Zihuatanejo Bay, Mexico Fly-fishing

Greed: A Love Story is Available on Kindle!

2011-02-14T15:03:00.003-06:00

Good news Kindle readers!
Doug's novel, Greed: A Love Story is now available on Kindle for only $9.99.
If you take pleasure in reading an action-adventure story with a western flair, dry humor, an honest romance, and finally redemption, Greed, A Love Story is to be shared.
Thank you for your continued support.

Amazon Kindle link:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_18?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=greed+a+love+story&sprefix=greed+a+love+story

Shoot for the moon, and even if you miss, you'll land among the stars

2011-02-12T09:43:00.008-06:00

I am thrilled to announce that Doug's novel, Greed, A Love Story was recently hand-picked by editors at the world's leading independent publishing company, iUniverse. His book is listed in the Barnes & Noble Rising Star Special Collection on Barnes&Noble.com. Doug's novel will be made available through this exclusive boutique collection during February.
     Greed, A Love Story is also available on B&N's e-Nook reader, and will soon be made available on Amazon's Kindle.
     A gifted storyteller, a passionate fly-fisher, Doug left us a legacy of love.
     Con cariño,
     Denise

Rising Star
Below is the link for the Rising Star Special Collection

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/u/iUniverse-rising-star-books/379000118/?cds2Pid=16451&linkid=1563532

Greed, A Love Story Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Greed-A-Love-Story-Written-by-Douglas-A-Beach/188350381180301

Doug's novel, Greed: A Love Story, makes its debut!

2010-12-29T13:51:00.005-06:00

My Rising Star

For eleven long months, my dear husband fought a courageous battle with brain cancer, and on November 17, 2010, he joined his father on the banks of the Metolius River in the Oregon Cascades. A hand-tied caddis fly on each line, they continue to cast about for the elusive Rainbow in God’s Cathedral of the Pines.

In March, Doug was able to come home to Zihuatanejo, Mexico, strong and cheerful after three months of hospitalization and rehabilitation care in the States. He lived his dream to awaken each morning to sip his fresh brewed organic coffee, view the beautiful Pacific Ocean, feel the cool ocean breezes, and hear waves crash on the beach. I miss him terribly, but somehow I know he is with me still—in the gray nighthawk that soars over the patio each evening, among the finches that swarm from the trees each morning, and in the fish that leap from the sea.

My husband also fulfilled another dream; he completed his novel that he had written seven years ago and had tucked away in a drawer.

Greed, A Love Story has won two publisher awards; an Editor’s Choice Award and the prestigious Rising Star designation, both of which he became aware before his passing.

Greed, A Love Story is currently available through iUniverse, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Borders. (Clickable links below.)

I hope you enjoy the novel as much as we enjoyed working on it together.

Con cariño,

Denise DiPietro

Copies of Greed, A Love Story are available at:

iUniverse.com

http://www.iuniverse.com/Bookstore/BookSearchResults.aspx?Search=douglas%20beach

Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/Greed-Love-Story-Douglas-Beach/dp/1450268730/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1293567611&sr=1-1

BarnesandNoble.com

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Greed/Douglas-Beach/e/9781450268738/?itm=1&USRI=greed+a+love+story

Doug’s blogsite

http://doug-zihuatanejobayfishing.blogspot.com

Doug's Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Greed-A-Love-Story-Written-by-Douglas-A-Beach/188350381180301

Please note: My husband has fly fished his entire life and has maintained this blog site since 2008. I welcome guest fly-fishing bloggers, but sadly, I cannot contribute to the site, as I do not fish.

September 20. The novel is finished!

2010-09-18T12:11:00.034-05:00

I began writing during the years that Denise and I operated the Double D Ranch in Arizona. Our guest ranch was not one of those sprawling resorts near Phoenix and Tucson with tennis courts, waterslides, and free-form swimming pools, but an intimate ranch with only a few guests in attendance at a time. The kind of ranch where horseback riding was the singular attraction.

The novel formed in my mind while guiding visitors on horseback through the rugged terrain of the Black Mesa country. I wondered who might have ridden these same trails and also imagined what might have drawn them to the high desert of central Arizona.

One snowy winter day, I commandeered one of the guest rooms for my writing studio and began to write. I soon found that I did not know much about the craft required to write a novel. This realization fell upon me like a pile of bricks. I had thought that writing might be like telling a story around a campfire, a skill I had quickly acquired as part of my ranch duties. My desire to learn to write led me to seek advice from established authors offering mentoring services to beginners like me. I traveled to seminars in Québec, Albuquerque, and Tucson and enrolled via Internet in the Gotham Writing School in New York City.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to find my way. My mentors wisely junked my idea of beginning my writing education by trying to fill the vast canvas of a novel, and instead, they started me on short stories, a craft I mastered by drawing on my campfire tales. A number of my short stories appeared in Arizona publications, national literary magazines, and Internet e-zines, and eventually I got lucky and won Third Place in a Barnes and Noble short story fiction contest and actually got paid. Oh, happy day!

This event gave me the confidence to pull my manuscript from the drawer where it had resided since my foray into short story writing, and I doggedly began anew.

Then catastrophe struck.

In January 2010, I was diagnosed with brain cancer. I lay in a hospital for three months and fretted. “Would I ... could I ... write again? Was my novel a lost cause?”

Many times I thought to destroy the manuscript with the self-aggrandizing flourish of 1930s authors Fitzgerald and Hemingway, but lucky for me, Denise counseled caution. “You will write again,” she said. “Be patient. Look at it this way. We are returning to Mexico soon. What will you do once we get there?”

“Fly fish,” I said.

“That might not happen,” she said, “at least not until your paralyzed left side improves. So why not refocus?” She tossed my dog-eared manuscript onto the hospital bed. That was eight months ago.

I finished my novel, Greed, A Love Story last week. It now sits on my publisher’s desk. We hope for a release date sometime this winter.

2010-09-02T15:44:00.006-05:00

Sergio

Sergio casting flies for Jacks and Needles from the south shore at la Ropa.

Sergio reports snook hookup, and the bay thick with 10--12 inch cocineros

2010-06-13T19:07:00.080-05:00

June 13 Sergio reports schools of scrappy cocinero just beyond the break in front of Playa Municipal and beneath the Municipal Pier.

In the picture above, he holds a typical Cocinero of about 12 inches.These scrappy fighters s are members of the lively Jack family of fishes, a lot of fun to catch on #4-6 Clousers and a #5 or #6 fly rod. A rapid retrieve a few feet below the surface does the trick.

Sergio caught 18 cocineros on this particular day, and while fishing from the pier in full dark that same evening, he hooked into a large fish (he thought it a Snook), and buried the hook, certain, but in true Snook fashion, the big fish lumbered off beneath the pier and snapped the 50-lb line.

While Sergio explained this to me, his face sagged as if the muscles detached from the facial bones all at once. "The biggest fish I have hooked this year," he lamented, "and I lose it!"

He is likely correct that the fish was a mighty Snook. Only yesterday, a fishing friend of Sergio's wading Playa Municipal while angling for the above mentioned Cocinero's, noticed a disturbance in the shallow surf. He advanced into the warm water and spotted a wallowing Snook in seeming distress, grabbed it by the tail, and dragged it onto the beach. Clutched in the sharp jaws of the Snook, was a puffer or porcupine fish of perhaps a pound. Porkys are a species of fish often seen in the vicinity of rocky prominences and are generally either tan, yellow, blue, or dark red, and covered in sharp spines resembling porcupine quills.

Sergio's friend tossed the Snook over his shoulder and walked to the nearby beach fish market and had it weighed. The fish tipped the scale at 37 pounds! The Snook had likely grabbed the porky without due consideration, and the smaller fish had wedged into the Snook's throat where the quills held it fast.

Rehab Mexican-style

2010-05-20T09:38:00.024-05:00

Rehabilitation Mexican-style is not so much different from rehabilitation American-style—some of the same equipment and a troop of cheerful, helpful therapists. The doctor in attendance is Dr. Hugo Ernesto Ramirez. He directs a smaller staff than is available at Banner Health in Phoenix, but as at Banner, individual attention is paramount.

When I enrolled in Centro de Rehabilitación parquet Los Mangos, a Mexican, federally-sponsored program, I was made to feel as welcome as any Mexican citizen undergoing treatment. I attend fisico terapia twice a week. The regimen includes use of a stationary bicycle, weights on pulleys, static hand bars, and E-Stemo, an electronic shock device that activates the nerves in leg and arm muscles. These are similar to the electronic devices that Kaela, one of my super-therapists at Banner used to help me regain use of my paralyzed arm. Except here, I do not wear the device, but am brought to a bed next to a table where the E-Stem machines are housed and the electrodes attached to my limbs. I am treated for 30 minutes while I recline on the bed.

The Los Mangos Rehab Center is so named because the facility is tucked among mango trees in an old, but still productive orchard. Patients are encouraged to pick and eat the sweet, tree-ripened fruit. During this time of year, many of the mangos have dropped onto the lawn beneath the trees and are easily gathered.

I was asked that first day of admittance what my primary goal was. “Walking,” was of course my response, and I am happy to report that I am now walking, though not quite on my own yet. Much credit for this accomplishment goes to the solid foundation of therapy, particularly with regard to my balance, provided me by Evan at Banner Health. Walking activity includes negotiating the safe environs of the rehab facility, strolling the cobblestone streets in front of our little pink casa with the assistance of Sergio, a good friend andfishing buddy, aand strolling around the perimeter of our ocean view patio (one hand on the rail). Those first few uncertain steps brought tears to my eyes in such volume that Denise said I darn near needed a set of windshield wipers attached to my face.

2010-05-05T12:09:00.013-05:00

May 3rd. Not A Pretty Picture More than a hundred boats rocketed out of the bay at full throttle this morning racing to catch the heaviest sailfish and marlin in Zihuatanejo’s annual greed-driven, rather than sport-driven, off-shore fishing tournament. Prizes included cash, cars, and a 2010 Hummer-gas-gulper as grand prize. Local catch and release advocate and guide, Ed Kunze, rightly noted in his weekly fishing column that “Zihuatanejo has yet to get out of the Stone Age with this thirty-plus-years and running, ‘kill’ tournament.”

"Your first fish from the wheelchair, senor!"

2010-04-27T11:29:00.061-05:00

April 28th
This morning’s fly fishing action along the walkway on Playa la Madera was my second wheelchair fishing adventure since my brief experience casting from the Municipal Pier on April 20. (I did not catch anything on that first trip.)

My good friend Sergio, my wife Denise, and I arrived on the Playa la Madera walkway just as a promising red dawn drifted up from behind the Sierra Madres. A cool breeze rustled the coco palms. Stirred by the breeze, the surface of the bay seemed like tinfoil that was once rolled into a ball and then smoothed and re-flattened. Warm surf lapped the empty beach.
Sergio and I were here specifically to catch a Robalo (Roh-BAH-lo), or as this species is called stateside, snook.

Although no reports had yet surfaced that schools of this perennial early spring fish had yet entered the bay, local fishing buddy Sergio, my guide to all things Mexican, had mentioned that he had seen Gregorio, the local King of Snook Fishers, casting a hand-line from the walkway only yesterday. It being the time of year that snook are likely to enter the bay, we deduced that the cagey
King Gregorio might be onto something. (For more information about how Gregorio catches snook and for particulars about the species, please see my June-July postings below.)

These over-achieving fish can reach forty pounds and after hooked, generally charge out to sea like a Mac truck leaving a stop sign. More and more speed and then overwhelming line and gear-busting power, so we came prepared. Sergio, a recent convert to fly fishing, brought along his newly acquired #9 Redfield flyrod with floating line.I chose a #9 too, a Sage rigged with an intermediate sink line. Both of us started with well-sharpened tan-back #6 Clousers.

We had preselected our fishing site; the jogging turnaround just south of Rana Rene’s restaurant owing to the three snook I had caught at this location last season.

Miracle of miracles, my third cast found my fly sunk into the jaw of a feisty snook! I attempted to play the rocketing fish, but the concrete posts that support the rope railings along the walkway soon erased any thought of my subduing the leaping fish while I remained in the wheelchair. Sergio tried to keep me abreast of the action by maneuvering the chair around the posts, but I soon handed off the rod, and he expertly led the fish through the surf and rocky off-shore terrain that adjoins the walkway at this location.
The snook was so excited that under the low-tide conditions of the moment, the fish seemed to be jumping from rock to rock, touching water only occasionally. Sergio finally subdued the energetic rock hopper and brought it onto the beach.Sergio climbed back onto the walkway and rushed over to shake hands, and exclaimed in a joyous bellow, "Your first fish from the wheelchair, senor!"and plopped the quivering snook into my lap.
Denise had jogged down the beach with Luz, our smart-as-a-whip dog and Dog,Shehad heard our excited whooping, and high-tailed it back to the wheelchair. Camera in hand and grinning like a jack-o'-lantern, she began furiously snapping pictures. Even now, a day after the event, she says my face still holds the same smile that are in those photos.
Sergio and I each hefted the brawler and pronounced the weight at 2 to 3 pounds. Sergio took the catch home to his wife, Lucy and she used the leaping torpedo as centerpiece for a fine fish dinner. Sergio later reported that his four-year-old son Jordan gobbled a full one-quarter share of this most delicious of bay denizens. Catch and release just does not apply when family nutrition is at stake!

Tom plays a nice jack at Las Gatas

2010-04-26T17:04:00.008-05:00

Fishing Report courtesy of resident fly fisher Tom Wenrich.

I went to Las Gatas this morning with Rob Feldman, one of my fellow condo owners and an avid fly fisherman. He had fished the bay several times without success, so I took him to one of my favorite fishing locations, the point at Las Gatas, and we caught several fish. Ron returned to Z last weekend and wanted to fly fish Las Gatas again. We got out early (6 am at Gaviota), and hiked the South Shore trail to Owen' Lee’s nature preserve and fished the rocky point in front of Owens’s palapa.

Rob got knocked down by a wave on the earlier trip, but today the tides and waves were co operative.I caught a small cabria (sea bass) on the first cast. The next cast brought a good sized jack. The next, a larger cabria, I believe I brought to hand 5 or six more jacks and cabria before Rob even got geared up and wet a line. We both caught several more fish before the sun hit the water and the action faded. Just as we were going to start back, I got another good jack though the entire point was by then in bright sunshine. We fished several areas of shaded water on the trail back to La Ropa. Rob got a nice needle maybe two feet long and I landed couple of small cabria .

Missing today was you, Doug. Wish you could have been there.

Thank you, Tom for the fine fishing report,

Doug

2010-04-20T11:46:00.042-05:00

April 20

Wheelchair Fly-fishing (amended)

Throughout my stay at Good Samaritan Hospital in Phoenix, Arizona, my thoughts seldom strayed from our hoped-for return to Zihuatanejo, Mexico, a paradise we have called home these last seven years. While in the hospital, I wore a ball cap with the town’s name printed above the bill. Scores of staff and patients asked for the proper pronunciation and of the town’s location and more to the point, many asked why we had moved to Zihuatanejo. I explained that Denise had always wanted to live in Mexico and why not begin when she turned fifty! So when her birthday rolled around for the fiftieth time, we found ourselves living comfortably in a little pink bungalow with a view of Zihuatanejo Bay and the Pacific Ocean.

How could we have known then that a doctor in our adopted town would five years later discover a growth on my brain, later diagnosed as GBM, a brain cancer, or that Denise, the wonder-woman whom these past twenty-nine years was the warm and languid breeze beneath my ever-expansive wings, must now wrestle with the everyday reality of a wheelchair-bound husband? Gone for good perhaps are the dreamy, romantic images of walking the beaches of Zihuatanejo hand-in-hand bathed by the orange glow of a Pacific sunset and perhaps too, our hoped-for travel plans to Brazil, Argentina, and Chile. But Denise somehow was able to jettison these and other dreams and instead, commit her energies exclusively to my needs. This switch of focus, this new journey together, was not easy for either of us. disliked having to ask for help with life’s most mundane and personal chores, andthat Denise must respond to such requests. This abrupt switch from healthy, beach-walking fly-fisher to a wheelchair-bound husband was fraught with boiling emotion and frustration.

While I was in hospital, Denise joined my physical and mental rehabilitation classes and learned of the demanding role of chair pusher, and soon she knew as much about my physical abilities and inabilities as me. She rededicated herself to my goals and dreams, that I would walk again, and perhaps even fly-fish again, knowing full well that these goals were easily dreamed, but perhaps not so easily accomplished, so I am happy to state that the path to my being a fly-fisher again has shortened with this exploratory experience at Zihuatanejo's Municipal Pier. A first step to be sure, but a step forward, nonetheless.

This first attempt to fly-fish from my wheelchair was as expected, not easy, but perhaps after a bit more practice and equiptment, the goal seems achievable.

The major problem associated with this outing was not casting the line but retrieving or swimming the fly. My preferred method of retrieve requires two hands, primarily to get the extra speed I believe necessary for attracting maximum attention from predator fish. After a successful cast to an area likely to contain fish, I like to tuck the fly rod and reel under my right arm and by means of both hands, haul the line in using short, fast pulls, one hand after another beginning with a right hand grab of the line just below the first line-guide followed by a left hand grab of the same line length. Each grab and pull result in spasms of the fly, the kind of motion one might attribute to a fleeing minnow. The underwater appearance, I believe imparts a familiar scene to predator fish—a crippled minnow attempting a speedy escape. To enhance the crippled effect, when tying the fly, I like to place a half-inch length of red feather just beneath the head that perhaps imitates bit of blood or an open wound. I place the red feather on almost all the flies I tie. I adopted this technique after observing a school of 2-4 pound jacks slice and dice a school of two-inch long anchovies, leaving dozens of wounded minnows skittering the surface. Almost every wounded anchovy was immediately attacked by a jack. Many anchovies were so panicked they jumped clear of the water to avoid the furious attack of the jacks.To enhance the attention grabbing skittering effect, I often raise the rod tip a bit during the retrieve to get the fly to skate the surface and break surface tension. If predator fish are in the vicinity, this skating technique can prove enormously effective in attracting fish.

To make this preferred retrieve work from the wheelchair, I willed my hands to grab the line in a way that I thought might result in suitable action, but my left hand, still partially paralyzed from the removal of the tumor would not grab the line quickly nor securely, resulting in a very poor appearing retrieve that imitated nothing so much as a one-armed fly-fisher using a two-handed retrieve! Worse, the retrieved line caught on all manner of protrusions affixed to the wheel chair--brake handles, foot rests, push handles, etc. This problem will soon be corrected by use of a plastic basket strapped across my lap into which I will drop the retrieved line. Readers will note from the photo above that I was fishing from a pier as opposed to selected water that might actually contain a few fish! I chose this location for safety(no way the wheelchair can roll into the water) as well as a favorable back cast environment, More to come on wheelchair fly-fishing soon.

Tight lines,
Doug

2010-03-30T12:56:00.010-06:00

PARADISE AT LAST!

March 30, 2010

Denise and I have returned to our home in Zihuatanejo after 12 weeks in Arizona where I underwent surgery and treatment for brain cancer.

Thanks to Rehabilitation Team 4--Christina, Evan, Javi, and Kaela--all professional therapists at Good Samaritan Rehab in Phoenix, and all the doctors and nurses who attended me so expertly and compassionately, I now feel strong enough in body and mind to again maintain this blog, complete a novel left undone on my desk, and attempt to fly fish from the confines of my new wheelchair.

The municipal pier comes to mind as a probable location for this adventure and perhaps the concrete pad at the trail-head to Playa Las Gatas will also prove wheelchair friendly.

I have not had much experience fishing from the town pier, a popular location for local fishers casting lures and bait using hand-lines and spinning gear. However, the deep pool at the Las Gatas trail head I have often fly fished. At this location I have brought to hand quite regularly plump Cabria by casting tan-back Clousers from the edge of the concrete pad that is just about all that remains of an elaborate hotel gone to ruin many a year ago the remains of whicht still overlook the water at this location. l have caught my share of fiesty Needlefish here too--the largest 39 inches. I have also caught uncountable Jacks and Pargo from the rock-strewn deep pool at this location.The relatively flat concrete pad along the water front, likely used for the old hotel's parking lot seems a particularly safe choice to fly fish from a wheelchair. The drop to the water is protected by curbing and the slope of the parking lot, though toward the water is not severe. The real problem for fly fishers working this location is the presence of trees and power lines that can ensnare the back cast.

Oh well! I will just have to pay attention to this possibility and keep the back cast out of range of these obstacles, and if I do snag a back cast, use of a light tippet will assure easy break off. I cannot exactly jump out of the wheel chair--and attempt to work out a solution that might save the fly!

Tight lines,
Doug

Something had not been right for months

2010-02-20T16:16:00.010-06:00

February 20
     My left foot had flopped sideways with each step, I collapsed in mid-conversation with friends or neighbors or at least had to sit down immediately and often dropped whatever object I grasped with my left hand. A visit to local doctor Rogelio Grayeb resulted in a CAT scan that revealed an irregular image on the right side of my brain above my ear.
      Denise and I left Zihuatanejo January 6 for Good Samaritan Hospital in Phoenix, Arizona, a facility with a reputation for dealing with neurological disorders. Within 24 hours I was diagnosed; a malignant tumor was growing rapidly on the right side of my brain. The golf-ball sized tumor was removed the next day, but the aggressive surgery required tresulted in even more left-side weakness. My left leg, arm, and fingers are of limited use now. I was immediately enrolled in acute rehabilitation and threw myself into a program of speech therapy, cognitive thinking, occupational, and physical therapy and have since gained back some finger and leg movement. My speech has improved and I am told my thought processes are quite normal. Radiation and chemotherapy are a daily regimen.
      It seems that the brain is the slowest organ in the body to recover from trama so for the present I have learned to use a wheelchair, relearned how to to dress myself, and to tend to most personal needs using only my right hand. I am fortunate to have excellent doctors, nurses, and attentive inventive caring therapists, but most of all I am lucky to have a loving wife. Denise has tended to my needs every step of the way. Believe me, there is a lot of truth in the adage God Bless the caregivers.
    I thank all of you have who sent wonderful, loving e-mails. Your kind words helped immeasurably tduring my darkest, most uncertain hours.
     We expect to return to Zihuatanejo soon to see our dear friends, and to reclaim Luz, our dog, from Joseph and Franca in Barra de Potosi who so generously agreed to take care of her during our absence. My hope is to keep this blog updated, restart our pleasant life in paradise, and complete the novel that lays unfinished on my desk.
     Tight lines,
     Douglas Beach

Merry Christmas Morning

2009-12-26T17:20:00.002-06:00

It's Over For Now

2009-12-10T10:28:00.044-06:00

DECEMBER 7.
It seemed that the exciting jack fishing might go on forever, but survey trips with Sergio in a 12 foot skiff accompanied by anglers Stuart Nagel December 3th, and David Lewis December 6th, garnered only a few small cabrilla. A shore fishing trip to Las Gatas December 5 with Stuart and his wife Barbara, saw a few needle fish chasing the fly and Barbara caught a small but mighty jack on her spinning rod and small spoon(okay,so there was one jack left, That same dayI managed to bring to hand one fat Pargo on a Clouser fished close tothe bottom just off shore from Owen Lee'srecently reopened Nature Center on the point just West of PlayaLas Gatas

It didn't take long for the word to get out that the jacks likely have left the bay. Popular fishing locations along the north side of the bay are empty as a ghost town . The reason for the abrupt cutoff might be that most of the bait-fish that drew the jacks into the bayin the first place have been consumed and the jacks have simply left the bay to seek out greener pastures, andof course the fishing pressure has been tremendous for weeks, so perhaps most of the jacks have already been caught. It is likely that thousands of fish have graced local dinner tables since the frantic pursuit of jacks by crowds of excited anglers began in mid august. Whatever the reason,according to reports, angling for sailfish and Dorado out in the big sea remain excellent, but jack fishing in the bay has fallen off a cliff. This doesn't mean you should leave your 6, 7, or 8 fly-rod at home, though thebig jacks may be in short supply, juvenile jacks are found in many locations around thebay as are needle fish, sea bass, and,through a bit scarce at the moment, sierra, (spanish mackerel) should be present throughout the winter directly off Playa Municipal.

Three Men in a Boat

2009-12-02T14:25:00.042-06:00

December 4.
Sergio would rather fish than eat. He is expert at casting the hand line, throwing the net, reading the water, playing the fish, and rigging live bait. Indeed, he daily provides a fine catch that his wife Lucy turns into tasty, nutritious meals for Sergio, their three-year-old son Jordon, and herself.

Who better than Sergio then, to join Tom Wenrich and myself for a few hours of early morning fishing aboard a 12-foot boat in Zihuatanejo Bay? Tom and I met Sergio at the Playa Municipal fish market at 7 am. Sergio brought hand lines, net, and paddle; Tom and I brought fly rods. (For more of Tom’s fly fishing exploits on the bay, please see the November 6 posting.)

Dawn had just thrown a silver sheen across the eastern horizon. Boats of the local commercial fishing fleet were rocketing into the bay after a night on the big sea. Sleek, twenty-three foot pangas zipped out of the dawn, 75-horsepower motors throttled to the max, motorman standing in the stern, crew hunched low. At the correct moment, the motorman shuts off the outboard and heaves the prop out of the water. One after another the long narrow boats shoot bare hulled onto the sand and come to a abrupt halt. The commotion of these groundings, combined with the sudden arrival of a crowd of eager fish shoppers from homes and restaurants, set off a flurry of activity.

Tom and I, rods and rucksacks in hand, squeezed through the crowd behind Sergio who carried a white plastic gear bucket brimming with tackle. We emerged from the crowded market onto the beach in front of a 12-foot row boat, tossed our gear aboard and pushed the sturdy craft down the sloping beach into gentle warm surf. Tom and I clambered aboard, sat center and bow and Sergio gave the stern a mighty push, leaped over the transom, grabbed up the paddle, and we were off. Tom and I imediatly cast number 4 tan-backed Clouser flies overboard while Sergio paddled toward the rocky breakwater that juts from the north side of the bay entrance.

Nothing hit the trolled Clousers, but right after anchoring near the lee side of the breakwater, Tom, casting toward the jetty, almost bouncing the Clouser off the rocks, and pulling spaced retrieves, hooked a pair of jacks one after the other. Sergio caught a jack on a chunk of anchovy attached to one of two bait lines he had placed on each side of the stern. I had a couple of hits but nothing to show for it but a small cabrilla.

As the horizon brightened, the bay reflected a silver polish exposing our flies for what they really are: deer hair, thread, tinsel, and feathers. The surface action stopped. We upped anchor and Sergio paddled to a position opposite the walkway near the canal mouth. Lots of shore anglers were tossing anchovy baited hand lines from shore to the area right in front of our boat. Sergio conversed across a few hundred feet of water with his amigos fishing from the rocks and walkway. Taunts and jokes flew about like sea birds.

Sergio moved us well out of range of the salavos ofsilvery anchovy cast toward us by the shore anglers.We threw out the anchor in ten feet of water and settled down to await the action. Tom and I cast Clouser flies, pausing to allow the weight of the fly and the sinking lines to get them down to the gloomy deep where the imitations might pass as crippled minnows, then we began rhythmically pulling the flies back toward the boat . Sergio soon picked up another nice fat silvery jack on one of his hand lines positioned just off the bottom. Tom hooked the wing of a low flying albatross on a back cast, not an uncommon event when saltwater fishing, and quickly reeled the distressed bird in toward the boat. Sergio grabbed the tross just below the head to avoid the snapping beak, removed the barb-less hook, and the bird went back airborne .

The sun had come up and we were feeling the heat. Tom and I kept casting the Clousers. Several other small boats holding two or three anglers each were close by, but we saw no action from them or from the shore fishers. Sergio occasionally pulled upone of his hand lines to check the bait. The sun began to crisp our ears. Tom and I applied sun block and adjusted the bills of our ball caps.

Tom made a long sweet cast and began the retrive. His rod came down hard on the gunnel. Line shot off the Orvis reel as if connected to a speeding train, running out so fast out of the tiptop guide that Tom could not get the rod up. Even a second handhold above the rod handle would not do the job. Seconds later, the shrieking Orvis went silent. The line fell slack. I won’t write what Tom said as he reeled in the limp line. We were expecting a cut-off fly, but were surprised to see that the Clouser was still attached to the fifteen pound tippet. The number 4 Mustad hook was bent straight as a sewing needle.

Sergio grinned, shrugged. “A very big jack, I think.”

Tom kept shaking his head and muttering while searching out a new fly from the box.

Suddenly the boat rocked. Sergio had stood up on the stern seat.

“Anyone want a soft drink or bottled water?”

Because I had planned to be on the water only a few hours this morning, I had not brought water.I hadn’t seen Sergio bring any water aboard either, but I was thirsty. “Water sounds good,”I said.

“I got water in my pack, thanks anyway, Sergio,” said Tom.

Sergio pulled off his T-shirt, tossed it on the seat, and executed a fair dive into the brine. He surfaced and began a furious breast stroke toward shore.

“Don’t forget to watch my lines,” he yelled over his shoulder.

Several of the shore fishers hooted and hollered at Sergio’s abandoning ship.

“Where is he going?” asked Tom.

“Beats me.”

We watched Sergio swim a ruler-straight course toward shore. He emerged from the salt, jogged barefoot up the beach and then along the cobbled street toward Nardo’s tienda. Minutes later, he was back on the street running hard. He plunged into the surf. In minutes his hands gripped the transom, and he heaved himself aboard.

Cold bottled water never tasted so good.

We were soon underway toward the rocky cliffs north of Playa La Ropa. Sergio paddled with such authority the craft seemed powered by a motor rather than a very long handled paddle.

On the way across, Tom and I dropped number 2 Clousers tied on nickel hooks over the side—no more straightening of the hooks! I had switched to the chartreuse color, reportedly the favorite of Bob Clouser, inventor of the fly that carries his name. (http://www.clouserflyfishing.com/)

Now it was my turn to get the big hit. The number 8 rod bowed and throbbed like a live thing, whipped down hard, came up a bit and then down hard again, and there it stayed, a repeat of what Tom had experienced. Line shot out through the guides, the reel screamed, but this time when the line came limp and I reeled in; the fly had been neatly clipped from the tippet.

“Maybe a big jack or else a grouper,” said Sergio, his trademark grin blowing away all disappointment. By this time, the sun was full on the water, the heat rising quickly. Tom and I called it a day although Sergio was fully ready to continue.

We had missed a couple of big opportunities, but a pleasant morning on the water and fish in the catch box for Sergio made up for that. Besides, there would be many days ahead to cast our flies over the scenic waters of Zihuatanejo Bay.

December 1 Comes Up Pretty Over Zihuatanejo Bay

2009-12-01T05:21:00.005-06:00

Now That's a Big Fish!

2009-11-28T09:55:00.022-06:00

November 28. The proud angler in the picture below trotted back and forth along the beach, climbed over rocks, and was led neck deep into the bay several times this morning before finally landing this monster jack on a handline baited with a 6 inch anchovie.

Bigger Jacks Arrive

2009-11-25T10:11:00.056-06:00

November 24. One and two pound jack Crevelle (jurel pronounced who-rel) began showing in August, and by September these small, but mighty scrappers were everywhere in the bay. The la Ropa rocks produced jacks on flies on many a morning, and Playa Las Gatas in front of Owen Lee's Preserve produced a fair amount on the fly too. And the finicky south shore often erupted with attacking jacks not thirty feet from the rocky shore at first light.

But no place in the bay has held the endless schools of these small, hard fighting jacks like the area between Playa Municipal and Playa la Madera. Hundreds of local anglers have collectively caught many thousands of fish in a relentless pursuit that has lasted three months, driven as much by the need to supplement family diets in hard times as the simple, age-old quiet pleasure of fishing.
Last week, a few larger jacks were caught by boaters not far off shore. This week, the bay in front of Playa Municipal exploded with five to eight pound jacks. Untold scores of the tall platinum brawlers charged out of the depths right in front of delighted shore fishers this morning. At one point, it seemed Mr. Jacuzzi had installed one of his machines in front of fisherman's point on the Paseo del Pescador. The big jacks blew up the calm surface like war movie machine guns, slicing and dicing schools of anchovies and any other small fish unlucky enough to be in the vicinity.

At times, the big jacks drove anchovies against shore so hard, the wet slapping and flutter of thousands of silvery bodies leaping against the shore rocks competed with the crashing sound of surf.

Dozens of anglers went home this morning with a prize that will likely feed the whole family tonight and then some.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Not as big by a long shot as the jacks on the north shore, but a nice tussel on a #7 flyrod at the La Ropa Rocks this morning.

2009-11-24T17:16:00.007-06:00

November 23

Great Action at Las Gatas

2009-11-06T08:01:00.028-06:00

November 6.

Zihuatanejo winter resident and sport angler Tom Wenrich of Lake Oswego, Oregon, scored big at Las Gatas this morning. Casting from the boulder-strewn shore in front of Owen Lee's Beach Club, a dozen fish came to hand and a dozen more struck or chased without hookup in the fifty minutes after first light. The photos show a Pargo (left) and a trumpet fish (right). Conditions were perfect with only two-foot surf and high tide at about 7AM. Tom fished a #7 flyrod, intermediate sink line, and size 6 tan Clouser fly retrived just beneath the surface. The action slowed by 8 AM, but what a morning for Tom! His catch included jacks, pargo, coronet, cabrilla. Tom returned all fish to the salt to fight another day.

Tom's fly of the morning, the tan Clouser

Fly Patterns for Zihuatanejo Bay

2009-10-21T14:10:00.027-05:00

October 22. Most any fish in Zihuatanejo Bay will strike the flies pictured here. All are variations of popular saltwater patterns developed in the 1950s by internationally known authors, respected fly fishers, and fishing buddies Lefty Kreh and Joe Brooks. Lefty invented the Deceiver, the third fly from the top, still one of the most popular saltwater patterns in use today. This is the only fly out of the five with a body made of feathers. The collar around the front of the fly, made from the tail hairs of deer (bucktail), helps hide the hook and minimizes snagging.

The other four flies are variations on Joe Brook's Platinum Blonde tied on various hook sizes and in several hues of dyed bucktail. Both patterns have a bit of tinsel for flash and a splash of red at the throat to imitate gills. The Deceiver is available at fly fishing shops catering to saltwater anglers and from Cabelas.

Joe Brooks original Platinum Blonde bucktail has, over the years, spawned a similer but eye-weighted pattern developed by Bob Clouser. The Clouser fly, a wildly popular and very effective tie that I have used to good effect in the bay will be the subject of a future column.

The pictured flies are between 1-1/2 and 3-1/2 inches long and are tied on hook sizes 2 through 6.

... and Better and Better!

2009-10-11T12:25:00.046-05:00

October 11. And Better and Better

The remarkable jack fishing along the north shore of Zihuatanejo Bay continues. By first light, anglers have crowded all the popular angling spots along Fisherman’s Walkway and dozens more stand neck-deep in the balmy surf. The action slacks off in mid- morning, though some die-hard fishers continue throughout the day.

These small but mighty jacks seem a bit less weight these last few days, perhaps the average size is around a pound or a bit more, but the numbers of fish caught per angler seems on the increase.

Come each evening, a new rush of fishers arrive; men just off work, kids out of school, wives, girlfriends, and spectators. Older folks and mothers with toddlers sit on the beach, watch over buckets of fish, and carve up anchovy chunks for bait.
Sharp cries of victory carry above the roar of plunging surf. Young boys ferry bait out to fathers and older brothers and return gleefully through the surf with a just-caught fish for the family bucket.

What do these anglers do with all the fish? The anglers I have spoken to say they have a fish dinner each day, place some in the freezer (if they have such a luxury), and then offer the balance of the catch to neighbors. Jacks are a serviceable treat for the palate, not as tasty and nicely textured as tuna or dorado, but local cooks know many secrets to enhance flavor and to soften the rather firm flesh, including secret lime juice marinades and special salsas. Fish soup made of jacks is said to be delicious.

The Catching Just Gets Better

2009-10-05T17:57:00.045-05:00

September 24 jack Fishing just gets Better and Better

During July, and early August, there was little sign of baitfish in Zihuatanejo bay. Diving seabirds—a certain indicator of baitfish—had flown away to better pickings and the larger predatory fish, except for spawning snook, seemed to have sought better hunting grounds too.
Times like these, when storm runoff from the hillsides and from the town’s undersized waste-water facilities have stained the bay, it is easy to blame the lack of fish and fowl along the shores of Playa Municipal and Playa la Madera on poor water quality. Ironically though, despite the water having the appearance of chocolate for a few days last week, anglers enjoyed an explosion of good fishing along these same beaches.

Baitfish, in this case anchovy, began boiling to the surface in mid-August, chased from the ocean by juvenile jacks feeding on the bright little darts. The birds have not yet returned, but local anglers are everywhere. They line up neck deep in surf, throwing nets and casting hand lines baited with chunks of anchovy. And they catch lots of fish. Good news travels fast. On two evenings last week, I counted upward of seventy anglers where a few weeks before only a half dozen were present. I have seen five-gallon plastic buckets packed to the brim with one and two pound jural and yellowtail jack and occasionaly larger fish too.
Several local net-fishers have caught anchovies ripe with eggs. They say the little baitfish have come into the bay to spawn in the depths off Playa Municipal and Paseo del Pescador where deep rocky structure and the murky water protect the resultant fry from predators.
These are tough times for Mexico’s beach towns, and these anglers, many of them out of work restaurant and hotel employees, are happily catching as many fish as possible to see their family’s nutritional needs through until high season when they hope for a resurgence of tourism. To them these fish are a Godsend.

The fishing is elbow to elbow at the best locations, but on those occasions when I have found room to throw a fly, I have caught a few of these mighty scrappers using white and tan buck tail flies.
Given these tough economic times, I do not even think to release fish. They go right into somebody’s bucket.

Needlefish Dreams

2009-09-06T16:00:00.052-05:00

September 9
Needlefish don't always get much respect from sport fly-fishers, but locals love the sleek, bone riddled fish. It makes darn tasty soup.
However, a fly-fisher angling by boat just outside the break and hoping for a feisty rooster or big jack, often finds that dozens of needles have crashed the party. These fast, sleek bait thieves slash through the carefully laid plans of the boat captain trying to tease a big rooster fish close in so that a fly-fisher client can get at it. Big needles attack swift and sure, gobbling the baits, teasers, and flies too, but hooking one of these torpedos is not easy.The hook often bounces off the long, bony mouth like a Ping-Pong ball off a wall, sometimes bending or snapping off the hook point. Saltwater fly-fishers that I know figure that for every twenty or so hits from needles, just one is a hookup. They say dream on if you believe you can do better than that. This may seem like slim pickings but consider that needlefish travel in schools and those twenty hits can occur inside of five minutes.
Pound for pound, needles hit as hard as most any sport fish, and if you actually do get the hook into one, these circus acrobats they take to the air like rainbow trout and often run away so fast you think bonefish! A big needle is one of the most exciting fish in the bay to play from shore.

The local woman in the photo above saw me make the rare connection, and when I didn't lose the frenzied, leaping needle in the first few minutes, she apparently thought I had a chance of landing itand she risked scrambling down a high bank and teetering out onto mossy rocks to give a hand with the beaching. Her reward? Lots of fish soup for sure.

After the Storm, Jacks Still Hitting

2009-08-24T19:15:00.035-05:00

August 21.

This past week furious thunderstorms carried across the bay. One tempest set fire to a three-story bayside hotel destroying the palapa roof and damaging the top floor. Serious lightning, thunder, and rain bombarded the town for hours causing heavy runoff into the bay from the canal and surrounding hills. Playa la Madera and Playa Municipal were so dirty I stuck my hand into the water but could not see the tips of my fingers. Visability at Play la Ropa and south shore was better, perhaps a few feet. Several days later, the bay still murky, I determined to throw a few casts from the rocks at the north end of Playa la Ropa. Juvenile jacks and cabrilla, and mid-size needlefish are a staple at this location. Unless there is cloud cover, this area is generally productive for only about thirty minutes after first light, and then the action falls off a cliff.

Offsetting this disappointment, I often catch something on the first cast or two, and this morning was no exception. I tied on a highly visible white deceiver with lots of flash and a touch of chartreuse bucktail, made a single cast, and began a speedy retrieve; a determined jack grabbed on and bounded off toward Hawaii!
I am regularly amazed at the aggressive power of the jack crevalle. Many, many times, right after the unmistakable and powerful strike of a jack, I mentally and physically prepare for a big fish. I tick off in my mind the locations of line-snagging underwater rocks and glance about for the best place to land the brawler. I twist the brake a click or two tighter and carefully pay out line while cranking in slack to get the fish on the reel. But when finally the jack is in close, and I can actually see it, the fish has shrunk to ten or twelve inches! Such is the ferocious nature of these exciting sport fish.

Before my saltwater fly-fishing experience began five years ago, I had fly fished mainly for rainbow trout. Just to give an idea of fighting comparison, I believe a ten-inch jack is equivalent in fighting power to an eighteen-inch rainbow. Hard to believe, I know, but try fishing for jacks and I think you will agree. After releasing a pair of these small, but explosive fish this morning, they seemed to retreat into the gloomy depths out of reach of any fly. I hiked back to the casa for black coffee and golden pancakes, hoping as I trudged the cobblestones, that by tomorrow the water clarity would have improved and that I might actually hook a "five pound" jack longer than ten inches.

Here Come the Jacks!

2009-08-14T17:13:00.040-05:00

August 14.

On the tails of snook that arrived in the bay this summer, now come the jack crevalle, called jurel (who-rel) by local anglers. The catching seems all along the north shore from the far end of Playa la Madera to Playa Municipal. Fish weights I've seen vary widely, perhaps between one and four pounds. As is usual with jacks, just about any bucktail or deceiver fly pattern will do the trick, but rapid retrieval of my favorite, a Joe Brook's platinum blond bucktail with tan back works best for me. If the jacks are chasing bait on the surface, I make the cast and then immediately begin a fast retrieve causing the imitation minnow to speed along just beneath the surface. You can't retrieve the fly too fast for a jack. If the fish are not showing on the surface, I allow the fly to sink a bit, expermenting with different depths of one to four feet, and then begin the retrieve. I keep the rod tip pointed at the fly at all times for the most certain hookup. I released three fish of about two to three pounds right after first light this morning, and then a couple of smaller fish after changing locations. Missed hookups accounted for another half dozen hits. By 9 AM, the jacks had gone deep and the excitement over. A dozen or so local anglers tossing handlines had similar action. Martino, the happy fisher with dinner in hand (photo above) caught the largest fish I saw this morning. His lure was homemade, a weighted fly similar to the fly tied by Gregorio in the article below - The King of the Snook Fishers.

Snook Are the Fish of the Moment in Zihuatanejo Bay

2009-08-11T13:00:00.034-05:00

August 11.
Several local anglers have recently shown impressive catches of three to five pound snook. Gregorio (see article below) displayed a string of five nice snook on August 1, all of them caught from popular angling areas along Fisherman's Walk right in front of town.
I managed to beach and release a couple of the brawlers on August 6 (see snook photos). On two occasions on August 9, big snook in the top water spit the fly back at me after quick jolting hits. Yet another thumper hooked up yesterday, ripped all the fly line off the spool, started on the backing, and then sliced through the twenty pound shock leader in a reel-screeching run for the deep.
The fly of choice for these sea-going Mack Trucks seems to be a three to four inch chartruse deceiver tied on a #2 long shank hook. I'm pressing the limits using a #7 rod, but unlike local anglers fishing for food, I'm fishing for sport. The business end is a six-foot tapered leader in three equal sections including a twelve pound fluorocarbon tippet followed by a six-inch shock leader. A slow retrieve, almost a crawl, after letting the fly settle two to four feet below the surface seems to attract the most attention. The daily excitement doesn't last long. Feeding snook are near shore for only an hour or so after first light--a bit longer if the cloud cover is complete, then they seem to slip into the offshore depths.

The King of Snook Fishers

2009-06-18T10:55:00.018-05:00

July 24.
While roaming Playa la Madera and occasionally peering low over the wave tops for the telltale swirl of jacks behind the break, I spotted Gregorio fishing from his favorite rock. He pointed to his nylon catch bag on the beach. The bag suddenly leaped sideways, and Gregorio gave a barking laugh. I trotted across the sand and jerked the bag open. Inside were two snook of about five pounds each, one still exploding with big sea energy.

I had first met Gregorio three years ago while fishing for jack crevalle along Zihuantaejo's Fisherman's Walkway. A compact, copper-skinned Mexican, likely in his late sixties, Gregorio was playing a bull of a fish on a handline. Barefoot, he half squatted on a surf-pounded rock, his leathery hands pulling monofilament line from the sea and dumping it at his feet. Several times he got a bunch of coils on the rock, and then the powerful fish would take it all back in a long chugging run. Finally, he worked the exhausted fish in close and scrambled from the rock to the sand. A sizable wave rushed onto the shore. He placed the line over his shoulder and trotted up the beach. The wave fell back. A gleaming arm-long fish lay on the beach, maybe fifteen pounds. I was to learn that the fish was a Robalo (Roh-BAH-lo), called snook in the states.

Since that morning I’ve seen many snook in Gregorio’s catch pouch and have caught a few myself. Most of mine were a bit shy of that five pounder I saw thrashing around in Gregorio's bag. But Gregorio, using his handline and homemade lure has stuffed twenty-pound monsters into that sack. He states in a Forrest Gumpish kind of way, you never what you’re going to get out of Zihuatanejo Bay.

The snook is a silver brawler with the torpedo shape of a salmon or trout except with larger fins and an under-slung lower jaw. The most prominent physical characteristic is the lateral line, a sharply drawn black strip running from head to tail. Snook have no teeth but are equipped with rough sawtooth jaws and scalpel-like gill plates that quickly bring to an end most battles not begun with a heavy shock leader. For this reason, Gregorio attaches a six-inch length of steel wire between his fly and his thirty-pound monofilament line.

Raised by a fly-fishing, trout-chasing father, I remain loath to resort to steel leaders, but of course, I’m not fishing to provide food for the table. Steel messes up the cast and often causes a splash. I like the slick presentation of a tapered leader. A nice cast just feels good, and even in big, rough water, I believe a gentle landing improves the chance of a hookup. You don’t need a long tapered leader; three, two-foot lengths of diminishing diameters forming a six foot leader will do. But when fishing for snook, I tie a half-foot length of twenty-pound monofilament at the end of my twelve-pound tippet and then tie on the fly. This shock leader dosen't always thwart the snook's saw-blade jaws, but it withstands the cutting action for a while. The trick is to land the fish as quickly as possible. Snook are generally found in murky water so the thicker shock leader following the tippet seems of no consequence.

Spawning snook are in the bay April through September following ageless instincts that hark back thousands of years when their preferred local spawning ground was a brackish gloomy swamp that is now the thriving beach town of Zihuatanejo. Even now the streets are sinking! I’ve noticed that construction workers dig a hole most anywhere downtown and often hit water only a few feet down.

The snook return each year in May and June, likely still seeking that long-gone swamp. Now, however, they must be satisfied with spawning in the silt-laden water off Playa la Madera and Playa Municipal, and I am told, in the deepest parts of the bay.

Spawning snook are one of the marvels of the natural world; near sundown on the new and full moons from May through September, the fish congregate in a location where below surface currents are strongest. Near sundown, the males surround the females and bump them until they release their eggs and then the males provide the sperm. The free-floating eggs run seaward with the falling tide. About eighteen hours after spawning, the eggs hatch on the incoming tide. The fry make Zihuatanejo Bay their home until fingerlings and then venture out into the big sea.

Gregorio's Tackle

2009-06-17T17:05:00.009-05:00

July 23.
Like a cowboy throwing a lariat, Gregorio whirls his handline overhead, and at just the right moment he lets go the weighted homemade fly. He lands the lure far out, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet, at exactly the right spot. After years of fishing, he knows where the fish lie. He lets the lure settle to some mystical proper depth and then starts hauling in line, hand over hand, the fly approximating a swimming minnow. When the strike comes, he rears back with his arm to bury the hook. He encircles several fingers covered with rubber from an intertube to ride the line during battle, otherwise sizzling outgoing monofilament might cut his fingers to the bone. He stores his line on a carved wooden paddle not unlike that for playing Ping-Pong except for the squared off sides.

Robalo is a delicacy on anybody’s table. The mild, white flaky flesh has the texture of salmon. This highly desirable fish sells locally for about 100 pesos per kilo, about $4 US per pound, so Gregorio often eats like the king he is--the King of Zihuatanejo Bay Robalo Fishers.

Gregorio's Killer Fly

2009-06-16T08:12:00.003-05:00

Gregorio melts the lead himself; lays in the 0/2 hook then uses monofilament to secure strands of poly-fiber from a short length of rope to the lead body. Note the permanently attached steel shock leader.

Know the Rules

2009-06-15T17:47:00.010-05:00

June 12.
The first-time angler to Zihuatanejo Bay may feel inhibited not knowing the rules and culture governing fishing in the bay. I too had these concerns, and so I consulted local tackle store owner Francisco Javier Lobato Ruiz. Casa Lobato Pineda tackle shop is located upstairs across from the beachfront basketball court. Unless fishing from a boat, he told me a fishing license is not required anywhere in Mexico, but be aware that fishing gear in possession while aboard a boat requires everyone on board to have a license—even non-anglers just along for the ride.
Catch and release fly-fishing, using barbless hooks as practiced in the US and Canada, is not popular among local shore fishers in Zihuatanejo. Often the fly angler can slip the catch back into the water unnoticed. Another alternative is to play the fish in close, get a satisfying look at your prize, then slack the line, and allow the fish to slip the barbless hook.
However, if a local passerby observes the release of a nice feast, the fly angler will likely be punished with a good-natured scolding, after which a promise is elicited to hand over the next prize.
Be courteous and give over the next catch. The reward will be a beaming smile, an expression of genuine gratitude, and a fine meal for the recipient.

"Fly Fishing" is a Misnomer

2009-06-14T17:18:00.003-05:00

June 6.
In the chronicles of fly-fishing, a fly is an artificial lure constructed of feathers, hair, tinsel, and thread. As the term suggests, the resulting lure imitates an insect. When fly-fishing saltwater, the word fly is a misnomer. The saltwater fly-fisher attempts to match the fly to the length, shape, and color of small fish rather than insects, and then swims the fly among local bait fish in the hope that a larger predator will attack the imitation.
Diving sea birds tell of bait fish, but often these schools are far out into the bay, unreachable by the shore angler, so avid fishers search beaches for telltale hollows in the sand beneath the surf, and investigate rocky shorelines and weedy bottoms—all reliable sites for bait fish and the large predators that dine on them.
The rocky far end of Playa las Gatas is such a place. Minuscule crustaceans washed off King’s Reef and carried by tidal action appear constantly along the rocky shore in front of Las Gatas Beach Club. Bait fish dart about snapping up these tiny meals, and the big predators—jacks, barracuda, Cornet fish, Cabrilla and needle fish—lurk about to snap up the bait fish. Successful angling generally peaks at dawn, holds steady for an hour or two, and then dwindles as the bait fish, under constant attack since first light, disperse to the gloom of deeper water, predators in hot pursuit.

Fly Fishing Locations in Zihuatanejo Bay

2009-06-08T17:22:00.004-05:00

May 28.
A popular and generally reliable fishing spot is along the Paseo del Pescador, the concrete sidewalk that meanders from Playa Madera to Playa Municipal. To find the exact location, stroll along the walk in the evening and watch for a knot of local anglers throwing hand-lines. Do not bother to bring your fly rod on this stroll. There is little room for the back cast of a fly-fisher among this happy crowd whirling weighted mono filament overhead.
Oddly, and thankfully, the walkway here is often vacant just before dawn, and if you do encounter encounter other fishers, you can opt for one of the rocky prominences so long as the surf is not high. Jack crevalle and black snook (often called robalo) hunt the rock-strewn, weedy bottom all night and search the top water at first light. To find the fish, skate the fly across the surface—jacks cannot resist attacking frantic bait fish skittering the top water. The angler is not in the best position to hook a fish using this method, but the wild explosions of water around the fly will quickly reveal the presence of jacks. Cast to the same area again, quickly stuff the rod handle and reel up under your armpit and with both hands, haul the fly-line into the stripping basket as fast as possible. As the horizon brightens, I allow the fly to sink a few feet before employing this speedy retrieve. When the morning sun strikes the water full on, the bait fish generally dart for deeper water and the predators lose interest in the area.
Near this sidewalk location, silt laden Canala Boquita flows into the bay. The silt, constantly churned by wave action, attracts the spawning black snook. He is an outsize denizen of murky water and weedy bottoms, and always on the prowl for unwary bait fish tucked into the gloom. To catch the black snook, retrieve the fly several feet beneath the surface employing a random, crippled rhythm. The attack of a black snook, a fish that can weigh twenty pounds or more, is akin to hooking a Mack truck pulling away from a stop sign; a slow powerful start and very soon, freeway speeds.
The lofty rocks at the north end of Playa la Ropa offer an opportunity to capture rocketing needle fish, fierce little jacks, ambushing cabrilla, and an occasional lunker pargo. Wave action strips a multitude of diminutive sea life from the underwater portions of these towering basalt pelican perches, and these morsels disperse among the rocks for the pleasure of bait fish. Here again, the presence of bait fish attracts larger predators. This too is an early morning fishery; miss first light, miss the best fishing.
To attract cabrilla, employ a slow, methodical retrieve close to the rocky bottom. The cabrilla will watch from his hideaway, and if all seems well, will launch from his lair. The hit is jolting, then the cabrilla whirls and dives swiftly back toward his rocky hole. The attack of a cabrilla is quite different from the slam of a jack or the lunge of a snook—more of a heavy, prolonged grab and head shake. The trick is to immediately recognize this and promptly lift the rod tip while checking the line. The angler must stop the cabrilla immediately, and then this excellent table fish will quit early. However, if the angler gives line, the cabrilla will take the fly through a rocky labyrinthine to his hideaway. The angler may imagine the line impossibly snagged, and sometimes this is so, but keep serious pressure, and after some moments, this stubborn fish often follows the line back out into open water where he can be brought onto the beach without much difficulty.

The Beginning

2009-06-02T17:03:00.006-05:00

May 18, 2009.
I admit that I am addicted. Back in Arizona, when the crazy grin, cold sweats, and a curious tic in my right hand set in, I would climb into the old Dodge pickup and rush to my favorite fly-fishing stream in the White Mountains. The symptoms, except for the grin, disappeared as soon as I caught and released the first trout.
Six years ago, my wife Denise and I moved to Zihuatanejo, and I recall convincing myself that a few treks each year back to the mountains would gratify my lifelong obsession with catch and release fly-fishing. A few weeks after moving to Zihuatanejo though, I found myself sitting on Play la Ropa wondering what sort of fish I might catch out there in the bay.
The fly-fishing transition from cool streams, conifers, and snowy mountains, to tropical waters, coconut palms, and sandy beaches did not come easy. Sneaker waves knocked me off rocks, coral scarred my knees, and surf often slapped me to the sandy bottom.
During my passage from fresh to saltwater fly-fishing, gracious local shore fishers wielding nets and hand-lines, held back smiles at my flinging of rooster feathers, deer hair, sewing thread, and a barbless hook into crashing surf. Some chuckled at my stubborn refusal to attach a chunk of raw fish or shrimp to my homemade fly and get on with the serious business of catching and keeping as many fish as possible.
One morning I appeared on the beach with a small pink plastic basket strapped to my waist. My Mexican fishing friends thought I had at last come to my senses and would use the basket to contain my catch, but that was not my intention. Fly-fishing in saltwater involves casting the fly sixty or seventy feet, and then stripping in the line in such a manner that the fly imitates a small swimming fish. Use of a stripping basket, a technique of some fly anglers in the states, allows for storage of the hand-retrieved line and instant availability of the line for the next cast. Fishing is nothing, if not a dogged pursuit, so I soldiered on despite the good-natured scoffing.