Belize

Russ on the lookout for permit.

So, in case you were wondering, Belize is awesome.  This was the first real vacation The Wife and I had taken together, and it did not disappoint.  Our pictures are still something of a mess (my only fishing pictures are of Russ, for example) but if you're contemplating a trip to Belize here's a few quick lessons learned...

1. Just like in Alaska, fishing in Belize can be a total crapshoot.  We had two full days guided along with a decent bit of non-guided fishing.  One of the guided days was a near complete bust.  High winds meant we couldn't get out to the flats--and couldn't have cast well even if we got there--while rain and cool weather meant everything was shut down.  It's never good when the guide tells you it might as well be snowing.  With few options, at the least the reef fish cooperated.

My first fly-caught mutton snapper, also known as "Dinner."

Russ with a jack.

2a. and 2b. It doesn't get much better than chasing tailing fish on the flats; and, don't expect to catch a permit your first time out.  Our second day guided was with a local guide out of Placencia and he was phenomenal, just don't judge him by his website.  We got up at 4:30, drove the hour-plus from Hopkins to Placencia to meet the guide at the dock by 6:15, and fished until dark.  Our guide was mildly disappointed we showed up so late.

A typical Belizean bonefish.

We caught bonefish all morning, grabbed lunch on the beach, then fished the reef for snapper and jacks until the tides became favorable for permit on the flats.  

Russ wandering one of many flats in search of permit.

The panga is the boat of choice in Belize.

I have to severely restrain myself when I describe our afternoon of permit fishing lest my head might explode.  I had four or five solid opportunities at permit--ignoring all the times I flubbed the cast or otherwise spooked the fish before even giving them a chance to reject my fly.

After a morning of very soft bonefish takes, I asked the guide what I should expect if a permit took my fly.  He responded, "you'll probably break it off."  I took that to mean that they take hard.  Later, after missing an epic opportunity at a herd of permit that looked more like a swarm of locusts destroying a midwest corn crop than a school of highly sought-after game fish tailing across a flat, the guide says to me "it's just not yet your time."  I nearly shat my pants watching that school of fish tailing on top of my fly. 

Russ and I both agreed that the guide's dry sense of humor was a plus since he definitely put us on fish.  Combined with his frequent, yet appropriate use of swear words, I'd book another day with this guide in a heartbeat.

This fly will not catch you a permit.

3. You can't see everything Belize has to offer in nine days.  We easily could have drug this trip out over a couple months.  Leading up to the trip I kept joking that we should have just bought a one-way ticket.  Little did I know how right I was.

The Mayan ruins are amazing.

Mason enjoying Labaantun.

The Wife and Mason kayaking the Sittee River.

Taking the Little Man out for some snorkeling.

Mason's big fan of the beach.

4. The food and drink of Belize is underrated.  The state beer of Belize is Belikin, and if you can only drink one beer on a trip this is as good as any.  Our trip also coincided with the tail end of lobster season--and it doesn't get much better than fresh seafood, local fruit, and a healthy portion of rice and beans.

The view from our front porch.

5. Good friends make a great trip even better.  The Wife, Mason and I met up with our good friends Kelly and Russ for this trip--in fact, they were a large reason for The Wife and I finally getting off our duff and making the trip happen.  The Wife, Mason and I would have had fun in Belize by ourselves, but it's always better to be surrounded by friends.

Russ, Kelly and I in Punta Gorda, Belize.

6. Alaskans don't do well in direct sunlight.  Scroll back up to the third picture--the one of Russ holding the jack on a rainy, windy day.  The whole day was overcast and most of it was rainy.  Yet somehow I ended up with my most severe sunburn in years.  Ridiculous.

Getting Ready

Fishing, especially fly fishing, in southcentral Alaska is rough this time of year.  There's often open water, but up until today things have been especially cold and the local prospects just haven't been that appealing.  Dodging icebergs in waste-deep water while casting to a near fishless river when it's five below just doesn't sound like much fun to me.

. . . which is part of the reason why we're packing up the kiddo, joining a couple good friends, and going to Belize.

I've never fished the flats, and except for chasing salmon in tidewater have never really cast a fly into the salt.  Needless to say, this will be an experience.  Hell, I'm half temped to bail on the return flight and I'm not even there yet.

So, in the absence of appealing local fishing options, I've been working on the saltwater boxes.

Someone should have told me how easy flats flies are to tie.

Our gear list is a work in progress.  The reels all have new line--with Rio's Tarpon F/I Short on the 10-weight and Redfish Floating (The Wife likes the blue color, for those concerned with that sort of thing) on the 8-weights.*  I didn't own a single pair of serviceable shorts, so I had to buy two pairs (I hear it's warm in Belize).  I scored a pair of cheap flats boots.  And I now own decent polarized sunglasses that actually fit my big ole melon, which is a significant upgrade from my last pair that I had to modify to fit properly and ultimately succumbed to Karta's puppy chewing habits.  Oh, and the fly boxes are filling up...

. . . let's just hope something in there can catch a fish.

* Really though, as I said at the beginning, it's all new to me so take everything with a grain of salt.

Winter

I've been terrible at keeping up on the blog recently.  Sorry 'bout that.  In the absence of any new fish porn, you'll just have to settle for this picture from a couple weeks ago of Karta getting her ski on.  Enjoy.

Jacks

I spent much of the past couple weeks in Southeast.  It was hard to be away from the kiddo, but it was good to get back to the real Alaska.  As I've said many times, Anchorage is an alright town . . . and its less than 30 minutes from Alaska.  But there's something special about Southeast.  Sure it's cold and it rains too damned much, but it feels as much like home as anywhere else I've been.

Your taxi has arrived.

While I would have loved to chase fish the whole time, I was on a work trip so much of my time was stuck in meetings.  Meetings about how to protect the Tongass and the incredible salmon runs it produces.  Meetings about how local communities might take advantage of burgeoning tourism and recreation to diversify and strengthen their local economies.  And meetings where I had to bite my tongue listening to people stuck in the past proposing yet another government handout in a region drowning in federal subsidies so the fortunate few can have a job clearcutting the last of our best national forest.  Oh, and in case it isn't obvious, your tax dollars (not mine, I'm an Alaskan*) would pay for all this.

While I could ride this soap box like it's a winning derby racer, this is a fishing blog so . . .

* * *

One of the great things about fishing--even when you're on water you've hit dozens or hundreds of times--is that you never really know what to expect.  Chase salmon in small or medium-sized streams and it gets even more unpredictable.  Add in the fact that I hadn't fished this water since 2005 (on my wedding day, no less) and I really didn't know what I'd find.

An old friend at low flows.

As expected, a little late for the pinks.

I only had a few hours after my meetings before it got dark.  While I figured most of the salmon runs were done, I held out hope that I might find decent flows and hook into a few dollies; if I was luckly, maybe I'd find a coho.

Pink redds exposed by low flows.

Coho are amazing fish.  Generally, they hatch in spring, spend a year-and-a-half or so in fresh water, migrate out to the ocean for a year or two, then return to their natal stream to spawn.  However, like many salmon, a very small portion of coho salmon (usually males) may never go out to the ocean or may only spend a very brief period in salt water before spawning.  Usually, these younger spawners, sometimes called jacks, only account for a very small fraction (maybe 1% or less) of the total spawning population.  I had seen a handful of Chinook and steelhead jacks during my prior work, but never seen a coho jack.  Somehow I found the mother lode.

A chrome coho about 14 inches long caught swinging an FMF.

Pulled out from right on top of the last one.

Another, for scale

While I would have loved to hook into one of their older (and larger) brethren, I managed to grab onto four of these mini coho and a couple coastal cutthroat.  It certainly wasn't what I expected, especially considering the odds, but a pretty good time nonetheless.

I went to bed that night excited for the next evening when I had a little more time to get out after my meetings.  Of course, it rained like it only can in Southeast and when I went to the river the next day the water had raised about three feet.  Standing ankle deep in the river but ten feet back into the woods, I made a dozen or so halfhearted casts into the milky-mud flow before turning back and calling it a day.

With any luck, the people who want to privatize the Tongass and turn it into a stump farm won't get their way and, when I return next time, the flows will be perfect and every coho will have spent at least two years in the ocean.

* Yes, I too pay federal taxes.  But the state pays me and this too often is the mentality up here.

Paternity Leave

It's been a hectic few weeks around here, which really should come as no surprise given recent developments.  My fishing still outpaces my blogging--but not by much.  And both have taken a back seat to home and work obligations.  I've logged a handful of days on the water over the past couple weeks, but I'm significantly behind last year's pace.

With my family in town over the past couple weeks to visit the little munchkin we all managed a quick roadtrip and scored a few days on the river.  Although I generally hate "look at all the big fish I caught" posts, the fishing was on and the pictures are piling up.

Sometimes the side channels are more productive.

One of many cookie cutter Dollies.

Sockeye!

It doesn't get much better than watching Dad tied into a good one.

Here's your ad placement.

Rainbows are starting to move up.

One of the better Dolly Varden.

Underrated.

As a new grandmother, it took quite a bit of convincing to get my mom to leave Mason and go fishing, even for just a few hours.  But for the brief time she held a fly rod, she put on one hell of a clinic.

Sockeye!

About the time she realized it was a really big fish.

Toad!

How you doing?

The release.

Karta is not a small dog.

At a safe distance.

High sticking the switch rod.