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“IT IS LIKE A DRUG. I think that’s what it is. What is it about Belize bonefish? You know every fisherman asks themselves, ‘If I could give up everything, for one fish, in one place, what would it be?’ And the more I go, the more I’m sure it would be a big bonefish in Belize.”


Backyard Bones

The move to the small Caribbean island off the coast of Belize wasn’t easy. In fact, some might call it a rather arduous journey. Adventure is a more appropriate description. Not only was the move an adventure, the day-to-day routines of ones life are as well. What makes the hassle and hurdles worth it, you ask? A few things in come to mind immediately.

A.) I did mention it’s a Caribbean Island, right?
B.) An abundance of very small bikinis on petite, stunningly beautiful senoritas.
C.) The most important deciding factor for me, something I call “Backyard Bones”.

This all begins a short six months after I entered the “working” world. As a child I fished a lot. So much in fact that I was recognized by my peers as being quite adept at the sport. When the time came, I was informed that regardless of being told as a child I could be anything I wanted. And I of course said I wanted to be a fisherman. That it was all a lie. Moms, Dads, Grandparents, Uncles and adults in general were lying when they informed you that you could be anything you dare to dream. Really, when they asked; “What do you want to be when you grow up?” their actually looking for cheap amusement from the innocents of a child. The reality is, once you’re of age they expect a productive and contributing member of society. So, with that repressed angst off my chest now – I’ll continue.

Off to the corporate world I went. I thought at the time that I was fairly lucky. Everyone informed me that since I hadn’t gone to college and was given a natural-knack for writing various computer code and earning a decent wage for a first job, especially as a young man of twenty. I, according to society was on the right path in life. Within the first six months of breathing recycled air surrounded by people I found annoying and rather miserable. The luster of the corporate career wore off. And the harsh reality began to set-in. I was on the well-paved road to spending the next thirty years in this bleak existence. Trapped in a three-walled cell, opps I meant cubicle day-after-day for roughly 250 days per year for a grand total of 7,500 days of your “working” life. Let that sink in just a bit. SEVEN THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED DAYS OF YOUR LIFE! Well it scared the shit out of me. Soon I was living for that sacred two brief days per week doing what I WANTED TO DO, known as the weekend.

In order to break the monotony of this drab routine I took up fly-fishing and begin returning to the past time that I had so comfortably fit into through out my youth. The weeks got easier as I spent the majority of my days on someone’s dime other than mine performing just enough work to keep me below the radar. The rest of the time studying the art of fly fishing and fly tying in books and on the internet. Fridays would arrive and I would sneak out of the building a full hour early. Truck packed with gear and a paycheck in my pocket. I would bolt for freedom like the family cat when he would hear my three-year old cousin coming after him. I knew, If I could beat traffic I would be settling into my campsite adjacent to some great waters holding tons of fish for me to harass come sun up.

Regardless of the previous five days since my last visit. Each morning on the water was as if I’d never left. It’s the slight chill early in the morning coupled with the anticipation of what the day will hold. The early morning still as the sun begins to break the horizon. The gentle trickle of water as a few drops hit the surface while poling the boat into an area teaming with fish. Listening to the trees come to life with the sounds of various birds as they greet a new day. Watching those first signs of disturbance on the waters surface indicative of feeding fish. This is what my life has been about since the beginning. For richer or poorer, for better or for worse, I said “I do.” to fishing long ago.

One morning while conducting my “paid for” fishing research I ran across an advertisement for a flats trip in the Bahamas. Living in southern Florida I knew the airfare rates couldn’t be terribly expensive. Sure enough I discovered a round trip to Freeport for a hundred fifty six dollars. That was it, my mind was made up. I called up the number from my employers phone; after all, international calling is expensive. A gentle sounding voice with a thick island accent answered with a pleasant hello. Cutting through the chase I asked when was the first immediate opening he had for three days of fishing. He replied with a slight hmmm… and a pause. “The twelfth of this month.” With no hesitation I said I’d take it. Upon hanging up the phone I began plotting how I could escape with a reasonable excuse. Only having eight days to prepare I knew it was going to be my best “duck and dodge” of the office I would have yet to perform. The following Monday I began with a fake cough. Followed by a few sneezing fits encourage by breathing a bit of white pepper. Add to that a few drops of Visine to make my eyes water. A couple of squirts of nasal spray that always gives me a little sniffle runs just after I sniff it. And viola! Looks as though the years of faking sick in school works equally well in corporate America.

By the second day of my shenanigans I added a large coffee cup containing some VERY peppery broth to produce a mild sweat on my forehead. Add in one departmental office meeting with everyone one in attendance and by Tuesday at noon, the boss sent me home before I got everyone in the office sick. I strolled out of the office somberly accepting the “get well soons” and the “hope you feel betters” from numerous co-workers. As I drove away from the property with the office building in my rearview I paused for a moment and with a smile said; “I’d like to thank the academy!” I spent the remainder of the day packing my gear, tying some popular bonefish patterns, while watching a few of my favorite movies.

Waking early the next morning I loaded my gear and headed down A1A, also know as Ocean Blvd twenty five miles south toward Ft. Lauderdale to meet my puddle jumper over to the Bahamas. By 10:15 in the morning I was sipping Kailik on a beach in Eleuthera staring aimlessly out across the vibrant hues of blue as far as my eyes could see. With my five-day repreival from the office finally at hand I begin feeling enlightened and content once again. I realized the sun had sunk closer to the horizon and my watch reads four p.m. It strikes me that while being surrounded by the tropics on the beginning of a fishing trip has aided me in shrugging off the corporate blues. It’s more likely that the rum drinks are the reason for enlightenment. With the awareness of my altered state now on my mind, I set my watch alarm for eight o’clock as a reminder to head to bed, as six a.m. will come painfully early should this drinking continue any further. I pick my self up out of the beach chair and proceed to glide in the direction of the bar for just a few more.

The next morning I’m up early rigging my fly rod and tying a few extra leaders for the coming day. I pause for a moment in my shuffling to fully take-in my current place on the planet. Making my way to the balcony I watch in wonder as colors so brilliant fill the sky. Remarkable hues of orange, purple, pink, reds, and blues explode over the glass like waters of the Caribbean. A small skiff passes by, the wake gently rolls towards shore giving life to this once still canvas. Each perfectly melding color begins to dance with such fervor that it reminds me once again what a miracle each day truly is.

Promptly at six on the dot, a weathered and worn jeep wrangler arrives just in front of my door. A thin framed very dark man sporting a tattered looking straw hat, faded khaki cargo shorts and a sun faded t-shirt that said, “I Love Bimini” across the chest. With a kind smile he offers his hand and introduces himself as Doc. Accepting his jester I grip firmly and immediately feel a lifetime of poling and fishing in the calluses of his shake. Introductions concluded he instructs me to place my rod in his custom-made rod rack mounted to the top of the old jeep. Remarking on it’s unique design Doc says; “Yeah, I fine dis piece of pipe’n wash up from sum storm on de backside of dis heere lil’ caye, bout sum two mile out. I figured it don serve me well for my use as a holder.” Nodding my head in agreement he turns the key and we’re on our way.

I ask Doc if it’ll be a far run out to the first spot we’ll be fishing. He chuckles in a manner that makes me certain that to this game I’m a complete newbie. With a quick answer he says it all and I know that the joke is going to be on me. “Yeah mon! It gonna take bout terty minute fore ya fishin.”. Only five minutes drive from my room we arrive at a washed out pastel blue home complete with angled storm shutters accented in a weathered white paint laden with cracks and chips. A slightly corroded tin roof adorns the roof of the house. It sits tall on stilts and featuring a wrap around porch with flower boxes mounted to the deck railing. Each box containing well maintained hibiscus plants blooming in a gorgeous alternating pattern of orange, yellow, and red. Perfectly spaced every two feet or so, these stunning plants merge together and appear as one continues plant encircling the home.

Doc lifts the latch on the gate and steps into the yard. Closing the gate behind me a young girl appears on the top step letting out an ecstatic “Daddy!” as if her father had been gone for days. It’s abundantly clear we’re at Doc’s house now. He turns to me and offers a brief explanation; “Dat be my baby, Julia. We gonna get some eats before we head out, if that alright with you.” I agree, feeling my stomach rumbling. Thinking to myself that I could use some food to absorb the rum from last night sugary cocktails. Continuing through the yard and along the side where it opens into a beautiful mangrove lined sand filled parcel. In the center surrounded by various boat engines, parts, a worn-out used skiff hull, variety of buoys and tattered fishing nets, sits a picnic table accompanied by plastic deck chairs and a sunbrella in the middle of the table.

Pointing towards one of the chairs, Doc gestures for me to take a seat. A moment later I hear the creak of a screen door and glance upwards to the back porch. Carefully making her way down the stairs holding a large plastic pitcher, was little Julia. I would soon discover she carried a delightful mixture of freshly squeezed mango and orange juice. Following behind is a beautiful woman adorn in a bright yellow blouse and a floral print dress, her smile big and bright. She watches the little one with a sense of maternal pride as she so eagerly wishes to help. It’s a spectacle that can’t help but bring a smile to your face as she diligently concentrates on her task at hand. A size two child with a size three pitcher weighted down by three pounds of liquid.

Soon we’ve all been introduced and are sitting comfortably around the table eating fresh fruit, eggs, bacon, and toast topped with homemade papaya jam canned by Doc’s wife. Having had our fill, Doc rises from the table leans forward and kisses his wife before walking around to Julia and stroking her cheek while reassuring her that he’ll be back before night-fall. Glancing in my direction he says; “Ya ready catch sum Bonefish?” I answer, “You bet!” I follow Doc through an opening in the mangroves along a narrow boardwalk lifted a foot off the ground. Past the mangroves lies an opening into a canal where there sits a small floating home to Doc’s skiff. As we board the boat Doc begins inspecting a few things prior to departure. After lying down my wading pack, I begin to stow my rod in the holder. Doc informs me that it won’t be necessary, stating; “You gonna need dat soon.” Wit the bow pointed towards the entrance of the channel He trims the engine down off tilt and into the water. Turning the key the engines purrs to life. A slight odor of burning petrol and two-stroke oil fill the air. Doc moves the throttle forward putting her into gear, off we go in the direction of the first destination.

Admiring the other little island cottages lining the canal I think to myself how nice it would be to own something like this for my own. Along with what a nice life Doc probably has fishing everyday while pursuing his passion. We pass three other cottages and we’re coming to the opening of the canal. Pulling past the last cottage I focus my attention to the right and to my surprise sits a large salt flats area just to the south of Doc’s canal. During my surprise my jaw must have dropped to the deck of the boat. Doc begins to chuckle, looking back he remarks; “What ya tink?” a second later he turns off the engine and trims it up. Pointing just ahead of me to the right, “there, two o’clock forty feet, you see dem?”. Shocked I stare as three large bonefish with their noses in the sand unaware of our presences are on a direct path towards the boat. With a childish grin on my face and the excitement of a kid in a candy store, I look at Doc saying; “You’ve got bones in the backyard!”, his reply; “Not bad, yeah!”

Grabbing his pole carefully from the deck as not to make any noise he skillfully pops up atop the poling platform and begins pushing us out on the flats. With barely enough time to unhook my fly from hook holder and strip off sixty to seventy feet of line before Doc calls out. “Eleven o’clock fifty yards!”. Sure enough with one quick glance I spot a school of five bonefish nose down and tails up. I throw my rod back and feel it load. With the flick of my wrist I shoot the line forward then back again. As the momentum of the line loads the rod on the back cast this time I make a haul and shoot forwards, releasing with my left hand the remaining line. I feel it slip quickly through my thumb and forefinger that are guiding the remaining line on the deck of the boat. The loop unfurls ahead of me and I watch as I tip the rod tip to the waters edge and the leader delicately delivers the fly a few feet in front of the school. As the fly sinks one of the bones turn on it. “He’s sees it!” Doc says. Followed by a “Strip”, “Strip”. Just like that a mere five minutes from the dock I’m hooked up. I palm the reel as he strips me into my backing. Six or seven minutes later I bring him aside the boat as I kneel down and remove the hook from his mouth and take the opportunity to snap a quick picture. The rest of the day is spent stalking and catching fish after fish on the network of flats just behind Doc’s house, never straying more than a mile or two from his canal.

Three days of successful fishing later. I’m packing my bags and gear heading towards the Governors Harbor to catch my flight back to Freeport and then on to Ft. Lauderdale. I fell refreshed and notice a renewed sense of vigor. It’s as if I was plugged into a socket and my batteries are once again at full power. With this contemplation I understand the importance of the “vacation” in the corporate world. I see how it can replenish ones spirit and give them a false sense of hope again. The kind of hope that keeps you thinking, one day, one day I’ll be able to enjoy these activities and things that I like on a regular basis. I also get an understanding during this epiphany that the system was designed to give you just enough hope whilst keeping you coming back again and again. You never really have enough to get ahead. With the cost of living increasing at all times and inflation on the rise you’ll be lucky to have a 401K or some small money market account to play with once you reach sixty five. And even I know not to count on Social Security, and I’m certainly no economist or financial planner. I come from a long line of financial spenders. Lets just say my family is known as “good consumers”.

I could go on and on about my experiences of getting away from corporate America or any life that you merely tolerate and don’t truly love or have passion for. It’s like staying in a relationship because you’re comfortable. Passion keeps the soul young, and I see more passionate older people that have spent a lifetime doing something they love surrounded by people they love. After this altering realization and upon my return from the Bahamas I lasted a short seven weeks before handing in my resignation. I began a career of consulting and contracting work that enabled me more time to pursue my passions as well as work remotely from various tropical islands. After much exploring and fishing this planet I realize in hindsight that it was the best move I’ve ever made in this world. It hasn’t just changed my reality and my microcosm of this world. It’s changed everyone around me and in my life’s world as well. The happiness and content I have for my situation influences and eases anyone around me. There are a few disgruntled family members and ex-friends that hold a grudge and a bad attitude. How can that affect you when you’re enjoying your ride, the ups and the downs? It’s still exactly where and what you want to be doing. Their jealousy is based on the fear they’ve lived in for their entire lives that have stopped them from stepping out and pursuing what their passions are or were.

I now own a fishing outfit that lodges and guides people to experience their ideal fishing vacations. The lodge located just a few hundred yards from my house on a canal of my own. Recently I had the editor of a fishing magazine visiting to do a write-up about my fishing operation. His first day of arrival as I push us off the dock and motor out to the opening he glances over the side and with child like enthusiasm turns to me with wide eyes and proclaims, “Bro, you’ve got backyard bones!”. To that I can only say, “Yes I do, brutha! Yes I do!”

I hope you too are inspired to pursue your goals and passions through out life. If you’ve ever dreamed of doing something, do it! You’re far more likely to regret the things you didn’t do then the things you did. In one final parting note I leave you with a favorite quote.

“Laugh at yourself, but don’t ever aim your doubt at yourself. Be BOLD! When you embark for strange places, don’t leave any of yourself safely on shore. Have the nerve to venture into unexplored territory.” – Alan Alda, actor

written by: Jim “Big D” Harper
Fishing in Belize

Taking what I think is a very common sense approach to the notion of taking “trophy” fish, and extending the protections already given tarpon to permit and bonefish, Bonefish & Tarpon Trust has just sent a letter to the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission requesting that they modify regulations on these species.

Read full story about Bonefish Tarpon Trust

Sponsored by BITE ME BELIZE | Fishing in Belize ONLY $850.00 PER WEEK

Four a.m. has come and gone. Nearly an hour since I’ve risen to greet the day. I sit calmly at my tying desk turning out common patterns for today’s quarry. As the minutes pass filled with the sounds of the coming dawn the light filling the room more and more as the minutes pass I’m aware that it’s almost time to go. Pausing after I apply a drop of head cement to the last fly of the morning. I contemplate the adventure that waits. Each day on the water is anew, never as the previous before it. That first glimpse of the vibrant hues of orange, purple, red, and blues as the sun begins its familiar journey through the heavens take my breath away. The gentle lapping of the water as I board my small vessel and push off the dock. The momentary buzz as I turn the key and listen to a sound that soothes my soul, that of the engine purring to life. Throttling forward just a touch I begin my sixty-yard journey to the opening of my canal and out to sea.

The mangroves are alive with birds singing their praises for the coming light. A school of mullet that calls my channel home darts nervously away as my bow moves slowing through their formation on the search for food. Clearing the opening and water depth steadily growing deeper I push the throttle forward brining my craft on step. I’m motoring now, breeze in my hair, and the aroma of the tropics filling the air as the sea spray peels off both left and right of me. Standing at the helm driving into the light my soul is renewed. This is the moment, the moment for which my life has been about. It was instilled in me from my grandfather whom placed me on his lap and begins teaching me the life of the water. It’s serenity, it’s calm, and even it’s storms. He also instilled in me the passion of fishing. And still to this day I return day-after-day to pursue yet another tug on the fly line.

Gliding effortlessly through mangrove cuts I navigate my way into one of my favorite flats. Not only does the abundance of fish draw me here. As in life it’s also about the journey. Each time I visit this area I am amazed. It’s like being on an exploration of a new world. You wind your way through an intricate system of shallow channels surrounded on either side by tall mangroves and the occasional coconut palm. In many sections you duck as the mangroves lean over the still water path leading into this flat that I’ve come to know as “honey hole #31”. Why number thirty-one? Because I’ve discovered thirty others almost just like it with in a couple of square miles surrounding this one. The last leg of the approach is most technical, calling on me to trim up the engine yet remain on plane as to not draw more than ten inches of water. Should I slow down and I would be stuck at idle speed or forced to cut the engine, trim her all the way up and pole the boat the remaining hundred yards or so.

Speeding down this natural mangrove tunnel I turn the wheel to the left and feel the hull slip to the side as she banks through the final turn. I see the opening ahead now. Passing by the final mangroves I explode into a five hundred yard by three hundred yard wide flats reminiscence of some distant out-island in the Bahamas. This however is a mere seven-minute run from my house. While pressing the trim button up and simultaneously throttle back, I feel the craft’s momentum slow as the force of the water brings her to a gentle glide. Turning the key the engine goes silent. I trim the engine the remainder of the way up and cock her to the right. No noises remaining other than the lap of the wake against the hull. Climbing atop my platform I reach for my pole. I insert it into the water with great care. Creating no noise as I push in the direction of the start of the east side of the flat.

As the waters surface calms from the disturbance of my entry I can clearly see the sandy bottom. The higher the sun raises overhead enables me to spot schools of bonefish over a hundred feet away. It’s time for the morning feed. Their noses buried in the sandy silt bottom in search of prey, the tails rise high out of the water. I spot my first group of tailing fish ahead some hundred twenty feet. With a graceful dismount of a skilled gymnast I come off the platform and toward the bow of the boat. Slipping the anchor silently over the side I wait as the boat extends its anchor line while watching the tails to keep track of their location. Rod in hand I slide over the starboard side and into the water. It’s cool and refreshing on my feet. The inch or two of soft silty sand squish between my toes. It’s a feeling some have disliked. I find it comforting and a bit fun. Stalking closer towards my intended targets I carefully slide each foot forward at a stealthy snails pace as to not create and disturbance. One careless noise or false move and the fish will high tail it in the opposite direction. Bones are as nervous as long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Much of the appeal of saltwater flats fishing is it’s more like hunting than fishing. It’s the way of the still hunt perfected by the native Indians of Canada and America, only in water rather than the forest. Requiring a keen eye and a cast every bit as skillful as the hair-trigger of a skilled hunter. The poling platform your stand, the rod your riffle, and the fly the bullet. Once I’ve closed the range to roughly eighty feet I carefully strip off the needed amount of line, release the fly that was pinched between my thumb and for finger. Draw back waiting as the rod gives me a familiar tug indicative of the time to flick my wrist forward and let more line slip effortlessly through the eyes of the rod. One more back-cast and a second haul forward I watch as I release the remaining line and the loop shoots past my head toward a lone bone that I’ve singled out as he’s veered off to the side of the school. The line unfurls and the fly is presented. He sees it and I being a slight strip as if a wary creature were attempting to evade a predator. With a flip of his tail he speeds forward scooping up the fly in his mouth. I strip again and the hook is set. Immediately the other tails disperse in panic and the fish on the end of my line attempts to run into a clump of mangrove shoots rising no more than eight to ten inches from the waters surface. The battle is on. As old as time it self, predator vs. prey.

Today is December twenty third yet it feels nothing like one-day from Christmas Eve. If it weren’t for the small island I call home decorating what is known on maps as Barrier Reef Drive with lights hanging from building to building and small island businesses playing Latin versions of Here comes Santa Clause, and Jingle Bells one would have no idea it were that time of year. Typical it is not. But Christmas time it is, the world over is bounding with their various beliefs and traditions. It’s a comfortable seventy-eight degree with a mild breeze coming from the east.

I’m back on my dock early today as I have a commitment to a friend that I’m excited to assist him with. In the tradition of a Corona beer commercial we’re going to string multi-colored lights on a lone palm tree that has been planted on a concrete island in the center of his swimming pool adjacent to a palapa-roofed bar. Where in three days time one of our festive seasonal celebrations will be held with friends and family. We’ll come dressed to the nines. Complete with Rasta colored Santa hats, themed t-shirts with the sleeves chopped off, our best dress board shorts, flip flops, and what ever local Ho-Ho-Ho we can find to join us.

The air will be filled with the smell of lobster being buttered on the grill, seasoned snapper and veggies wrapped in foil, and jerk rubbed yard bird, that would be chicken to anyone not form the south. And let us not forget the delightful aromatic aroma of spiced rums and the local beer, the Belikin in flavors of both stout and regular. For desert we’ll sample the papaya nut bread, banana mango fruit cake, and a local favorite amongst ex-pats the famous coconut battered fired, chocolate dipped, sliced bananas toped with Coconut crème sorbet and drizzled with red and green sprinkles. Later with our cheeks aglow from the festivities and our spirits high (literally) we’ll partake in that age old tradition of streaking to the moonlit waters of the Caribbean for a bit of skinny dipping. And with the water full of naked people we’ll discover our evening gifts. I just home my gift doesn’t float or poke, ouch. With or newfound gifts under our arms we stumble gleefully back to our homes, or our gifts home. And practice our giving and receiving. After all, ‘tis the season!

And you thought I only write NICE stories. I hope this comical tale has brought a smile to your face and warm Caribbean rays to your current place. From all us who are here because we’re not all there!

Wishing you a very merry Christmas.

Brought to you by:

BITE ME BELIZE – Fishing in Belize at it’s best, for only $850.00 per WEEK!

Being a fisherman has provided me my fair share of sunrises and sunsets on the water. It’s an experience I’ve never taken for granted. After all I know many people whom miss sunrises and sunsets due to hectic schedules and being confined in the captive walls of an office building. In the past few years I’ve added kayak fishing to my repoitare of fly fishing methods. Like anything I seem to venture into for the first time I often struggle with and initial period of feeling much like a new born deer. Kinda wobbly, unstable, knees knocking and not quite certain of my surroundings or what in the world is going on.

After that learning curve has been concurred the benefits using a kayak to harass the local bonefish, permit, even tarpon here in Belize or any other flats destination is worth the day or two of the proverbial “Fish out of water.” Period of adjustment. For one the stealthy nature of kayak fishing is reason enough for skittish schools of bones or permit. Add to it the recent advancements of outrigger systems that enable one to stand securely and safely on the kayak increase ability to spot fish as well as cast a fly rod with ease.

Another huge benefit that sold me on kayak fishing was the lightweight and portability of the fishing kayaks themselves. With modern thermo plastic and injection molding processes many of these kayaks weigh less than 45 lbs. I admit that I’m a bit of a lazy fisherman and don’t desire to paddle miles upon miles to go fishing. I do still enjoy turning a key, hearing the purr of a finely tuned four stroke as I ease the that hammer forward an motor on towards my favorite fishing spots. However, it’s now a rarity that I leave the dock without a kayak strapped down in the front of my skiff. The kayak has enabled me to explore and discover new flats areas that were previously un-reachable by skiff or wading. These little “honey spots” as I fancy calling them are filled with virgin schools of bones and permit that are super aggressive. Lacking the constant pressure from guides and tourist has kept these spots sacred and more fun than a Crisco covered pig in a kid’s carnival.

As we all know the aggressive fishing and higher catch rate has probably convinced many reading this to give kayak fishing a try or incorporate it into your fishing regimen as well. There is yet one last thing I feel most might be interested to know. Kayak fishing cost significantly less than running a flats skiff all day with a local guide that’s trying to feed the family as well. Most kayak fishing destination such as BITE ME! Kayak Fishing Adventures in Belize charge around a hundred dollars per day which includes breakfast, lunch, and delivery by skiff to and from remote fishing flats that guides and other fishermen can’t travel due to the skinny water entrance or the mud and silt bottom composition that will have you sinking to your knees if one were to attempt wading it. As with most fishing flats once you paddle through these opening which range from fifty yards in to a hundred yards. The flats areas open back up into large mangrove lined private havens averaging 12 to 18 inches of water and a solid limestone bottom that make stalking these little “honey holes” a fisherman’s dream.

So, the next time you find your self feeling stagnate about your fishing spots. Grab a kayak from a local kayak-fishing retailer; they’ll usually have demo or rental kayaks for you to try. Load it on the boat or strap it to a car. Head on over to your local waters and explore and discover new and more productive fishing when you incorporate a kayak into your fishing.

In recent years you probably have probably begun to notice a increase of cars with kayak racks on-top the roofs at your favorite local waters. Since the mid nineties more and more people have started using their sit-on-top kayaks to fish with.

I was first introduced to Kayak Fishing when my best fishing buddy and I stumbled across a small cut that lead back to a flats area that not even my 18 foot flats skiff couldn’t make it back to. For several months we’d stand on the bow of the casting deck and peer through this cut in the mangrove with my best binoculars and watch as fifty to sixty tailing bonefish would dart around as they would feed. On several occasions we attempted to wade into the flat. However, the bottom composition at the head of this area was comprised of nothing but silt mud and ever step you’d sink knee deep.

One day I’m sitting around watching tv just relaxing when the phone rings. On the other end is my partner Jim whom proceeds to order me up early the next day and to meet him on his dock with my panga skiff and not the flats boat. I asked if he wanted to go scouting for new waters. Typically we use the panga as it only has a 60 hp on it and uses very little gas and can take rather large seas. He said he’s got a solution to our problem with the new flats areas that we can’t reach by skiff.

Promptly the next morning I’m off my dock by 5:30 as the sun begins to rise up over the horizon and I enter into the lagoon and point her north as I proceed towards Jim’s house. As i pull through the channel and round the mangroves I see Jim standing on his dock with kayaks turned on their sides and leaning against a piling. I immediately knew we were catching those bones today.

That was my introduction to fishing from kayaks. It was half born out necessity and half out of a better way to actually stalk the flats for fish. It’s been over a year now since Jim discovered the sport of kayak fishing on-line that afternoon and immediately got us into it. I must say the largest bonefish I’ve yet to catch in Belize was while I was kayak fishing. It makes a lot of sense when looking at it logically. My flats boat makes noise as wind drives waves against the fiberglass hull which will amplify since their is open spaces inside the hull. my kayak will get me into shallow waters that my skiff can’t go. This also means NO other skiffs have gone as well. The fish in these little flats areas are super aggressive here in Belize. And if it weren’t for Kayak Fishing then no-one would have the opportunities to catch and fight these fish.

If you’re interested in discovering more about Kayak Fishing here in Belize. Then contact my friends at Belize Kayak Fishing Adventures to learn more about the amazing fishing here in Belize and how doing from a Kayak can have more advantages than from a guided skiff. Including price. Kayak Fishing in Belize for a week only cost $850. This means you can experience a Belize fishing vacation with airfare for around $1200 or so.

Contact Belize Kayak Fishing here

Belize Bonefish

Belize Bonefish

With the recent economic down turn in North America, The boys at Belize Kayak Fishing decided that it’s just not fair to charge thousands of dollars to go fishing in Belize. Now, with times being hard and the chips down is when they think more people need to go on a Belize fishing more than ever. With the stress and troubles that a slow economy can bring you need your time to relax on the water and forget your troubles for just a few days and focus on chasing Bonefish, Permit, and Tarpon on a Belize fly fishing trip.

Well, they’ve decided to drop the price of their week long package to an astounding $850.00 for an entire week of fishing in Belize. They usually charge $1,100 for this Belize fishing package. The boys at Belize Kayak Fishing are and always have been fly fishers and completely understand the need to get away from it all with just you and a buddy or two and some gin-clear waters filled with tailing bonefish. Stalking the flats of Belize has a way of putting the world into perspective.

If you’re interested in booking a Belize fishing trip with Belize Kayak Fishing, simply follow the link below and read more about what is included in this 6 days of accommodations and 5 full days of Belize fishing for only $850.00 with the Belize Kayak Fishing crew.

Belize Kayak Fishing at it s best on the Belize Fishing flats of Ambergris Caye