El Diablo Negro’
This was my 4th trip to Casa Blanca. The first 2 I have regarded as learning my craft. Last year 2013 was ‘fishy’; I caught some scary sized snook, jacks, with plenty of tarpon and a permit. This year was different. If someone said I would catch one permit in the week and a bunch of other fish, I would have been happy. What came to pass was very different.
The weather was my biggest worry. A week prior to my trip, the reports were showing thunderstorms and 90% chance of rain every day and for the next 10 days. The rain gear was stowed in my luggage. Thankfully it only came out for 15 minutes on the second last day. Night storms freshened the air; better for sleeping but also better for the mosquitoes.
But what you really want to know is how the fishing panned out.There were many jumped tarpon, and quite a few caught ( leadered but not always boated ). Sadly the biggest one caught was off the pier, and jumped the hook as I tried to lift it out of the water. There were days when the water would boil with rolling fish and my the purple and black EP fly was inhaled many times, but nothing I did would set the hook.The snook were more cooperative. Most of the time they were hungry. Watching them slam the fly as they make that mad lunge for it, and
seeing the water erupt is a sight I never tire of. The arm wrenching tustle, and acrobatics that follow are more satisfying, as once they are hooked, they usually stay on. Snook to over 20lb were boated, with the majority around the 15lb mark.
Bones were plenty and always hungry. Anyone that has been to Ascension bay will know that a bone over 4lb is a special fish. Santa Rosa Lagoon fished poorly the day I was there but I did catch a few of the ‘home bones’ which were about 5lb. Those fish have grown fat on the sardines fed to them by the lodge staff, but are very cagey and difficult to trick. The big daddy looks 9lb maybe pushing 10, his oversized black head and back creating a serious wake as he patrols in between the skiffs and the mooring ropes, never once distracted by feathers and flash.
Ascension bay is about permit. Cayo Xhobon, Tres Marias, Vigia grande, the 4th river - staring at emerald waters, looking for a wake and a sudden silver flash, dark tails flicking on the surface ripple. Standing on the bow, 60ft of running carefully laid out behind you in the cockpit, 15 ft of head out and holding the fly in your left, aching feet, itchy buff, listening to the wind flap your shirt, when suddenly the poling changes rhythm and the skiff switches angle. I look behind to see what direction Jorge is staring at, and quickly face the front looking at the same patch of water. I hear him mutter something about nervy water 300ft and coming our way. I check the line is not caught on anything and that there are no tangles.
‘Can you see them - yes or no?’ ‘Er, I think so’ ‘yes or no’ ‘got ‘em’
‘Cast now’ The squimp takes flight infront and then behind the boat, and I feel the Helios bend, make my haul and shoot the rest. There is the sound of something unrepeatable in Spanish as I hook myself in the back of my head and the line gets trapped under my feet. And so it was like that for my many permit encounters.
There were those permit moments when the fish would follow, tip their head down and eat, but spit the hook. And the time I lost a fish so big that Jorge refused to even tell me its size. I saw it from only 40ft when it ate and it was a long and deep fish, and after an agonising 20 minutes, I heard a distant splash and felt the sickening loss of tension in the rod. That is why I now have cold beers in the boat - for those moments when there are no words to say, only beer to drink.
But it was not all like that. It was on the 4th day, there were no clouds the sun was high making spotting easy, and as we turned off the motor we both saw the school over 100yds away. Just tailing in the shallows. We jumped out of the boat, and let me tell you how difficult it is to walk quietly and fast and avoid catching the line around your feet. We worked our way to the fish so the wind was coming from the left and we could intercept them side on. They were still feeding, blowing the sand for those very pale crabs. One false cast and 50ft of line shot out landing the fly just in front of the fish. They were still happy, still feeding. ‘Strip, take slack out. Strip. Strip. stop, strip slow, stop, strip, he’s got it’ My left hand pulled and the line tightened.
‘let him go’. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
My favourite sound on the flats. The permit bolted, the only thing slowing it down were bits of cork and carbon.There was nothing I could do except to let it tire itself against the drag, everytime I played the fish to within 100ft and it would take flight. I saw the backing knot disappear 6 times through the top ring before it started to tire. After a nerve wracking 20 minutes the fish was finally tailed. I sank to my knees laughing and crying all at the same time. My family call that my fishy smile, and they all know how much it meant to me.
The flats were very generous and gave up another 3 permit, but nothing as special as that one
Casa Blanca Lodge at Ascension bay is a remarkable place. The hustle and buzz of the Riviera Maya are left behind when you land at the airstrip. Manuel hands you a cold towel, and the first of many margaritas, as you alight the panga. By the time you get to the palapa (dining area at the lodge), the tequila has taken effect, and you need another to maintain the sway. It helps me get my sea legs for the next few days.
The food is fantastic and there is plenty of it. After a day chasing shadows on the water, you are welcomed back with beer, margaritas, and hor d’oevres - cerviche, nachos and guacomole, pan fried fish. Dinner was equally wonderful - I have learnt not to eat to much on surf and turf night - Lobster tail with Fillet steak.
There are many different fish to chase. Some days I would spend 6 hours staring at endless flats, imagining ‘nervy water’, only to have have one shot at a cruising fish. Other days it was ‘Tarpon soup’. You could hear them rolling from 100m away and when you saw the number of fish feeding it would be hard to believe. That day was crazy, I jumped 6 nice fish, but nothing would come to the boat.
The last day was one of those days - It was 230pm and we had seen nothing all day. Drifting down the wind, Jorge and I see a lone fish tight to the mangroves. I put the fly 60ft into the hole, between the branches, leading the fish by 5. It sees the fly, I strip long and fast, the fish chases and eats. Bang - the rod is almost pulled out of your grip as it takes an alarming shape - Snook on. We then run towards home. Only once we get to the home flat, we see permit. The first shot gets a hook up, but the fish spits after a couple of minutes. The school skitters
about 40yards and then turn back to the boat. I fire another one out, the fly sinks and I lay the crab still. The head goes down and the tail shakes as the fish chases, and I strip nice and slow. Fish eats and 10 minutes later my 4th permit of the trip is in the boat - small but as they say ‘ permit is a permit’. Unbelievable. Winking at us in the shallows were little grey tails. It had to be done. The home flat was very kind that afternoon, and 5 minutes later a bonefish was swimming around my ankles. All in the last hour.
El diablo negro - that’s what they call them down there. The really big permit - over 30lb, and if you meet Jorge, ask to see his ‘trofeo’. And I have seen them, and hooked them, but they were too shy this year to have their photo taken with me.
Next time.
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