Once Upon a Time in Mexico

By Nick Honachefsky

Our flight touched down at midnight in Cancun, Mexico. My girlfriend Emily and I hopped a shuttle along the Rivera Maya past the pool parties and spring break atmosphere of Cancun, through the spa-infused, Bohemain/Artisian town of Tulum, finally landing at the end of the Rivera Maya in the piscatorial paradise of Pesca Maya Lodge at Ascencion Bay. This is where the true party happens; a dreamland where bonefish, permit, tarpon and snook flow freely. Throwing my bags down, I grabbed astrong Mexican coffee and cast a popper out into the Caribbean Sea, steps from my room at the Pesca Maya lodge. Three casts is all it took and I promptly brought back a 12-pound great barracuda into the kitchen, which the staff quickly procured for some late afternoon ceviche. I thought, “Is this how sweet the fishing is going to be?”  The answer came soon enough.

LAND OF PLENTY

A half hour later, we set out with local Mexican guide Daurin Xec to the hallowed grounds of Bahia Chica proper inside Ascencion Bay. The Ascencion Bay area prides itself on its numbers of bones, not necessarily big bragging type weights, but lines are tight 24/7. “Maybe you can get a 5 pound Macabe (Mayan name for bonefish) here,” said Daurin, “But we don’t generally have trophy fish around. However, if you want to cross a bonefish off your list, we have plenty 1 to 2 pound fish.” I picked up the 9 weight flyrod and casted a shrimp fly into a small channel that cut through a flat of tranquil azure waters. “Strip strip strip!” commanded Daurin.  I was tied tight to my first bonefish of the day, then a dozen more, only hours after my flight landed.

Daurin wanted to shake things up a bit to experience a different type of fishing. He put the bow onto a sandspit beach where saltwater crocodiles can make for a wary presence, and mate Venancio Chan, aka Benny, and I stepped off the boat scuttling through the palm tree underbrush to collect hermit crabs. We loaded a Tide detergent gallon container full of hermit crabs and set out again to see what we could find. Emily had never seen a bonefish before, nevertheless caught one, but that didn’t matter. Benny hooked a hermit crab on a bucktail with a shrimp fly teaser, passed it to her, and with a couple quick twitches of the wrist, she was holding up a doubleheader of 2-pound bonefish. Hermit crabs caught the attention of a variety of bonefish, jack crevelles, ladyfish, pufferfish and blue runners, which kept Emily busy and smiling. The shrimp fly I kept flinging out also met its mark with a variety of flats species until it came tight on something different, with a more pronounced wobble to its fight; an exquisitely finned palometa. The day was over, with dozens of fish caught and released, but it wasn’t enough. As night fell, I castchunk baits into the Caribbean surf just steps off my room to spy the Milky Way galaxy white band in full effect overhead, catching tarpon and blacktip sharks until the sun almost rose.

INTO THE MANGROVES

Day two couldn’t possibly outweigh my first day’s experience – or could it? Captain Daurin pointed the bow towards a 50-year old shipwreck, a storm victim from the bubble gum tree trade days and noted that permit should be sticking close on it. “Throw that ghost crab out there and see what happens,” said Daurin, as I lobbed the crab out on a 3/0 hook over the wreck and clicked over the bail. As I sat with the reel engaged, a hit that shellshocked my reel simply stroked the ghost crab and swiped it from me. Permit. Lost. I was dejected on losing a true 20-pound permit. “Oh well,” said Daurin. “Win some, lose some.” It was the only permit we spied on the wreck, so it was time to move on to better things, into the mangroves. “Let’s put some mojarra chunk out there, along the mangroves. We get some big fish,” said Daurin. I was in total agreement.  I flipcasted a pinpointed chunk bait straight between two mangrove roots under the canopy, and simply let it sit. “Be ready, they will be here,” said Daurin confidently. In a split instant, my line went slack, the bait coming toward me. I reeled as fast as I could and came tight, real tight, when a 10-pound tarpon jumped to its freedom, snapping the 40-pound test. Another chunk bait was cast into a shadowy hole between the mangrove roots, but this time, I was deep. My drag peeled hard, this fish put the business to me, tangling my line in the mangrove roots. I let my adrenaline subside andreleased the reel into freespool, allowing the fish to find its way out of the mangrove maze when the net finally scooped up an 8-pound cubera snapper. “Dinner!’ shouted Daurin and Benny in unison. I waspleased, but not totally satisfied just yet. That broke off tarpon still had its roots in my psyche, so I sent out another chunk. This time I was prepared. The tarpon jumped 4 feet clean out of the water, shaking its head in frustration but I kept my rod low, prepared for this bout. I had a 10-pound tarpon at boatside and as we released it, I took my other hook out of its mouth which it claimed only ten minutes before. I felt an immense sense of accomplishment.

BEACH BOUND

Day three we hit the flats again, passing pink flamingos sinking their curved beaks searching the mud for crabs and shrimp, finally cutting the motor to pole and patrol the fallen logs and brushpiles alongshore to sightcast for snook. “OK, there, there!,” Daurin pointed toward a sunken log. Three 10-pound snook werelined up laying in wait.  I launched a bright yellow (Mosca) streamer fly, cajoling a fat 10-pound snook to come off his lair. I stripped. He followed. I kept stripping, he followed more, right to the boat. And then, he turned off. “Ahhh!” I exclaimed exasperated. Snook won this battle. I asked Daurin, “Can we cast from the beach?” Daurin obliged. “Yes, I know a good spot.” We gently pushed the bow onto a sandbarand broke for lunch.

Emily hopped off the boat to take a few photographs in the distance but quickly, we saw her waving her arms, shouting and pointing “Two bonefish! Right here! “ Daurin and I lazily ate our ham sandwiches and brushed her off, thinking we would wade over there soon enough to cast. But Emily was persistent, “They are right here!” We jumped off the boat expecting two bonefish to be within casting range, but upon walking on the sandbar, quickly found out why she was so excited. Two bonefish had gotten trapped into a pool on the low tide and were lazily finning inside a cordoned off pool of seawater. Daurin and I grabbed the net off the boat and in a circus like scenario chased the bones with the net as they evaded our efforts, finally scooping them up to free them into the bay flats to run free again. Life was good, for the bones and for us. I then planted my feet on the sands to cast into the bluebird waters and began an exercise into what I would think heaven is all about. One strip after another, my fly came tight to a mess of bonefish, jack crevelles, palometas and a prized jewel for me –two huge, atavistic lookdowns. It doesn’t take a trophy gamefish to make me happy. Just to land a lookdown on the fly, along with scores of bonefish and palometas made me more than jubilant.

As Emily and I dined on a local dish of glazed shrimp and shredded cabbage back at Pesca Maya, I reflected on just how much this land of plenty of Ascencion Bay in Rivera Maya kept offering up. I wasn’t done fishing, of course not. After dinner, around 10 PM with stars twinkling brightly against jet black skies, I set out with my spinning gear to chunk mojarra baits off the beach. The line went slack for a split second, and things went wild. My reel was burning off line and drag faster than anything I had ever experienced from the surf. I had attempted to stop the fish for about 15 seconds, and then, well, that was it. The beast on the end simply just spooled me. Tarpon? Shark? Snook? I’ll never know. But one thing I do know is that I’ll be back to Pesca Maya to finish this fight.

LODGING AND OUTFITTERS -PESCA MAYA

http://www.pescamaya.com/