Fish of Opportunity

The Garden of the Queen, or Jardines de la Reina, is an archipelago in the southern part of Cuba, in the provinces of Camagüey and Ciego de Ávila. Christopher Columbus named the archipelago to honor the Queen of Spain, Isabella I of Castile. When word got back to Spain, the King demanded he have a "Garden" as well, so the Garden of the King on the north side of the island of Cuba was named to honor him in 1513. Nevertheless, the Queen seems to have gotten the prime real estate for today's fly-fishing adventurers, with over 1500 angling visitors a year plying the waters of this popular fishing destination.

While the country of Cuba is an archipelago, a collection of cays and islands, the Garden of the Queen is an archipelago unto itself, lying on the outer edge of Cuba's ring of islands. Steaming out to our anchorage from the port city of Jucaro takes about five to six hours, depending on the boat and ocean conditions. The Avalon Fleet II was probably good for 12-15 knots on a good day, so our transit was somewhat slower on this crossing. Since we were totally off the grid, far from the bombardment of daily news, we settled into what was truly important. Some sought relief from the rolling seas with Dramamine patches and a nap, while others set about rigging rods for the following day while watching a sunset that promised fair weather ahead.

The Garden of the Queen is divided into three sections, separated by large channels between collections of small islands and cays. Sections A and C are set aside for anglers, while section B hosts divers seeking to explore the underwater wonders of this protected National Park. This area has been set aside as a refuge since 1996 and became a national park in 2010.

Anchored in the lee of a large cay in section B, our guests gathered in the dining salon, the effects of the crossing fading away. Having had a late lunch before departure, we convinced the kitchen staff that our group would be happy with a light dinner instead of the full spread usually laid out, and while they were reluctant, we found the Cuban version of Pizza Night to be most fulfilling, without being overly so. We toasted to the coming week and retired to our staterooms filled with anticipation, Mojitos, and tasty Cuban Pizza.

The sun rose in a clear sky the following day, reflecting the forecast foretold by its passing the evening before. Having spent many days at sea in my younger years, I've come to rely on the "red sky at night sailors delight" legend, taking into consideration the time of year and my place on the planet. The ocean and the skies above hint at what to expect if you know what to look for. While a tropical disturbance had been mentioned in my news feed before arriving in Cuba, I saw no signs that it was developing, and besides, at this point, there wasn't anything we could do about it. From here on, the weather forecast was what you saw when you walked out on deck in the morning.

Coffee was served in the dining salon at 6:00 AM for those who required the stimulant to rinse away the cobwebs of sleep, with breakfast following at 6:30. It soon became apparent that anglers wishing to spend more time on the water should push away from the table ready to step aboard their assigned skiffs as eager guides waited just off the fantail. It took a few days to get into the rhythm, and while slightly chaotic, our morning departures were without incident or mixup.

The first morning would require us to transit to our assigned area, with the mothership pulling anchor and moving to the west. We would fish our way to the new anchorage. We were assigned to section A, and as this was the same area we fished last year, I was a bit disappointed, but I soon found out my concerns were without merit as we pushed farther to the west, fishing places we hadn't seen the year before. Add to this, the weather this visit was more favorable, allowing us to access the north side of the archipelago, an area we missed last year due to unseasonable northerly winds.

The Humanitarian Project Visa we traveled under requires some participation in legitimate activities that are beneficial to this protected area. Monitoring the health of the fish population and discouraging encroachment by poachers by our presence are a few ticks on that checklist as we tallied our encounters daily on a large whiteboard mounted on the main cabin bulkhead. Still, the more critical aspect of our adventure is sharing the whole experience, as I am attempting to do here so we can all understand the importance of this unique National Park.

Fly fishing for Bonefish, Permit, Tarpon, and Snook is an addicting pastime, and it is often filled with unfulfilled goals. In my 30-odd years of chasing fish in the salt, I have found that expectations should be left on the beach so that you can enjoy and focus on what presents itself. Disappointment is never a consideration if your expectations include enjoying the experience. On our second day of fishing, the stars aligned.

Permit are the Holy Grail for saltwater anglers due to their erratic behavior and temperamental attitudes. They are fish of opportunity, and one needs to be ready when the opportunity presents itself; focusing solely on chasing Permit results in hours of staring at empty water, hoping to spot these elusive creatures. Much like our Northwest Steelhead, Permit are often landed by first-time anglers who wonder what all the fuss is about, only to go years before their next encounter. While others still seek their first "Ghost of the Flats" after years of trying and miles of travel, the anticipation of success pulls them to tropical waters year after year.

On this day, the Permit gods smiled on us: that and the weather. There was just enough wind and swell to make standing on the foredeck challenging while making the water along the northern edge of the archipelago a welcome foraging ground for hungry Permit. Waves stirred up the bottom, flushing crab and other tasty meals into the water column, making them easy targets for cruising fish. We pushed along the flat looking for cruising fish, occasionally stopping to pump the bilges as waves cleared the gunnels and threatened to swamp our small skiff. Normally, Permit tip over to inspect a fly fished on the bottom, but today, they rushed flies as they hit the water, not wanting the meal to escape. My first fish rushed the fly on the strip and turned to open water. The hook never found a solid set, and the fish was gone.

Frustration is part of Permit fishing, and one tends to overanalyze what went wrong or what could have been done differently when, most of the time, there was nothing to be done about it. It's best to just move on and focus on the next opportunity. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long. A few minutes later, I found myself hooked up solidly to a fish determined to empty my reel of all that pretty backing. He ran for the beach, leading us into shallow water. With Jennifer's help, I got into my flats boots and bailed out of the boat, only to have the fish change directions and head to open water. Koki, our guide, now joined me in the water, and we waded to the edge of the reef as I fought the fish. It took some convincing, but soon, Koki had a grip on its tail and held it aloft, cheering our success. After a few photos, it slipped back beneath the waves.

Jennifer now took to the bow, seeking her first Permit. Again, we didn't have long to wait, and she was fast into a very large fish. This fish stayed in deep water, presenting an unusual problem of landing a Permit from the boat without a net. The waves were pushing us away from the fish, and we needed to get out of the shorebreak if we were to have any chance. At this point, we noticed the tip-top guide of her rod was sliding down the flyline, having popped off when the backing knot departed. Koki started the motor to move us into calmer water, but it was too late. The fish took a quick run, and the tippet parted. Ending an epic battle in favor of the fish.

Now more determined than ever, Jennifer took my rod and braced against the leanbar. Three or four large fish approached us, and her cast was on target. She hooked up, and the fight was on. Koki slid the boat into the shallows, and Jennifer fought the fish standing on the edge of the reef. The fish stayed close but was overly reluctant to let Koki grab its tail. Several times, when we thought the battle was won, the fish shook loose from the guide's grip, extending the fight. With patience and tenacity, Jennifer finally got the best of this great fish, and Koki made one last attempt to tail it. With one hand gripping the thick tail, he enclosed the fish in a bear hug, ending this battle with a scream of delight and an exuberant kiss to the fish's forehead.

Photographs recorded much of this experience, but I'm sure the memory of this day and this adventure to Cuba will never fade, even without them. Multiple fish were encountered, memorable fish were landed, and not another boat or angler was in sight. That's a day to remember. 

Postscript: Our group of 10 anglers encountered plenty of large Bonefish, monster Jacks, Tarpon, and other species on this trip, but only three Permit were landed for the week; that's Permit fishing. All of the guides were great and put us on fish throughout the week. The food aboard the Fleet II was on another level compared to our visit last year. The chef was incredible, and the staff tended to our every need. They became like family, and the boat was our home.

Cuba, especially Havana, is a beautiful, but sobering place, locked in the past by outdated politics, but the people are warm and friendly, looking to share their culture and country with visitors. 

At this point, it remains to be seen if American anglers will be able to travel as easily to Cuba over the next 4-years, but it is a destination that should be on any serious saltwater angler's list. If you have any questions about the trip, please reach out. I'd love to share more details, but it takes more than Five Cuban Minutes...