How saltwater fly angling found me 

I’m new to the saltwater fly fishing game this past year, but now that I’m here, good luck getting me out. 

My wife and I have spent the past 20 years raising our son and adventuring as a family. I had a previous life as a dedicated fisher, but when my son showed promise on a mountain bike, I put down the rod and picked up a handlebar. We spent a good decade plus traveling the west from mountain to mountain watching our young man grow into a force in his sport. Now he’s graduated and moved south to continue his upward path. We are still very connected, but the lack of day to day riding and training left me with some time and energy on my hands. For the first time in a long time, I found myself in a position to consider something just for me. Looking around the garage for some inspiration, I decided to put down the handlebars and pick the rod back up. 

I dusted off my gear, built out an old skiff and a raft and started attacking the waters around home. One morning over a breakfast with my good friend Travis of Stillwater Travel, I was describing my new fire for being on the water. He encouraged me to look at salt water fly angling and started to break down Stillwater’s Cuba program. The more I heard, the better it got. I have always loved to travel to distant lands off the beaten path for adventure. Cuba fit the bill. 

My first trip with Stillwater’s live aboard program was to (JDR), or Gardens of the Queen. JDR is an archipelago off the south eastern coast of Cuba that is home to one of the largest runs of migrational Tarpon in the world. After meeting up with Brett, Travis and the Stillwater crew, a short flight from Miami to Camaguay put us on Cuban soil. The 50’s era airport, palm trees, Spanish chatter and cars from a time long gone immediately let me know I was far from home and close to adventure. 

A few hour bus ride to port provided some of the deepest cultural education I’ve ever received. It’s amazing what you can learn about a country and yourself looking out the window on a long drive through a third world landscape. I was overwhelmed with empathy for Cuba’s brutal living conditions, amazed with the pride that people carried for their home, and so thankful for the life I’m lucky enough to live. 

Arriving in Hukaro, we were met by our new friends on the 90plus foot live aboard with fresh cocktails, excitement for the week to come, and a tropical sunset that somehow let me know I was exactly in the right place. After setting up our rods and nestling them into the racks where they’d live for the week, we shared the first of many amazing meals as we steamed to the island chain that is the Garden of the Queen. 

Can you believe I haven’t even fished yet?! 

The next morning after coffee and a fresh cooked breakfast, we hopped onto a skiff and motored off across the edge of the world. I was lucky enough to be in the skiff with my buddy Travis, and our guide ,Ricardo, now a friend. We motored to a section of flat that Ricardo knew large migrational Tarpon would be traveling given the tides. It was clearly an intentional move made with confidence and he planted his push pole firmly in the bottom. We tied the skiff off to it and quietly settled. I was standing in the bow anticipating the day. I had a bait fish pattern in my left hand and a 10wt in my right. A light breeze was making my shirt flutter and the sun was rising out of the water. Travis had me pull 28 strips off my reel giving me the benefit of the doubt that I could actually throw all that line. We had it in a neat pile behind the casting deck. We were ready. Ricardo whispered “Tarpon 1 o’clock, 80 meters, moving left.” I tensed. “12 o’clock, 40 meters, same” I gripped my fly. “20 meters, 10 o’clock, casting long.” I released my fly and casted. After too many false casts, I dropped my fly short of the intended spot, but Ricardo said, “Wait, wait, wait, strip, faster, strip!” I felt a tug, line set with my left hand, then watched the rest of the pile at my feet leave the boat in a flash. The water exploded and both Trav and Ricardo started shouting. I was hooked into my first Tarpon. The fly line left the reel, we tightened the drag a bit, and the backing was peeling. Now that the fire drill of the hook up was done, I had a moment to breathe waiting on that first blistering run. I looked at Trav and he had a “welcome to the club” grin. I looked at Ricardo and he had the same. I felt my own face bending with joy, and in that moment, I realized I was home. This was what I wanted to do from here on out. 

The rest of that week was more of the same, making new friends, learning, and hooking fish of a lifetime. I left that first week of experience and instruction from Brett and the Stillwater team a better angler and more importantly, embedded into the Cuban coastline and salt water angling. 

Now, a couple of trips later, that fire is as bright as ever and I’ve found a craft to dive into. The skillset to cast effectively on the bow of a rolling skiff, the vision to see green-black backs moving over the green-black bottom, the art of putting the right rod angles on large fish to land them