An angler’s search for tarpon in the Yucatán
Fishing boats are fishing boats. Some differences in beam and length, draw and height, construction material, and means of propulsion, but basically, they take you to the fish. However, when it comes to fly fishing, there is a clear-cut difference between a drift boat on a trout river and a tarpon boat in the mangroves. On a tarpon boat, prayer matters.
It should matter when one has an appointment with a king.
When anglers go to the Yucatán to fly fish, they usually fly to Cancún and head south to Ascension Bay for the Grand Slam of bonefish, permit, and tarpon. I like the first two, but to my mind, the arm-wrenching smash of a tarpon exploding from the water is unparalleled in fly fishing — there is a reason the fish is known worldwide as the Silver King.
Fortunately, the best shot at those is in the mangrove forests that wrap around the northwest side of the Peninsula, from Campeche to Isla Holbox, and, in my opinion, the best fishing is found in a few smaller fishing villages between the two. I was heading to Río Lagartos and San Felipe, two towns nestled in the middle of the Ría Lagartos Biosphere Reserve.
San Felipe was new to me, but I have spent a lot of time fishing in Río Lagartos. Though only fifteen minutes from each other, the towns couldn’t be more different. Think of two siblings where one studies hard, dresses appropriately, and is always polite to the elderly, while the other is the wilder, more colorful, and out-too-late younger sibling. San Felipe is the quieter one, while Ría is brasher and bolder. And as I was about to find out, at times, a little drunker.
I like to DIY when I fly fish, but that’s pretty much impossible in the mangroves. You need a boat that can quickly chase down tarpon and someone who knows where to find them. After dropping my bags at the small and excellent Palomar hotel in Río—as far as I can tell, the only accommodations in town with rod racks outside the door—I crossed the street to look for my friend and guide, Ismael Navarro, for a late-afternoon outing to get the kinks out of my cast.
I first met Ismael a few years earlier. He has spent his life in Río. Though he’s a fishing guide, for a time, he worked as an assistant to a U.S.-based ornithologist. One day, he was approached in the docks by the scientist, looking for a turquoise-browed motmot. Ismael had no idea what he was talking about, but he was game enough to try and find one. Within two days, Ismael was hired, and they began a multi-year professional relationship that took them all over the Yucatán in search of birds. Our chats are always interrupted by rare bird sightings whenever we fish together.
During my “research” for another article on Ismael, we spent many hours sitting in a boat talking about life. He is a great guide and I asked him why he didn’t work for one of the big outfitters in Campeche or Holbox or have more people working for him.
“You could double your business.”
We were on a break, our feet resting on the edge of the boat and cervezas in our hands, when a flamboyance of flamingos passed by overhead. Pale scarlet birds against an azurite blue, like a ’50s postcard from Miami.
He gestured toward the birds and smiled.
“Ya tengo la alegría de vivir.”
I couldn’t argue the point.
Sálabo, por favor
We set out across the grass flats, and Ismael jumped onto the casting platform as his motorman, Carlos, steered us into the middle of the lagoon. I searched the waters for any disturbance on the surface when a shift in the wind carried the prayer back to me. It was low and under his breath. My religious Spanish is pretty awful and much worse than my fishing Spanish, so I’m going to interpret badly, but here goes: “It is Sabado. Please let David catch a sábalo.” Ismael repeated the prayer over and over as we crisscrossed the water until Carlos spotted a reflective cut in the water about 50 meters away. Black dorsal fins silhouetted against the blue-orange light. Tarpon are one of the few saltwater fish that need to breathe air occasionally so they will “break” the water as they search for food and take in air. So unique is this behavior that a roll of tarpon is the collective noun used when describing a group of the fish.
(The author coined roll of tarpon but until he hears better, he’s sticking with it.)
The motor was cut, and I started pulling line off my reel as he poled us around the fish to compensate for the wind. There is always wind on the ocean and the best guides will move you into a favorable spot where the wind will carry your line farther than you can normally reach. Anchored up and three casts later, I dropped a green Puglisi Peanut Butter Fly at 20 meters, and a black fin turned to follow. Rod under my arm and both hands stripping in line, I pulled the fly back as fast as I could through the water. Within a few seconds, the surface exploded as the tarpon smashed the fly. He immediately tail-danced across the surface as I lowered the rod to stop him from breaking me off. “Bowing to the King,” as it is affectionately known. A minute later, we had our first fish in the boat. Like every guided trip I’ve ever taken, the first fish means that everyone in the boat can now relax. I continued to fish as we caught up with each other, and the conversation turned to local politics. Ismael informed me that there were elections that night and I should come to the afterparties.
By 7:30, it was too dark to fish. We pulled back into the dock and agreed to meet the next morning at 5. I walked down the malecón to La Torreja, a favorite restaurant that makes the best fish tacos I’ve ever eaten. Three tacos and a couple of cervezas later, I was heading back to my hotel for an early night when I received a text from Ismael inviting me to join him at one of the parties. I wrote back to say that I would see him in the morning.
The night before a fishing trip is like the night before your first day of school, and I still get excited about the day to come. I drifted in and out as I waited for the alarm.
With coffee in my hand and two rods strung up, I sat on the dock watching the sky lighten and the first fisherman set out to sea. I sent Ismael a message at 5:15, then 5:30, then 6. By 7, my patience ran out, and I walked back to my room, threw my gear in a bag, and drove to San Felipe. I quickly arranged to meet with Pedro Figueroa Coral, AKA the San Felipe Fish Whisperer, a guide recommended by a friend in Mérida.
We talked about the fishery and his history as an angler and guide, learning from his father and teaching his son. Pedro was booked on a birding tour that afternoon, so we agreed to fish early the next morning at 6:30.
As we got to know each other, I received a series of messages from Ismael apologizing for drinking too much and sleeping in, missing our start time. I wrote back to say that I would see him another time. I want to be clear and fair about something. I have fished with Ismael often, and this was the first time anything like this had happened. He has gone out of his way to accommodate me, has given me his time freely, has not charged me to fish, and is generally a great guy. I encourage anyone looking for a good independent guide in the area to book him. I will again. Just not the day after the elections.
I spent the afternoon exploring the streets of this new town, tried the excellent ceviche at Restaurante Danilu, and stopped to enjoy a cigar in the shade of a pavilion along the boardwalk. It’s hard to use another descriptor for San Felipe other than sleepy. Maybe pretty. Probably both.
By the time dinner rolled around, I felt that I needed a little more “action,” so I drove back to Río. As always, there was a gathering in the zocalo of food, amusements, and people, and I settled into a fish soup while watching some fishermen netting their dinner along the docks.
Back on the boat
In the morning and on time, I followed Pedro to his boat. We loaded up and headed south with his namesake son at the motor. Thirty minutes later, Pedro slowed alongside the shore and instructed me to start casting to the edges of the mangroves. The fishing in San Felipe is different.
While Río Lagartos sits on a large protected lagoon, San Felipe opens to the ocean. A strong wind was at our backs, and it was easy for me to get my fly close to the submerged roots of the mangroves. For the most part, this was blind casting but no less productive. My biggest tarpon of the weekend came out of a random cast, and after a mad dash to untangle my line, I steered him into the boat.
One of the things I liked about Pedro was that he was all about fishing. As we poled our way along the shore, our conversation was focused on the water, my cast, and the fish we hoped to catch.
With the sun dropping and the wind dying, we headed back to the lagoon around San Felipe to look for rolling tarpon. Found a few and brought them to the boat. There was another guide boat fishing a very large roll of tarpon, and I appreciated that Pedro let them have their spot as we took a wide berth around them. Respect among guides who see each other every day is a good thing.
The day ended late in the afternoon, and I thanked him for his time. I had a two-and-a-half-hour drive ahead of me but wasn’t in any rush, so I drove back to Ría and picked up some takeaway fish tacos. I found a quiet spot on the docks and ate my meal accompanied by a bottle of whisky I had brought along.
Whisky on the tongue, a little fish juice running down my face, and a beautiful ocean sunset in front of me, there was nothing else to do but sit quietly and let the sun set.
La alegría de vivir.
Where to find tarpon
Campeche: Untouched mangrove wilderness with abundant baby tarpon
Ascension Bay: Established lodges and guides, diverse flats species, and 5-30 pound tarpon
Isla Blanca: Pristine ecosystem with 5-40 pound tarpon, accessible from Cancún
Isla Holbox: Trophy tarpon up to 190 pounds during peak season
San Felipe: A relatively undiscovered fishing village with high numbers of 5-15 pound tarpon
Río Lagartos: Sister city to San Felipe with exceptional grass flats fishing
Tabasco: Non-stop action with 1- to 7-kilo tarpon in an authentic Mexican environment
Fishing for Contacts in San Felipe
Ismael Navarro: +52 986-108-2648
Palomar Hotel: +52 986-104-8204
Pedro Figueroa Coral +52 986-105-9737
sanfelipefishwhisperer.com
Writer David N. McIlvaney splits his time between Mérida and the Catskill Mountains of New York, where he draws water, hews wood, and ponders his relationship with the outdoors.
