I never saw the road entrance to the resort we stayed at on Ambergris Caye, Belize. That’s because Charlie Saki, of Matachica Resort and Spa in San Pedro, picked us up by boat. The region is centered around salt water and English-speaking tourists. Divers and fly anglers are as common as sargassum weed—just part of the landscape.
Belize is nestled between the Caribbean Sea to the east and jungle to the west, with Ambergris Caye less than 200 miles south of Mexico’s popular Cozumel cruise port. The world’s second-largest barrier reef runs the entire length of the country’s coastline. Impossible not to notice along the beaches, waves crash over bountiful corals that tickle the surface. Inside the reef, protected lagoons double as tarpon highways, even during prevalent eastern trade winds. Our trip in March occurred during a cold front that dropped temperatures into the 70s. You laugh, but the winds switched to the north, turning outer flats the color of your wife’s coffee. Traditional fish movements blew up in an instant, but we dealt with problematic sight-fishing conditions heroically.
Fly and light-tackle anglers journey to Belize in hopes of an IGFA Inshore Grand Slam (bonefish, tarpon, permit and snook). We were in good hands with a guide who’s helped plenty of anglers break personal bests over the years. Capt. Eloy Gonzalez, of Gonzalez Adventures, was determined to put us on some fish. You could see it in his wrinkled brow. Based on his seven-layer bake of a tan, I’m not sure he ever takes a day off from the water.
“We’re headed to a different area than I’d prefer, but it’s a spot that’s out of this wind,” he says as we motor south past resorts and vacation homes in his panga. No fly-fishing this day, just light spin tackle. The irregular conditions had me longing for a travel rod or two I had in my garage; many anglers bring their own tackle when visiting Belize.
Near Cangrejo Caye, Gonzalez tucked us back into a bay surrounded by mangrove islands. His mode of stealth? A homemade sapodilla push pole. Permit were out of the question, but bonefish were still on the docket. The “protected” waters weren’t all that protected, as I struggled to see anything through the windswept surface. My green-mirror sunglasses helped, but they weren’t a miracle cure.
Gonzalez found his rhythm on the poling platform, identifying signs of life and even spotting bonefish here and there. I was forced to rely completely on his guidance. To my credit, I eventually learned what to look for, spotting bonefish, shad (mojarra), barracuda and snapper on the flats. Finally, I noticed the black backs of larger bonefish along a mangrove edge. A pan-size permit was mixed in with the bunch. But no matter how many times I cast, or how many times our captain repositioned the boat, they weren’t interested in eating.
We moved on to other regions in the bay. A giant sea turtle leading a torpedo-size barracuda brushed past the boat. Gonzalez soon noticed the telltale signs of silver flashing, mere specks in the water that no mortal could spot.
“See those flashes of silver?” he points out. “That’s bonefish feeding.” I cast my shrimp into the zone, dragged it slowly along the bottom, and got bit almost instantly. In Belize, even in windy weather, bonefish save the day. I learned a few other things as I caught more than a handful of bonefish our first day of fishing. Bonefish are ubiquitous in Belize. Individual bonefish are not easy to spot unless the conditions are favorable. Oh, and bonefish adore shrimp, even frozen chunks of it.
Exploring the never-ending shallows through the day, we spooked bonefish just about everywhere. What about in the deeper channels? Yep, bonefish were along the fringes. Slipping underneath the Boca del Rio Bridge in town? Yes, bonefish were there too. Fishing near the airport, with puddle jumpers flying overhead? Under the docks at the Matachica Resort? These were all luxury bonefish accommodations. Just about any briny water around San Pedro harbors bones.
I call them “muds,” when a bunch of redfish or mullet stir up the bottom in a feeding frenzy. Gonzalez calls them a “bonefish feed.” Finding those cloudy spots on the normally vibrant Belize flats was a trip-maker. It’s also extremely fun, and it saved us again on our second day of fishing.
We fished the west side of Ambergris Caye—parts of the San Pedro Lagoon—in search of tarpon holed up in small brackish creeks. Thoroughly investigating the tannin waters that juvenile tarpon love left us unsatisfied. Of seven dark-water spots we checked, not a single ’poon showed itself, just one crocodile that had a mild interest in my swimbait. We played involuntary hide-and-seek with the tarpon, and they crushed us.
Luckily, the west side of Ambergris Caye is also loaded with bonefish, spread out on many flats too shallow for most boats. The open, deeper waters—which we couldn’t fish because of the wind—are where Gonzalez prefers to target permit, he says. And the waters closer to Belize’s mainland are where snook roam because fresh water from land helps lower salinity levels.
Zipping across open bays, around small cuts and turns, and prowling shallow flats, the landscape resembles some of the Bahamas flats I’ve fished. Gonzalez set us up near an island that we’d passed previously on our expedition for tarpon. He’d noticed a vigorous bonefish feed earlier and brought us back to catch a couple of silver ghosts.
We first cast lightweight spin-tackle setups rigged with fine leader and bits of shrimp on thin-wire hooks. Because the bonefish cooperated, next we used jigs tipped with shrimp. (A skimmer jig is perfect, but small bucktails in brown work too.) Finally, we tried the split-shot fly-shrimp combo—casting a fly on a spinning rod with help from a split shot and natural shrimp. Every different presentation worked so well, I felt more spoiled than a trustafarian.
Read Next: Fishing in Belize
With our fill of spin-fishing, Gonzalez pulled out an 8-weight fly rod. Photographer Jon Whittle and I took turns casting Crazy Charlie and Christmas Island flies. Neither one of us would qualify for a fly-casting competition, but with a bit of shrimp chum to keep the bones happy and the wind at our backs, even we were able to hook bonefish on the long rod.
Our captain spotted the flashing of the different bonefish, although we weren’t really casting at individuals, just a general area. When not hooked up, I sometimes spotted followers tracking my fly as I stripped it toward the boat. Fly guys have a blast here—I’d bet a pretty penny that thousands of flats addicts do each year.
The run back was a lengthy one. Whittle and I joked about the numbers of bonefish we spotted and annoyed on the ride to the resort. Even when robalo and sabalo aren’t obliging, macabi offer world-class targets on the beckoning flats of Belize. Will the bones cooperate for you? They did for us, wind be damned.
With plenty of luxurious beachside options to stay on Ambergris Caye, be picky with where you relax off the water. We stayed at the Matachica Resort and Spa right along the open waterfront. Beaches and boat docks were a short walk from the room. In fact, it’s a perfect spot to wade the shoreline with a travel rod on a self-guided trip in search of bonefish.
My lodging was a bedroom casita, with a walk-in shower, cold AC and the best part: a hut (palapa) with a thatched roof. Apparently, palapa roofs handle hurricanes better than other materials, plus they’re easier to fix and mend. Internet, a comfortable bed and a walk-in closet made you feel right at home in paradise. Matachica offers plenty of excursions for guests, including reef fishing, scuba diving, snorkeling and spearfishing. Our mission was flats fishing, but the guests around us comprised plenty of families and couples.
The evenings and mornings were highlighted by the meals at the resort’s restaurant and bistro. The chef’s creations were delicious and visually appealing. In the mornings, I fell in love with the acai bowl, sometimes adding a couple of fried jacks on the side. At night, we hydrated with local Belikin beer and picked from dishes that included lobster, tuna, shrimp or scallops.
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