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.

Topwater Permit Fly Fishing

by Bob Haines

Perhaps my first inclination that I’d been doing it wrong was the day after I finally caught my first permit. While sitting over a Belikin and a hot dog at Jets in the outbound terminal of the Philip S.W. Goldson International Airport in Belize City, two likely fishermen saddled up to the bar to do the same. We exchanged the usual pleasantries—How’d you do? Alright, you? About the same. Then it was time to board a plane back to reality after a month in the Belizean salt.

Because it was the day after my first permit and subsequent grand slam, I carried a thick and vicious hangover onto the plane. (Somehow I ended up as guest bartender at the Lazy Lizard, mostly pouring drinks for myself.) As soon as I hit my window seat, the earphones went on and the eyes went closed. I woke up cotton-mouthed somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico between Belize and Dallas to find that one of the fishermen from the hot dog joint occupied the aisle seat in my row.

Conversation between fishermen is quick and easy,

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The post Topwater Permit first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

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Was the reduction managers finally implemented too little too late?

Are you a striper nut? Do you love to throw flies at cruising fish on crystal clear flats or at big stripers busting baitfish on the surface? Yeah, man… me too. But if you’ve spent more than a few days on the water in the last few years, you’ve probably noticed that it’s getting harder and harder to find fish.
Without a doubt, the coastal striper population is changing. There aren’t many anglers around anymore who don’t agree that there’s been a significant decline. Of course there are still fish to chase, but what we don’t have is the consistent striped bass fishery that many of us built businesses and lifestyles around.
Why? Well, despite a commercial industry and a subset of the recreational one intent on killing a lot of fish, it isn’t entirely due to fishing.
The stock has experienced over a decade of poor recruitment (a fancy way of saying spawning success). Surveys done in the Chesapeake Bay, which produces around 80% of the coastal stock have shown average to well below average young-of- the-year numbers since 2003, with the anomalous exception of
2011. 2012 was one of the lowest on record.

A reasonable person would understand that if the stock isn’t at the level it once was, you probably shouldn’t keep fishing on it at the same level as when it was abundant. But unfortunately, managers sometimes have a hard time understanding simple things.

The Science
The latest assessment on striped bass was released in 2013. It said in no uncertain terms that the population was trending downward. Too many striped bass were being killed, overfishing had occurred repeatedly over the past decade, and it would be considered “overfished” by this year. The agency that manages striped bass – a consortium of states called the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission (ASMFC) – were presented with those findings in October of 2013.
One would think they would have accepted the new assessment and taken immediate action to reduce harvest, but ASMFC doesn’t really work that way. The politics of killing lots of fish – despite warnings – so that a few special interests can continue to make money, have traction there. Surprisingly enough, there is no law preventing the Commission from allowing overfishing indefinitely.
To their credit, a few Commissioners (notably those from Maine, New Hampshire and Massachusetts) advocated for an immediate reduction, but there was plenty of push-back. Over the next 8 months, the ASMFC striped bass board met twice and had ridiculous debates on whether or not conservation action was necessary. Short-sighted Commissioners argued that the striper population was fine and that the science was bad, all while the great majority of the fishing public
pleaded for action.

ASMFC action
Finally, a year after it was released, ASMFC voted to act on the assessment. The Technical Committee put together a set of measures that would theoretically reduce the number of fish being killed by 25%, recommending a coastal bag limit of one fish at 28” or greater. This was a significant change from the two fish at 28” coastal limit we had been fishing under during the years that lead up to the decline.
While it wasn’t the reduction some of us were hoping for – a big part of the angling community was advocating 1 at 32” – this still sounded pretty good for a management body with a history of doing to little, too late…until it was made clear that even under the best scenario the proposed management measures had only a 50% chance of actually working. However, even this proved to be too much for Commissioners who hemmed and hawed, complaining that such measures would cause economic hardship for the charter and party boats and of course commercial fishermen in their states.  So… they worked at weakening the already deficient proposed harvest cuts which may have actually increased commercial landings. Instead of requiring a 25% reduction from what commercial fishermen actually caught, they based the reduction on the 2013 quota. Since commercial fishermen generally land considerably less than their quota each year, there isn’t much if any reduction here. If all of the quota is landed this year, the number of fish they kill will actually exceed 2013. Chances of success dropped even further when Commissioners made a deal with the Chesapeake states and allowed them to cut harvest by just 20.5%.
Then, they allowed for what’s called “Conservation Equivalency” – the notion that states can create their own regulations as long as they, at least on paper, achieve the same 25% reduction. The charter/party boat fleet began lobbying their states to come up with arguments proving that killing two stripers per trip, of some alternate size, won’t do more damage than taking just one. Of course, intuitively, killing two wouldn’t seem to achieve the same reduction as killing one. But on paper, if you
increase the size, it can. On the water… not so much.
Fortunately, the conservation-minded recreational community came out in droves to state public hearings and most states, save New Jersey (generally the least conservation-minded state on the East Coast) and Delaware, went with the one fish bag limit.

Too little, too late?
Even after it became so blatantly obvious that conservation action was necessary, it took an entire year for the ASMFC to move. More importantly of course, will the action they finally took really prevent the stock from becoming overfished? Unlikely. And there are still no real measures that will actually rebuild
it. Not to mention, the measures to reduce fishing mortality are actually more likely to fail than succeed.

That said, it’s not all doom and gloom. 2011 surveys showed good numbers of young-of the-year in the Chesapeake. We should start seeing some of those fish along the coast soon, as they supposedly start to leave the Bay around 24”. And if we get a few good year classes in the coming years, things could turn around (rumor is that the 2015 class is a good one). But in my opinion, ASMFC could have, and should have done more. This is an extremely important fishery for me, for us, for the entire recreational fishing community.  While the commercial and party/charter boat industry can probably survive on a leaner striped bass
resource, the majority of resource users can’t.

A healthy and abundant striped bass resource creates a lot more opportunity. Not just for us, but for everyone! Because it spreads out…and we find fish up on the flats, in the salt-marshes, up along the beach. So flyrodders, surfcasters etc. can actually catch fish every now and then.  The bottom line is abundance equals more opportunity for more people. And there is a much greater economic loss that comes from a depleted striped bass resource than from tightening regulations when
the stock dips.
It’s pretty simple. If there are less fish in the water, less folks will book trips, buy tackle, travel, stay in hotels and eat at restaurants at popular striped bass destinations such as Montauk or Cape Cod. Managers need to understand this. We need to tell them.

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The post THE DECLINE OF THE STRIPED BASS first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post THE DECLINE OF THE STRIPED BASS appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

Zac Grossman

There are three very easily accessible species of tuna in south Florida and the Keys that just love flies. They are the black fin tuna, the skipjack tuna, and the bonito. The bonito (as they are called in Florida) are known by other names elsewhere. They are one and the same as the false albacore and little tunny.

They are the easiest to find, so I’ll discuss them first. They are here all year long; most commonly found in 60 to 200 feet of water and at times will follow and harass bait in water as shallow as 15 feet where many are even caught from piers.

From early summer until early fall they are often marauding bait pods on reefs and wrecks. For these reasons, they are targeted by half day head boats, called drift boats down here. Multiple bent rods are often the norm and this is without chumming!

For fly anglers to cash in on this you only need a boat, either yours or a charter (fly casting would not be allowed on a head boat). Drive out to the depth where all the head boats are fishing (from Spring until Winter), and start chumming with a block of frozen bunker in a chum bag. When you see the silver flashes in the slick, start casting.  You can use a sinking line with almost any baitfish imitation (you’re trying to mimic small fish feeding on the chum bits), a floating line with the same flies, or most enjoyably small poppers (white on the belly, blue or green on top, silver metal flake all over). The strike is electrifying and the fight incredible. Perhaps the best part is that these fish are so thick down here that losing one only means rigging up again and expecting to hook another in mere minutes.

Bonito are often teen sized and are ferocious fighters. In the north (New England through New Jersey) they are the most highly prized species of the awesome fall runs.  While the waters are being churned by huge bluefish and striped bass that are easy to target up there, fly anglers (and spin casters) race around chasing fast moving flocks of birds that indicate where the false albacore have pushed a school of bait to the surface.  While bonito can be found virtually everywhere (both Florida coasts and the Keys), the blackfin tuna is targeted in specific locations, being more of a pleasant surprise when caught elsewhere. This member of the tuna family is highly prized because of its size and its taste. Its fight is much like that of the bonito but they often weigh two or three times as much and that sure makes a difference. Skipjack tuna are often found among the blackfins but not really targeted specifically.

Of the locations associated with blackfins, I’ll discuss the “humps” off Islamorada and Marathon keys first. Fishing is done the same way at both of these spots where the dramatic rise from the bottom coupled with the strong currents create an upwelling that both attracts and disorients bait; the ideal feeding place for predators including blackfin tuna, skipjack tuna, bonito, dolphin, amberjack, wahoo, billfish, and sharks (which also like the taste of all the above and can become a nuisance).

The standard methods of fishing the humps are trolling and drifting. Drifting is obviously the way to fly fish and again chumming is the answer. The idea is to get the tuna on top and reckless as they compete with each other.

If you are going on a charter, expect the captain to stop and net pilchards. If in your own boat be prepared to do the same. The best chum is LIVE pilchards and this means a top notch live well system because the norm is to head out there with about 1,000 of them.  The boat is positioned to drift over the crown of the hump and live chum is tossed over the side, a dip net full at a time. You could blind cast with sinking lines as the baits will be trying to dive to supposed safety or you could wait until the steady stream of baits creates a trail for the tunas to follow as they head to the surface. Once they are there, tossing over baits is like feeding pigeons; every handful creates a frenzy of competition for the “crumbs”.

At this point all you need do is cast a fly into the melee to hook up. In actuality, once your fly hits the water all you have to do is wait for the hit as everything in the water that is either white or shiny at this point will be tasted before some other fish grabs it. If you set the hook before the scam is realized, then you will be tied to a member of the speediest species in the ocean.

Saltwater fly anglers have a hard time just standing there doing nothing and they also have a hard time just fishing a simple white streamer fly when there are hundreds of beautiful flies to choose from. If they tie their own, then it is downright impossible. In that case choose something that looks like a pilchard and strip away.

Courtesy Bill Delph – Delph FIshing

The duration of the fight, and it will be lengthy, depends on the size of the fish.

All three species are fast enough to test you and your tackle. Try to strip out only enough line to land your fly where the tunas are busting. The more line on the deck from either having pulled out more than you need or from having stripped the fly in, the more you have to concentrate

on getting that line through the guides without a hangup. A knot, a loop, anything that hangs up for even a fraction of a second means a snapped leader at the speeds these fish generate.

Tunas have small teeth, almost like large grit sandpaper so no wire is necessary.  The frenzy allows you to use a mono shock tippet if long battles are wearing through your actual tippet.

At the humps all three species are likely to appear in your chum. The most desired blackfins tend to hang back and appear much, much darker than the others and much fatter. Cast to the outer edge of the frenzy and hope for the best. Finally there is bycatch chumming. This works where commercial draggers operate. When they haul back and then cull the catch huge schools of tuna rise to the surface and gorge themselves. Fishing behind a dragger engaged in this can be very tricky and even dangerous so the best thing to do is simulate.

The schools of tuna and bonito know there is no percentage in swimming all over the place when all they have to do is hang out near the draggers, even when they are not dragging because once they do start, a smorgasbord is not too far into the future.

In the Keys, it is the shrimp boats that the tuna hang with.

They drag all night and the crews sleep during the day, at anchor. Charter captains know approximately where the fleet is, and if you plan to use your own boat you need to find out from local tackle shops, mates, or even captains, if you can convince them to share the information.  The fleet will be in the Gulf and usually about 50 miles out. Mind the weather, that’s a long way from home. What might be an hour ride out can seem like an eternity when coming back in a squall.

Getting chum for this kind of fishing means pulling up to a dragger and “buying” a few bushels of the bycatch they would normally just shovel overboard. When the weather is good, the draggers shovel less and put aside more knowing this will happen. I have seen the “price” vary from a couple of twenties to a few six packs of Dr. Pepper and a local newspaper.

Charter captains know which boats are where and what to bring; hard earned local knowledge.

If doing this on your own, with a cooler full of bycatch (baitfish, mantis shrimp, puffers, shellfish, and such) position your boat about a hundred feet off the stern of an anchored shrimper.

Looking down into the emerald green water you will see nothing moving. Throw a couple of handfuls of bycatch and that will quickly change. If you see a mantis shrimp that is not lying there limp, but seems alive, DO NOT reach for it – they can open up the whole length of a finger in a millisecond.  When a school rises to your chum, it will usually be both bonito and blackfins, about 10 to 1. There will be silver streaks crisscrossing in all directions and on the outskirts of the frenzy will be the darker,slower target you really want; the blackfin tuna.  Throw any white streamer and let it sit and a bonito will inhale it almost immediately. Even a cast directed at the black fins will suffer this fate 9 out of 10 times.

It’s not so terrible; fighting a huge bonito will test your reel’s drag, your knots, your knuckles (if they get in the way of a wildly spinning reel handle), and your rod’s backbone as the fish goes into its final ploy. Blackfins will however make all the above even harder.

There is one trick that will increase your odds of getting a blackfin under these conditions, if you have the reflexes. A fly that closely imitates a puffer (brown and orange mostly) is the answer. Bonito generally will wolf down anything you throw over but they usually spit the puffers out. The blackfins love them. When spin fishing it takes nerves of steel as a dead puffer on the hook might be inhaled and spit out by a dozen bonito before a blackfin grabs it. The angler has to restrain from setting the hook until sure it is in the right mouth.

For the fly angler it is setting the hook in time, but not on the “wrong” fish. Use a puffer fly cast to the outskirts but remember that a bonito might speed up and taste it out there too. They will spit it out, but not because it tastes like a puffer; because it is not real. So the fly angler has to both resist striking back and try to keep some slack in the line so the fish doesn’t hook itself. You have to see the take to know who took it!

When a blackfin grabs the fly you have to set the hook immediately because they will also realize it is a fake rather than a tasty puffer. Again, if you hook a blackfin the fight will be amazing, enhanced by its size. Pace yourself and enjoy the fight.

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The post Blackfin tuna on the fly first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Blackfin tuna on the fly appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

Step 1: Contact your Guide
Believe it or not, your guide is an important piece of the puzzle and should be someone that you communicate with prior to packing for the big fishing trip.  He or she can provide very useful information that is specific to the waters you will fish.  This lesson was learned before our first trip to Belize, if we hadn’t reached out to our guide, we would have brought all the wrong flies and fly lines not to mention the non-fishing gear they told us we would need.  Listen to your guide, they want you to be comfortable and to succeed. (and PS. – Contact us if you don’t have a Guide and we’ll do our best to match you up with one).

Step 2: Bringing the Appropriate Gear
Ask your guide what leader length and strength is appropriate, and get a handle on what flies he prefers. If you can’t contact him before your trip, bring an 8-weight floating line; for sure take a 9-weight if you’re just fishing the Keys, or a 6- or 7-weight for the Yucatan and Belize.  Your line should be a tropical one; bonefish-specific tapers are best. Leaders should be about 10 feet, tapering from a heavy butt of about .025 inches to 10-15 pound test, again depending on where you’re going. Recommending specific flies for an unknown locale is a fool’s errand, but we’re not afraid of such tasks, so here goes: We would never be without some spawning shrimp patterns; tan crabs; and Clouser deep minnows tied in gotcha colors.  These deep minnows are also referred to a bonefish Clousers and utilize pink thread, white underwing, pearl Krystal Flash or Polar Flash in the middle, a tan overwing, and lead eyes). Each of these flies should be tied in a variety of weights; sink rate is generally more critical than actual pattern. Keep in mind that bonefish flats seem always to be windy. You have to do your quick, accurate and long casting in the wind if you’re going to be consistently successful.

Step 3: The Catch
Finding the fish & spotting the fish are the job of the guide but that said, you should always keep yourself looking in the likely direction of fish.
Once spotted, quickly cast your fly.  At times, getting your fly into a 10′ circle will work, if you take the ‘quickly’ part seriously
Strip Set – These are strong fish with hard mouths. Raising your rod to set the hook doesn’t usually work – Strip, every time.
Bonefish are strong and they’ve got hard mouths.
Raising your rod to set the hook doesn’t work so do not trout set.  You may accidentally be struck with a push pole if you trout set as the correlation between the two events is exceedingly high.  You have to strip set, every time, all the time….simple as that.
A few additional pointers:
For everything you need to know about Bonefish you can check out the rest of the site, ask us directly or pick up the two great books about bonefishing
1. Fly Fishing for Bonefish – Chico Fernandez

2. Fly Fishing for Bonefish – Dick Brown

*Remember that you have to do your quick, accurate and sometimes long casting in the wind if you’re going to be consistently successful. So we suggest: that is you are not a great caster, get a good casting book, video or better yet, hire an instructor.   Always practice before you go and remember not to stress out, it just fly fishing after all.

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The post How To Catch A Bonefish first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post How To Catch A Bonefish appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

Satellite view of Scorpion Atoll.

The notoriously treacherous reef is 70 miles north of Progreso, Mexico in the Gulf of Mexico. It has claimed many ships over the years, the rusty remnants of some still acting as stark warnings to seafarers. A lighthouse was added to the main island in the 1800s. Today, it’s inhabited by a lighthouse keeper and a small contingent of the Mexican Navy. The remaining islands around it see only birds, commercial fishermen, reveling yachters in the summer months and the occasional fly angler the rest of the year.

The average size bonefish at Scorpion Atoll ain’t average.

Very few anglers have heard of Scorpion Atoll, and few have fished it. Raul Castaneda, the guy who heads the only operation to Scorpion (www.scorpionatoll.com), was the first person to fly fish Scorpion in 2007. He estimates that fewer than 50 people have ever walked its flats with fly rod in hand. One of the most enticing things about fishing there – other than the unique opportunity to explore essentially virgin waters on foot – is that the bonefish there are BIG.

One island’s feathered inhabitants.

It’s relatively easy to reach: a short flight from Miami to Merida, Mexico, an hour car ride early the next morning to Progreso, and a 3-4.5 hour boat ride, depending on weather. You hop off and fish as soon as you arrive. If you’re tired, you can make your way back to the boat for a beer and fresh ceviche or take a nap on the beach. Each night is spent anchored off one of the islands. If you can shake the effects of the tequila from the night before, you can sneak out at first light and catch bonefish tailing as the sun comes up. It’s a dream for the adventurous fly angler: fishing different, beautiful areas each day, surrounded only by water, fish and birds.

Wandering the beach in pursuit of cruising bones.

My first trip to the atoll last year produced some of the most epic bonefishing I’ve ever experienced.

Our group caught huge numbers of the large, almost translucent bonefish that ate anything you threw. The first cast I made was ten feet, to a pair of large bonefish cruising next to the beach. Both pounced, despite the fact that I was standing above them in plain view, and the smaller fish grabbed it. It fought hard, taking me deep into my backing, and was a solid eight pounds. In general, the bonefish at Scorpion Atoll are much better-fed than in other places I’ve fished.

A solid permit caught while wading.

Our recent November trip was solid, with a number of big bonefish and one larger permit caught. The fish was about 15 pounds, caught on a morning that provided dozens of shots at big tailers. For the most part, the permit unfortunately still act like permit at Scorpion Reef. A number of small ones were caught, which bodes well for the upcoming years.

Triggerfish can also be targeted.

There are also opportunities to cast to triggerfish, cudas, sharks, snapper, jacks and other creatures that inhabit the area. The trip’s not for the faint of heart – sometimes rough boat rides, snug sleeping quarters and wading tough terrain. But in a a day where many places seem to be overfished, it’s nice to be calf-deep on a flat surrounded only by pristine water and uneducated fish.

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The post Last Frontiers: Exploring Scorpion Atoll, Mexico for bonefish and permit first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Last Frontiers: Exploring Scorpion Atoll, Mexico for bonefish and permit appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The activator pad is a clip on accessory with a small foam pad for holding 6-8 flies. It comes with six pre-tied flies (a small bait fish pattern) that are suitable for tuna, albies, striped bass and bluefish. They would probably work on snook, small tarpon and mahi-mahi as well. The flies are a basic bait fish in 3 colors, black, green & blue.
They are well tied with epoxy heads that do not spin.  The hooks are not labeled but appear to be size #2 and are not flimsy.
What is interesting about the flies is the little dot of material that glows after being charged with natural or artificial light. The dot is made from an eco-friendly polymer that is odorless and colorless and is almost invisible until charged.
The “glow” is an fish attractant and is subtle.
It does not appear to spook fish and has worked for us on snapper, peacock bass and false albacore although the hooks are somewhat small as we mentioned previously.

It is an innovative product and from what Monic says, they are planning an array of known fly patterns for the activator pad technology that are productive and species specific.  Look for these offerings in 2018.

So far, we can say we like the activator pad and have used the flies successfully in several settings, both low light and full sun.  So far we only have two minor issues. One, there is only one fly pattern currently available. We would like to see some new patterns and sizes for favorite species which is forthcoming.  Two, the clip on feature of the activator pad is super convenient when wading and for changing on the fly but it does blow in the wind and could be a potential snag hazard if not placed correctly.  Fortunately it’s just a clip on card, similar ot an ID badge and can easily moved if you do have this issue with wind or snag.

Would be interesting to try this technology on a black and purple tarpon toad or a worm pattern during dusk and dawn fishing.  Might become the new secret weapon for spring tarpon in low light situations.  Try them out and send us you experiences whether good or not good.

VISIT MONIC

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The post New Product – Monic Activator Pad first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post New Product – Monic Activator Pad appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.