High Lords of the Mud Flats

I am addicted to HBO's "Game of Thrones" series. If you've never seen it before, here is the gist of it:

It's the middle ages and the world is ruled by wealthy aristocrats who squander the peoples' wealth on foreign wars in search of natural resources. The common people are willfully uninformed and too absorbed with sporting events, gossip and alcohol to pay attention to the crimes committed by their government and its wealthy suitors. Rather, they are willing to sacrifice their personal freedoms for the promise of security and safety.

It occurred to me this week not much has changed since medieval times. The world is still ruled by wealthy oligarchs who live by a different set of rules than the rest of us.

Game of Thrones is wholly responsible for my sleep deprivation this week.

I figure carp have their own version of Game of Thrones here in the Snake River, where pecking order and mating rights are the rule of law.

The cast of characters:

Lord Nigel Rubberlips - House Clooper

Madame Judith Wigglebottom - House Crawdadeon

 

Lucius Leechgobbler, Bastard Son of Lord Nigel Muddybottom - House Crawdadeon

Sir Tyrion Boiliebelly - House of Pancakes

“If I look back I am lost."

― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

Come Hungry, Leave Happy

It's Friday night and I am exhausted. I logged hundreds of miles this week for work meetings, ran a bunch of errands for the family, cooked a few dinners and skied up Darby Canyon with The Goose.

I did, however, find time to squeeze in some fishing.

Since my brain is fried and I need to get up early in the morning (for more fishing, of course), this post is going to be a photo essay...

A.M. Trout

P.M. Carp

Forage

Mayor McCheese

Shane and One of His Many Hogs

Ghostface Killah

Preggers

 

TFO TiCr 7-Weight vs. Carp

 

Let There Be Mud

Hello all.

Things have been a bit hectic 'round here lately.  The lady went back to work for the first time in three years (which means we have decent health insurance again for the first time in three years) - so running my small business and taking care of the boy when he's not in school have taken a bit of a toll on my fishing.  

It's all good though. Spring is on the way and we've exchanged snow for mud.

I love mud season.  It's a tangible reminder we've survived another east Idaho winter - which is no small feat.  Heck, my fingers are even still intact.

Tomorrow I leave Idaho Falls and head to Missoula for a 15-hour work day.  It's a bummer - I'll miss the International Fly Fishing Film Festival's local stop. 

The good news, however, is that I'll spend Thursday  targeting carp on a local flat with Shane.

The carp we'll be targeting feed primarily on crawfish, so I've been tying up a pattern (a hybrid between JP Lipton's Carp Crack and Enrico Puglisi's take on the classic Peterson's Spawning Shrimp bonefish fly) specifically for this spot.

Sight fishing to bones in Mexico last month made me jones for some carp action.  This particular flat is fed by a natural spring - so the water is crystal clear and it's one of the few locations in our neck of the woods where you can consistently sight fish for them.

Check back later this week for the first of many carp reports. 

Outgunned

I almost reached nirvana yesterday.  Almost.

After hiking in the rain to the place where the beasts live, I volleyed my fly upstream of a deep ledge and waited until the line initiated its swing through the current.

The swing was abruptly interrupted by the most violent take I have ever encountered. It was immediately clear I'd just picked a fight with a different caliber of bully.

By the time I got my wits about me, the fish was making its way downstream and was well into my backing.  I was in hot pursuit, moving as fast as I could downriver in waist-deep water, but the fish was outpacing me.  It was pretty clear I needed to get some line and leverage back on the reel and put the brakes on, so I thumbed the drag and tried to turn the fish.  It rose briefly to the surface, exposing its dorsal and tail fins.  It was the largest trout I'd ever seen - a stout rainbow well over 30" in length.  

Then, after a brief pause at the surface, it exploded again - snapping my 12 lb. test tippet like a twig.

Q:  When a fly fisherman yells "F@%K!!!!" at the top of his lungs and no one is around to hear it, did it really happen?

A:  Yes.

I was beside myself, throwing the same cast in the same location, wishing I could hit rewind.  In all my years of trout fishing, I have never encountered anything like that fish.  It was an entirely different experience.

Consolation Prize

The next hour provided a few more decent 'bows and this brown - before a front pushed through and brought sustained 30 mph winds. Game over.

I'll be back - next time with much heavier tippet.

Re-Ignition

I went from "toes in the sand" to "ice in the guides" in the blink of an eye. 

Now that the dust has settled and I've recovered from another 15-hour travel day, it's time to do a brief recap on the visit to Mexico.

Fishing - Yucatan bonefish are, on average, noticeably smaller than their eastern caribbean cousins - but they are abundant.  I think of the area as a well-rounded flats and inshore species destination.  Locals say the tarpon are significantly more plentiful from May through November and the permit make their way onto the flats in greater numbers in May and June. I am already jonesing to get back (thinking Holbox and Xcalak) and will plan accordingly.
 

Crime - Everyone has heard about the drug-related crime in Mexico and it has taken a serious toll on tourism - but dismissing the Yucatan due to crime in the border towns is like canceling a fishing trip in Montana to avoid crime in Detroit.  Mexico is a big country and the vast bulk of the drug crime occurs in other regions.  We feel safer in the Yucatan than we do in Miami.

The Mexican people in the region are, without a doubt, the nicest, most hospitable people I've ever met.  If you make even a feeble attempt to speak their language, they will love you for it.

We can learn a lot from folks who get by on a little less.

Eats - If you like Cuban food and find yourself in Playa del Carmen, a stop at La Bodeguita del Medio is mandatory.  That's right, Havana's finest Cuban restaurant has multiple locations in Mexico.

Their food is incredible and the mojitos live up to all the hype.

Coati in the Mangroves

Lodging - Options in the Yucatan run the gamut from 'all inclusives' to beach cabanas to camping.  Once you get south of Tulum, things get more rustic and secluded. 

If you're like me and want to avoid the crowds, check out the low-key beach cabanas north of Punta Allen at Xamach Dos.  It's right near the flats and there are some hidden Mayan ruins nearby.

Back in the states.  Back to reality. 

After settling in here in Idaho Falls, I made it out to the river to check on some friends. 

East Idaho is really beginning to feel like home and the quick jaunt to the tropics lifted me over the mid-winter hump.

I saw a lone robin on the river bank yesterday - a sure sign spring is approaching.

Agua Nervioso

I arrived at the lodge after driving two hours south along a notoriously rough dirt road.  The lodge manager set me up with a wonderful Mexican omelet and introduced me to my guide, Manuel Esquivel. Manuel, a local Mayan and one of the most experienced guides in the region, evaluated my box of flies.

"Is going to be very hard today, my friend," he said. "The lagoon is like chocolate milk."

Manuel's statement came as no surprise.  The horizontal palm fronds, intense surf and inshore whitecaps I'd observed on the drive south from Puerto Aventuras painted a bleak picture. Booking a guided trip in February in the Yucatan - or almost anywhere in the tropics - is a roll of the dice.

I was hoping to catch some snook and baby tarpon.

"I will try my friend.  The tarpon, I think they will be gone.  The snook, perhaps, but is cold today. Maybe too cold.  I am sorry for the conditions."

We loaded up the panga and headed out into the lagoon. The wind was intense, but Manuel set us up at the north end of a mangrove stand so we could drift south along the beach. The tide was out, the mangrove roots were almost dry and the few snook we found were holding in a few inches of water along the sandbars.

I threw cockroaches and deceivers. We got a few follows, but I wasn't able to connect.

It became clear right away Manuel was an excellent guide.  Despite the less than ideal conditions, he worked his tail off to put me on fish.  He poled that panga all over the bay and lagoon in search of baby tarpon in wind-sheltered coves.

Hours went by.  No tarpon in sight. The snook still had lockjaw. 

We decided to switch gears altogether and try the bay, parking the boat on a small secluded creek outlet between two bonefish flats. The tide was rolling in and the sun began to warm things up.

Manuel pointed toward the creek outlet.

"Mira. Agua nervioso."

Finally, some fish on the feed.

Pompano

We were able to salvage the afternoon and landed about a dozen fish.

Ready for some irony?

I spent hours searching for baby tarpon with one of the most experienced guides in the region and came up blank, so I packed up my fishing gear and headed north with my wife and son to an all-inclusive "eco-resort" near Playa del Carmen.  

Our hotel is located between a cenote (natural spring) and the beach.  Although the cenote is part of a nature preserve, I couldn't help but scope it out while crossing the foot bridge to our room.  

It is chock full of baby tarpon...and there isn't a thing I can do about it.

'Palometa' - Spanish for 'Heartache'

"They call this place 'permit alley,'" John said as we exited the dense Mexican jungle and made our way onto the flat.  Upon scanning the horizon line, it became apparent why.

100 yards to our south was a large black sickle, waving back and forth as if to say, "Hey gringos! Over here."

"Damn," I thought, "I haven't even warmed up with a single cast yet and I have to give the performance of a lifetime." 

I must admit, watching a permit feeding and waving its happy black tail is about as cool as it gets.  I could sit there and watch it for hours.

But I was here to fish, not watch.

My heart was pumping like a plunger and my mouth went dry.  We waded within casting range and it was apparent the fish had no idea we were there.  I let her rip.

The merkin landed about three feet to the right of the permit.  The fish flipped me the bird, then flushed like a toilet.

That's okay, I never expected it to eat anyway.  That would be foolish, right?

My compadre tapped me on the shoulder and handed me my 7-weight.  "Let's go have some fun with bonefish," he said.

I nodded my head and tied on a pink #6 gotcha.  We got into a school on the same flat.  Game on.

Watching a school of bones compete for the right to eat your fly is a nice prescription for anyone suffering from dolor de palometa.

My partner in crime for the day, John Earls, is a former trout and steelhead guide from Oregon who now lives in Tulum.  He offers assisted walk and wade trips in the southern Yucatan via Tulum Fly Fishing.

Although I'd previously fished these flats on my own, I wanted to get some additional local insights this time around to help ensure success.

John's knowledge of the area and local fish proved invaluable.  For a very modest fee, he will spend the day with you - wading the flats, scouting fish and imparting knowledge.  I highly recommend fishing with him when in the area.  He knew exactly where to find fish.

After landing a few bones, we spotted a pair of cruising permit.  We spent about five minutes getting into casting range before I lobbed a crab fly toward their feeding lane along the mangroves.  They were gone before the fly hit the water.

Another dose of humiliation.

Fortunately, there were plenty of bones to save the day and, overall, I was thoroughly impressed with the 'park and play' flats John helped me explore.

Tomorrow, head held high, I will drive south to Punta Allen in search of snook and baby tarpon.