Tarpon in Belize

Part One

Mike Croft

Even I Get Lucky (or)
Big Mike Does Belize

Text and art by Mike Croft

I am one of those guys who can't win a free Pepsi no matter how many tabs I pull off on the inside of the caps. So, when a travel agent friend of mine called and said he had two last minute cancellations for a tarpon trip to Belize I thought he was jerking my handle.

For those of you who fish destination spots you know what has happened but for the rest of you this is how it works. The travel agencies take your money and make reservations at whatever lodge you want to fish and about two months before you arrive the money is paid to the lodges and your guides are hired. Should you cancel earlier than 45 days before you are scheduled to leave you get most if not all your money back. if however, you cancel with less than 45 days to departure, you are just out of luck. For those considering trying a destination fishing trip you can buy insurance against this unfortunate occurrence and need to check it out.

Well, Wayne assured me over the phone, that it was indeed true and a party of four had canceled at the last minute and if I wanted to take two spots all I needed was a current passport and a friend. I and my partner Tom Wolf didn't give it a second thought, we were there. With only four days to departure I had to pack and tie the flies. I frantically emailed all my buddies who were avid tarpon fishers and asked them to scan their favorite flies and email me the images.

Orange and Yellow Yes, your scanner is one of the best tools to transmit fly images. The tarpon flies that I am using for this article were done on a flatbed scanner, so see for yourself. Within a few hours I had some response and so spent the better part of three days tying flies and part of a fourth day getting an extension on my April 15th taxes. Priorities being what they are, I figured Uncle Sam could wait.

Last minute air travel is a nightmare so we were stuck with a red eye from Seattle to Houston. Then an early AM. flight from Houston to Miami and a mid morning hop to Belize. Once on the ground in Belize City we would catch an island shuttle on Mayan Air to Ambergris Caye and a ten minute water taxi to El Pescador Lodge.

On the Tarmac in Houston our American Airline flight experienced electrical problems and we were forced to disembark and take another flight. I was promised in Houston that American Airlines agents were busy making our connections via another carrier in Miami and not to worry, we would be in Belize to make the connecting flights.

Upon arrival in Miami no such arrangements had been made and we were put up at a local Best Western and offered a couple of free meals. we had a beautiful view of a tar paper roof and spent our time practicing our Bimini twists. Time creeps by slowly when you are looking at tar paper and not coconut palms.

Armed with 200 class tippets, that had Bimini's on both ends we made our flight the next morning, only to wait once again on the tarmac, while a maintenance man came and fixed a ceiling panel that had fallen down just prior to take off. Tom and I spent the two hour flight arguing over which one of us had the skunk on him.

At Belize City, El Pescador Lodge has a person meet you and help you find the connecting flight via Mayan Air. The island hop is in a small commuter plane that often drops other passengers off at other small islands. The thrill of a small plane landing on short runways, cut from the mangrove swamps with a brisk trade wind blowing is one that can be repeated a couple of times before finally reaching Ambergris Caye. From the window of the low flying plane I strained to see fish. Impressed by so much water that was so shallow, two hundred square miles of water that looks to be waist deep.

From the air you can get a better feel for the geography than from a map. Twenty or so miles from the mainland lies a seemly continuous coral reef. Eons of endless wave action has ground up the old corral and deposited it on the inside of the reef producing the shallows. At some point in the past mangrove took root and in the quiet water among the roots, sand and debris built up until an island started. The birds that use the mangroves for shelter help fertilize the sandy soil for the other late comers like the coconut palms and shore grass. Through time the islands grow and new ones start.


All the fish use the convoluted roots of the mangroves for shelter and as a huge incubator for their young. Baby tarpon are found in the mangroves in large numbers as well as snapper, needlefish and barracuda. When they get large enough they move off to the flats and become part of the cycle of resident fish.

Once every year starting in June larger tarpon move up the coast and find their way into the flats. They arrive until September and then move off, leaving the flats again to the numerous resident tarpon. These were what we came to hunt.

When you disembark from the plane on Ambergris Caye you find yourself in the small but colorful town of San Pedro. Once again El Pescador has arranged for you to be met, and you, and your bags are loaded into a small van and you are taken several blocks to a waiting water taxi. It is a very nice feature for the resort to walk you through all the airports while you are in Belize. Especially if you are like me and get lost easily even in my own airport in Seattle, WA.

The water taxi takes you up the east side of the island, between the coral reef and Ambergris Caye. I was amazed at how shallow the water was, with barely a hint of the tropical turquoise you see in all the travel posters. At the dock we are met by Ali Gentry one of the brother-sister team that are the current owners of El Pescador. A quick check-in and off to the bar.

View from El Pescador, somewhere around here

By this time of the day it is mid afternoon and the guides and fisherman have returned. Like most lodges, fishermen gather around the bar, participating in the ritual of comparing the days catch, lying, exaggerating and poking fun at their partners. Tom and I piled right in and found that the fishing had been fabulous until the day before we arrived. The winds had picked up and churned up the finer sediment that comprises a lot of the flats. When the flats get murky the tarpon stay in deeper water and don't come to the flats in any numbers.

A good idea? Undaunted, we eat at the lodge and turned in early to put together our rods. The number one eater of rods back here in the states is the car door, but in the tropics it is the ubiquitous ceiling fan.

Manufacturers of these devices pride themselves on making quiet unobtrusive appliances. They do rest up their on the ceiling quietly spinning away, waiting for a rod to come with in range before they pounce. Should this happen to you DO NOT write the manufacturer and tell them a great white shark, you were fighting, followed the fly clear up through the guides and chewed off the end of you rod. It has already been used.

Coffee is ready a 6 AM in the dining room, breakfast at 6:15. From the menu Tom and I picked a ham and Cheese omelet. The guides arrive at 7 AM. and we load flies, rods and ourselves into the boat. We are discouraged to find that the winds are still kicking up sediment in the flats so tarpon are probably not going to be on the days menu. We boat back to San Pedro and take a channel in the mangroves through town to the west side of the island.

Not ten minutes from San Pedro, Abby, our guide tells us he sees a school of permit. Staking the boat while I tie on a green Merkin in a size 6, Abby directs us on the long and slow retrieve the permit like. When I'm ready he poles into range and directs me where to cast. On the third cast one of the permit peels off the school and picks up the fly. WOW! A permit on the third cast, one leg of my Grand slam down, kept flashing through my mind as the permit made a long run into the backing. Just as he was in range of the boat the hook pulled out much to the delight of Tom, who was now convinced he knew which of us had the skunk on him.

Black Death

It must be five miles to the tarpon flats known as the Savannah Flats. Zipping over the flats, startling a needlefish here and there into skipping across water so shallow you are convinced that the man who sells lower units must be the islands first millionaire. Just before we get to the flats we see three pelicans start to dive into a school of bait. Abby changes direction and we come upon a school, a big, school of Jack Crevalle. They have a school of sardines on the surface and are busting them all over the place.

A cast into the school brings an instant hookup. So many jacks that we put aside our fishing etiquette and both start casting to the school. Doubles, and more doubles as more and more pelicans arrive as well as another boat, no doubt attracted by the birds. Hook two fish, fight, and land them, Abby fires up the motor and we intercept the school again. The fish don't care what pattern we are using, only that it moves.

After an hour, maybe more, it was over as fast as it started. The pelicans went away and so did the other boat. Abby says the tide is right to look up on Savannah flats so off we go. The flats have that look that glacial steams have, a milky green. We run to the leeward side of the flats and they are better but still not good. With Tom on the bow and Abby on the pole we drift in classic fashion down the leeward side of Savannah flats without seeing a fish.

Savannah Flats

Just before lunch Abby says let's try for bones. While Tom and I ate lunch provided by the lodge, Abby took us back towards San Pedro. A little north of town where the mangroves are busy making more island there are a series of small bays and inlets that proved to be ideal for bones. At the mouth of the first bay we came across a school of bones so big that it made the bottom turn a dark gray. As bonefish were new to both of us, Abby helped us pick out some flies. Thank god I had emailed my tarpon friends that were familiar with Ambergris Caye, for they had advised we tie some very small and sparse Crazy Charlies. These bones had a real preference for sparse flies and we had plenty of them.

Abby was careful to instruct us to cast to edge of the school only and we did, following the school, much like the jacks except with a pole. It was hook up after hook up until we lost count of how many we had landed. They weren't big fish, running to two pounds, but they were agreeable. Abby said that now that we had the technique down he would take us for the big ones if the wind didn't lay down tomorrow.

Back at the dock around three in the afternoon we found that the other anglers didn't have any luck finding tarpon that day either. We poured down a few beers and compared notes at the bar, served up by Roberto Narvaez, El Pescador's amicable bartender. A little tipsy we turned in under the breeze from the evil rod eating ceiling fan.

Day two was the same as the first, too much wind. We found another school of Jack Crevalle and tried surface poppers on them with great results. Later spending the afternoon looking for solitary but larger Bones. Much more challenging than the 2 pounders but more rewarding when you got it all right. Again the sparse Charlies in pink, tan, and white, in a size 6 were the hot flies.

Day two also brought my camera to an end. Either humidity or heat caused the control chip to loose it. I am going to have to make do with my sketch book.....bummer.

Day three and the winds are subsiding. Today is the day. Again we cut through the swamp next to town and head for Savannah flats. Tom had first watch on deck and the morning hours made for slow going. We spotted a few but were not able to make our shots. The wind was still blowing about 12 knots when lunch time came. While Tom and Abby ate I took the deck for the second watch.

About half way through lunch three tarpon showed up at 11 o'clock going to 10 o'clock. Everyone came to attention when I started my cast. The cast was easy and good, laying the fly about six feet in front of the lead fish. I started the long retrieve that I was told works so well for tarpon and just like it should, the lead fish pulled in behind the fly. Staying about four feet behind the fly the fish followed the fly until it was about forty feet from the boat. Then with a burst of speed closed the distance in a heart beat. I saw the silver flash and set the hook hard, using both a rod and strip set. I had to duck as the fly line, leader and fly came zinging past my head. I knew instantly what had happened. I had let my salmon instincts take over. When salmon fishing you strike on the turn when sight fishing. With tarpon you want, no, NEED to wait until you feel the fish. I had done the classic pre-contact set. Stupid, I thought! Buck fever!

We saw 30 or 40 fish that day but failed to turn another, only getting shots at about four of them.

That night I forced myself to go over again and again in my mind just how it was supposed to be done. When I'm learning a new technique I find that this helps a lot.

Day four found me with first watch again on Savannah flats. Abby spotted a loner coming down the flats at 10 o'clock heading towards 9 o'clock. It was big, maybe five feet long. Abby was excited and I was going to get only one shot. I dropped my fly from my hand, and shook out some extra line while instinctively calculated the windage for a 15 knot wind, and let fly. Before the fly hit the water I knew I had blown it. My heart sank as the fly settled in the wind right above where the fishes dorsal fin was passing only a foot deeper. I retrieved the fly quickly not expecting a second chance, but the fish must have heard or felt the fly land on the water as he went about six feet and did an about face.

Going downwind now, I knew I'd get a second chance. The second cast uncoiled right above the fish letting the wind carry it downwind to the strike zone. As the line uncurled, the fish not finding anything, again turned back on his original course. Damn! My fly landed twenty feet behind him instead of the six feet I had planned. My knees started to knock from the excitement as I striped in for a final desperate cast. I loaded the rod and quartering upwind let go with all I had, the fly still fell a foot or two short but at least it was in front of the fish.

Damn he missed the fly

"An eighty pounder" Abby kept saying. I started the retrieve and watched as the shadow of the fish pulled in behind the fly. In the clear water I could watch the fish follow, and follow, not closing on the fly. I watched my loop eye leave the water and come to my rod tip. Out of options I had no choice but to pull the fly around the bow of the boat, the fish was still following not ten feet from the boat. The second the fly changed direction from the new angle imparted by the rod tip he made a blinding fast slash at the fly. I never felt the contact I had visualized the night before. What I had left, in the sixteenth of a second that this all happened, was an image of a huge head next to the gunwale slopping water into the boat and framed in the bright reflection of his huge gill cover, was my fly on the outside of his mouth. The damn fish had missed the fly.

If you are interested in this region, stay tuned for the rest of the story and the flies next time. ~Mike Croft

Part 2

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