The Caddis Fly: Oregon Fly Fishing Blog

Many doctors don’t know this, but a wonderful cure for the post-Bahamas blues is an ice cold Belikin with your best buds in Belize. On our westward journey home, Sterling and I met up with our close friend Nick for 10 days of adventuring around this wonderful Central American country. While our time in Belize wasn’t nearly as “fishing focused” as our time on Long Island, we still managed to get a few days of exploring in, as well as a handful of unforgettable nights on the docks…

Our time in Belize was split into two locations: San Pedro and Caye Caulker. San Pedro is on the Southern end of Ambergis Caye, while Caye Caulker is a small island just south of there. San Pedro is a hectic town filled with bars, street food, tourists, and golf carts. Yes, golf carts. Automobiles rust quickly and easily in the tropical, salty environment of Belize, but golf carts are constructed largely out of aluminum, which doesn’t rust. So the narrow, cobblestone roads of this city are filled with golf carts zooming around constantly. It’s sort of like being in Ho Chi Minh City with all of the motorized scooters, only on a much smaller scale. Therefore, on day 1 we did the only reasonable thing to do: Rented a golf cart, bought a case of beer and drove south until we found a bonefish flat, testing the integrity of the cart’s suspension with every pothole we encountered.

To my understanding, there are good DIY opportunities both north and south along Ambergis Caye. Some flats can be quite soft, so wading is a challenge at times. However, mangroves are plentiful, and if you can find an accessible flat, there is a good chance you will encounter fish.

Caye Caulker has a much mellower vibe than San Pedro; the motto here is “Go Slow.” The island is very small and catered to backpackers and hostel-goers. It is an outstanding place to meet other travellers from all over the world, crack open a cold beer, and forget what day it is. For the diver or snorkeler, you are within 10 minutes of the Mesoamerican Barrier Reef, which is the second largest reef system in the world.

Our fishing on Caye Caulker happened at night. The bars typically shut down around 2am on the island, at which point we would grab our fly rods and walk, excuse me, stumble, to the nearest lighted dock with a group of new friends acquired from the evening’s festivities.

Trying to land Sterling’s first tarpon went smoothly as you can see. Apparently these fish jump..?

The story that takes first prize from our trip happened a few nights later on the same dock. Around 4am we found ourselves attempting to catch tarpon as a large moon cast its reflection over a calm Caribbean Sea. A violent explosion on our fly led to a doubled over 8 weight…fish on. Or was it a fish? Confused by the mysterious behavior of our catch, we began to see two glowing eyes appear in the impending darkness. We had hooked a crocodile.

It is incredible the courage a couple drinks will give you. Here I am trying to unhook a 6-foot crocodile as if I were Steve Irwin reincarnated. In the end, no humans or reptiles were harmed and everyone returned to their homes safe and sound.

To share an experience abroad with your best friends is the joy of life. Cheers to the adventures on the horizon and the pages that remain unwritten. In the meantime, I’ll be figuring out how to tell my future grandkids about how grandpa almost lost his hand to a crocodile in Belize with his buddies back in 2018.

Until next time,
Andy Archer

I get it now.

Throughout my life, I have been told an undisputed truth from more-experienced fly fisherman than myself: That nothing compares to pursuing fish in the salt. It took me 24 years to step onto my first ocean flat, and now I’m left wondering what took me so long.

This past fall, Sterling and I were researching where our winter trip should take us this year. We wanted to do a DIY saltwater trip; preferably a place where we could settle in for a few weeks and spend our time exploring with 8 weights, hammocks, and boxes full of shrimp and crab flies. After weeks of research and communicating with our more-experienced friends and colleagues, we decided on a place known as Long Island in the Bahamas.

The Bahamas consists of over 700 islands

Long Island is, well, long. 80 miles to be exact; however, it is only a few miles wide. With the Caribbean to the west and the Atlantic to the east, you are truly flanked by two significant yet totally unique global bodies of water. Only about 5,000 humans inhabit this piece of land, with a majority of the population in the northern half of the island compared to the wild and largely undeveloped south. Electricity was introduced to Long Island only 20 years ago, and there is one paved road here: The Queens Highway, which runs north to south from top to bottom. Along the way, rough dirt roads carved out of dense forests of Love Vine, Silver Palm Tree, and Madera stretch east and west, beckoning the curious angler or adventurous soul to come have a look at where they may lead.

Locked & Loaded

Long Island offers the flats angler a variety of fish to catch, and the likelihood of certain species changes with the seasons. We were there in February, and bonefish, barracuda, snapper, jacks, ladyfish, and sharks were viable targets. As you approach late spring, permit and tarpon have been known to swim around as well. Overall, the island lends itself best to the fisherman targeting bones.

Ocean flats and creek systems that can be accessed on foot scatter the coastline from top to bottom on both sides of the island. The characteristics of the fishing areas vary widely, from sandy flats as far as the eye can see to small, intimate lagoons where a pair of bonefish may be feasting voraciously before the tide goes out and their outlet to the sea becomes a land barrier. This contrast of water is so enticing—no flat is the same and each must be approached with a plan in mind and your eyes and flies always at the ready.

What blew me away about this place is the beauty and serenity that surrounds you at all times. The beaches are mesmerizing, the marine life is plentiful, and as a friend we met on the island so perfectly put it, “turn down any road on Long Island and I guarantee something cool will be going on.”

The traveller expands their horizons externally while unknowingly growing internally as well. So far in my life I have made an effort to look at the world through the eye of a fly rod, and interestingly enough, it isn’t the fish that have stuck with me. It’s the realization that in the midst of a world that so often feels consumed with hate and violence, places like Long Island exist. Places where everyone you pass waves and you can step out onto a beach or flat and feel alone in the best way possible. So, just as I said two years ago after my first international fly fishing foray to New Zealand: I’m so screwed. I keep making it harder and harder to return to my beloved Oregon and settle back into reality. To be honest though, I’ve realized that my goal in life is to keep screwing myself over.

Stay tuned for part II: Belize,
Andy Archer