Paradise

The difference between a fairy tale and a fish story, "Once upon a time," and "you ain't gonna believe this shit."  

The trip began on a familiar bank, where the water was low and the fish were happy.  Five for five on Gurglers when we moved.  We knew we would never keep that up, but that was our sign.  Seven days of mostly calm to gentle breezes. Low morning tides, both a help and a hinderance, but mostly a help once we got to the grounds.  More sun than clouds most days, and not a drop of rain.  The fish were outside the mangroves in droves, a long boat ride from any sign of civilization.  Sometimes stronger winds pushed us into creek mouths for a few hours, but we caught multiple fish in those every time.  It was the most consistent week I've ever had in Campeche.  

The typical morning started out with our guide Juan putting us right where we needed to be.  There were flashes of silver, the sound of the textured lines shooting through the guides, Juan's excitement, and the rattling of gills after every blow up.  It frequently went something like this.  

"There's a bunch of tarpon coming.  Too far, hundred meters.  Wait.  You see?  School!"  "OK, cast eleven, 20 meters, you see?"  "Ya ya, good cast, strip, strip.  He's coming, he's coming.  Got it!  Oh, geeze.  No pull on the rod. Pull on the line!  Cast again, cast again!  Now.  More far, two more meters.  More right, more right.  No step on the line."  Geeze."

Never a dull moment with Juan, he still has the full enthusiasm he had 10 years ago once we get on the fish and its show time.

"Back cast, back cast, two o'clock, 20 meters.  Oh, big tarpon!  He's coming, he's coming!  Got it!"

We'd get it right often enough, and it helped that we were often surrounded.  Blow a cast or spook some fish, and there were more within range or coming.   Sometimes, we just got it right on a single or pair that were sitting ducks.  The babies we came for, 5-15 lbs, were near the mangroves.  ON the outside grass flats were the "juveniles" of 15-30 pounds on this trip.  We spent most of the time on those.

There were enough fish offshore for both of us to cast together, one from the bow and one from the middle of the skiff.  We'd alternate the timing of our casts, each waiting for the other to start stripping before making our own cast.  The bow caster would hook up, we'd trade places with the fish running and jumping, and then double up.  Beautifully orchestrated, if I might say.  We had doubles every day. 

Surface fishing worked every morning.  White, yellow, and black, all with some red and/or some flash, worked equally well.  It didn't matter too much.  We jumped 30+ fish daily.  Juan apparently counted 70-something "landed" at the boat.  He does that, I don't, but it sounds in the ballpark.  Nobody could have really kept count when we were on 'em and it was mayhem.  You wouldn't have believed this shit!

Floater, slow sinker, and faster sinker.

When the wind would come up and make visibility harder, Juan would pole/drift from yellow spot to yellow spot, clearings on the bottom with no sea grass.  The fish were easy to see, as was the direction they were facing. We spent several afternoons getting ate on every light spot, for hours.  

Typical of the fish in the mangroves.  Fun size.

Bride of the Sea statue.