Chef Marla Stiles and her wife Linda Loo have been feeding locals, expat Americans, and snowbirds at the southern end of the Mexican Yucatan since 2004. With fly fishers descending on Xcalak in growing numbers, the Leaky Palapa has gained a reputation among saltwater bug-flingers as a gastronomic attraction that’s as irresistible as the area’s bonefish and permit.

“I’ve lived and traveled all over the world and have eaten at some of the best restaurants in some of the foodiest cities, and the Leaky Palapa is in my global top ten,” says Rob Mukai, a Utah native who runs the Acocote Eco Inn a few miles north of town. “They would be competitive in Tokyo, London, New York, Sydney—you name it.”

Veteran restaurateurs from Canada, Stiles and Loo have crafted a menu that merges Mexican culinary traditions with French and Italian techniques, elevating customary Yucatecan ingredients and flavors from delicious to magnificent. The food remains familiar and approachable while simultaneously inspiring admiration and wonder. The portions are satisfying, the prices shockingly reasonable.

The Leaky Palapa balances refined fare with a casual atmosphere. Situated on the ground floor of its owners’ home, it radiates a warmth that isn’t merely the result of its tropical locale. Guests rarely enter without a cheerful greeting and a hug. The cozy dining room’s garnet-hued walls, dimly lit by small lights encased in gourd lampshades, create a mood that’s as inviting as the proprietors.

Loo runs the front of the house and tends the bar. Her signature cocktail is the chile-pineapple margarita, in which sweet, sour, and picante mingle in salt-rimmed glasses—but she’s just as deft at crafting classics like the old fashioned or recommending a bottle from the wine list.

The libations are useful lubricants to help with the diner’s difficulty of deciding what to order. From appetizer through dessert, everything on the menu is intriguing. Popular main dishes include pasilla chile-crusted pork tenderloin with a bourbon and ancho reduction; ravioli filled with huitlacoche, a mushroom-like corn fungus that’s sometimes called Mexican truffle; and the pork ossobuco, slow-roasted with a chipotle tomato broth until it peels off the bone.

Being about three or four long casts from the edge of the Caribbean Sea, the Leaky Palapa naturally excels with seafood. Besides the Campeche shrimp that’s dusted with dried chiles and served atop squid-ink pasta, the restaurant’s fish and lobster come from speargun-wielding Xcalak fishermen. Whether it’s the local spiny lobster tails (grilled on the barbecue or poached in coconut milk) or one of Stiles’ myriad fish presentations, there’s a good chance the food on your plate was still swimming earlier in the day.

(If there’s a can’t-miss appetizer on the menu, it’s the caramelized ginger-seared lobster bites. The lobster is divine by itself, but the sauce that pools around it has caused diners to forsake their manners. “Somebody told me I should serve a squeegee with this thing,” Loo says, “so you don’t leave anything on the plate.”)

It’s no wonder the Leaky Palapa is a favorite hangout of traveling fly anglers. From across the globe, they descend on Xcalak as a home base for guided and DIY trips to Chetumal Bay’s flats, the area’s intricate lagoon systems, and beachfront fishing inside the Mesoamerican Reef. Fly fishing travelers, Stiles says, account for about 40 percent of the Leaky Palapa’s business.

As far as it is from Cancun, Xcalak attracts a different kind of traveler than the all-inclusive resorts on the northern Yucatan beaches or the full-service fly fishing lodges around Ascension Bay to the north or Belize’s Ambergris Caye to the south. People visit Xcalak to get away from crowds. If they’re not in search of bonefish, permit, tarpon, and snook, they’re likely looking for solitude on the Costa Maya’s sparsely populated beaches, or seeking underwater adventure via snorkeling or scuba diving. That’s how Loo and Stiles stumbled onto Xcalak while escaping the Canadian winter in January of 2004.

“We were camped on the beach in a motorhome we picked up in Texas,” Stiles says. “We had been traveling through Mexico, camping on beaches and diving. We had all our equipment plus a compressor, as well as an inflatable diveyak. An American couple whose daughter owned a place in town came by our campsite to ask if we would be interested in renting the space and operating a restaurant.”

Stiles and Loo returned to the Great White North, sold their house and restaurant in London, Ontario, and went back to the tropics on a somewhat impulsive, unplanned adventure to open a restaurant in a tiny Mexican fishing village on the edge of the Caribbean. “Once we made the decision, it was easy,” Loo says.

Starting a new restaurant in remote Xcalak wasn’t as easy as the decision to do it. The restaurant’s first space consisted of a small building with a tiny apartment, a cramped kitchen, and a larger open area for the restaurant covered by a palapa, a classic Mexican shelter with a palm-leaf thatched roof.

“We had rented this building without looking at it very carefully,” Stiles says. “While sitting inside the palapa making our plans, we looked and realized we had a large problem: The palapa needed replacing, and we didn’t have the cash to do it. So we thought for a minute and we decided, no problem: We would buy a bunch of umbrellas and put them over each table and call it the Leaky Palapa.”

At the time, Xcalak’s electricity was supplied by a generator that ran for three or four hours a night and rarely at full power. Fate intervened in the form of CFE, Mexico’s state-owned electric utility, which installed transformers and put Xcalak on the electrical grid just as Stiles and Loo were set to open in October 2004.

There also were problems stocking the restaurant’s larder. Xcalak has no grocery stores, too small even for the type of central mercado that’s ubiquitous in many Mexican cities. Local fishermen kept the restaurant stocked with fish and lobster, but other ingredients were hard to get. Grocery trucks came in from bigger towns a couple times a week, but supplies were limited and their schedules unreliable. Stiles and Loo had to make weekly trips to Chetumal, a five-hour round trip drive—with no guarantee vendors would have needed ingredients.

“It was crazy some days,” Loo says. “We’d get to Chetumal, and there wouldn’t be any lettuce.”

The Leaky Palapa staggered forward nine years in its original space. Loo and Stiles found relief for their stress by kayaking back in the bay, fishing and camping and watching roseate spoonbills, crocodiles, and wood storks. Being accepted and welcomed by the local community, and seeing their customers’ reactions to their restaurant, made it worth the frequent hassles.

In 2013 they finished construction on a new home and restaurant, where they serve customers Thursday through Sunday between US Thanksgiving and late April. The restaurant closes during the low season while Loo and Stiles return to Canada.

They still face hardships operating a restaurant of the Leaky Palapa’s caliber in a remote corner of the Mexican Caribbean, but it’s easier than it used to be. They built the new digs with a dining room and kitchen closer to their specifications. They still make weekly five-hour round-trip drives to Chetumal for ingredients, but Quintana Roo’s capital city now has a Walmart, a Sam’s Club, and the large Mexican grocery chain Chedraui. Electricity is more reliable these days, although Stiles and Loo still turn to a backup generator at times. The salt and humidity are hell on kitchen equipment. But the force that propels the Leaky Palapa and its owners forward is the same thing that makes the restaurant so remarkable: It’s the challenge of creating something extraordinary where you least expect it. When people respond to that, it’s the stuff of dreams.

“The best thing about running a restaurant here is the people,” Stiles says. “Our customers come from all over the world. They have worked all year for their holiday, and now they are on it. They are in the best frame of mind, as they are here doing what they love and what gives them joy.”

For many Xcalak visitors, that includes dining at the Leaky Palapa.

Bio: Trey Reid has written for numerous newspapers, magazines, and websites, and is a former field reporter for ESPN. He works in public and media relations for the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission, producing and hosting the agency’s television show Arkansas Wildlife. He also hosts the outdoor radio show The Wild Side on 103.7 FM The Buzz in Little Rock, which can also be heard as a podcast.

Photos: Trey Reid, Michael DeJarnette, Bob Haines, Lee Reddmann, and Kaettie Wenger

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The post The Leaky Palapa | Xcalak, Mexico | Trey Reid first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post The Leaky Palapa | Xcalak, Mexico | Trey Reid appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

While traveling, few things inspire more panic than sitting at the luggage carousel watching bags pass, none of them yours. The feeling is much worse when said bag contains every rod and reel needed for a week-long fishing trip abroad. Jealousy and rage set in as you watch others grab their belongings and start their sure-to-be-awesome adventure. This would be the beginning of ours.

We’re the So Fly crew, a team of fly fishing podcasters and content creators. We made our way from Toronto to the Yucatán to fish the Sian Ka’an. This is our most exotic trip to date and our first as a team to the tropics—one we accomplished mostly DIY. Mostly DIY. If we hadn’t immediately lost our rod bag upon arrival, it would have been totally DIY.

 We called the guide we’d be meeting to break the news to him. Although we’d be going it alone for most of the week, we were lucky enough to come into contact with Rhett Schober (mexicoflyfishing.com), who was going to take us out on our first day of fishing. Rhett was a contributing author to Rod Hamilton’s book Fly Fishing the Yucatán, and he’s been exploring, living in, and fishing the Yucatán since the 1980s. We had been corresponding for months and were eager to meet and fish with Rhett, so this wrench had us concerned we may miss our chance. 

“Oh, hey man, you’re not the first and definitely won’t be the last. Don’t worry, I’ve got rods and reels—we’re still on, brother!”

Instantly, Rhett put our anxiety to rest, and the stoke levels began to rise. The airport beers also helped. We left the Cancun airport to go pick up our rental car. Anyone hoping to fish the Yucatán, especially if you’re a Canadian, will most likely be flying into Cancun. Our base camp, so to speak, was to be Tulum, which is an easy enough drive south along the coast. 

A wall of humidity and heat met us as we picked up the car. October is the rainy season, but as rain usually goes in the tropics, it lasts for a very short time and gives way to brilliant sunshine. We made the roughly two-hour drive to our Airbnb (casaflamingotulum.com), a wicked three-bedroom oasis in town with a massive pool and ample fridge space for the Tecate. We decided to stay in the more bohemian vacation town of Tulum because of its proximity to the fishing as well as its amenities like grocery stores, banks, wicked taquerias, and a little bit of nightlife. 

So things were looking better. The place was amazing, the beers were cold, the sun was shining, and although we didn’t have our own rods and reels, we did have all of our terminal tackle, flies, clothing, and boots. We were just getting settled when we got a message from Rhett. He was in town and wanted to make a plan for tomorrow. We hopped in the car and headed out to meet him in the parking lot at the Chedraui, which can be best described as a Mexican Walmart. 

There are so many reasons to love fly fishing and travel. One of our favorite things is getting the opportunity to meet new people and personalities. We pulled up beside Rhett’s SUV and saw an already-grinning man, eager to meet. What a great first impression. Rhett is a larger-than-life personality. He met us with open arms, smiles, laughs, and love. We immediately felt comfortable and excited to be spending time with the man on his water.

“You call that a cooler? How many beers do you expect to fit in that little thing?” said Rhett.

We had been instructed to fly down with a soft-sided cooler, an essential piece of equipment we’d later find out. Obviously, ours didn’t quite meet the standard, but guides are usually a prepared bunch, and he said not to worry because he had two sizable coolers perfect for sandwiches and cervezas. We made a plan to meet early the following morning and make the drive into the Sian Ka’an.

The Sian Ka’an is a biosphere reserve located roughly 30 kilometers (18 miles) south of Tulum. Founded in 1986, it became a UNESCO World Heritage Site the following year. It is located on the east coast of the Yucatán peninsula and spans roughly 2,800 square kilometers (about 1,100 square miles). In it you can find freshwater cenotes (natural swimming holes), lagoons, wildlife, expansive flats, beaches, and fish. Most famously for fly anglers, the town of Punta Allen is located in the Sian Ka’an. This is where some of the more notable lodges, like Pesca Maya, are based. Although some of those lodges offer daily guided boat outings, we were sticking to our plan of discovering the Sian Ka’an on foot with Rhett’s help. 

We’d be meeting Rhett and fishing the beachside cut at Boca Paila in the Sian Ka’an. Rhett had us prepare to encounter bonefish, beach-cruising snook, and his favorite target, the large jack crevalle that come in at high tide to smash baitfish. Although it was possible to encounter species like permit and barracuda, we’d likely be focused on the jack, snook, and bonefish. To be set up for success—yet nimble—the ideal outfits were an 8-weight for bonefish and a 10-weight for snook and jack.

We awoke at 5 a.m. to chirping birds, rain-soaked palms, and heat. We made sure to ice up the coolers at the gas station on our way. The road to the Sian Ka’an meanders through the main hotel drag in Tulum. For those looking to shave more time off the commute to the Sian Ka’an, picking up a beachside hotel or hostel instead of staying right in Tulum may be a more convenient, albeit pricier, option. We passed the “Jurassic Park”-style gate to the Sian Ka’an and paid the entry fee and were off down the palm-lined dirt road headed south to Boca Paila.

Boca Paila is essentially a lagoon connected to the ocean by a river system. Fresh water is driven from the cenotes toward the coast and eventually meets the salt water to form brackish lagoons and mangrove-lined flats. The flats at Boca Paila narrow into a river system that pushes water toward the ocean. As we drive in, we can see the flats to our right. Although bonefish, and the occasional permit, are found on the flats, we’d be focused on fishing the beach at the river mouth and oceanside cut to the left of the main road.

We parked on the bridge that spanned the river to get a sense of our surroundings and look down into the water for the first time. Our eyes were promptly greeted by a 12-foot crocodile basking in the sun. 

“Oh, that’s the little guy,” said Rhett with a grin.

Sure enough, just at that moment, a much larger croc swam by. Although moderately terrified, we couldn’t help but think that if you told us years ago we’d be fly fishing the salt in Mexico and observing wild crocodiles, we’d have called you crazy.

The bridge is a good place to see wildlife, but we also spotted cruising bonefish. Having never caught, let alone seen a bonefish, thoughts quickly changed from croc paranoia to landing fish.  

It was a short walk through the mangroves along a worn path to the mouth of the river where it opened onto the beach. We came out from the mangroves and made our way to the beach to set up our base camp for the day. Although not entirely necessary, it’s recommended to have a shady spot to take breaks from the sun and heat. It’s an enjoyable day, but you do walk a lot, so have a spot to chill out. We put our coolers down as Rhett explained how the fishing would go. 

 There are two ways to approach fishing the beach at Boca Paila. For the snook and larger bonefish we’d be patrolling the beach, walking the coastline and spotting fish that were coming in to feed on baitfish. High sun makes spotting easier, so in the morning it can be more effective to target the larger jack crevalle.

The unique aspect of fishing Boca Paila, as Rhett explained, is the opportunity to fish for cruising jacks. The current from the river spilling into the ocean has created a cut in the sand between the beach and a large but shallow sandbar roughly 9 to 12 meters (30 to 40 feet) out from the beach. To fish it effectively, you wade out past the cut and onto the sandbar. From here, waves roll over the sandbar and create a surf break. Those waves are what the jack, ride like surfers, over the shallows, and into the river mouth to aggressively destroy any snack that gets in front of them. What makes things more exciting is that you can target the surfing jacks with large poppers. The whole thing is a very visual experience. All this is being explained to us at 7 a.m. as the sun rises over Boca Paila on our first day, over what Rhett refers to as a “adult breakfast beverage.” 

Our conversation was cut short as we started to see nervous water, baitfish breaking the surface, and bonefish tails not 5 meters (15 feet) from where we stood at the edge of the beach. Rods were rigged, knots were tied, and we took our first steps into the ocean. After walking through the mangroves, wading out into the water, with the warm salt-stained wind blowing in our faces, was an immersive fishing experience that’s impossible to forget.

The light was at an angle where we couldn’t exactly spot fish, especially with rookie saltwater eyes, but we did see shadows in the water close to shore. Rhett instructed us to get our lines going. Yilma, one of the So Fly podcast hosts, took a the first cast at the edge of the nervous water and—boom!—was into a bonefish. Moments later, my fly hit the water and was massacred by my very first bonefish. Within moments, these two Canadians hooked and landed a species they’ve spent years dreaming about.

As the sun climbed, we saw that we weren’t casting to a few random bonefish but rather a sizeable school that moved in to crash baitfish being forced out by the current. They pushed in, fed, and pushed out in a methodical circular pattern. We deciphered the school’s feeding pattern and made casts every time the school moved into the river mouth. This happened at 20-minute intervals. By the end of the day we had landed somewhere north of 30 bonefish, all in the 1- to 4-pound range, and all within about 10 meters (30 feet) of our cooler. To say this was “one of those days” is an understatement. We laughed like kids, we chatted with Rhett and learned more about his life, we landed fish, and I almost—almost—completely forget about our luggage. 

We ended our day and walked back through the mangroves to the cars and decide to celebrate over tacos. As we drove back to Tulum, we received word that our luggage had arrived—it had been held up in Toronto by Customs—and all was well. But our troubles, preoccupied minds, and anxiety had melted away long before that. Surrounded by good food and great company, we laughed and looked forward to the week ahead in the southern Yucatán.

To learn more about So Fly’s trip to the Sian Ka’an and Boca Paila head to www.sofly.ca/podcasts for a full podcast recap of their trip.

@thesoflycrew

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The post Fly Fishing For Permit & Bonefish in Tulum, Mexico first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Fly Fishing For Permit & Bonefish in Tulum, Mexico appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.