the mangroves for snook and baby tarpon. You can also tie it larger to throw at big laid-up tarpon using an 11- weight. The marabou tail gives this fly amazing action even at a standstill, while the synthetic EP fiber head and body make it very functional and durable.

Materials:

• Hook: Gamakatsu SC15 or similar, 2/0
• Threads: Danville 210 Denier Thread (any color); Danville Monofilament Thread (.006 diameter)
• Adhesive:  Zap Goo   
• Tail: Marabou, white and olive
• Flash: Gold Flashabou and gold Krystal Flash
• Gills: Red EP Silky Fibers
• Body and Head: EP Sculpt-A-Fly Fibers, sand and white
• Eyes: EP Plastic Eyes, 5.5 millimeters

Step 1. Start with any color of Danville 210 thread. We’ll eventually switch to mono, but standard thread makes tying in the first materials much easier. Attach your thread on the shank above the hook point and wrap back to above the barb. Trim off the tag end.

Step 2. Take one white marabou feather and measure your tail length. For a 2/0 fly we normally use about a 2-inch section. secure that tightly to the top of the shank with thread wraps.

Step 3. Measure your olive marabou feather. You want this to be just a bit longer than the white marabou. Secure this on top of the white marabou and trim the excess.

Step 4. Take several stands of gold Flashabou and V-wrap it along both sides of the tail so that it runs down the middle of the olive marabou feather. Trim the strands so that they’re about a half-inch longer than the marabou. After that’s secure, take about five strands of gold Krystal Flash and tie them in so they rest directly on top of the marabou.

Step 5. Move your thread in front of where the feathers are secured, whip finish, and cut your thread. Attach your monofilament thread where you left off and hit it with a dab of Zap Goo. Next, take a 2-inch length of red EP Silky Fibers and V-wrap on the bottom 2 quarters of the hook shank. These are going to suggest the fish’s gills. Once secure, press the fibers up and trim them at an angle.

Step 6. Take your sand-colored EP Sculpt-A-Fly Fibers and prepare the three pieces you’ll need to make the body and head of the fly. (You’ll also do the same with the white fibers.) Each piece you tie in will get progressively shorter. Begin with a bunch that’s about 50 fibers thick. When you twist them to compress them, they should be about the same thickness as a toothpick (always err on the side of fewer fibers). Prepare by cutting a sand-colored section that’s 3 inches long, a section that’s 2 1/2 inches long, and a section that’s 2 inches long. Then prepare three sections of white fibers as well in the same lengths as above. Once all six sections are measured and cut, put a taper on each end of all sections. Doing this before you tie them in will help with post-production trimming and avoid creating a fly that looks like a paintbrush. Take your 3-inch section of sand-colored fibers and secure them at midpoint with several wraps of mono to the top left quarter of the hook shank. Bend the other half of the fibers around and tie them down the top right quarter. The result should look like Image 6a.

Step 7. Rotate the head of the vise or invert the hook and tie in the 3-inch section of white fibers along the bottom of the hook shank in the same manner. The result should look like Image 7a.

Step 8. Move your thread forward and repeat the above instructions with both of your 2 1/2-inch sections, and then again with your 2-inch sections. If, along the way, the fibers start to puff out or get tangled, combing them with a lice brush should fix things. When you’ve fastened all sections, your fly will resemble that in Image 8.

Step 9. Because you took the time to taper the ends of the fiber sections before you tied them in, your trimming time should now be significantly less. Take your scissors and simply clean up the fly a bit to suggest a baitfish form. (I highly recommend the EP 4 1/2-inch scissors, which are excellent for trimming synthetics).

Step 10. Use a cautery pen to burn two small holes in the fibers to place the eyes. These holes should be burned even with the point of the hook. Use flush cutters to snip off most of the posts of the plastic eyes. Use a bodkin to place a generous amount of Zap Goo in one of the eye holes. Place a plastic eye into the glue-filled hole so that the post is both covered with glue and touching the shank of the hook. Repeat on the opposite side of the fly. If you do this correctly the eyes will be bulletproof.

Bio: Nick Davis is the co-owner of 239 Flies & Outfitter in Bonita Beach, Florida, which began as an online retailer selling one-off fly patterns and now occupies 2,600 feet of retail space. You can learn more about Nick and 239 Flies by visiting his website (239flies.com) or his Instagram (#BuildingFuzzyEmpires).

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Worm Swarming—At Long Last

Flat-Wing Sand Eel | Barry Ord Clarke

Soft Chew Wiggler 2.0

Candy Corn Crawler

The post Saltwater Fly Tying – The Salty Stripper first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Saltwater Fly Tying – The Salty Stripper appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Tarpon training: offseason work with retrievers first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Tarpon training: offseason work with retrievers appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

Well, as they’re seven and ten years old, I realized the answer now should be yes. I’ve taken them fishing many times on rivers and lakes here in the United Kingdom, and both of them have always been keen. I’ve always been very careful not to push fishing on them, or make them stay longer than they wanted to, in case it had a negative effect rather than a positive one. However, I had never taken them on a full-fledged international fishing trip, and I figured the time was nigh. Thomas, my oldest, has always been fascinated with tales of bonefish and saltwater species, and they both thrive in that tropical environment. As my wife, Elisabeth, has always loved bonefishing, this seemed the perfect opportunity for a family fishing adventure.

The next question was, Where? As this is what I do for a living, you would think that would have been easy, but it did take some thought. Then It hit me that the obvious choice was Turneffe Atoll in Belize. Why? That’s where I caught my first bonefish with my family—a trip that I have never forgotten. Taking Elisabeth and our children there would complete the circle. I began making arrangements.

One evening last autumn, I switched off my children’s usual YouTube viewing, flipped it over to the Aardvark McLeod YouTube channel, and put on a video of Turneffe Flats Lodge in Belize. The two of them watched the whole thing through, captivated by the location, the beaches, the bonefishing, and running around in flats skiffs. When their questions subsided, I hit them with the news: We were going there in August of the following year. A small riot of excitement ensued. This was exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

Over the next six months, a continuous stream of fishing kit began to stack up in the sitting room. I acquired each of them a Hardy Demon Saltwater 7-weight rod matched with a Hardy SDSL 8000 reel. We would spend some time each Sunday practicing casting in the park. Slowly but surely, they developed reasonable casting skill, with Thomas beginning to double haul after studying a Lefty Kreh DVD. I supplemented their casting practice by grabbing the end of the line and mimicking bonefish runs so they would feel comfortable with pressure and retrieve. I also offered them some tips on avoiding obstacles.

Finally, August was upon us. Our bags were packed, and the ten-month preparation period was over. I was excited.

Our journey began with a flight to Miami, the discovery of pancakes and bacon, the Miami Seaquarium, South Beach, and the sun setting over Biscayne Bay. We then flew down to Belize City, where I had a small surprise waiting for them. Rather than our taking the 90-minute boat journey out to the atoll, I had arranged a helicopter transfer. As none of them had ever travelled by helicopter, this was a whole new level of excitement. As we flew over Belize City and over the outer cays, Turneffe Atoll came into view, giving them an incredible perspective of where we were going and the remoteness of our location.

Having settled into one of the family apartments of the new Pelican Villa, we looked out across Home Flat in front of us, and I immediately began looking for fish. (What can I say? I just can’t help it!)

Elisabeth and I had agreed we would take the children out fishing each morning until they had had enough, and then we’d return to snorkel, swim, relax, and enjoy the island. We would alternate between them and fish close together so we could share the experience as a family.

The first morning we ran north in the flats boats to one of the last cays on the atoll, Mauger Cay, where our guides, Dubs and Alton, knew a large school of bonefish lurked in what is known as a mud. This is deeper water where a huge number of bones congregate and feed. It was the perfect spot for both children to get off the mark and hook some fish, figure out what it was all about, and practice some of the skills they had learned. It didn’t take long, and after some huge excitement, both of them were cradling their very first bonefish. For me this was quite special, as it took me back to my first bonefish here 20 years earlier. Thomas and Grace proceeded to land over 20 fish in a couple of hours. I wasn’t sure which they enjoyed more—the fishing or the speed of the flats skiffs!

The following day I graduated them from the muds onto the actual flats around the coral reef. The big, open flats areas stemmed from channels near the mangroves, up over the turtle grass to the rough, broken-coral areas of the reef itself. We could see barracuda patrolling the deeper edges and hanging in white holes, looking for an easy meal. Way up in the skinniest water, often amongst the broken coral, were large schools of bonefish, often tailing or showing their backs. This is not the easiest environment in which to hook and land bonefish, and it certainly presented a challenge—one that my son relished. Thomas had already flipped into predator mode, and with the help of his guide, Dubs, he was more than capable of sneaking up around the back of these fish and presenting a tiny Bonefish Bitters on a long leader.

I watched him stalk down to some tailing fish, and I was very proud to see him throw a lovely loop that stopped above the fish and then gently dropped to one side. The rod tip went down—twitch, twitch, and strip set! He was into a lovely 3-pound-plus fish that streaked off across the flat like a silver bullet as the rest of the school exploded in panic. Dubs was clapping his hands and clasping Thomas’ shoulder like a proud uncle. Thomas weaved the fish in and out of the sharp coral before he brought it safely to hand with a beaming grin. Seeing this vista unfold was not the highlight for me; rather, it was watching the expressions on Thomas’ face. I saw the mixed emotions of concentration, surprise, nervousness, and utter elation. I watched a passion ignite in him that might one day equal my own.

Grace, too, was enjoying the experience, though at only seven she was struggling with casting in the wind. She was more than content to stick close, participate in the stalk, and then take over once the fish was hooked. The first fish I hooked on the edge for her was not large, between 2 and 3 pounds. As I checked the drag and handed her the rod, the fish took off, and she watched the backing start heading very quicly across the flat. The vague look of terror was replaced with grim determination, and slowly but surely she started to gain ground. After what seemed like an age and a couple more blistering runs, the leader was in sight and I could see the fish. Sliding across the flat about 5 feet behind it was a massive barracuda, which obviously was reckoning on an easy meal. I charged it, flailing and splashing as I ran, and I sandwiched myself between it and the bonefish. I knew murder would ensue if Grace lost that fish after all the hard work she had put in. Luck was on our side: The barracuda backed away and soon we had the bonefish to hand.

The week progressed and both Thomas and Grace found their feet. Alton had been a marine researcher at one of the stations on Turneffe for 15 years, so as soon as Grace had had enough, he would take her by the hand across the coral and show her the flora and fauna inhabiting the flats and coral rock pools. Dragon snails, urchins, gobies, and crabs kept her captivated. The snorkeling and diving at Turneffe Atoll is phenomenal, so we kept snorkeling kit in the focsles of the skiffs. When the children had had their fill of wading the flats and chasing tails, the guides would take us to a suitable spot where we would snorkel together as a family under their watchful eye. Alton came into his own here as he could point out particular items of interest that the untrained eye would miss, such as a sleeping nurse shark tucked under an overhang (harmless!), lobster, grumpy octopus, or various species of crab. This allowed Thomas and Grace to experience a world they don’t normally see and to learn more about what lies beneath the water they had spent so much time gazing into. Afternoons were spent lazing by the pool, kayaking around Home Flat, husking coconuts, or just chilling under a palapa. Time slipped away into island life and the children slipped into early beds after tiring days.

On the last day the guides took us south to a stunning area called Calabash Cay, a huge shallow flat with mangrove islands and the ocean lapping over the edge of the reef. On arrival we could already see the glint of silvery tails in the waves and I felt my pulse quicken. After a short while the children announced they were tired—it had been a long week!—so we built them a den on one of the skiffs from the mooring rope and some towels and left them to it. They would be in sight wherever we were, so Elisabeth and I had the chance to spend some time fishing ourselves with the guides. I found some fish tailing against the pilings of a long-since-disappeared dock and managed to land one. Elisabeth hooked up but sadly was coral-cut. There’s something truly magical about hunting bonefish in really skinny water; the tails give away their position but also their mood. Stealth, long leaders, small flies and accurate casting are required, but the rewards are huge.

On the return ride to the lodge, the guides allowed the children to hold the tiller of the motor, which I suspect blew their minds.

Sadly, the journey had come to an end and it was time to leave this island paradise. For Thomas and Grace, this journey to the other side of the world gave them countless new experiences that will broaden their horizons as they grow. It has brought them closer together as siblings and us as a family through shared experience. I am sure, like myself and my wife, this trip will remain carved in their memory for the rest of their lives.

Fact Box – Family Fishing Trips

There are a few things I have learned about putting together trips for families over the years, especially those involving children. If you want children to engage with fishing, they must catch fish pretty quickly, especially the first time out, or they’ll lose interest fast.  Bonefishing trips work well, as it’s visual and the beach environment is always a hit, even without fishing. With that in mind, destination such as Belize, Mexico, the Bahamas, or the Seychelles are excellent. Plenty of fish, experienced, patient guides, and comfortable, well-established accommodations remove all stress and ensure your children will get the most out of the trip. Turneffe Flats had the added benefit of phenomenal snorkeling in a safe environment.

Bio: Peter McLeod began guiding fly anglers for Atlantic salmon in Norway at the age of 16. He is the founder of Aardvark McLeod, international fly fishing specialists. Peter is the author of the acclaimed GT: A Fly-Fisher’s Guide to Giant Trevally (Merlin Unwin Books, 2016). For more information on putting together a family fly fishing trip, you can contact Peter through www.aardvarkmcleod.com.

The post Next Generation Fly Fishing first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Next Generation Fly Fishing appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

In 1991 I was invited to dinner by one of my longtime clients, Mitch Howell. Mitch was by far one of the best bonefish anglers I had ever fished with. This was confirmed by his multiple tournament victories in the 1980s and ‘90s.  He was the only client who told me to come down from the platform to cast while he was hooked up, which enabled the only guide/client bonefish double in my career thus far. Mitch was the financial advisor to Lefty Kreh, Flip Pallot, and a bunch of other people.  He knew Lefty, and he knew that Lefty would be in town for a casting demonstration. Mitch also knew that I would be a nervous wreck, so he didn’t initially tell me that the dinner plans included Lefty Kreh.

Mitch planned a meeting at Burt & Jacks, Burt Reynold’s fancy steakhouse in Fort Lauderdale, which was already a problem for me.  You see, I like my steak well done, and when you order a well done steak at a place like this, you get that annoyed look from the waiter; the chef looks out from the kitchen to see who is ruining this piece of meat.  It’s pretty uncomfortable.

To make matters even worse, Mitch leaned over as we were getting out of the car and said to me in a stern voice, “Just don’t embarrass me by ordering your steak well done.”

So there I was at a table in a fancy steak house with Lefty and Mitch.

My palms were sweating before the waiter even approached, and now he was at the table asking to take our orders.  He started with Mitch, who ordered his steak black and blue, which is burned on the outside and bloody on the inside The waiter turned to Lefty and asked, “And you, sir?”

Lefty quipped, “I want my steak the color of your apron.”

The waiter, wearing a black apron asked, “Well done?”

“Not just well done,” Lefty replied, “extra well done.”

I instantly felt my body relax as my palms dried up.

Mitch had known all of this and just let the drama play out, but the result of his fun was my introduction to the legendary Lefty Kreh.

Once the steaks arrived, both Lefty and I sent them back for addition cooking—and once more after that. While waiting for our entrees, Lefty and I ate onion rings and shared fishing stories. Mitch quietly and competently finished off his meal, content that his introduction was successful. With our mutual agreement that overcooked meat was better, Lefty and I were kindred spirits.

On the Skiff

After dinner, Lefty said he would be back in Florida soon and would be in touch. He wasn’t lying, it was only matter of months before he contacted me with his arrival information.

I first guided Lefty in 1992. We fished regularly when he came to Florida both in Miami (Biscayne Bay) and, after my wife and I moved our residence, in Islamorada. I picked him up and dropped him off at the airport, and he stayed at my place when he was in town. It was always a pleasure to host Lefty, and we developed a friendship that would last for decades. I don’t know about all of his fishing trips, but we fished a lot over the 25-plus years that we were friends.  His big trip, however, was his annual trip with Flip Pallot in the Everglades. They would fish with permit king Del Brown and legendary Key West guide Steve Huff, so you could just image the conversations of these heavyweights.

I assumed Lefty liked fishing with me because it enabled him to get out of the spotlight to catch his favorite fish: bonefish. Back then, the Keys were loaded with big bonefish, and catching a double-digit bone was common. Who wouldn’t enjoy that?

No Tournaments

Lefty didn’t like tournaments.  He never participated in any of them.

He frequently spoke of tournaments, but never in a good way. He thought that they brought out the worst in anglers and created stress in what should be a stress-free environment.  There was one tournament that was new and different from the others, the Redbone Tournament.  It was more of a celebrity/pseudo-celebrity contest with a very noble cause. The proceeds went to help with the healthcare expenses of a guide whose daughter had cystic fibrosis.  As you may know, many Florida fishing guides don’t have health insurance, so this disease was a real financial burden for the family. I told Lefty about it one day when we were fishing and he said no tournaments–but it wasn’t a firm no. 

I was friends with Miguel Sosa, a financial advisor and avid angler from Coral Gables, who was also a proponent of the tournament. I convinced Lefty to participate in the Redbone tournament and paired him with Miguel. It changed his mind about tournaments, and we ended up fishing three of them together over the next few years. I believe these were the only the tournaments Lefty ever fished. (I’d like to remind everyone that the Redbone continues today, and proceeds still go to helping families with cystic fibrosis.)

Sidebar: I have no pictures because the only photos of Lefty and me together were taken by D.L. Goddard and they were all out of focus.  Goddard was a great fly tier but a lousy photographer.

Reality Check

One day we were driving down to Loggerhead Basin, a well-known tarpon spot in the Lower Keys, with Randi Swisher (from Sage Fly Rods, at the time). Lefty always slept in the back of the truck on the way down. He liked his naps.

It was a little windy, but we got the boat in the water and Lefty was first on the bow. There was a nice tarpon laid up right in front of him.  Lefty, surprised by the easy shot before him, got flustered. He got his line tangled up and in the process of getting untangled he created a rat’s nest.  We were all laughing as he stepped down to give Randi the shot. Randi stuck the tarpon and I joked with him, saying, “Lefty Kreh has problems casting in the wind–who knew?”

Lefty responded with: “I can cast in a controlled environment like an auditorium all day. I can put a fly through a hula hoop from 100 feet, but with one of them looking at you I’m just like everyone else.” I must have looked disappointed, because he added: “I did that on purpose so I didn’t have to deal with that thing. When he’s done with that, let’s go find some bonefish.”

Lefty was a real person, as flawed and vulnerable to mistakes as everyone else. He would rather fish for bonefish than tarpon any day of the week.

I miss that guy.

Well Done
By Greg Poland (gregpoland@icloud.com) was published in Tail Fly Fishing Magazine in early 2020.  To read more great stories from fly fishing legends and greats like this, subscribe to TFFM today. SUBSCRIBE 

The post Lefty Kreh – Well Done first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Lefty Kreh – Well Done appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

I’ve been guiding here in Hilton Head for well over 25 years and am very blessed to live in this beautiful place we call the Lowcountry. The best part about being a guide here is doing what I love while sharing this amazing fishery with visitors.

A frequent question I get is, “When’s the best time of the year to fly fish in Hilton Head?” My answer always is, “Every month has magical moments as long as the weather and tides come together.” Below is a synopsis of the seasons and species this part of the country has to offer, along with some commentary on equipment and terminal tackle.

Touching on gear, fish species, and time of year
by Captain Brain Vaughn

Winter (Redfish)

If you happen to visit during the winter months, considered the off-season for tourism in Hilton Head, you’re in for a treat. Some excellent opportunities exist to catch schooling redfish that can range anywhere from 1 to 12-plus pounds. Air temperatures average around 60 degrees but can dip well below that mark when a cold front pushes across the country. The colder weather causes the redfish to school up—and they do. Schools of hundreds of fish are usually found on the lower tides on mud flats, in front of creek mouths and oyster rakes. Sight fishing these schooling redfish is best on sunny days with light wind using a 7- or 8-weight rod with a weight-forward floating line or a floating line with an intermediate clear tip for deeper flats or for presenting to fish in crystal-clear water. Tapered leaders of 9 to 10 feet with 16- to 20-pound tippet are best, especially when fishing near oyster beds. As far as flies are concerned, many patterns work, but when I’m fishing clear water I prefer light-colored or flashy flies, as the client and I can easily track them while leading a fish. When the water is dark-colored or muddy and you’re casting to waking fish or mud puffs, larger patterns work best. When dressing, layer accordingly. A light waterproof shell jacket, a fleece, and a base layer should be all you need. Early mornings can be pretty chilly to start, but be ready to shed some layers as the sun warms throughout the day. You’re still in the South.

Spring (Redfish, Cobia, Tripletail)

During the spring months as the air and water temperatures rise into the 70s, baitfish schools, shrimp, and crabs start moving back inshore, getting redfish fired up bigtime. Baitfish patterns and topwater flies can be very effective on the flats and over oyster rake mounds on the middle of outgoing and incoming tides.

The species that comes to mind first when asked about my favorite fish on fly in the Lowcountry is the cobia. Cobia could possibly be the biggest of all the fish that migrate into our sounds and nearshore waters, but they also have the smallest window of opportunity, with only a month to six weeks of prime action per season. Late April through mid-June is prime time to sight fish cobia on the surface. The perfect setup is a 10- or 11-weight rod matched with a floating line and a 9-foot leader ending with a short piece of 40- to 50-pound bite tippet tied to a baitfish or eel pattern. Cobia can range anywhere from 10 to well over 50-plus pounds and are usually are spotted pushing a small V wake on the surface, especially on warm days with glass-calm conditions.

May is the month that cobia spawn in the sounds and rivers that surround Hilton Head and Beaufort. During the entire month of May, cobia are strictly catch-and-release. This was implemented by the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources (dnr.sc.gov/) two years ago to help their stocks return to normal. I’ve already seen a significant increase in their numbers over the last two years, and I expect this trend to continue throughout 2020 and beyond.

Tripletail are also a treat to encounter during the spring, but they can be very difficult to spot. They’re masters of camouflage and like to hang underneath floating debris such as driftwood and marsh grass. A 8- or 9-weight rod rigged with a small crab, shrimp, or baitfish pattern will work like a charm if you find one laid up on the surface or sitting below a piece of wood or grass. Tripletail range in size from a 1 to 15-plus pounds. My best is 16.8 pounds, taken on a red-and-white Lefty’s Deceiver, which set the IGFA 20-pound tippet record in 2010. The previous record stood for over 20 years.

Summer
(Redfish, Jack Crevalle, Spanish Mackerel, Bluefish, Ladyfish, Tripletail, Tarpon)

Summer is a melting pot of species to target on fly, but it’s hard to beat the summer flood-tide redfish fishery we have here in the Lowcountry. I’ve caught my share of redfish on fly over the years, but to this day my heart starts pounding when I see those fish, head-down in a foot or less of water, sucking up fiddler crabs, their spotted tails waving in the air like a flag. A 7- or 8-weight outfit matched with a floating line and a 9-foot tapered leader with 16- or 20-pound tippet is perfect for this fishery. Crab, shrimp, or baitfish patterns with weed guards are great for flood-tide reds.

Our nearshore artificial reefs and sandbars off the beaches here in the Lowcountry offer some incredible action for Spanish mackerel, bluefish, ladyfish, and small jack crevalle. On the right day, you can catch all of these species and even have a shot at a tripletail. It’s very possible to start or finish the day with a redfish, completing the ultimate nearshore Lowcountry slam.

When fishing the nearshore wrecks and sandbars, I recommend an 8- or 9-weight floating line and a 9-foot leader with a bite tippet of tough, flexible coated wire, which is ideal for toothy critters like bluefish and Spanish mackerel. Clouser Minnows or other baitfish patterns with some flash work great on all of these fish, but be sure to have a good stock of flies in your box, as those toothy fish will shred the fly like a food processor.

A summer fishery I really enjoy is the jack crevalle. Pound for pound, crevalle are the strongest fish that swims in our waters. They start to arrive in late June and stay through September. These big jacks can be found inshore in pods of a few fish to hundreds of fish. They average 20 pounds here but can exceed 30 pounds. Use a 10- or 11-weight fast-action rod with a large-arbor reel spooled with a couple hundred yards of backing, as you will for sure be getting well into your backing if you hook one of these big fellows. Use a 9-foot leader with a short piece of bite tippet of 40 to 50 pounds. A baitfish pattern or popping bug will do the trick, as big jacks are very aggressive in close. They’re an extremely fast, powerful fish, and you can expect a 30-plus-minute battle and sometimes it can take hours. On September 18, 2018, after a three-hour battle, I set the IGFA 8-pound tippet record by catching a 35-pound jack that broke the previous record of 31 pounds, held since 1983.

Tarpon run as well during the summer months, but the majority of the time they’re found in deep channels, where they’re caught off of the bottom using bait. However, there are days when you’ll find them rolling on the surface. When this opportunity presents itself, use an 11- or 12-weight outfit to present a large baitfish pattern. This sometimes entice them to eat.

Baby tarpon from 1 to 10 pounds are abundant in certain saltwater ponds and lagoon systems that get a fresh flow of salt water from flood tides. These baby tarpon are a blast to catch using a 7- or 8-weight rod. I prefer small white baitfish patterns and especially Clouser Minnows.

Fall (Redfish, Trout, and Offshore Redfish)

Fall is a great time of the year for redfish and sea trout inshore in the creeks and on the flats. Redfish can still be found tailing in the spartina grass flats until the water temperatures dip into the 60s, usually mid- to late November. Then the focus shifts more toward fishing at the time of low tide, as the redfish begin schooling up as they do during the winter months. You can also target speckled sea trout, as they’re very abundant in creeks and can be caught using a 7- or 8-weight rod using small white or chartreuse baitfish patterns or Clousers.

One of my favorite fall fisheries is the big bull redfish—25 to 30 pounds—found offshore in deep water. We use 10- or 11-weight rods rigged with fast-sinking lines and large baitfish patterns. These big reds can be found on artificial reefs or on ledges that hold baitfish. Dolphins and diving birds are usually a good sign you’re in the zone for a shot at one of these big fish. Of all the fisheries we have here in the low country, this one’s the most fickle and spotty. These fish are constantly moving, following the migrating schools of baitfish, and they can be there one day and gone the next. Finding a day with calm seas and light winds can be chancy in the fall and winter, so you have to be rigged and ready to go. Hope that the birds are doing their job to help you find the fish when do get the chance—because when it’s on, it’s on.

Bio: Captain Brian Vaughn is a Hilton Head native and has been guiding the area for more than 25 years. He’s an amateur photographer and has a wealth of information to share about fishing the Lowcountry. While you can sometimes find Brian at Southern Drawl Outfitters (southerndrawloutfitters.com), it’s probably best to email him at captainbrianvaughn@gmail.com or visit his website (offthehookcharters.com/ ).

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More saltwater fly fishing blog posts:

Amazing Autumn Fly Fishing

Eating the Lowcountry

Simple Redfish Fly

Fly Fishing the Lowcountry – Part One

The post The Lowcountry: Part Two – Species, Seasons, Selections first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post The Lowcountry: Part Two – Species, Seasons, Selections appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.