St. Vrain Angler

Ascension Bay

After unpacking our stuff and changing into shorts we ate some breakfast. The guides were ready to go, and even after no sleep the night before, so were we.

It was windy and a bit cloudy, but after rigging rods and getting our other gear ready, we walked to the back of the peninsula where the guides waited in their boats.

I was with Chuck and it was his first time to the salt. I settled into the boat and waited until we arrived at the flat. His gear was set - and 8-weight system, rigged with a 12' leader that tapered to 8 pounds. Three feet of 2X fluorocarbon tippet was followed with a small, white bonefish fly - pearl, really, - and we were set. Within a few minutes we saw bonefish in the shallows.

As you can see, Chuck successfully landed his first bonefish. And it was within just a few minutes of our arrival in the spot on a fly that he tied. Cool beans, huh?

The first fish was from the boat. We poled around for a while longer, seeing and casting to a few bones. There were singles, doubles and small schools of fish. I was surprised at the size: they were bigger than I expected them to be. After a few more casts without any takes, Jose, our guide for this day, decided we would wade. He looked at me and said, "You hold the boat" and he and Chuck hopped out for some wading.

The bottom was solid, which is a good thing, and a few small schools of bonefish were carrying on in very shallow water. I don't really know how well Chuck saw them at first, but pretty soon he was seeing them fine.

When we got back, after showers and a cold drink, we shared stories of the first day out. Of the four other anglers, one landed a bonefish and one other hooked one or two as I recall - the details are sketchy. The wind was a problem for most of the guys - their casting was not as good as they first imagined it might be; saltwater fly fishing will do that to you. We talked about what we had seen and so on, then everyone hit the hay. Two sleepless days are enough for most of the anglers I know. How about you?

One boat said they didn't see very many fish.

It was still windy, and promised to be overcast for much of the day. We weren't disappointed. As a matter of fact, I stayed in that day so Chuck could go with Jose by himself, and learn more. I like staying in a day or two on these trips to rest, nap, read, tie a few flies and talk with the local folks about life in paradise. I love the people I meet in these areas, and everyone was new this time.

I learned to use a hammock, which is a very technical devise when you are old, tall and fat. As it turns out, on lies on the hammock from side to side, more or less, so the back is flat in the devise. And be sure to use a pillow. I didn't the first time in it, and was forced to stay in another day in my attempt to master the thing. The pillow helped, that's for sure, but I think I need to go back for further investigation on how to properly operate a hammock. More on this in the future....

More fish were caught, and fine time had by all. The fishing was still very tough for a few of the guys. Seeing fish was difficult for Ron, for example. Also, the boat ride across the Bay was rough and tough.

Indeed, the wind and cloud cover remained for a couple of days. The fish seemed to move off the flats without the sun, and the ones that were there had lock jaw, for the most part. A few fish took our flies, but when it is cloudy it is very hard to see anything at all. When the fish aren't feeding as a result of the cloud cover, well, then you have the makings of terror.

"Will I ever hook one of these things?"

"Where in the world are all of those fish now?"

"I must be the most unlucky, or awful, angler ever to fish the flats!"

Such thoughts make one know one is alive, by making one know that one is frustrated as all get out! Let's just say day two and three were just that for most of us: frustrating.

And things got better. It was still windy, but the clouds stayed away for most of every other day with blue skies prevailing.

One day, Chuck and Greg went together with Edwin. They decided that they wanted to concentrate on fish other than bones, and so they did.

One of the finest stories of the trip happened that day, and all three of them came back full of glee and delight. (Have you ever been full of glee and delight after a day on the water? I hope so.)

This story involves a snook. Now a snook is an interesting fish. They live in shallow water, often in close proximity to fresh water, but still in the salt. They like cover, and live in the mangroves among the roots. When poling along the edges of mangroves where snook live, we often hear the snook crashing around within as they attack wayward fish that didn't realize they were invited to be lunch that day.

Snook are aggressive fish. When guides know they are in the area, they'll often splash the water to get the snook's attention, drawing them out of the mangroves. Is this curiosity? I don't know, but I do think fish are curious - until they get hooked, that is, or frightened by a wayward cast.

The thing is, snook are not often frightened by wayward casts. Sometimes, it actually gets their juices going and they get even more aggressive. Cool, huh?

As it turns out, Edwin spotted a snook. Greg was on the bow, fishing, and had the right gear for the job. He made a cast and the snook took the fly, immediately fleeing into the mangrove roots! As you can see above, the fish is hooked and trying to hide; Greg is holding the rod down, trying to keep the fish from breaking off, and Edwin is trying to get the fish out of the mangrove roots.

In between pictures, Chuck was trying to stay in the boat, laughing himself hoarse.

Finally, as we see here, at right, the snook got out of the mangrove roots and raced to deeper water. Greg was up to the task, however, as was his gear. The line held and the fight was on. See how much the rod is bending? See Edwin watching the line, hoping it does not break? This is saltwater flats fun, folks.

Eventually, the fight was over. The fish was spent, then landed. Greg was happy, and Edwin, ecstatic!

Chuck was beside himself, but one side was able to hold the camera still enough to record the even for posterity and our enjoyment.

Edwin kept the fish. Apparently the guides and local folks love eating snook. Other anglers say they are simply the best eating of the fish one would hook on the flats. Later, we found out that that was true when we ate filets of snook: delicious!

On the same day, when it was Chuck's turn, but he felt it was too windy to cast, Greg was on the bow, still looking for more shook. What should appear, but a cruising tarpon. As it turns out, the tarpon in Ascension Bay - at least this time of the year - are on the small size. If you saw or hooked a 20-pounder, you'd have the king at that time of year.

Well, Edwin poled the boat around the corner of a mangrove and there was Mr. Tarpon, cruising along the edge looking for something to eat. Greg supplied it with a nice little cast and strip, and the picture says everything else.

Chuck was quite the photographer that day, huh?

This tarpon was probably a little under 10-pounds, but it jumped and fought and gave the fight its all.

The fish was released and safely swam away to grow up.

Everyone I know who fishes these sorts of flats hopes to hook a permit. As a matter of fact, most of the folks I know would just like to see one. It would make their trip.

Greg caught one, but I don't have a picture of it yet. He was the only one of us who had the complete grand slam during the week - bonefish, permit, tarpon and snook. That bad old Greg.

One day, Joe and I set out with Jose to see what we could. We raced across the Bay towards the other side, getting drenched in the process. We arrived on a light-colored flat and Jose asked me to hold the boat again - I told him I was El Nino de la launcha (the boat boy) and he laughed at me. I held the boat.

Joe and Jose - the two Jose's, you see - went wading toward a small mangrove island. Within a few minutes, Joe was casting and Jose was pointing. They hooked a couple of fish. I dropped the anchor on the boat - enough is enough - and waded to another area and hooked a bone at the same time Joe hooked on. The Twins of the Flats - two old fat bearded guys with bright and shiny bonefish. (As you can see, the clouds were gone! It was beautiful.)

Jose asked if we wanted to go hunt permit. My answer is always, "Let's go, now!" Joe agreed, and we were off.

See the little mangrove island over Joe's shoulder? We headed in that direction. When we got there, the wind was pretty wicked. Within a few minutes, Jose said, "Permit; we go wading."

This time, Joe held the boat, and off we went, jumping off the side of the boat into about waist deep water. For me, that is. Jose was armpit deep!

We found a small school of small fish, I made a cast with my permit crab fly, and the fish attacked! The one above was the guest of honor on this occasion - the others fled the scene - and after a few pictures, we were back at it.

See the line that separates the flat I'm standing on and the one in the distance? The light colored flat had some cruising fish, but lots of them were off the edge in the deeper, darker water beyond.

As it turned out, Joe's turn was next, and he caught a permit, too! While he was basking in that joy, I saw another small school, jumped out of the boat and caught another one, too. Three permit in one day! Wow!

The next day we returned and hooked three more - one for me, and two for Joe! How about that stuff?

Before this trip, I had landed two permit in Belize. I'd had other shots, and spent lots of time hunting them - missed a few, too - but never have I seen so many permit at one time on one flat.

When fishing on the flats is tough, which is much of the time, it's a good idea to go hunting for jacks. They live most places, are very aggressive, and if they are where you are casting, chances are very good you'll hook one or more.

Often, jacks swarm in schools. Cast a fly out and strip fast. Lots of fish will chase and hit the fly, eventually one will get hooked and the others will continue along until they get spooked or bored. If the fly is not moving fast enough, the fish will just swim up to it, take a look and swim off.

Sometimes, when the fly hits the water it will be attacked. I wanted Chuck to see some of the other fish, so we went jack fishing a couple of times. Like the permit, we saw a few larger jacks but didn't hook any of them. I guess they get big for a reason.

I'll tell you this, though: even small jacks, like the one at the left, pull very hard. Most of the fish we caught were probably about 3-pounds or so. We probably got one or two in the 5-pound range, and saw a few that were 10-12. Man would they be a tug!

One day, after hunting bones and being somewhat frustrated due to low light and locked jaws, we headed to the reef and went trolling. This is always an adventure. You're pretty sure you'll hook something, and that that something will have teeth. In this case we trolled poppers and hooked some jacks and a few cudas. Of course the cudas bit off the bite tippet and we lost the poppers. So sad, too bad.

The flats are full of other types of fish. In addition to bones, jacks, permit, tarpon, cudas and snook, we caught a few lady fish and snappers. All of them are fun on flies, and I think we could have caught lots more of each if we'd spent more time with them.

As the picture above with my jack shows - see all the rods in the boat? -  we were heavily armed, even if we were not always dangerous. We had rods rigged for most of the stuff that might swim into view, and switched rods and flies frequently in our quest to best los pescados.

Aren't the colors of this snapper just stunning? And these are aggressive fish, if they haven't been fed too much bait.

In Belize, I try to hook them with flies, but most of the time the fish are fished to by bait fishermen and my friend Jose says, "They like the taste of sardines, not flies."

This is one of several cudas that were landed on the trip. This guy was sitting along a mangrove waiting for someone to stop in for lunch. When Joe threw his tarpon fly out, the fish followed, then took it. I thought for sure the fish would saw right through the 55-pound bite tippet, but low and behold, it was hooked in the side of the mouth and the tippet was clear of those terrible, fear-inspiring sharp teeth.

Well, that's about what I have for now. Hope you enjoy reading about Punta Allen and its denizens. We were only temporary, and left few marks, other than signing the guest book.

On the other hand, I'm pretty sure Punta Allen made indelible impressions in our hearts and minds, burning memories into our memory banks that will grow and flourish throughout the years.

Boy is it nice to go to a warm place like that in January where a bit of sunburn is a pleasant foil from the possibility of frostbitten ears. Sand between the toes feels elegant, and the few mosquito bites are a small price to pay for time lying in a hammock, even if you don't understand the finer points of the thing.

And, there are permit.

I guess we'll have to go back. Want to come along?