Snook In The Mangroves - Fly Fishing Baja
It's not so much what you catch here, it is what you might catch.
By Steven Dally
Gary Graham had turned from his position on the bow-casting platform of the 20-foot panga we were fishing from, to continue my education into mangrove fishing Baja style.
I couldn't help joking to Gary and our local skipper Enrique Soto, that it was the sort of comment a guide would make when the fishing was slow _ but I knew the truth of it.
A few minutes before I had been working a heavily weighted fly down over the drop-off, brushing the woven mangrove roots, when I heard a grunt and the unmistakable sound of thick fly line tearing through the surface tension of the glassy estero waters, snapped my head around. Gary was hunched over his 8 weight saltwater outfit, line searing his fingers then jolting the big Tibor reel into whirling life, as a fish, a heavy fish, shouldered the surface as if in intimidation, before plunging deep.
With countless astounding light tackle and fly rod captures under his belt, Gary started to get back on even terms as the heavy fish started short, but immensely powerful runs in the deeper channel waters, before surging past the boat with a bow wave like a nuclear submarine. But an abrupt turn and the leader was cleaved on the razor-sharp gill plates, leaving us to wonder just how big this fish was.
THE BAJA MANGROVES
The fish-rich waters of the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Cortez, surrounding Baja are rightly known internationally for the quality of their gamefish.
But hundreds of mile of shallow lagoons, protected by long narrow sand islands, along the Peninsula's west coast remain a relatively untapped resource by sport fishers, particularly the with a fly rod in their hand.
Gary and his Orvis endorsed company Baja On The Fly (www.bajaonthefly.com) are opening up these prolific waters to fly rod anglers running trips based at Puerto San Carlos.
Some 152 miles of mangroves channels lie north and south the town, a place where dogs can still sleep in dusty streets on hot afternoons and time is marked by the passage of the sun and tide. The waters of Magdalena Bay hold an amazing variety of fish, from yellowtail and tunas near the mouth, halibut, cabrilla, jack crevalles, pompano and even bonefish. And then there is the prized snook.
The Snook
Better known as inhabitants of eastern subtropical and tropical waters snook, are a powerful and canny adversary, armed with bucket-mouth powerful shoulders and broad tails. Classic ambush feeders snook follow the tides hunting into the mangroves and withdrawing to deeper holes on falling tides.
Come armed for battle with an eight-weight rod, sinking lines and baitfish and shrimp pattern flies. Leaders here are six feet of 20-pound fluorocarbon, connected to a stiff butt section with two Bimini's and a 50-pound fluorocarbon shock tippet, needed to deal with the gill-plates and tough terrain.
Look for the deep, snaggy holes on the lower tides, and those dark corners under the mangroves at high levels. Cast and cast again, but be ready to hang on. Don't be afraid to let your fly swim deep, or let it hang against the strong tidal flow in the channel, a twitch or two here could do the trick.
I suppose I could tell you about bagging my first snook, and just the fifth on fly in these waters _ only due to Gary insisting I have a few last casts into the heart of our honey hole. But to tell you the truth things happened too fast to recollect clearly, a relatively gentle take prompting the mandatory strip strike, then instinctively responding to the raw power, surging through the graphite fibers.
Instead what will stay with me forever is the feel of cold water on my arms, gleaming bronze scales stretched tight over the muscle in my hands, and staring into my snook's eye, as I cradled it in the release.
