Mutton Snapper, April 2008

When I was guiding on the flats up in Key West, there was one species that was more difficult to hook on fly than both bonefish and permit combined, and that was the mutton snapper. Like a lot of other fish, they were easy to catch in the deep water with live bait, but in the shallows they were the rarest of the rare.

For the majority of non-saltwater anglers, the mutton snapper is best known as a $24.95 entrée on the specials menu, and for good reason. They are easily one of the most delicious fish that swims in the ocean, with perfect white fillets that have an unbelievably firm sweetness to them when lightly grilled.

As fantastic as they are on the plate, they’re even more stunning in the water. Growing up to twenty pounds, muttons are easily the most beautiful of all the snapper species, none of which are the least bit homely. Their colors are something that can only be duplicated by the most talented of artists. Photos rarely do them justice. Their bodies are a metallic combination of yellow, gold, and bronze, with bright pink fins and neon blue facial highlights thrown in for good measure. As a living aquatic sculpture, mutton snapper have no equals.

All of that physical perfection comes with an angling price, and that price is the extreme difficulty to fool them with a fly in the shallows. Just like the permit, they’re at home in the deeper water but come up to the flats on a quest for live crabs. This is one more reason that the classic Merkin is the best all around shallow water pattern. Unlike the permit, mutton snapper will also eat almost anything they can fit down their throats, so shrimp and bait fish flies work well, too. But this doesn’t mean that they’re mindless eaters. Since they’re designed for the deeper waters, hunting food on the flats probably leaves them feeling very exposed. One thing I’ve learned about chasing mutton snapper is that when you can see them, they can definitely see you.

As I mentioned earlier, on the flats off Key West, muttons were as scarce as sunken treasure, and the reason for that was over-fishing. Very few legal size snapper caught anywhere in the Keys are ever released. Several years ago the offshore and light tackle guides discovered the springtime spawning pattern of this species and started hammering them without mercy. I remember spending one seasick April night on my friend’s thirty foot Chris Craft pulling up nearly 200 pounds of muttons off the reef at the Sand Key lighthouse. It was perfectly legal and we were strictly following the size and bag limits for this species at the time, but we weren’t the only boat out there. We all ate well that week but I never associated what we were doing with the severe lack of these fish on the flats.

For Vieques, with its total absence of GPS guided boats with sonar powered fish-finders, mutton snapper are common in both the deep and shallow waters. They’re nowhere near as abundant on the flats as bonefish but they’re almost an everyday sight. Seeing their bright pink and orange tail break the surface is one of the most heart racing moments on the water down here. Since muttons are also a territorial species, I have a few spots in here on the island that I can count on for finding a resident fish basking under the surface a few feet from his hole in the mangrove roots. Catching that fish is a different story altogether.

Spotting a mutton snapper on the flats means the fish has also spotted the boat, so casting a fly to one has to be done quickly and without a lot of gymnastics. Waving an arm is usually enough to send the fish running for cover. We’ve been lucky on several mornings this year and hooked some big muttons feeding on the deeper flats in Ensenada Honda. A couple of these snapper were pushing ten pounds and pulled harder than any bonefish could, running the fly line well into the backing.

One of my anglers, a saltwater veteran with several permit on fly under his belt, commented that the seven pound mutton we had just landed was the most beautiful fish he’d ever seen. I couldn’t really disagree. And unlike my Florida days, I sent this one back into the water.

Culebra Weekend, January 2008

Our sister island of Culebra is a mere 10 miles to our north and is as much a fisherman’s paradise as Vieques. It boasts some of the most pristine flats that can be found anywhere in the Caribbean. The bonefish that prowl these waters are truly of epic size. Unfortunately, getting to there from here quickly and cheaply presents more of a problem than it should. There is no daily ferry service from Vieques to Culebra, and flights are “On Demand,” which means when they have at least four passengers, they’ll go.

Despite that minor hurdle, Culebra is a must-see for any serious fly fisherman coming to Puerto Rico. I first visited the island shortly after moving to Vieques and making friends with a fellow angler and owner of a brand new 20 foot center console. On a handful of calm days, we would make the 30 minute run from the pier here in Vieques. We’d hit Culebra’s only town of Dewey, have lunch and a few beers at the Dingy Dock, then slow troll around the entire island, picking up a bonita or king fish along the way. Our last trip over there was more than a year ago, just before my friend’s stock market job called him back to the States and his sweet little center console was put up for sale. But, from my side of Vieques, Culebra is always right on the horizon, so I knew I’d get back there soon.

Last spring, through a friend who fishes both islands, I began talking with Capt. Chris Goldmark, the only fishing guide currently working on Culebra. Chris has chartered on the island for over 15 years. He finally came over to Vieques to fish with me last year but it was a rather unimpressive day. The way these things work out between guides meant that he would return the favor by hosting me on his island and humble me with a day that would be a hundred times better. That’s exactly what happened last week.

Our Culebra weekend revolved around my wife’s birthday, and it’s a perfect place to celebrate something like that. With a handful of cozy guesthouses right on the water and a couple of the best restaurants in the Caribbean, Culebra is an excellent getaway, even for those of us who live down here. It also happened that Capt. Chris had a Saturday open to take us out fishing, too. (What a coincidence!)

He picked us up from Villa Boheme that morning at 6:30 AM, just as the sun was brightening the horizon. Our run to the famous Dakity flats was a smooth 15 minute ride in Chris’s handmade skiff. Once there we anchored up and hopped out to try catching a tailing bonefish on foot. Wade fishing is the most satisfying but difficult way to catch this elusive species. When the fish are in very skinny water, as they were that morning, they’re highly alert, but the lower profile of a wading angler is harder for them to see. It also means that you have to get much closer and eventually they’re going to know you’re there.

Time after time I made decent casts to bonefish feeding so shallow that half their bodies were exposed, but they were having none of it. Wade fishing is also a great way to see how fast bonefish can move when they’re not hooked, just frightened. After an hour of watching them make rooster-tails after each of my casts, Chris decided it was time to get back on the boat and pole across some deeper water. With their backs completely covered, bonefish loose a little of their famous spookiness.

This was the ticket. After less than five minutes poling across a shoreline flat, a small school of fat bones popped up off bow‘s right side. My fly landed smack in the middle of them and they all charged it at once. The largest fish beat the rest of the pack and tore off the flat with my line trailing after him. After 5 minutes and a clever attempt to cut me off on a coral head, we had him on the boat. At just under 7 pounds he was a quality bone, but not the best of the day. That would come a less than an hour later.

Just before heading in for lunch, Chris said he had one more spot to show me where Culebra’s biggest bonefish lived. He wasn’t joking. Two minutes after making that announcement, I was looking at a huge single fish cruising right towards us. I dropped the fly a few feet too short but he charged up to eat it anyway. This one was a true pig. He did everything a bonefish is supposed to do in spades; three reel-emptying runs and then 10 minutes of hard pulling circles around the boat. I couldn’t believe his size when Chris lifted him out of the water. This was at least a 9 pound fish, not a world record, but a great fly rod catch. It was the second biggest one of my career, but probably the most satisfying. Tucked inside of a gorgeous Culebra bay, holding a trophy bonefish, with my wife finally getting to see me display some angling prowess…well, the sport doesn’t get any better than that. Thanks, Chris.

The Best Fisherman In Vieques, October 2007

Today I met the best fisherman on Vieques. I spent less than two minutes with him, he spoke no English and I never asked his name, but it was so obvious that he was a superior angler that I’m still shaking my head in disbelief after our brief encounter.

Amanda and I had just parked our Jeep and were walking down Encampment Beach to one of my favorite bonefish flats around 4 o‘clock in the afternoon. I didn’t think I had much chance of catching anything, it was windy, late in the day, and the tide was too high. None of that mattered at the time. I just wanted out of the house after seeing the end of Penn State’s disaster at Illinois. We were less than twenty yards from the road when I spotted an older man climbing over the rocks that mark the beach’s western end. He was clearly a local, wearing torn jeans and a long sleeve shirt despite the heat. It was what he was carrying up the beach that made my jaw drop.

He had a three foot piece of driftwood over his shoulders and hanging from each end, tied by a short length of sturdy crab trap line, were two huge silver fish. From over a hundred yards away I immediately recognized their unmistakable shape as a species I’ve spent the last fifteen years chasing in both Florida and here in Puerto Rico. They were permit, each well over twenty-five pounds and nearly three feet in length. They’re one of the most elusive and difficult fish to catch anywhere in the world, especially on a fly rod. I’ve had anglers come to Vieques from as far away as Sweden to go after permit without success, and here came two prime examples up the beach, hanging from a piece of bamboo.

I stopped the man immediately and started stammering about his catch. “Where did you catch them, what kind of bait did you use, and can I take your picture?” were a few of the questions I managed to spit out in amazement. His answers surprised me even more.

He caught them just past the very flat I was heading to, where I’d seen many but never hooked a single permit in over two years of trying. His bait was a hunk of conch tossed out on a simple hand line with twenty pound test. He had probably never used a rod and reel in his entire life. The fish he was taking home were actually two out of the three permit that he had caught during the morning, the first one got away. What was the most amazing thing of all was his lack of excitement at a catch that had this full time fishing guide going through the roof. Hooking a single permit is the very essence of a perfect day on the water. Back in my Key West days, where they’re a lot more common, catching three permit would get you mentioned in the sports page. The fisherman in front of me, with fifty pounds of these fish hanging off his shoulders, looked as excited as someone coming home from the grocery store.

He was probably a Dominican, judging from the Spanish he spoke, and as I finished taking his picture I couldn’t help marveling at the real differences between us as anglers. I was carrying the newest Sage fly rod and reel worth nearly $1200 retail, while he had an old hand line, often called a yo-yo, that sells for about $3 at the hardware store. I was wearing a pair of $180 polarized sunglasses to help cut the glare and spot fish, he was wearing none. I had on a new pair of Teva booties to protect my feet from the sharp coral and sea urchins, he was barefoot. Finally, he was the one walking away with two incredible fish, and I knew I’d be going home empty before I even started casting.

He was eager to get home with his catch so I took a few more quick photos and said goodbye. Back in Key West, where I’d catch dozens of permit each year, I never thought to bring one home for dinner. Killing a permit, the holy grail of fly fishing, is a huge taboo among the guides and anglers up there. When a permit agrees to be caught on a fly it must be cherished, photographed, painted in watercolors, and written about poetically after its safe release. Catching permit in the Keys elevates the guide and angler to a higher plane in the sport. You become the elite of the elite. Eating one is pure sacrilege.

This isn’t the case down here in Vieques and I’m actually happy about it. Permit are actually delicious and the two being carried up the beach will feed his family well this week. After almost fifteen years of looking at the permit as a nearly mythical creature, it was a bit of a shock to see them for what they really are; just another fish in the sea. My high tech gear and I came home empty this afternoon. We were shown how it’s done by a hand line, a hunk of conch, and a clearly superior fisherman.

Fly Fishermen, June 2007

Even though the island’s tourist season is quickly winding down, I’m still getting a lot of bookings from some very serious fly fishermen. More anglers are coming down this June than last year and I’m seeing a lot of interest in the fall, normally a very quiet time of year on the island. As a fishing guide, this is great news for myself and my buddy Capt. Franco, but it’s also great news for Vieques in general.

Fly fishermen (and that’s the correct term for both male and female anglers) are the perfect type of tourists for this island. For starters, they’re a diverse group. In the past few months I’ve met up with everyone from a twenty year old hippy from Denver, who could only afford to buy me a few beers at Al’s in exchange for directions to a good bonefish flat, to a sixty year old, Ferrari driving grandmother from Naples, who booked me for a week of charters in hopes of setting her second world record. These can be some really interesting people.

They may come from all walks of life but they have a lot in common. They’re passionate about the environment, but unlike nearly all of today’s high profile “Environmentalists,” they actually spend most of their free time outdoors. They know that the ocean’s resources need to be protected, but they also know that, if used responsibly, the ocean will be here for us for a long time. They invest both their time and money into seeing this happen.

They also seem to agree that we’re doing things right down here in Vieques. Every angler I’ve fished with in the past two years has been impressed with the quality of our waters and beaches, including the former Navy lands that are now our Vieques National Wildlife Refuge. The views from Green Beach or Ensenada Honda are truly some of the most beautiful in the Caribbean. As a transplant from Key West, you have no idea how refreshing it is to be on the run home from a day’s charter and not have to stare at three monstrous cruise ships blotting out the horizon.

Saltwater fly fishermen are unique in their quest for the next unknown place. Most of the world’s best trout rivers have been mapped out for over a century, but the saltwater flats still have a lot of exploring left in them. Vieques is currently one of those spots. A few months back I wrote about John Dukes from South Carolina, the first person to catch a permit on fly down here. For hardcore anglers, that’s a really big achievement. The next step up will be the first person to catch a fly rod Grand Slam on Vieques, a tarpon, permit, and bonefish in one day. I’ve had anglers catch two-thirds of it several times but the permit still eludes us. If that finally happens for me I won’t be able to shut up about it for at least a year, and that will bring even more attention to Vieques as an angling hotspot.

Nearly all of my anglers ask me if I’m worried that the inevitable “discovery” of Vieques will turn it into a copy of Key West, overcrowded, commercialized, and overrun with guides and anglers. Right now, I’m not worried about that happening. The fact that we have no highway connecting us to the mainland makes living here enough of a chore to discourage those operations that would look to cash in quickly on a trendy new spot. Toss in the fact that we’re not a cruise ship stop, and probably never will be, and I’m sure that the fly fishermen will keep heading our way for years to come.

After guiding these people around the Atlantic and Caribbean for over a decade, I can honestly say that there is no better type of tourist out there. They’re conscientious, educated, and while many are quite affluent, the vast majority are not elitists. Vieques should open its arms to fly fishermen, and so far, it has done that exceptionally well.

Capt. Gregg McKee, WildFly Charters

Ensenada Honda, April 2007

I’ve written a lot about Ensenada Honda, the bonefish-rich bay on the Caribbean side of Vieques, and the difficulties I’ve had accessing it on windy days. A stiff southeast breeze can easily turn the eight mile run from the town of Esperanza’s launch ramp into a punishing and dangerous ordeal in my seventeen foot flats boat. For the past year I’ve been eyeing an alternative way to get to this bay without enduring the punishment of our routinely high southern seas.

At the end of Blue Beach, just west of Ensenada Honda, there is an open area where the sand slopes into the calm, shallow water. The Fish and Game people stuck up a sign indicating that this is a natural boat ramp and, even though I’ve never seen anyone launch a boat there, I’ve been itching to try it. Instead of a half hour soaking ride from Esperanza, launching at the protected end of Blue Beach would give me an easy three minute shot to the acres of flats in Ensenada Honda, and its year round bonefish.

The big obstacle here is the road to Blue Beach itself. You drive down a five-mile dirt trail through the old Navy lands, with a few stretches that feel like they were cratered by wayward cluster-bombs. In my indestructible old Jeep, this road is a twenty minute bounce. Hooking up 1700 pounds of boat and single-axle trailer behind me would make it into an hour long crawl, so I’ve never tried it. Not until two weeks ago.

Earlier this year I got a call from a freelance writer who I fished with last winter while he was doing a story for National Geographic. We caught a nice tarpon on fly that day but the story was on the island itself and not the fishing. This year Greg was writing a series of articles for the New York Times, one of which would focus specifically on the fly fishing off Vieques, with a staff photographer coming along for the ride.

On top of the obvious free publicity, I enjoyed fishing with Greg and really wanted to show him a couple of good days this time. With a professional photographer assigned, Ensenada Honda, one of the most beautiful spots in the Caribbean, would be the perfect location. I said all the weather prayers possible but when Greg showed up two weeks ago, it was blowing like stink. My only way to get the guys and my boat into the bay safely would be the five mile dirt road and untested “ramp” at the end of Blue Beach.

I met Greg and Alex, the photographer, at Garcia Gates at sunrise. With visions of flat tires and a busted leaf springs in my head, I started the agonizingly slow crawl toward the beach. It took forty-five minutes, fifteen less than expected, to get to the ramp, but we arrived in one piece. My boat slid into the water as easily as if it were concrete and five minutes later we were drifting across the perfect Ensenada flats, sheltered from the winds by the big hills surrounding the bay. When I looked south all I could see was a Caribbean stirred up by gusts that would have made this day impossible if we launched from Esperanza.

Admittedly, the fishing was a little slow that morning, but we had plenty of shots and a few hookups. The highlight of the day came when Greg made a perfect cast to a small permit, the Holy Grail of shallow water game fish, and had it pounce on his fly. After a heroic effort to get the loose line on the reel, and with Alex snapping away, Greg finally got the fish under control. Seconds later the hook simply came loose. This seemed to be a recurring problem for us. Before his time with me in Vieques was done, Greg managed to hook and loose a fly rod Grand Slam, two tarpon, a bonefish, and a permit. All hooked and all lost to nothing more than bad luck. Every fisherman needs a good “One That Got Away” story, so I guess we had ours and then some.

At the end of the day I was happy. Greg had a few great fish to write about for the New York Times, Alex shot several megabytes of photos, and I assured myself that I could get to Ensenada Honda from Blue Beach with some effort but no major trauma. Life was good. Then I tried to pull the boat out of the water.

With 1700 pounds pushing down on the back of my 4WD Wrangler, the wheels dug right into the sand and kept spinning. We pushed, shoved rocks under the tires, and tried it from every angle, but the damn boat wasn’t coming up that lousy beach. In the end, I had to call my VERY BUSY wife (who warned me not to try this in the first place) to come and rescue us in her Toyota 4-Runner. After yanking me out with her big SUV in front of everyone, I admitted she was right and promised her I’d never try this again.

Unless ESPN calls…

Capt. Gregg McKee, WildFly Charters

Happy Hour Tarpon, November 2006

One of the benefits of spending my adult life as a fly fishing guide is knowing a great waterfront bar when I see one. From the southern coast of New Jersey down to the Grenadines, I’ve hit a lot of really good ones. But here on the island of Vieques, just seven miles off the east coast of Puerto Rico, we have one of the Caribbean’s best. It’s called Al’s Mar Azul, or simply “Al’s” to the locals. Perched just ten feet above the beach in the town of Isabel Segunda, Al’s is a true waterfront classic.

For starters, the beer is only a dollar during happy-hour and not much more anytime else. The atmosphere is just about as perfect as the drink prices. Al’s is essentially a wide open patio under a concrete roof with a guest room on top. It has a pool table, maybe two dozen barstools, and one of the world’s best decks overlooking what Mr. Buffett may have called that “One Particular Harbor.“ Like all truly great waterfront bars, Al’s ceiling is decorated with old license plates, a few articles of women’s underwear, and a piece or two of military ordinance. Walk into the bar with a sample of any of the above and chances are you’ll get it hung in the rafters by Al himself, along with a shot of Cuervo for your troubles.

Nighttime at Al’s is always a spectacle here in Vieques, but for the last two weeks the real spectacle has been happening in the ankle deep surf right underneath the famous deck. As summer comes to an end and fall begins, subtle aquatic changes bring huge schools of bait into the shallows along the island's north coast. One factor attracting these schools so close to shore is runoff from our fresh water arroyos. These are the rain fed streams that flow down from the island‘s steeper hills. When these arroyos hit the sea dense clouds of glass minnows, pilchards, and mullet stack up to feast on the microscopic life that blooms where the salt and freshwater meet. This bait, which can turn the water black, dimpling the surface like an invisible rain shower, quickly attracts many predators which start feeding with wild abandon.

The first to show are the brown pelicans. These are nature’s version of the old WWII Avenger dive-bombers. Seeing pelicans hit the water from fifty feet of altitude is a sure sign that a heavy concentration of bait is right below the surface. You can usually expect to find a good amount of snook and barracuda attacking the minnows from below. Mixed in with this frenzy will inevitably be the top dog of all shallow water game fish, the tarpon. These big silver predators, known locally by their Spanish name of sabalo, are every fly fisherman’s dream. Tarpon are true tackle busters and are rarely caught from shore.

Several weeks ago, when our afternoon showers became a daily event, the arroyo running between Al’s beach and our local ferry dock began dumping steady rainwater into Isabel Harbor. When this happens, I start taking a fly rod with me to happy hour and lean it by the front door alongside the pool cues. Sitting out on Al’s deck, I can keep an eye on the water below and watch for the unmistakable sign that the tarpon have arrived; a shower of minnows followed by a cannonball sized explosion in the surf. Quite often, the tarpon will shoot completely out of the water, turning perfect back flips before crashing back into the bait. At this point I’ll be hustling towards the door and my fly rod, stopping to grab an extra beer or two for the beach. Within thirty seconds I’ll be standing in the middle of the bait and casting to rolling tarpon less than a rod’s length away.

As I mentioned earlier, this is not an everyday event and predicting when the tarpon will start busting in Isabel Harbor is not an exact science. For the visiting angler I would simply suggest the Boy Scout motto: Be Prepared. Come down with an 8 or 9-weight fly rod and keep it with you wherever you go on Vieques. I’ve been walking around with mine long enough that I don’t get a second look anymore at Al’s. Keep the rod strung up with a ten foot leader and no less than twenty pound tippet. Most of our shore tarpon are on the small side, fifteen pounds or less, but every now and then a nice fifty pounder sneaks into the fray. The standard streamer flies work great but when the fish are really smashing the bait, anything goes.

Over the past two weeks I’ve thrown everything in my box at these shore-bound tarpon and everything has worked, but only once or twice. They’re not consistent when they show up and they’re not consistent in what they eat. But when you’re literally standing in the middle of a tarpon feeding-frenzy, they will consistently amaze you, and Vieques, Puerto Rico is one of the few places on Earth to experience this. Check out the video below to see for yourself.

One final piece of advice: Break down your fly rods before you walk into Al’s. His ceiling fans are a killer.

Capt. Gregg McKee, WildFly Charters

Off Season, September 2006

There’s one word that best describes Vieques this time of year: quiet. September is officially the slow season down here. With the kids heading back to school up north and hurricane season warming up, we don’t see too many tourists on the island these days, and that’s fine with me. In addition to giving me time to work on some other projects around the house, I also get the chance to take myself fishing whenever I feel like it.

I decided to do this the other evening when the conditions seemed right to catch a tarpon from shore at one of my favorite spots. Getting to this area doesn’t require a boat but a sturdy four-wheel drive vehicle, like my old Jeep Wrangler. I tossed my 10 weight Sage fly rod into the back seat and 7 month old terrier/mutt, Maggie, into the front seat and headed off through the old Navy base at Camp Garcia.

This is one of my favorite drives on Vieques. From our house, it starts off as a beautiful run up Route 997, cresting the hill at Destino, and looking down over half the southern side of Vieques and the bio-bays. Then we turn into the former navy lands at Garcia Gates for a dusty two mile run over the dirt roads leading to the old air strip. After that it’s really off-roading for another mile to get to the little bump of land in Puerto Ferro known as Tres Palmitas. This last stretch is often a real test of a vehicle, especially after some rain. There are several knee deep pot holes and some of the mud bogs even make me nervous despite my Jeep’s big engine and excellent 4-wheel drive. It always reminds me of the drive we used to make to our hunting camp in Bald Eagle, Pennsylvania when I was a kid during deer season. The only thing missing is the sheets of ice covering the mud and the cold water coming up through the floor of my uncle‘s horrendous International Scout, but I’m OK without all that.

Maggie and I got to my spot in one piece and, as usual, were the only ones around. I’ve fished this bay nearly 100 times in the past year, from shore and by boat, and it usually holds tarpon, especially near sundown. It also holds every mosquito and sand fly imaginable and while I was applying my triple layer of Deep Woods Off, Maggie was blasting down the road chasing land crabs and generally going crazy, her normal beach routine.

I was going to be in luck tonight. Immediately, I could see a school of bait rippling the surface about 50 feet from shore. A few seconds later, a small tarpon rolled just on the edge of them. I waded out about 5 yards until the water was up to my shorts and started casting. On many nights, I’ve stood at this same spot and made hundreds of casts to rolling fish with no results. Other times I’ve hooked up right away and fortunately, this would be one of those nights. When I was stripping in my third cast, the line came tight. I gave it a quick jab and the 3 foot tarpon launched itself out of the water just a few rod lengths away.

Once you hook a tarpon with a fly rod, the most important thing is to get the loose line up and on the reel. I my case, I had over 50 feet of it floating in a pile in front of me. As the fish started swimming off, quickly taking the slack up through the rod guides with it, I felt a strong and unwelcome tug from the line below me. At that moment, Maggie came back and decided to swim out to me to check on things. She swam right through the fly line, wrapping it around all four legs. I didn’t have time to give her the Bad Dog routine, I simply shoved her half underwater and upside down, hoping the fish would pull the line off her legs. It worked and I quickly had the tarpon on the reel and my sputtering mutt swam herself back to shore.

On the 10 weight rod I was using this was an easy fish, about 20 pounds, and I had it to shore in less than 15 minutes. By now Maggie was back in the water with me playing her favorite game of chasing anything that moves. Just as I was getting really soaked and muddy from wrestling with both the fish and dog, I heard a bunch of excited voices behind me. Four tourists in a rented Pathfinder found their way to my spot and were just in time to film the end of the fight. They were actually a welcome sight as I enlisted one of them to hang on to the rod as I once again untangled my dog, unhooked the tarpon, and sent it back to the deeper water. I hope the Gregg and Maggie show is the highlight of their vacation video.

My secret tarpon spot at Tres Palmitas obviously isn’t that secret if the tourists can find it, and the dirt road is actually drawn on the visitor’s guide map. So if you’re coming to Vieques and want to try landing a tarpon on your own, rent a 4 wheel-drive and give it a shot. If you run in to a Gringo with a fly rod and a crazy little dog, you’ll be at the right spot.

Theo's Permit, August 2006

Here’s a great fish story, and a true one, too. Five years ago I was fishing off Key West with a 12 year old angler named Theo Chupein, and his father Ted. Theo is a great kid and this was their third trip to the Keys to fish with me. Three years earlier, he and his dad landed a 20 pound permit on a spinning rod less than half an hour after first stepping foot on my boat. These were my kind of anglers, lucky and skilled at the same time. On this particular trip, Theo wanted to try it using a fly rod.

We were in the Marquesas, a group of islands almost 25 miles west of Key West, a remote area known for its abundance of tarpon, permit, and big sharks. Early in the day, a large stingray came cruising down our flat with a darker fish trailing close behind. It was a nice permit hoping for an easy meal scared out of the grass by the ray. We call this behavior “hitch-hiking,” and it usually signals a very hungry fish. Theo was on the bow with my 9-weight Sage and a bonefish fly tied on the tippet. When the ray was less than 40 feet away he made a nice cast across its back and the fly was instantly grabbed by the permit. For those who know the sport, a permit on fly is like shooting a hole-in-one in golf, as good as it gets in shallow water fishing. At that moment I’m sure the other guides heard me hollering all the way back to Mallory Square.

While Theo was doing his best fighting the 15 pound fish, I had one thought in mind: IGFA World Record. The International Game Fish Association, the organization that sets the rules as to how a fish is properly submitted for record consideration, has several divisions, including one for Juniors under 16 years of age. I knew that the Junior world record for permit was wide open and Theo now had that fish on his line, and on a fly rod at that. We were going to be famous in fly fishing circles and especially in Key West.

After about 15 minutes, the permit was starting to wear down and getting closer to the boat. I was jumping down into the cockpit to get ready to land the fish, thinking about the upcoming moment back at the dock, with Theo perched on my shoulders, marching our new World Record permit over to the scales, and shoving all the lesser mortals out of our way. “Move it, Chumps! IGFA Junior World Record holder coming through!” Of course, dreams die hard, as they say, and it wasn’t meant to be.

As I was digging the net from the mess in my storage compartment, I said the fatal words to Theo and Ted. “Keep your eyes open, guys. There are a lot of sharks around here.” The exhausted permit’s struggle was a clanging dinner bell in the Marquesas and I saw the disaster coming even before I found the net.

It wasn’t even a huge fish that charged us, a 5 foot lemon shark, maybe an 80 pounder. But it was big enough. I barely spat out the “Oh, Sh-,” and it was done. The permit was gone in one bite and just 20 feet away from the boat, not even a mangled head to hold up as proof of what we almost had that day. I really felt like crying. My glory of guiding someone to a world record permit with a fly rod was gone. Theo and Ted, of course, took it all in stride. Theo’d get another one someday, they were sure of it, and he was just starting to fly fish at 12 years old. Maybe that second permit would be the record. Hell, the guide’s name doesn’t even go into the IGFA book, so only a handful of people would even know that I had anything to do with it. I still felt lousy, and I cursed that shark, a species I love and have never once killed, all the way home. Oh well, everybody needs a good One-That-Got-Away story, and that day we really had ours.

Fast forward to last week. The Chupein’s came down to Vieques for their first time to check out the island and fish with me for a few days. Theo , now 17, is too old to qualify for the Junior world records and the permit were not going to show for us this time around. They live on the Caribbean side of Vieques and with the wind gusting out of the southeast for the last month, I can’t even get close to those flats these days. We did manage to hook a few tarpon on the north side of the island, a first for Theo on a fly rod and something we never managed to do in the Keys. The world records on these fish are so huge that it’s silly to think about breaking one here in Vieques, where our average tarpon is a 20 pounder. The largest one he hooked last week might have weighed 10 pounds, and even that fish managed to snap the line right away.

Theo’s world record permit, however, might just be close by, swimming around in Ensenada Honda right now. When the Chupein’s come back next year, maybe the planets will line up just right for Theo. It will have to be a much bigger permit this time, but Vieques is a unique place and my brief moment of guiding glory might finally happen. But I won’t be carrying Theo down the dock on my shoulders that day. He’s about 6 foot tall right now and I’m pushing 40. He can walk that fish to the scale himself.

Capt. Gregg McKee, WildFly Charters

Vieques Tarpon, July 2006

The current world record tarpon weighs 286 pounds and was caught off the west coast of Africa in 2003. This is according to the International Game Fish Association (IGFA), the great organization that sets the rules as to how a fish is properly caught on a rod and reel and then submitted for a record depending on line class and tackle. The IGFA requirements are strict and a fish must be hooked, fought, landed, and weighed according to their regulations. Owning an IGFA tarpon world record is the angling equivalent of winning a PGA Major, and guiding the angler to that trophy is the equivalent of being both the coach and caddy at the same time. Down here in Vieques, I’ll probably never know that glory.

There are currently a few hot spots for landing world record tarpon, the Gambia River in Africa and Homosassa, Florida top the list. Unfortunately for me, Vieques would be down the page quite a bit. We have tarpon, and plenty of them, but after a year of fishing our flats, I’ve yet to bring a triple-digit fish to the boat. This island is simply not home to a lot big tarpon, and that’s fine with me. What we do have down here is a year-round fishery for this incredible species, but on a smaller scale. The average Vieques tarpon weighs in at around 20 pounds and they rarely exceeds the 50 pound mark. For an animal that can grow to 300 pounds, this might not seem like much. For a fly rod angler, those 20 pounds are pure treasure.

To many anglers, the smaller tarpon on lighter fly rods are a much better sport. They jump far more often and can be subdued without resorting to an hours-long battle in the withering tropical heat and sun. In fact, my idea of a perfect fish is a 50 pound tarpon on a 9 weight fly rod. That’s a fish I’ve had no problem finding down here.

A few years ago, when I was guiding in the early-June tarpon frenzy out of Key West, I had a client hook into a very big fish just off the stunningly beautiful island called Ballast Key. The temperature was in the mid-90’s and the air was so still and humid that it felt like a living organism was clinging to your body. My angler, a hilarious Dodge dealer from south Georgia named Dave, was 45 minutes into the fight with his first fish that went well over the 100 pound mark, and had yet to give us a single jump. In fact, this tarpon had done little more than eat the fly and move off to the deeper water like a dump truck rolling down hill. This fish was the exception, not the rule. Most tarpon go ballistic as soon as they’re stung by the hook, jumping more than half a dozen times on average. On this day however, we were stuck with a dud and my angler had nothing better to do than pull against a lot of dead weight. Somewhere close to the one hour mark, Dave turned around to look at me through his coating of sweat and said something I’ll never forget: “Hell, Gregg. This ain’t nothing but a high-tech carp!”

I cracked up and agreed. A tarpon that doesn‘t jump isn‘t much more than a high tech carp, just bigger and even less edible. “Break her off, Dave. Let’s go find something else.” I told him, and he palmed the reel, popping the 20 pound tippet. Our huge tarpon continued on towards Cuba as if nothing unusual had happened for the previous hour.

That was the first and only tarpon I had ever seen that never jumped. The 15 pound fish Dave landed later that day launched itself into the air almost a dozen times, and instantly became the greatest fish he ever caught. The simple fact about this species is that if they didn’t jump, few people would make to effort to fish for them. But they do jump, and better than anything else in shallow water. And for that reason alone, people will come to Vieques from great distances to catch one and then let it swim away.

A 300 pound tarpon will probably never grace the end of my line down here, but that monster has to start somewhere. The other day I sat in the back of a kayak watching 17 year old angler Theo Chupein hook his first tarpon on a fly. We were in a hot, algae-choked salt pond near on the old Navy lands that had no visible access to the sea. It was full of baby tarpon no more that a foot long. As I watched Theo’s one pound fish jump to eye level, I thought about the chances that maybe, fifty years from now, these two would encounter each other again. Maybe it would be up in Florida or West Africa, and that fish, one of thousands that use Vieques as a nursery, would be the magic 300 pounder. And maybe Theo would finally own his world record.

Capt. Gregg McKee, WildFly Charters

Vieques DIY Fishing, June, 2006

There are few places better than Vieques for the do-it-yourself angler. Depending on the time of year and conditions, everything from tarpon and bonefish to jacks and snapper can be caught by wading from shore. Nearly every accessible part of the island holds some kind of fish and the only species I’ve yet to land with a fly rod from shore is a permit, but I’ve come close several times.

A successful self-guided trip is possible for any angler but you’ll need to prepare a few things at home in advance. For starters, there are no real tackle shops in Vieques, not yet at least. For now, you’ll need to bring everything from rods and reels to flies and lures. The good news is that our local fish are not too sophisticated and a small selection of tackle will cover most situations.

For fly anglers, a 9 weight rod will do it all down here, although you can get away with a couple weights smaller. I’ve used my Sage RPLXi-9 for everything from 5 pound bonefish up to an 80 pound tarpon. This should be a three piece outfit or smaller since you’ll want to carry it on the plane. Avoid checking your fly rods like the plague. If you really want to see them again then keep them with your carry-on gear.

Any saltwater reel is fine but keep in mind that sand and salt will be getting all over it. Some of the less expensive models can have problems with this but rinse them well and they’ll be fine. A weight-forward floating line is all that’s needed. Several tapered leaders from 10 to 20 pound tippet are necessary and for tarpon you’ll need at least a foot of 60# fluorocarbon as a shock leader.

For flies, you’ll need a small pocket size box that will hold about four dozen flies. Half of these should be Clouser Minnows in both green and white and brown and white. In fact, they’re really the only fly you’ll need. I’ve caught nearly every species down here on a Clouser with the exception of permit. Tarpon, snook, and bones all grab them without hesitation. A few other patterns are always good to have such as Cockroaches, Deceivers, and Merkins. You’ll occasionally find small tarpon hitting bait on the surface, and poppers or sliders are great fun to use in these situations. One thing you’ll want to remember for tarpon flies is to keep them small, no larger than 2/0 and on very sharp hooks such as Owner or Gamakatsu. Most of our tarpon are in the 10 to 20 pound range and the smaller hooks penetrate and hold better.

Spinning rod anglers have a lot of flexibility but also only need a small handful of gear. The best bet is to bring one travel rod and a reel with 12 pound test. You can go up or down a little bit but this is a good middle ground for all our species. The tarpon are your top target and floating lures such as Pop-R’s or Zara Spooks work great as do shallow swimming Mirro-Lures. Color is not really important. These will also catch snook, barracuda, and big jacks. As with a fly rod, you’ll want to use a foot or two of 60 pound fluorocarbon as a shock leader. Our bonefish and permit will eat small jigs and the 1/8 ounce Back Bone skimmer series is the best. An even better bet for these two species, especially permit, is a live blue crab, no larger that a half-dollar, on a 1/0 hook. You’ll have to catch these yourself which only takes a little time walking the beach with a small dip net and a container such as an empty water bottle with the top cut off. De-claw them by squeezing their pincers with a forceps or pliers and they’re safe to handle. Tossing a live crab in front of a tailing permit is like tossing a set of Corvette keys to a teenage boy.

That covers the tackle but there are a few other essentials that are must-haves. The most important is footwear. Do not walk the shallows barefoot. The coral is sharp and full of urchins. Flats booties are the best choice but Teva sandals or even old sneakers will work. A small pair of forceps is necessary for removing hooks from toothy fish and can usually be carried on an airplane. Needle nose pliers or a Leatherman tool will probably be confiscated nowadays. Polarized sunglasses are a must and a cheap pair are far better than an expensive non-polarized set. Strong sun block and a wide hat is obvious for northerners coming down any time of year. Our Caribbean sun will fry you within minutes. Finally, a small water-proof bag for cell phones and digital cameras will save you from an expensive fall when chasing after a fleeing bonefish. I’ve had to relearn that lesson at least three times in the past few years.

Once you’re on the island, a rented Jeep will get you everywhere you need to go. Make these arrangements in advance, especially during season. The rental agent will hand you a Vieques map and then simply start exploring. There are more beaches and flats than I can write about in one column. Once you’re here feel free to give me a call and I’ll gladly give you a few hints to point you in the right direction. As a guide, I know that not everyone can fork over the money for a week of charters, but this is no reason an angler can’t bend a rod every day down here in Vieques. And a self-guided fish is the best trophy out there.

Capt. Gregg McKee, WildFly Charters

Fishing with the Jerrys, May, 2006

After a decade of guiding anglers on the flats of Key West, I found myself blessed with a great core of repeat customers. Every year I could count on at least three dozen regulars to book me for the four month bulk of tarpon season and beyond. Some of these guys (and girls) had great success with me. Others were skunked continuously but enjoyed the experience enough to come back for more. Most anglers fell somewhere in between. Leaving Key West (and my anglers) for Vieques meant leaving a guaranteed income behind that had taken years to build.

My last season in South Florida was full of saying thanks to all of my regulars and handing them off to a couple of guide friends for their future trips to Key West. Every one of them expressed an interest in coming down to Vieques to fish with me in the future, and I was happy to let them know that my boat would be waiting. I wasn’t sure what to expect when Amanda and I moved here, but I was thrilled when my new website went up and the e-mailbox began filling with some familiar names.

So far this year I’ve welcomed over half a dozen anglers to Vieques who have fished with me before in Key West. Molly and Richard from Washington, Big Al from Manhattan, Charley and Chris from Ohio, and several others all made the trip down here after listening to me talk up the island during my last season in the Keys. None of them had been fishing in Puerto Rico before and they all left with a real affection for Vieques and it’s people that I’m sure will bring them back again and again.

These anglers all come from different backgrounds, from North Pacific school teachers to New York City executives, but in my book they all have one thing in common, they’re my fishing buddies. As a guide, a first time angler is a paycheck. When they come back year after year, they become friends. And getting paid to go fishing with your friends is the greatest job anyone can have.

Just this past week I welcomed two of my favorite fishing buddies on their first trip to Puerto Rico, Jerry Buscemi and Jerry Mallaber, along with their wives Lois and Mary Anne, from Rochester, New York. The Jerrys, as I call them, were hooked on flats fishing from the word go and I’ve had some of my best days on the water in Key West with them, landing some of the biggest barracuda I’ve ever seen. Fishing with Jerry and Jerry was just as good on the slow days, as they seemed to appreciate being out on the shallows more than any other anglers I’ve had as charters.

Their first trip down here to Vieques didn’t rewrite the record book from our Florida times, but after three days the guys managed to go home with a couple nice bonefish under their belts along with a handful of other great hook-ups. We put a few tarpon in the air, had some good shots at permit, and landed several beautiful mutton snapper. This is a rare flats species that has almost been fished out of the shallows off Key West, but is still abundant on the Puerto Rican flats.

More important than anything, I believe the guys and their wives had a fantastic time in Vieques. They enjoyed the food, scenery, and great people of this unique island, on top of the new fishing grounds I managed to show them. This group is the exact type of tourist I hope Vieques will embrace. They spent their money in the usual places but never isolated themselves from the lifelong residents. We dined at Bravos Beach Hotel and had beers at La Nasa and Al’s in the same week and enjoyed them all equally.

The Jerrys came to Vieques after half a dozen great years in Key West and I‘m more than grateful for this. They were counting on me to help land them a few fish in some new waters, which I did. Although I’ve done better in the past, they’re trip didn’t disappoint me at all. Vieques stepped up to the plate and made their vacation a success just by being what it is.

The gang from Rochester will be back and this is definitely a win-win situation for everybody. The island will see the return of four of the most easy-going tourists anywhere, the Jerrys will have a second crack at the tarpon of Vieques, and I’ll get to spend some more time on the water with two of my favorite fishing buddies. What more could we all ask for?

Capt. Gregg McKee, WildFly Charters

Vieques Bonefish, April, 2006

If there is one species that will send anglers around the globe with their fly rods in search of a single hook-up, it’s the bonefish. This is the species that started saltwater fly fishing as we know it, and down here in Vieques we have an abundance of them.

For a lot of different reasons, they’re a mysterious animal to most anglers who never venture to the ocean. They don’t grow huge like tarpon. The world record bone was a freakish nineteen-pounder caught off South Africa, but an average example will weight in around five pounds. They’re not good to eat. The name bonefish describes the consistency of their meat appropriately. They also don’t jump like sailfish or crash any bait or lure like dorado, and on top of everything else, they often spook if the angler blinks too loud. But they inhabit the most beautiful shallow waters in the world’s warmest climates and when hooked, the bonefish has few rivals for sheer speed. Landing a big bonefish on a fly rod quite simply takes skill.

In the early part of the last century, many anglers thought bonefish couldn’t be consistently caught on fly and with the gear available, few tried. Fortunately, there were handful of anglers who had mastered the fresh water species like trout and salmon and were looking to invent a new sport.

It happened in the Florida Keys sometime in the late 1940’s, depending on who you talk to, when there were just over a dozen flats guides working the entire island chain. Outdoor writer Joe Brooks cast a freshwater trout streamer with a bamboo rod at a tailing bonefish and got it to eat, something which surprised most of the locals at the time, and the sport was born. Now, sixty years later, there are several hundred guides prowling the Keys full time, hosting tens of thousands of visiting anglers all looking for that tailing bonefish. The rods are made of materials found on the Space Shuttles and the flies are so realistic that many crustaceans will attempt to mate with them. Shallow water fly fishing for a variety of species is now a multi-million dollar per year industry, and the sport often goes by the name of the fish that started it all; “bonefishing.”

While this revolution was taking hold of the Keys and the Bahamas, the bonefish down here in Vieques were left blissfully unaware. Unlike their northern cousins, our bonefish had air cover. While they were busy prowling the flats, digging up crabs and grass shrimp, a half century of U.S. Navy fighter jets roared overhead on their way to the bombing range past the big bay called Ensenada Honda at the eastern tip of Vieques. The local fishermen where kept out from under these flight paths for decades, and the tailing bonefish where never exposed to the tourists until a few years ago when the military left the island. What we have now is one of the last undiscovered bonefishing grounds in all of the Caribbean.

I was marveling at this simple fact a few days ago, while drifting along a pristine flat just a mile down the hill from the old range’s observation post known as OP-1. The post itself was the site of a tragic fatal accident in 1999 involving an off-course jet and a civilian guard named David Sanes, now a famous incident in the history of Vieques and the beginning of the end of the military presence on the island. The bowl shaped valley on the other side of the hill is still dotted with the hulks of armored vehicles that served as live fire targets since World War Two. Up until 2003, a common sight overhead might have been an F-18 Hornet loaded with 500lb bombs and screaming in at near sonic speeds to blast one of the old tanks at the bottom of the range. The jets have been gone for three years, but the dive bombing continues over the flats, now carried on by the local pelicans, terns, and frigate birds pointing anglers like me to the fish we seek to hook with our skinny graphite rods.

For several days last week, with OP-1 clearly visible behind us, my anglers made cast after cast to numerous bonefish, jacks, and snapper, all cruising the shoreline in less than two feet of water. On the bow one perfect morning I had a long time customer and friend from my Key West years. Alex Baydin first heard of Vieques two years ago when I told him I bought a house and was moving here permanently. Fortunately, he and his wife are adventurous, seasoned travelers and Vieques was right up their alley. The bonefish Alex landed that day weren’t world records, but the day-ending nine-pounder was his personal best. Most remarkable was the fact that for an entire morning, we were the only two humans in a three mile long bay, casting flies to big bonefish every ten minutes or so. Here at the start of the 21st century, with TV shows, magazines, and thousands of websites devoted to the sport, Vieques is one of the few places left where someone can go bonefishing with a fly rod and be the only one on the whole island doing it that day.

Capt. Gregg McKee, WildFly Charters

The New Guy, March, 2006

One of the best things about moving to Vieques is being the new guy in town. Sliding my boat onto a flat that I’ve never fished before is something that I haven’t been able to do in several years. So much of this water down here is new to me and once again I’m exploring the shallows for fish that I know are out there, but not always where and when. Up at my former home in Key West, I’d been fishing waters that I knew like the back of my hand for more than a decade, but that changed quickly last year.

When I moved to Vieques permanently, I doubled the number of full time fishing guides on the island. Before me there was only one, Capt. Franco Gonzalez of the Caribbean Fly Fishing Co., (787-450-3744) who could not have been more welcoming, and I’m happy to call him a friend. Fortunately for both of us, there are more than enough visitors coming down here these days looking to hook up with any of our great salt water species. Thankfully, competing for customers between the two of us is not a problem.

So right now, several times a day, I get a call or e-mail asking me “We’re coming soon, what’ll be biting?” I actually get a kick out of telling them that these days I’m not always sure. After all, I am still the new guy in town. I know how to get to where I want to go down here and home again without running my boat aground, an important ability to have when you spend your days in less than three feet of water. I also know how to spot the fish that inhabit our near shore waters, just like I did in the Keys. This is another important skill that translates well anywhere in the fishing world. And knowing exactly what you’re looking for takes quite a while to learn, even here in mostly un-fished Vieques.

Our tarpon are the most obvious. They’re the big silver torpedoes that often roll up to the surface for air on the calmer days. Bonefish are less noticeable, sticking their tails up when the tide is just right and pushing tell-tale wakes as they track down their next buried crustacean meal. Snook are the most subtle, hiding beneath the mangrove branches of our southern bays and in the big mullet-school mud’s on the island’s north shore. And finally we have the permit, the Hole-In-One species for salt water fly fishermen. These big members of the jack-fish family are not as common in Puerto Rico as they are in the Keys, but they can be found down here. As far as I know, nobody has landed one yet on a fly rod in Vieques, but I’m sure that will change, and soon.

What we do have is a year-round fishery for anglers of any skill level. You can make like the locals and use a hand line off Mosquito Pier for small snapper to fry up, or drive down to the beaches past Garcia Gates for bonefish on the rising tides with your newest $600 fly rod from the States. This is also the only place I’ve ever been where you can go wading for tarpon. It doesn’t happen all year, but the late summer and early fall are really something for these incredible fish.

I specifically remember one early evening last August when a friend and I literally waded into a school of rolling tarpon just ten feet from shore. It was about 5 PM in one of the Bio-Bays and for almost two hours we had hook-up after hook-up, with some fish hitting right at our rod tips. In the darkening water and with the sunset blinding us, this was often a bit terrifying. My friend Neal, standing next to me and untangling a bird’s nest in his spinning rod, actually had a large tarpon explode under his top-water lure as it floated next to his kneecap. If only ESPN had been around to film that. At least a dozen times that evening I said out loud, “Thank God these things don’t have teeth.”

That short feeding frenzy of wading for tarpon ended in early October but should be back again this summer. The good news is that we’re still seeing and hooking these fish on a daily basis. Late winter is clearly time for the smaller tarpon, averaging between ten and thirty pounds and perfect for an 8 or 9 weight fly rod. The best news of all is that they’ll still eat almost anything tossed in front of them. I’ve described them to friends back in Key West as “stupid tarpon” but I’ve come to love them so much that that description sounds too unflattering. From now on I’ll call them “uneducated,” since they’ve yet to learn that two inches of feathers tossed by people waving long sticks on small boats means trouble.

Since I started guiding again full time back in January, I’ve been thrilled to watch over two dozen people hook up with their first ever tarpon. I doubt that Vieques will ever become the Mecca for these fish that Florida is, but that’s more than fine with me. Putting our mid-size tarpon on a fast learning curve before they grow up and head north is the perfect job for the small handful of us down here doing it.

Capt. Gregg McKee, WildFly Charters

Greetings from Vieques, February, 2006

Greetings from Vieques. For starters, I’d like to thank Enchanted-Isle’s webmaster Jim Starke for inviting me to write a monthly column about fishing here on the island. For now, Vieques is still flying under the radar as a world class destination, but that will change in the years to come. As a refugee from sport fishing’s hottest hot spot, the Florida Keys, things couldn’t be more perfect for me the way they are in early 2006.

The best thing about Vieques as a fishing destination is that hardly anyone knows it‘s here. I like to describe it as the way my former home of Key West was nearly a century ago. If you looked hard you could find it, and since it was surrounded by water there must be some fish around, but was it really worth the effort to go there? For Key West, that question was answered in the 1930s when a young writer named Hemmingway, stuck on the island waiting for a new car to be delivered, began catching huge billfish less than a dozen miles offshore and soon spread word to the rest of the angling world.

Fast forward several decades and Key West now carried the alias “Margaritaville,” thanks to a fan of Hemmingway who also came to visit and stayed. Ernest wouldn’t recognize the place; lots of traffic, cruise ships, and tourists, tourists, tourists. For ten years I had the second best job in Key West: Flats Guide, (the fighter pilots at NAS Key West still have the top spot.) I got paid good money to push folks around on my small boat and help them catch the most exciting fish of their lives on many occasions. Things were good.

Things were also changing. By 2003, the median house price on the island was around $650,000 and is much higher today. For long time Keys residents, owning the home that grandpa built was nothing less than having a winning lottery ticket. Real estate was exploding and the locals were cashing in like crazy. My problem was, I wasn’t one of them. I arrived on Key West in 1992 with a few hundred dollars and a plan to go fishing. By the time the money started flowing my way, I was too late. A half million dollar mortgage on a fisherman’s salary just won’t cut it. Ten years later my rent was going nowhere but up.

I started hearing the name Vieques more and more about this time. First from a regular fishing client, an F-18 pilot who once dropped practice bombs down here before the Navy left. He told me that the shallow waters of Vieques looked just like Key West’s from the air but no one fished them since they were under the military’s flight paths. That would change with the Navy‘s imminent departure in 2003. Again, this sounded like Key West from way back when. Finally, a friend honeymooned down here and decided he was moving.

I visited him a few months later with my future fiancée and fly rods in tow. When our twin engine Islander banked over Mosquito Pier on final approach, I saw what I was looking for, miles of perfect grass flats with no other boats in sight. It was late July, beer at Al’s Bar was $1, and there was only one fishing guide in the phone book, Capt. Franco Gonzales, who would eventually put me on my first Vieques bonefish minutes after stepping onto his favorite flat. That was enough for me. I returned later in the year and spent a month finding the right house, a fixer-upper on a piece of land that would have cost a cool $1million in Key West and selling for a fraction of that. I was more than ready for a change of scenery.

That brings us up to February of 2006. My fixer-upper is mostly finished, my Jeep Wrangler and Maverick flats boat were shipped down last summer, and I’ve spent the past half year exploring some new waters. The results so far have been great. The same species I spent over a decade chasing in Key West are found right here in Vieques. Tarpon, the king of inshore game fish, can be caught year round. This is quite different than the Keys where they’re very common for only a few months in the spring and summer. Vieques tarpon are also completely willing to eat anything thrown in front of them. This is thanks to the absence of thousands of boats and jet skis running them over on a daily basis. The island’s north side flats to the west of Mosquito Pier have been very productive and on calm days I’ve watched thirty pound tarpon throw themselves out of the water chasing glass minnows. These are perfect fly rod size fish, not too big and easy to land on the lighter tackle. I’ve fought 100 pound tarpon for over an hour up in the Keys and it simply becomes an ordeal after that much time. I’ll take these mid-size Vieques fish any day.

In the coming months I’ll have more to say about the other great species we’re catching down here. There are bonefish, permit, snook, and just about everything else you’d want to see on the end of a fly rod. As I’m writing this article, New York, Philly, and D.C. are getting pounded by a major blizzard and it’s 85 degrees here in Vieques. All three of those cities have direct daily flights to Puerto Rico. Start dialing.

Capt. Gregg McKee, WildFly Charters