If you have read this blog in the past or subscribe to the Zen Newsletter, you know that while I do love traditional tenkara, I also love to push the boundaries of this fixed-line fly fishing method and test its limits. I often find the opportunity to do this in saltwater. While these oceanic trips are realistically rod and reel trips, I always, always, bring a tenkara rod or two and spend a day devoted to going reel-less. Often, I am surprised by the size and power of the fish I am able to land efficiently without injury to my rod or the fish. Of course, using a tenkara rod designed for strong, large fish is a must and I mostly use our Zen Kyojin for these adventures.
My recent trip to Ascension Bay in Mexico, just south of the popular destination, Tulum, was not the fishing trip I had hoped for. Visiting Mexico in September is unpopular for a reason. It rains. It’s also hot and humid but that’s essentially a given when it comes to saltwater fly fishing and something I accept. The rain, much less.
The rain itself isn’t an issue. In southern destinations the rain is warm and often passing. Sometimes it’s actually pleasant and refreshing and can cool you down when spending 6-10hrs on a flats boat with no shade or cover. The problem with rain is that it affects visibility both before, during and sometimes after it passes. Prior to rain comes clouds, whether high, gray and a thin blanket covering the sky, or black, low and ominous, clouds block the sun and deny your chance at seeing anything in the water that is more than 10ft away.
Saltwater fly fishing is sight fishing. You are looking for fish to cast to wherein most freshwater trout fishing, you cast into the river hoping a fish is there. In the salt you are actively hunting fish and eliciting a strike from a fish you have spotted. To do this from a boat or even while wading in shallow water, you require distance. Most saltwater fly fishing requires at least a 6oft cast to have consistent success. Wading requires a little less, maybe 40ft if you’re lucky. So, you should be seeing the fish by 80ft, in order to have time to setup your cast. Without sun this is impossible. Cloud coverage ruins a day of saltwater fly flying – or saltwater tenkara fishing.
And this is what we had for the greater part of 4 days. When Mother Nature serves you lemons, you simply deal with it. During cloudy wet weather your only choice in the salt is to blind cast. It is by far my least favorite way to fish and spend a day, but sometimes it’s you’re only option. Since seeing fish on the flats was impossible, we moved to channels where we made long casts that gave us a long stripping distance, and we hoped. I did essentially the same thing with my tenkara rod but instead stood in the water most of the day positioning myself along a channel near or between mangroves and made long casts and big strips hoping that something was there and would bite.
As a reward for the hard work and for being rained on and constantly soggy, a number of bonefish were landed in the 1lb to 3lb range as well as plenty of jacks and snapper that I consider to be annoying when they take my fly. Both species have very distinct behavior once hooked and you can almost immediately predict which species you have on the end of your line. In short, jacks shake, snapper bounce and bones run.
Finally, the rain stopped. The sky didn’t clear but at least it lightened. I was using my Zen Kyojin tenkara rod with the Zen Fusion Line Big/28ft and a 12ft ,12lb Rio Bonefish tapered leader. The Kyojin is 12 feet. The line 28 feet. With the 12-foot leader, my total cast distance was 52ft. I was wading in water waist high and in the zone landing fish, when a school of permit could be seen by the nervous water they were creating. Heading from right to left about 60ft out, amazingly I was able to get a cast out in front of the school, not spook them and began to strip. Suddenly the V-shaped wake turned and followed my fly. I felt the excitement in my chest rise as my Pesca Maya guide, Daurin verbally called out “Strip, strip, strip, STOP, Strip, strip, strip” to pace me. I could see the permit in the lead following the fly as I followed Daurin’s cues. At about 15-20ft away, where now I could see the permit clearly – even its eyes, it followed a bit more, then suddenly made a 90 degree turn to the right and refused me. I and Daurin both simultaneously let out a huge, loud sign. That was close. That is permit fishing.
Standing in the water, still rushing from the adrenaline and close encounter – the follow and the “almost” take, I pay no attention to my line or line drifting in the water. Darin collects himself and in a resolved tone say, ” They may still be around, cast again.” At this moment I start to pull in my line and prepare to make another cast. My tenkara rod is slightly past vertical, just behind me as I draw in my long line and leader when in a split second, I feel an enormous tug on my line, on my rod, that is pointing straight up in the air – the worse positive I could ever be in. At a fraction of a second after the tug, almost concurrently to the hit, I hear a small “SnaPP” and all pressure has ceased. At almost the same moment, a massive 4-5ft barracuda torpedoes out of the water, about 15 feet away from us, blasting at least five feet out of the water, straight vertical – trailing my line. Then plunges back down.
We are almost frozen at this sight: This explosion of pure power through the surface of the water, fly in its mouth, line attached. We come to and as crazy as it sounds, we scramble. “The line! Look for the line! He’ll throw the hook. The line will float. Look For it!” Now that is crazy. Although we waded around for a bit and were hopeful, we never found the line. The fish was gone. I’m certain upset by the poke and certainly disconnected from it all quicker than one would think. The line? Caught in the current most probably. I mourned the loss. Not just the fish, but the line, and my rod. Not only do I dislike and intentionally avoid leaving any trace behind, but now my rod tip was broken and I was lineless.
For about the next 40 minutes I relived the entire event from start to finish again and again. Actually, I had a spare tip (I always take a spare on destination trips or backcountry hikes) with me and quickly exchanged the broken one out. I also had another line in my gear bag so after re-rigging was able to fish with the tenkara rod again. If it happened again, I would need to pack away tenkara for the remainder of the trip and only use my reel. Was I disappointed? No. Not even in the least bit. Those few moments were exhilarating! They are burned into my memory and are the stuff that happens in the salt. Upon reflection, Daurin and I both agreed that I very well may have broken my rod tip even if I was on a conventional fly rod and reel. The rod was in a vulnerable position. I was not prepared or expecting a hit. In fact, Daurin reminded me that on my previous trip to Mexico fishing together, I broke the tip of my Winston Air 2 Max 9wt during the landing of a nice bonefish. Stuff happens and rods break, both tenkara and conventional fly rods. It happens. But if it’s going to happen, why not on a huge barracuda, right? What’s more, it was only the tip that broke. For those fleeting quick seconds, the Kyojin held. Just the tip snapped. Which left me wondering… What if I had been in the proper position? What if I had been in that 90-degree Fishing Triangle…? Could I have held the fish? For how long? Would the rod or the tippet have broken? If the rod broke, where would it have broken and how? What would have happened?
I simply can’t stop thinking and wondering…
