“Where have you just come from?”
   “Mexico.”
   “Really? This is better.” And with that statement of received wisdom he went back to looking out of the window.
   I’ve kinda gotten used to this from certain kinds of Americans. This absolute certainty that they own the information high ground and that if they want your opinion they’ll damn well give it to you. I recall being in a restaurant in Costa Rica with a friend once and discussing the menu when two Americans at the next table piped up “Looks like they need some help…the filet (he pronounced it filay of course) is excellent as is the snapper.” My friend gave them a withering look and then proceeded to order the local speciality in flawless Spanish. But it’s not that they were being rude in any way; it’s just the usual culture clash between us Brits and Johnny Foreigner. So I didn’t take it personally when it was presented as an immutable fact that Belize was better than my beloved Mexico by a complete stranger on the short flight from Belize City airport to Ambergris Caye. I’d find out soon enough for myself.
   I’d picked August for my trip as that is the month where they have a break in the rainy season (called “the little dry” I believe) and that is also the month when the big tarpon run through the clear blue waters. Belize has probably the largest area of mangrove and flats habitat of anywhere in Central America. It has the second largest barrier reef in the world and the huge lagoon inside that teems with tarpon, barracuda, snapper, permit, bonefish, snook, jacks…you name it in fact. It probably looks like much of Florida did about 100 years ago and I’m willing to bet that the fishing would match that also.
   I’d settled on three days fishing and the rest of the trip to sightsee and I’d booked the guide through the hotel, Xanadu. This is something that I don’t normally do as I like to talk with the guides directly but all of the Belize guides were demanding a non-returnable 50% deposit on booking and I wasn’t prepared to do that. I’ve been burned before when booking online and if you’ve paid your money and you get there to find the gear old and useless and the boat a mess then you’re pretty much stuck with it. This way, the hotel was responsible so if things were bad with the guide then it was their problem. That proved to be a good call as with only days to go they emailed me to tell me the guide that they had lined up for me had cancelled but that they had organised another one.
   The new guy was called Abner “Abbie” Marin of Go Fish Belize and he came highly recommended. The first day was planned as a tarpon trip. I’d never caught a tarpon before and it was a fish that had been on my list for a very long time. I’d seen videos and so on of course and the runs and jumps of these huge silver herring looked pretty spectacular. Abbie picked my son Scotty and I up at 7am sharp from the jetty at Xanadu and we headed out to get bait. It became clear very quickly that Abbie comes with a little extra baggage. He has some pretty out there beliefs on the history of the Mayans, including that they were originally from space (he named the planet but it escapes me now) and that they were the original inhabitants of Atlantis. Anyone who has read the drivel spouted by Von Daniken would recognise the genesis of this stuff. He is also a Catholic (at least I gained that impression) and the two belief sets were blended together seamlessly so that come 2012 when the Mayan era of the Eagle ends and the new era of the Dove begins, all the Angels of Heaven who have been amassing out there in space will descend upon the earth and there will be a great weeping and gnashing of teeth with brother against brother, son against father, nation against nation…de-da-de-da-de-da. If it weren’t for the fact that he was clearly so absolutely convinced of this I may well have had an open giggle about it. Scotty on the other hand was more practical: “What’s so different about his gods and what he believes than the Christian God or Allah?” he said to me after the first day “I’ve never heard of any war or terrorist atrocity carried out by the Mayans.” Fair point young man, fair point.
  So, to get back to the tarpon. The bait was the familiar sardines (or shiners) that Butch Rickey uses in Florida on redfish and snook and Abbie caught them in the same time-honoured way i.e. with a cast net. It only took about 30 minutes to get enough and we were in place and ready to fish by 8.30 am. It looked good. I saw tarpon rolling on the surface almost immediately and I cast the live bait out and waited. Within about three minutes line started to peel from the spool. I waited 4 or 5 seconds and then flipped the bale over and set the hook.
   All hell broke loose! A huge silver tarpon jumped, leaving both myself and Scotty slack jawed in amazement. The fish then took off and line screamed off the spool. There simply was no stopping it and within a minute I could see that we were running out of line. Abbie tried to get the boat off the anchor but it was too late; the line came tight on the spool and then, ping, the fish was off. Echoes of Gran Canaria and my first Blue marlin hook-up which ended in a similar disaster. 
   What a fish though. It looked well over 100lb, very probably 150lb. Whilst Abbie respooled the reel we set up my little Shakespeare telescopic travel rod. I had my doubts about using this because it looked so flimsy in the light of the size of the quarry but Abbie was confident it would hold. Besides, I had a good quality Shimano reel on it with 300yds of 20lb test to play with.
   Out went another bait and this was taken immediately it hit the water but I blew the hook-up because I accidentally knocked the bale over too soon. New bait. Within a few minutes I had another strike and I let the line run for 5 seconds before flicking the bale and setting up on a really nice fish. It jumped several times and then set off on a determined run. The line sang in the air with the tension, whining and shrieking like an over-tuned guitar string as the stiff breeze played it. Abbie was quicker with the anchor this time, just in case, but there was never a danger of running out of line. The fish screamed off across the main channel, so we followed it to avoid being cut off by any passing boat, and then it settled by a small mangrove island. The water was only a few feet deep and it wasn’t long before I could see the fish periodically come to the surface to gulp some air. Tarpon use this air-breathing capability during the fight to boost their strength.
   And that, to be perfectly honest, was that. The fish swam in huge circles, occasionally coming up for a breather, and all I did was apply side strain in opposition to its direction of travel. Frankly, it was boring. It took 1hour and 15 minutes to get to the boat and after the first 15 minutes of jumps and fast runs it was relatively mundane. At least with big tuna you know have a battle on your hands and your own fighting spirit kicks in to keep you from wearying. With this however it was all just a waiting game: waiting till the fish gave up, and when it did it came to the boat suddenly and easily.
   I was glad that I didn’t hang onto the first one because that would have been a three hour fight and, frankly, I’d rather be fishing for three hours than waiting for something to give up. It’s no wonder that a lot of Americans simply break them off after the first 10 minutes and I decided that if I hooked another that would be what I would do. I wouldn’t mind catching smaller ones, say up to 30 or 40lb, but the big tarpon are just not for me. However we took only three more strikes including a nice Jack crevalle which Scotty fought. Time to call it a day and, for me at least, that’s tarpon: been there, done that.

   Belize has a lot to offer apart from fishing. The snorkelling and diving are simply superb and with the Hol Chan marine reserve only 15 minutes from our hotel jetty we were regular visitors. We saw huge schools of jacks, tarpon, grouper, Nurse sharks and stingrays as well as a myriad of reef fish, sea turtles, Moray eels, octopus, lobsters and breathtaking coral species of every colour imaginable. The protected status of the reserve meant that the fish were large and generally fearless allowing you to get close to them. The famous Shark Alley even gave you the opportunity to touch fully grown Nurse sharks up to 7ft in length. I'd hoped to have some stunning underwater photos for the site but I gave the camera to Scotty and he managed to have his hand over the lense the entire time so all we have are some close-ups of his palms. They're good close-ups mind you.
   As well as the snorkelling, no trip to Belize would be complete without a visit to the Mayan ruins which are to be found deep in the jungle. We went to Lamanai which involved a fascinating hour-long boat ride up the New River. From time to time we came across locals fishing from canoes and catching prodigious quantities of Peacock bass. If I’d known this fabulous sportfish was present I’d have brought my fly rod! Lamanai itself was very evocative, hidden as it was by dense jungle and its scale and grandeur only appreciated once we were within the well-maintained site. Howler monkeys roared in the distance and trogons and toucans flitted about in the forest canopy. It is a magical place and well-worth the day-long trip. It was interesting to discover that the population of Belize was over 1million during the Mayan era and yet now it is only a quarter of that. Parallels there with the Scottish Highlands which supported a far higher population than live there today up until the infamous Clearances of the 1800s.

   But to get back to the fishing, one of the main species I was after on this trip was bonefish – macabi in Spanish – and I wanted to get one on a fly rod. Abbie picked me up at 6am the day after the Lamanai trip (Scotty staying in bed as he’s not a keen fly fisherman) and he came prepared with a 9 weight rod. He started off in the right way by showing me how he wanted me to cast. Once he was happy I could throw more than 60ft quickly and relatively accurately we went looking for bones. He quickly found a patch of disturbed water where the bonefish were “mudding” (stirring up the mud looking for shrimps and crabs) and had me drop the fly into it. “Ok” he said” I want you to strip-strip; stop; strip-strip; stop and if you get a bite then strip set the hook. Don’t strike like a trout fisherman or it will break.” Out went the line and, miraculously, after only three or four casts I felt a bite and had my first bonefish on the line.
   I’m not entirely sure what I had expected. I’d read so much about these fish; about how fast they were when hooked and how their first run was stunning, line stripping off the reel as the fish headed for open water. To be honest this one pulled a bit and took a little line but I never even got it onto the reel I had so much free line at my feet and I simply hand-lined it to the boat. Still, it was my first bonefish and since it wasn’t particularly big, probably just under 2lb, maybe it wasn’t strong enough on the heavy tackle. I took another two from the mud before Abbie decided that we’d go sight-casting. This is where it all broke down a wee bitty…
   First, I have to say categorically that Abbie is a man who knows how to find fish consistently. In that respect he never failed. What became slightly more challenging though as the morning progressed was a lack of consistency in instruction. I’ve fished with lots of guides and they’re all different; I think though that Abbie is probably a guide more suited to the experienced bone fisherman. Perhaps it was a language thing as he flicked between Spanish and English constantly. My Spanish is actually pretty good now at least at conversational level but I found that I could only concentrate on one or the other: fishing or speaking in Spanish, and so by the time I’d translated his instruction the shot was gone. So that didn’t help for sure. Also, good teachers tend to concentrate on one part of the skill-set at a time and build up over the period so that all the necessary basics are imparted, but in my experience experts rarely make good teachers because they can’t deconstruct what it is that makes them expert in the first place. So it was with Abbie. He is clearly an expert but the rate of very often conflicting instructions coming from him when getting near a pod of fish was just too confusing. Not that I didn’t catch fish, I did, but I wasn’t entirely sure how or why I did it and so I have no confidence that I can replicate it.
   The primary problem with bonefish is seeing them. It’s a bit like trying to judge the position of a slowly moving pane of glass, suspended in a room whilst looking for it using a mirror. That’s just my attempt at writing fancy: they’re damn near invisible is what I mean to say. If you want proof, take a look at the photo of one of them on the right hand side: this was taken at a distance of about 5 feet...how on earth are you supposed to see THAT from 60ft in a stiff breeze? Abbie helped of course and would call out “There - at nine o’clock” (interestingly, they were always at nine o’clock even when he was patently pointing at three o’clock…) and I would scan until my eyeballs bled and still see nothing at all.
  And then….slowly…I began to see things. Nervous water. Little bow waves. Tips of tails waving. Little signs. Finally I did it. I spotted one fish and dropped a fly right in front of it. Strip-strip; stop; strip-strip; the line came tight and I strip set into a nice fish that would maybe go to 3lbs. This one did take off in a nice run, but I have to confess it was no faster or more exciting than a similar sized sea-trout would be, yet it still fair made my wee heart pump.
   I liked bonefish a lot and I will definitely be back to Belize to fish for them again. It’s difficult, exciting, technical fly-fishing and the challenge really appeals to me. But before I do I will invest in a good book on the subject so that at least I have the theory down pat. Abbie is a very good guide, no question, but his skills were wasted on a novice like me because I just didn’t know enough about what I was doing. I also think I’ll take my 7 weight Orvis fly rod with me. I got a strong feeling that the 9 weight, though undoubtedly good in a wind, was way too overpowering for the predominately smaller fish that I was casting to. There are larger bonefish there of course but, like all large fish, you have to earn your spurs or get lucky before you get in amongst them. Permit are there also, we found a large school but they spooked immediately unfortunately, and so a Grand Slam of a tarpon, bonefish and permit in the same day is eminently possible in Belize. That just might go on the To-Do list you know…
   Is it better than Mexico? Hmm. Tough one. I’d say it’s just different; just as it should be.