Belize In A Breeze
By: David Barton
I grabbed my hat firmly as we blasted
around the corner from Congrejo Flats
into one of the east-west running fingers
near Ambergris Caye locally known as the
Seven Channels. Gilberto Acosta, at the
wheel of his 23-foot panga fishing boat,
opened the throttle on the 50-horsepower
outboard.
My eyes feasted on the surrounding
beauty, a translucent world in shades of
turquoise. As we approached stretches
with a sandy bottom, the color transformed
into an incredibly vivid viridian hue. My
hypnotic gaze ended only when a small
spray of water dampened my face, the
coolness awakening me to the reality of
Belize, a country with waters still largely
innocent and majestic.
T his chunk of Central America
coastline off northern Belize pulsated
with marine life. Every few hundred
yards I witnessed colossal schools of
bonefish zipping over the flats. For
every turn we made through the
red mangroves, a cloud of mullet
would thrash about until the clamor
muddied the water. I watched a
leopard ray soar into the air as if
aiming for the clouds; it splashed
back to its watery world with a
resounding belly smack. Overhead,
great squadrons of eagle-eyed
birds glided until making divebombing
runs, and seldom did
one leave with empty talons.
Winds gusted 15 to 25 knots – typical
during the spring dry season off Ambergris
Caye. The thermometer seemed to stay in the
low 80s each day, and though the stiff breeze
made it a challenge to cast at times, any cursing
came with the appreciation that the wind also
suppressed insect activity, which during summer
months can be problematic near the subtropical
shorelines.
Fortunately, Bob, the guide master at El Pescador Resort, put me in the capable hands
of Gilberto Acosta and Cesar, his 19-year-old
son. Gilberto, a veteran of 27 years guiding
Ambergris Caye and surrounding areas, also
teaches fly fishing; Cesar guides too. I asked if
we could all fish together, and father and son
smiled simultaneously, making it clear that they
wouldn’t argue a bit over that idea.
Each morning we started with the ritual of
catching live sardines for bait. Gilberto took this to
a high art form with his weighted nylon cast net.
He’d very smoothly launch the net, unfurling it with
perfect pancakes many feet from the boat. One cast
would deliver dozens of shimmering, shiny sardines,
and the next might offer a half-dozen grunts or a
small barracuda.
Once armed with a good supply of sardines,
we’d patrol the flats on the south end of Ambergris
Caye, moving slowly through the Seven Channels.
Gilberto knew just how to use the wind to our
advantage, particularly when on the hunt for rolling
tarpon. Boca Chica Pass, a channel about 100 feet
wide leading from the Caribbean Sea to the leeward
side of the island, proved to be a reliable ambush
point. As baits massed on the south shore, we’d see
dozens of tarpon rolling, most in the 40- to 60-
pound range.
On one such occasion, Cesar stood on the
forward deck and back-casted a 12-weight fly outfit
armed with a Black Death fly, a local favorite. On
the fifth cast, he made two powerful strip strikes
and shouted, “I’m hooked up, I’m hooked up.”
With a teenage guide on one end of the line and a
teenage tarpon on the other, the fish went ballistic.
El Pescador Resort | | |
