Whether traveling across the world to a famous flat or just taking a skiff ride around in your backyard–two constants make up any tropical saltwater fishery: Salt and Sun. When I think of this style of fly fishing, I can only imagine what goes on above the clouds and below the water, as those happenings determine the very outcome of my experience. But, between the two is where I exist. It’s the spot in the whole equation where I have my given, and it’s up to me to determine the unknown. Because within that threshold, when the salt and sun align, something truly magical happens.
In this story, shared in partnership with BUFF, I revisit a trip I took last May to a familiar fishery in Mexico, where I’ve been fishing for almost a decade. I recount amazing times and the sometimes cruel realities of saltwater fly fishing.
Seven years ago, I ventured out of the country for the very first time in my life. I remember finally being at the stage in my fly fishing journey where I knew I wanted to branch out to new fisheries and places. I wanted to experience saltwater fly fishing and discover what it had to offer. And with this newfound wanderlust, I eventually found my way to Ascension Bay Lodge (ABL).
When I first ventured down there, the current owner, Danny, had just acquired the lodge once known as the Ascension Bay Bonefish Club (ABBC). It also happened to be the first-ever fishing lodge in Punta Allen. Despite its history, the first iterations of the lodge were far from a true fishing destination. It was more of a bed and breakfast.
I spent months preparing for this trip–my first DIY flats fishing experience. As I gathered what I thought I needed, I was filled with an overwhelming but even amount of excitement and nervousness. But when the time finally came to go, nothing in the world could have turned me around once I reached the airport. Fast-forward to my first day out on those Listerine-colored waters, and I knew I’d found something truly special.
Seven years have passed since that moment, and each year, when I return to ABL, I bring a group of new and old friends to experience this magical place through a hosting program.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s quite the adventure heading down to the southern point of the Yucatán Peninsula. When you add hosting on top of that, getting everyone and everything down there in one piece is no small feat. Although the country is quite welcoming to tourists, and ABL does a great job at ensuring everyone’s taken care of once there, there’s at least ONE thing every year that warrants some quick thinking. But hey, that’s part of the adventure. In the end, after a day in that crystal clear water, any prior stresses seem to melt away.
Luckily, this year, getting to the lodge was minimally stressful. We had all made it into the country except one of our friends, who had some travel hiccups (as to be expected). We made our way to an Airbnb, where we spent the night before driving down to the lodge. Getting from Cancún to Punta Allen was about a five-hour endeavor. Every minute was filled with exciting stories shared amongst new friends and long-awaited reunions shared between old friends.
After our last hour of pot-hole-induced turbulence, we finally arrived at the shores where a boat was waiting, ready to take us down the coast to the small town of Punta Allen. ABL is located within Punta Allen, a small fishing village. While it may be small, the people living in this quaint village make it feel like a home away from home. It feels like one big family when you walk the town streets, which typically leads you to eruptions of cheering and shouting from the fútbol field. Here, you can often find a friendly yet exhilarating match between the guides from the different fishing lodges within the town. GO TEAM ABL! After a long, beautiful boat ride into the setting Mexican sun, we arrived at the lodge, where food, drinks, and a restful night’s sleep awaited us.
Waking up at the lodge and slowly meandering down the stairs, staring off to the beach where the sun is rising, is one of the most relaxing experiences I can bring to mind. However, those first-day jitters quickly return as you sit down for breakfast. While exchanging plans with friends across the table, a certain electricity swells within the room as a shared level of excitement grows. After devouring some food and coffee, the next order of business is to meet the guides out back of the lodge.
The guides are all family, if not by blood (though most are), then through friendship. Even after just a few years of coming here, they made me feel like family. Fili, one of the head guides and the first guide I ever fished with in Ascension Bay, gave me the nickname “TranKayla”—a clever pun derived from my name and the adjective: “tranquilla.” If you know what I’m like on the pointy end of a boat, then you know exactly why he dubbed this quite ironic name upon me.
The guides led us all down the beach, where their fleet of pangas awaited. As soon as I sat in the boat, my brain started running through my checklist of items, ensuring I didn’t leave anything behind, “flies, rods, camera, buffs, raincoat…” I listed out to myself under my breath. But, during this time, scenarios of big fish begin to dance around between my ears. I started to wonder, “What will the weather do today? Who’s going to catch the first fish..?” The inside of my head was a whirlwind. But, as soon as that motor started to run, my consciousness emptied, and I became hypnotized. I stared off into the bright, blue, open waters as we headed into the bay.
After a few hours of fishing, I realized I had jinxed myself going into this trip. You won’t believe me, but I swear it was my fault. Countless times prior to the trip, I boasted about how lucky I had been for having nothing but incredible weather! There was actually a part of me that believed it never rained during fishing hours.
Well, on this trip, my luck had run out. Within a few hours of being on the water, our salt and sun had turned to chop and clouds. However, with the guide’s expertise and knowledge of their home waters, we were able to dodge a few storms and find protected areas to fish (one of the advantages of fishing in an area so vast and full of opportunity).
What I didn’t expect was that this misfortune with the weather brought me to experience a place I’d never fished in Ascension Bay before. As we ran away from the dark skies behind us, unfamiliar shorelines drew closer together, ultimately choking us into a small channel of mangroves. Suddenly, the guide cut the motor and, in one smooth maneuver, crawled up to the poling platform, where he began to push us through the dense brush. As we began snaking through the vegetation, I slowly pulled my Buff over my head and face to combat the relentless bugs and sun (which had finally decided to show itself). I went into a quiet, focus mode as the guides and I surveyed the water for movement.
Suddenly, we heard a splash. A dark shape zoomed by underneath me. Then another came and another. We had just spooked a school of juvenile tarpon. The guide chuckled from his tower, letting out a snide jeer at the “Sabalo.” Underneath the fabric surrounding my face, I grinned as well. I knew that a few tarpon meant there were bound to be more.
We continued our push into the channel. I watched the water intently as I felt the small leafed fingertips of the mangroves grab and poke at my rod and shoulders. Our boat was quiet, and I knew I would be ordered at any moment to toss the small red and white baitfish imitation from my hand, into the air for a quick cast. Sure enough, that moment came quicker than I thought. “Sabalo. 12 O’ Clock,” my guide stated in an excited yet soft tone. “Cast. Cast,” he ordered.
Immediately, I saw it. The fish’s scaley silver back briefly surfaced out of the water, and I locked in on its direction. “Left to right”, I thought. With one quick false fast, I made a shot right in front of where I’d seen the fish surface. I waited a second and twitched my fly back towards me– nothing. “Recast. He’s still there,” my guide said in the same calm yet excited demeanor. I slowly lifted my line off the water and made one more cast, this time slightly to the right of my last cast. “Wait,” the guide said. “Okay, strip. Strip, strip…”I made a few small strips with my left hand, then…Boom.
My line went tight immediately. The calm immediately turned to chaos as the water erupted in an iridescent gleam of silver and white. I continued to strip hard, driving my hook deeper into the fish’s bony mouth. I knew I had to play this fish hard and fast. If I gave it any leeway, it would race off into the underwater mangrove forest along with my line, and I’d never see it again. I gave a hard sideways tug of the rod and finally got an eye on the fish.
It was tiny, almost comically small–especially considering how hard it was pulling. As soon as the fish saw the boat, it began to run again, this time right down the middle of the channel. I grabbed the reel and held as much tension as possible without breaking my leader. This little fish had more fight in him than a trout 5x his size. Slowly, however, I could feel him giving up, and while making sure to guide his head away from every mangrove he tried to shoot into, we got him to the boat.
My guide grabbed the leader connected to the fly in the fish’s little mouth and brought him up to the boat. At that moment, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a tarpon so small. Right then and there, a wave of genuine appreciation washed over me as I looked at my little catch. His eyes were almost the size of his head, and he thrashed around with the intensity of a full-grown tarpon as I scooped him into my hand. “I love this fishery. I love this place,” I thought, holding him up for a quick picture before sending him home. 
As he jumped from my fingers and back into the water, I couldn’t help but make up a little narrative around this little guy in my head. I pictured him growing up big and strong, one day venturing into the vast ocean to become one of the 200-lb monsters that both enchant and haunt the dreams of dedicated saltwater anglers. Then I laughed and thought about the fact that every “record” tarpon was once the same size as the fish I had encountered. In a non-linear timeline, that meant I, too, had a 200-lb tarpon in my hands just moments prior. Not that things like “records” mattered to me anyway, but it was a fun anecdote to entertain myself with–if only just for a moment.
The rest of the trip raced by. Down there, each day passed by faster than the last. As time went on, we found a lot more of everything. Bonefish and snook dotted the bays and mangroves, and the weather continued. Wind, rain, and broken leaders (alongside broken hearts) were a common theme. During the days, we fished hard, and during the evenings, we ate and drank all we could–never failing to enjoy the moments off the water as much as we did the moments on it.
It was during these times it all came back to me. I began thinking about the place between the salt and the sun. The place where we all were. Where our stories existed, and new friendships flourished. I thought back on the seven years I had experienced down here–none like any other, and certainly none like this one. At that moment, I thought back to that baby tarpon and wondered what he’d look like in seven more years. Whether or not he’d be big and strong, or just food for a bigger fish…
If there’s one thing this place, Punta Allen, can do, it’s make you slow down and reflect. However, it wasn’t until I stepped out into the frigid winter air gusting through the pickup zone of Denver International Airport that it hit me. The trip was over. Just like that, another week spent in a place I consider a second home, with people that feel as if they’re extended family, had concluded. As I felt the chill of the air nipping at my cheeks, I thought of the warm and humid breeze I had woken up to that morning. And in that moment, I smiled, thinking about my next adventure and when I’d be stepping between salt and sun.
Thank you to BUFF for keeping us comfortable and protected from the elements during this trip. To learn more about crucial sun protection and the right gear for the job, head over to BUFF’s website, HERE, and check out their wide variety of patterns and options, perfect for your next saltwater destination trip. Also, thank you to Danny, Ascension Bay Lodge, and the community of Punta Allen for always making me feel welcome and providing the experience of a lifetime. To learn more about their operation, click HERE.
