Puerto Rico Fly Fishing - Saltwater, Silver Kings, and San Juan
Almost every morning, we met in the early hours by the locked gate of the Empress Hotel waiting for our taxi to take us to the Cangrejos Marina. On one fine morning, I was at the gate all right, only it was on the outside yelling to get back in. The other days saw some nice catches of tarpon - my first saltwater trip. Six days of fly fishing the backwaters
By Ian Scott with John Guldin
Almost every morning, we met in the early hours by the locked gate of the Empress Hotel waiting for our taxi to take us to the Cangrejos Marina. On one fine morning, I was at the gate all right, only it was on the outside yelling to get back in. The reasons why I was on the outside has to do with a little drink known as Coco Locos, a philosophy based on "why not?" and the fact that I was on my first real vacation in years. I was conforming my attitude to the Caribbean latitude!
I had arrived in San Juan much later than scheduled on a Friday night. Because of winter snow conditions, I missed a connecting flight from Cleveland after arriving there from Toronto. I had to fly to Newark where a switch from Continental Airlines to the American Airlines San Juan evening flight was necessary in order to arrive in Puerto Rico the same day I left Toronto.
Finally arriving at the Empress Hotel after midnight, I met John Guldin in person for the first time. The concerns that both of us had about spending 6 days fishing with someone that we'd never met before were dispelled immediately. John and I hit it off right away while sipping a Medalla - the start of what I look forward to as a long friendship that has more than just fly fishing in common. It seemed to defy the odds that John and I would have similar tastes in food, drink, and humour, while sharing a similar basic philosophy. When "Why not?" seems to be a mutually common response to almost any question, whether it involves fly fishing the surf for the first time (maybe more on this later - a "What Not To Do" article), a drink at the bar, or taking a walk to explore the local culture, you can probably be sure that spending four hours in a boat every day will be enjoyable, even when the fish aren't hitting.
Yes, I did miss one day of fishing in Puerto Rico. But as I was on my first real vacation in years, I figure I can be excused the one off day. Besides, out of six days, this was the only fishing day that offered no fish - not even a hit - from the mighty tarpon we were chasing. Four of the six days John and I spent fishing the back country near San Juan did provide memorable fishing excitement.
It didn't take me long to realize that when it comes to Tarpon, you can't make mistakes if you want to boat the Silver King. On our first day out in the lagoon, John and I were fishing with Captain Juan Carlos Toruella. We met Juan at 6AM at the marina, a 7 minute cab ride from the Empress. By 6:30AM, Captain Juan had netted a good load of bait fish, had John up on the bow casting a chartreuse Clouser, while I waited for my turn with a spinning rod in hand, baited with threadfin herring.
At around 8:30AM, I felt my first tarpon. The reel zinged as the tarpon took out line and my rod bent over. I thought for sure the rod was going to break. Prior to this fish, I had received plenty of advice from John, Juan and others who regularly fish for tarpon, but none of their advice could really prepare me for what was going to happen. I thought I would be able to heed the advice, but my freshwater habits were too ingrained. Once they feel the sting of the hook, a tarpon will rocket into the air trying to break you off.
"Bow! Bow!" I did hear the exhortation from both Juan and John, yelling at me from opposite ends of the boat. I'd read about this 'bowing to the king' thing previously. However, I was caught up with experiencing my first tarpon, full of chutzpah that I managed to hook one within hours of setting out on my first saltwater fishing trip.
The advice from my guide and fishing companion was lost on me, as I thrilled to see the tarpon jump. Ah, but I felt my heart sink when the fish hit the water, my rod having been pulled upwards in freshwater fashion to take in slack. With tarpon, the angler must "bow" and extend the rod towards the leaping fish in order to put as much slack in the line as possible. If a tarpon lands on a tight line, it will likely break it.
Redfaced and embarrassed, and a little bit angry with myself, I apologized to Captain Juan who grinned and said, "Don't worry - it happens to everyone the first time they fish for tarpon." Both Juan and John laughed, and then proceeded to show me how to bow to the king, should there be a next time.
The next time wasn't long in coming.
They say that fighting a tarpon requires not only physical strength, but psychological fortitude as well. My second hook-up allowed me to master the 'bowing to the king' movement, as the fish afforded me plenty of opportunity with its dazzling displays of aerial acrobatics. Pumping the rod, reeling in slack, letting the fish run, then back to pumping and reeling - that did a number on my right bicep. I'm not sure exactly how long it took to bring that fish into the boat, but I do know that there were several times when I thought I had conquered the fish, and as Captain Juan was set to bring the fish into the boat, the King would take off on another run. This where the psychological fortitude comes in. Just when I thought the fight was over, and looking forward to rest, the tarpon would make another exciting run, putting the reel's drag system to the test. I read somewhere that tarpon can swim at 22 mph. I believe it.
I think it was about 35 minutes before the fish was finally boated. By this time, the sun was high in the sky, and I was sweating buckets - partially from the heat, but mostly from the exertion of fighting the fish.
Our Second Day Of Puerto Rico Fishing
Cpt. Omar asked us to bring our lines before firing up the 195 horse engine on his 18-foot boat. John told me that he thought we were going out of the marina in order to fish along the rocky ocean shore as he had with Capt. Juan in the past. It sounded like a good idea to me. However, after clearing the inlet, instead of turning left towards the shore, Omar turned right and piloted the small skiff over 8-foot ocean swells, out toward the reef where the bow of the boat would point upwards at what I thought was a death-inviting angle. Then I'd feel the boat smash down after it had crested another swell. With white knuckles and holding onto my seat, remembering that I don't know how to swim, I looked at John and yelled out that maybe crossing myself would offer some comfort as I tasted salt water splashing against my lips and face.
After 15 minutes of half sailing, half flying, Omar cut the engine. We were about 1/2 a mile off shore and were drifting up and down and up and down the rolling swells. Fly fish in this? You've got to be kidding! I could hardly keep my balance sitting down, let alone standing up and casting a fly rod! I was amazed at the way Omar would walk around the boat, even standing on the gunwales as the ocean waters tossed us around.
I was later astonished to discover that John's wife, Liba, had set some IGFA fly fishing world records while out on this very same reef, in swells that were much higher than what I had experienced. Maybe another day I'd give it a shot, to stand on the boat and cast while being tossed about, but not this day. Omar took the spinning rod from the holder, baited it up, cast it out, and handed it to me. Literally within 30 seconds, I had a fish on, but in another 30 seconds, lost it. This happened a few times before Omar changed the hook. Meanwhile, John was casting and fishing from the other side of the boat and had only one hit.
"Lucky Ian" became the refrain for the day as fish after fish went to my bait. I ended up losing about 8 fish while landing a ten-pound Horse-Eyed Jack, half a Bonita -- the other half was torn away from its head by a shark while I was fighting the Bonita and lost a 35 pound Barracuda just before it could be boated as it managed to chew through the leader.
I was beginning to enjoy scrambling around the boat while it was being tossed on the ocean swells as I fought fish, but eventually, it came time to end the fishing for the day. Omar fired up the motor once again to make the trip back over the swells and into the marina.
On Monday, Omar decided that due to the tides and fish activity, and afternoon fishing trip might be more successful for tarpon than the morning. On Tuesday, we were able to sleep in as we didn't have to meet Omar until 2:30 in the afternoon. Omar's prediction was right on target. During our week of fishing, we enjoyed the best day of tarpon fishing that afternoon.
After my third fish, I had this "bow to the king" action down pat, and was able to put it to good practice. During those four hours of fishing, we were able to record hook ups of over then fish, with six of them landed.
Although we did land some nice fish, the highlight of the afternoon was probably the fish that wasn't landed. John had been up on the bow of the boat, fly casting a mylar minnow, when an enormous tarpon hit it. Gallantly, he fought the fish while his Abel reel was put through its paces - the tarpon decided to take us on a long trip from one lagoon, up through a channel bordered by mangroves and headed straight for the city of San Juan. During a couple of jumps, the tarpon flared his enormous gills and showed us that he meant business. "Oooohs and "ahhhhs" emanated from our mouths as this fish put on the best display yet.
We followed the fish up the mangrove channel while local men fishing for sand perch from the bank watched on in apparent envy. The fish continued to take line off John's reel, and the only thing Omar could do was follow the fish with the boat to keep John in the game. He fought the fish perfectly, bowing to the king whenever it would jump. As we got closer to the San Juan lagoon which is also known as the 'Playground', the tarpon seemed to take on more life. Then, it suddenly turned and headed back in the opposite direction. It jumped, and we could again see it's inflamed gills - John paying the appropriate respects with his bowing, and giving it slack. But then, unpredictably, it jumped twice and John, not ready for the second aerial acrobats following the first one, lost the fish. John actually claims he is in some ways thankful he lost the fish - had it made it to the 'Playground', it would have seriously thrown us off our eating and playing schedule for the evening!
But even in the disappointment of losing the fish, there was the unspoken awe that we all acknowledged - awe of the power of the Silver King. I'm looking forward to my next trip for tarpon, and sure hope John is along for the trip. I want to steal some of his flies!
