Panamania - Flyfishing Forum

Pinas Bay from El Palacio

When we landed in Pinas Bay... the smell of fuel, saltwater and jungle filled the cabin of the eight- seater Cessna. We had flown southeast from Panama City for about an hour and a half but we were still on the Pacific side and still east of my home in Burlington.

I was glad to be on the ground- the flight was mostly across the Gulf of Panama in driving rain- and this short, wet airstrip looked wonderful after seeing nothing but tiny islands in the Gulf and mountainous jungle.

My Dad, Steve, Jimmy and I hid from the on again off again rain and tropical sun under the tin roof of the shed that functions as an air terminal. A swarm of workers from the Tropic Star, as well as Ursula and Hendrick the capable couple who run the resort, loaded our gear into a long, steep-prowed dugout.

This sleek panga had only about 8 inches of draft but took us down the river and across Pinas Bay to the Tropic Star Lodge. The trip across the Bay was the first of an unending display of fine boat handling we saw during the week.	My best fishing buddy.
The resort - "Home of His Majesty the Black Marlin"- is, hyperbole aside, a small wonder. At the Tropic Star every boat every rod every hedge and every room is well maintained in a climate that lends itself to rot and decrepitude. We stayed in El Palacio the house of the original owner. While we were there with one other guest there were about 80 staff most of whom were holding back the jungle.
We arrived on a Saturday morning which is a nonfishing day at the Resort but Steve, my brother-in-law and sponsor of the trip, worked out a deal and got us out in the afternoon. My Dad and I shared a 31 ft. Bertram with the Captain Santos and his mate while Jimmy and Steve went out in another Bertram. On this first day I figured it was too much trouble to get the fly gear out so we went fishing for bait. "Bait" was bonito of about 4-6 pounds and my Dad and I, who don't have enough Spanish between us to order a taco, figured that the spunky little fighters were the goal. . . . I guess it was obvious to everyone that neither of us had fished the salt much before. While we were chasing after bonito we also caught a yellowfin tuna that fought like hell- I guess it knew it was coming back as dinner. The amazing thing about this fishing is that we were within sight of land the whole time. The jungle plunges into the ocean here and the ocean floor falls away very quickly.
The bellies of the tuna were cut into "belly baits" and trolled straight out behind the boat while some whole bonito were trolled wide on outriggers for marlin. A string of oddly coloured, hookless, plastic squid were towed right down the center to tease up the fish. We trolled at high speed and the baits were more out of the water than in. We towed this unlikely parade behind us for a couple of hours and, as I dozed in a jet lag and Dramamine stupor, the first sailfish smacked a belly bait.

I don't know what I expected sailfish to look like but electric blue with stripes was what I got and then another sail took. Luckily the sailfish headed off in opposite directions jumping, spinning and twisting with line flying of the level wind Shimanos- the tremendous strength of the fish was a surprise.	Well, hello there! Sailfish just before release.
After a few minutes- ten or fifteen maybe- we managed to get one then the other fish close enough for the mate to grab them by the bill and cut them off at the side of the boat. The Pacific sails are big for sailfish, so I hear, and run a hundred or so pounds. That works out to around 6 feet of fish and a couple more of bill. All I know for sure is that it is damn big fish for a couple of boys from Sudbury.
When we got back to the resort that night I began to gear up for fly fishing the next day. The decision on gear was easy since I only had two rods and the 8 wt. would be useless for anything we had seen so far. The 12 wt had a Penn International an intermediate sink line and about a mile of backing. It had seemed large when Martin Bowers had lent it to me and we had caught fairly small fish so far but a 200lb tuna or a marlin would make an absolute mess of the 12 wt. I was not sure that the rod would be enough for the sailfish but it was borrowed so I took my chances. Well, chances were taken but I guess they were Martin's! It took ages to get the knots sorted out for the leaders- I don't tie much with pliers- but I finally approximated the knots shown to me at World Class Outfitters in Tampa and explained to me by Jerry Goldsmith. In case anyone cares, I did not learn the Bimini twist and got along just fine with a combination of spider hitches and Albright knots.
The next morning started at 5:30 a.m. with a quiet knock on the door and fresh coffee in bed. A few minutes and two Dramamine later I was heading down for breakfast. The day before was my first non-barfing day in any kind of seas and breakfast seemed pretty daring but, what the hell, I needed some strength. The day started like all of the others. First we would catch bonito and cero mackerel for bait and then we would begin to troll. Every day we would start with gear and the bizarre host of bait behind and troll for a while looking for marlin. The lodge is very marlin-centric and it took awhile to make it clear that we did not really care a whole lot if we caught marlin. My Dad and I are not really patient types so more fish rather than a shot at a marlin was our goal. The marlin fishing was off since the wet season ("winter") was dragging on into the dry season ("summer") and that was bad for the big black marlin and striped marlin that are common in this area. The week we were there one marlin was hooked and only a few were raised. A few weeks later, dozens of marlin would be raised in a week.
I explained on the third morning to Hendrick that we wanted to do some fly-fishing for rooster fish (pez gallo). How do you say "Please, Capt. Santos, have the mate take in the outriggers so we can cast for Rooster Fish?" The answer is I did not but Hendrick did a great job. Even though Carolyn Richards had drilled me mercilessly on how to talk to women and order beer I never really figured out "boat Spanish."

After a bit of trolling and a couple of more sails, we went in tight to shore and started to try to tease up some roosters. It was fascinating trolling so close to the precipitous, rocky shore with Santos confidently steering us through the rocks in 7 or 8 feet of swell. We scared up some roosters on the teasers but my 6 inch yellow poppers were not enough to keep them coming once the teaser was yanked away.	Fishing for Pez Gallo
Later we headed back out to the deepwater and a school (I think that should be wolf pack) of dorado came tearing out from a debris line to whack some of our baits. Santos dropped the boat into neutral and the mate tore the baits and then the teasers in as I cast out to the swarm of dorado. What happened next still gives me shivers.	A nice Bull Dorado meets Lawrence of Panama
A bull dorado made a bow wake as it streaked toward the teaser and then, with the teaser out of the way, it concentrated on the popper I had dropped in front of it. The dorado hit was so savage I just stood like an idiot as it ripped line off. I suppose I should have done something like set the hook but it did not seem possible that the hook was anything but buried to the shank. I don't know how often the fish jumped, maybe 10 times, or how long I had him on, maybe 10 minutes, but the 12 wt was bending down to the fighting grip for the whole fight. The mate gaffed the dorado and took him aboard and I knew that I had really done something I would never ever forget. When I am old, demented and living with a hundred cats in a boarding house I will still smile when I hear "dorado." The dorado fishing continued to be excellent for the rest of the trip. One day we caught as many as I could handle and I finally gave up fishing for them. I don't think I have ever quit fishing because I just couldn't lift any more fish from the water. This was athletic fishing staying upright on the boat, riding five and six feet of swell and tight into strong fish tearing up the sea. I am used to playing fish but this was the first time I ever fought a fish- and they won! The sailfish I hooked the next day came up straight behind the boat and was very busy whacking at the belly baits and finally the teaser. We were getting good at the "bait and switch" by this time and I finally had a large enough fly to keep the big fish interested. Hendrick tied me a tandem-hooked monstrosity of about a foot long. The fly was hot pink all over and consisted of six or eight long saddle hackles and a lot of crystal flash- in front of the fly I slipped on a popper head. On the 12 wt it was quite easy to get the fly out as long as the outriggers were taken in. Even a short cast would plop out enough line to get the fly out to the sailfish hitting the teasers.
Pacific Sailfish-*Aye Carumba!*	The force of the sailfish slashing the fly was impressive. I set the hook, though I am not sure it was necessary, and got the heck out of the way of the handle of the fly reel. The fish turned hard away from the boat and about ten seconds after it was hooked it started a number of crazy twisting jumps by now a hundred or so meters behind the boat.
I reeled line and pulled and reeled and pulled with the fish coming up every 30 seconds or so to give a few more spectacular leaps. I gained a fair bit of line back on the fish but I just could not keep the line tight enough and after a final bout of acrobatics the fly pulled out. Man, that was something- the power, the jumping the speed. . . . .Nothing could really compare with that sailfish and I was interested in hooking a few more. We saw a few more sails in the last days I never got a shot at them with the fly. We had some regular gear out and before I could get my fly in the way the sail fish would normally have taken one of the baits. Though the sailfish were more than a handful on the fly rod the heavy spinning gear we used would get a sailfish of any size to the boat in 10 minutes of hard pumping. I wish I could say that it was enough to have hooked and fought such a glorious fish but fishing like this makes you want more- more speed, more power more jumps- it is the cocaine of fishing.