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Fishing the
Ambergris Caye
I came to Ambergris Caye looking for king mackerel
and the British influence. What I found was lots of
trigger fish, some red snapper, and a watered-down
British influence.
Ambergris Caye is approximately a 22-mile-long
island off the coast of Belize, in Central America,
just below the Yucatan. The tiny country, with a
total population of just over 250,000, was formerly
known as British Honduras. Literally carved out from
Guatemalan territory during the colonial era, Belize
was a British protectorate until 1981, when the
Crown granted the country its independence. And only
six months ago, although no documents are yet
executed, Guatemala finally agreed to give up its
claim to Belize. Thus, Belize has and reflects a
heavy influence of the Mayan culture.
We land at Belize City, and I have my first
encounter with the Belize people. The immigration
and customs officer is short and dark-complexioned,
with features of the indigenous peoples who occupied
this piece of earth centuries ago. My instinct is to
address him in Spanish, only to be surprised when he
addresses me in English. Aha! I found the British
influence. English is the official language of
Belize, though Spanish comes in a strong second,
followed by Creole, Garifuna, and Mayan. The
population consists of a mixture of Creole,
Garifuna, Mestizo, Spanish, Maya, English, Lebanese,
Chinese, and Eastern Indian.
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Rosie Karam Gutierrez displays the results
of her labor. |
Eighteen minutes on a 13-seat passenger plane later,
we land at San Pedro, the only town in Caye, located
on its southern edge, and head off to the boat dock
and the boat that will take us to our villa. The sun
is still high in the western sky and shines brightly
upon this clear Caribbean swimming pool when we
start our 15-minute boat ride to Playa Blanca.
Accompanying me on this trip are my photographer
husband; my brother-in-law, Rey; and Rey’s wife,
Judy. Rey and Judy live in Port Isabel, Texas,
across the bay from South Padre Island, one of the
best fishing places in the world. Both are devoted
fishers. I rented Playa Blanca for one great reason:
At $550 per night for four people, it came with a
21-foot boat equipped with a 75 HP Evinrude engine
and its captain, Enrique, who will also serve as our
fishing and anthropological guide and over the next
six days will become a trusted friend.
We arrive at our villa, and I’m finally able to
really take in the barrier reef, just two-thirds of
a mile from shore. The water breaking over it makes
for an awesome view. The barrier reef, the
second-longest in the world, is what makes the Caye
one of the best places for diving, snorkeling, and
fishing. The reef is like a stone wall protecting
the tiny island from the smashing waves of an open
ocean. They stop at the reef, making the body of
water between the reef and the island a natural
swimming pool. On a windless day, the body of water
is as smooth as a plane of glass. The tip of the
reef is anywhere from one to three feet below the
water line and is as sharp as a grinding wheel. A
boat coming into contact with it can be torn to
shreds. Mother Nature provided for various cuts in
the reef, and it takes an expert like Enrique to
know where they are.
My first night on the Caye was nearly starless with
only a young moon. I was told that we could walk on
the beach to a nice restaurant for dinner. What I
did not realize was that I’d need a flashlight to
find my way. It was quickly becoming clear to me
that I was really somewhere way off the beaten path.
I awoke the following morning and immediately took a
wind reading. It was a southeast wind. Not good. The
waves were hitting the reef with such a force that
the white splash was jumping up several feet.
Fishing near the reef would not be possible. We
would need to fish the lagoon. Enrique confirmed my
suspicion when he arrived to pick us up. We took off
for the lagoon and returned after four hours in the
water. We had about half a dozen red snappers that
Judy quickly whipped into an appetizing ceviche. We
also landed a couple of trigger fish. Not what I
would call a good day.
The following morning the wind was still southeast,
so we decided to go snorkeling. Our proximity to the
reef would make for spectacular snorkeling and
diving. There are quite a few sites, among them the
Hol Chan Marine Reserve. There you will encounter a
large variety of coral, barrel and purple vase
sponges and the magnificent pillar coral.
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Juan Gutierrez, fisherman extraordinaire,
takes a break from an arduous day on the job. |
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Enrique outfits me with a vest, fins, and a mask. I
jump over the side of the boat, and tons of fish
rush to greet me. I panic and quickly climb back in.
There were sharks in there! I still have yet to hear
of a friendly and lovable shark, so I stay in the
boat while the rest of the crew ventures in.
I awake the next day to find a northwest wind. I
check the reef and see only minimal white water. I
am elated. We can fish the reef today. But more
important, we will be able to cross over the reef
and fish the open Caribbean where the king mackerel
reside. Enrique arrives, and we take off to perform
every fisher’s morning ritual: finding live bait. We
scan the skies for birds feeding. We motor over to a
nearby pier as Enrique studies the shallow water
while steering and preparing his throw net. We are
in two feet of water with the engine in the utmost
up position. We spot a school of four-inch sardines,
and with one throw of the net, Enrique brings up
enough sardines to last us all day. The Mayan gods
are with me today.
With the wind to our back, we dart off to Rocky
Point, the northernmost point of the Caye, where we
cross the reef. There are about 12 different places
where the reef can be crossed. This cut in the reef
separates the Caye from the Yucatan peninsula. Even
with a friendly wind, crossing over the reef is no
picnic. Many an inexperience boater has landed on
top of it. Enrique approaches the reef at medium
speed and suddenly guns the engine so that the bow
meets an oncoming wave. As the bow rises, Enrique
reduces speed, makes an almost 90-degree turn, and
again guns the engine. We follow the opening in the
reef. It takes all of one minute, but it is
exhilarating. It’s time to fish.
We are trolling in 60 feet of water when suddenly my
five-foot Ugly Stick rod bends like it wants to
break and the Wal-Mart–purchased reel squeals. Like
an experienced fisher, I holler, “Fish on line!” I
set the hook once more and begin to reel. Enrique
quickly places the engine first in neutral and then
in reverse to help me get to the fish. The rod is
bending, and the reel keeps singing. I have hooked a
barracuda. I am in for some work—but also fun. I
keep reeling, hoping that I will soon see the
sucker. I reel in 10 feet of line only to give up
20. I am working with a 20-pound test line and feel
like I have a 100-pound fish on the line. I finally
reel in enough line to where I think I can land the
fish. I work my way around the boat from the bow to
the stern and then back to the bow and then back to
the stern. I am afraid that the fish will swim to
the engine and cut the line. My arms feel like lead,
and I am exhausted. I hand the rod to my husband,
and as I do, the line goes limp. I grab the rod and
start to reel as fast as my tired arms and cramping
hand can. It is useless. There is nothing there.
We pull into the Playa Blanca pier with a load of
snapper, more trigger, and one Spanish mackerel, but
no king. Enrique filets the snappers and makes tiny
steaks of the Spanish mackerel. Peter comes and
takes the trigger. Judy prepares the snappers in a
delicious butter sauce, and the crew enjoys a
delicious fish dinner. I have a bowel of cereal. I
love to catch fish; I just don’t eat them.
It is Sunday afternoon at the Caye, and after a
morning of snorkeling and boating, it is lunch time.
Enrique tells us that we must sample the barbecue in
San Pedro, available only on Sunday. One does not
associate barbecue with a fishing center. It is the
Mayan cuisine, not the British, making itself know.
The place to go, Enrique tells us, is BC’S Beach
Bar. We dock the boat at the nearest dock and walk
up the beach. Nora, the waitress, tells us it is a
one-hour wait for food.
An hour goes by but still no food. It’s hot, and I
am on about my fourth Belinki beer—the only beer in
Belize, which comes in two flavors: very light and
stout. I go to check on the kitchen and discover
that it consists of a barbecue can like the ones
back home, manned by two women. I now understand the
wait. I go back to the bar and order beers for both
of the women. Maybe I can bribe them to push my
order. As our food appears, Enrique appears to ask
if we are ready to go. We explain our situation. He
then points out his wife. She is one of the cooks.
And the young man behind the bar is his son. By this
time, the Belinki has made me happy, and the food
only supplements my euphoria. Sunday afternoon at
the Caye seems like any Sunday afternoon in my
native South Texas, where the importance of family
reigns.
Six days have come and gone, and it is time to go
home. We say our goodbyes to Enrique. We make the
last of three stops at the fuel dock to refuel the
boat. Gas in Ambergris Caye costs about $4.40 per
gallon. We have spent close to $275 for gasoline
during our six-day visit. This was truly a fishing
trip. |
