Beyond Belief in Belize: The Wild True Tale of a Bucket-list Tropical Adventure

The Extraordinary Hour

Confidence somewhat restored after landing some small barracuda and mangrove snappers, I was on the bow casting deck as we poled into a sheltered bay. Pedro immediately spotted a small group of bonefish, and Phil handed me a fresh rod, already rigged with a floating line and a size 8 shrimp fly. I glimpsed the fish, and then lost them, but cast anyway. I hopped the fly twice, then saw a flicker of movement as a bonefish diverted toward it, and the line went tight. After a saucy fight that had my drag singing, I landed a two-pound bonefish (above). While far from a trophy, it was still my personal best. Pedro even complimented my composure.

And then, just 50 minutes later, one of my lifelong angling dreams came true. Unlike most tropical gamefish, tarpon are easy to spot. Even the small ones have a distinctively deep body, with silver, twoonie-sized scales. The first one we saw was cruising a tiny lagoon, and barely 25 feet away when I wildly cast my purple-and-black Peanut Butter fly at it. Pedro let out a soft, pained “Ooooooo,” and Phil cheerily advised: “Scotty, they don’t eat with their tails.”

But the tarpon didn’t spook, and I made another, better cast. Opening its bucket of a mouth, the fish casually slurped in the fly, and I strip-set the hook like I was starting a lawn mower. I didn’t realize how big the fish was until it went airborne, which it did exactly one second later. And then it jumped again and again—six times in all. The rest is a blur, but I remember pulling one way, then the other to apply pressure as the fish careened madly around the lagoon, and wondering what we’d do if it jumped right into the jungle.

And then it was in my hands (above): 42 inches of pure muscle, glimmering in the tropical sun. It was my first ever tarpon, and as I cradled it on the deck, shaking and sweating, I swore it wouldn’t be my last.