Have Camera Will Fish

Fly-fishing and photography in Belize

The twinge on the line snapped me out of my equatorial, sun-induced torpor.

In the calm, aquamarine waters below the boat, I spotted a powerful predator, the dark spot on the pectoral fin and brassy green of the jack crevalle.

Belize’s waters had gifted me this prized treasure, but my fishing instincts were back in a cold Catskills stream, fly rod in hand, dreaming of trout. I instinctively lifted my rod tip.

“Noooooooo!” screamed my guide Ketchu. But by then it was too late and the jack crevalle vanished into the blue.

There went my chance to capture on film the lovely eyes of my catch. I threw my hands down, but Ketchu tried to lift my spirits. 

“Don’t worry, man,” he said. “Saltwater fishing is not easy. It’s like your photography class. There are so many things to know, it’s a matter of putting it all together, one tip at a time. You’ll get it next time.”

Luckily, next time was soon. I reeled in the line, checked my fly and reluctantly edged my camera aside. I was frustrated but knew Ketchu was right. It’s all part of the process and I had much to learn, which is why I was here in the first place.

Fishing and photography, two lifelong passions, came together last October at a fly-fishing photography workshop organized by Yellow Dog Fishing Adventures. The weeklong course included a few days of fishing; a day of street photography in the gritty town of San Pedro, made famous by Madonna’s 1987 hit “La Isla Bonita”; and a day of snorkeling along the barrier reef at the Hoi Chan Marine Reserve and exploring the laid-back, funky island of Caye Caulker.

Over the past few years, I’ve taken several photography workshops — focusing on everything from camera mechanics to travel in Cuba — but the Yellow Dog photo workshop was, to my knowledge, the first one dedicated to fishing photography.

“There is no doubt that there is a demand for photo workshops that combine great curriculum with fun fishing, interesting locations and knowledgeable instructors,” said YD’s Jim Klug, author of the quintessential book Fly Fishing Belize. 

Our home base was El Pescador Lodge, located on Ambergris Caye, the largest island in Belize and only a 15-minute flight from Belize City. The lodge originally opened in 1974 as one of the first fishing lodges in Central America — and the only structure between San Pedro and Mexico to the north. 

El Pescador’s seaside villas — stocked with unlimited Belikins, the beer of Belize — were an idyllic spot for daily presentations. As we munched on conch fritters and shrimp ceviche, Klug and his team of instructors did deep dives into topics such as: creative composition for outdoor photographers, image file handling, aperture, depth of field, as well as understanding tropical light conditions, and, of course, taking great fish pics.

Because of the small group size — seven students — we each got to fish a day with the three pros, which exposed us to different photography styles and creative philosophies.

One day I fished with instructor Bryan Gregson, one of the most accomplished outdoor photojournalists in the country.  Raised in Utah and based in Montana, Gregson is both a photographer and cinematographer and has worked on assignment in some of the most remote corners of the globe. His movies — including this year’s Corazón — are a mainstay of the annual F3T Fly Fishing Film Tour. 

As I explained to Gregson, one of my goals for the day was to learn how to use my new underwater camera — the adventurous Leica X-U — that I had purchased before the workshop. I was concerned that I didn’t know enough about the camera, though.

“It’s OK,” said Greyson (a Canon pro) as we loaded our gear into a 20-foot panga, a modest, outboard-powered fishing boat common in Central America. “We’re going to figure out how to use this camera together.”

We started at dawn and spent the day fishing along the dense mangroves off the southwestern end of Ambergris Caye. In doing so, we’d be targeting two of three species that make this area a world-class fishery: bonefish and tarpon. The third species – permit – are often found in the shallows as well but typically not so close to land.

As a tinge of morning mist rose into the pink sky, I hooked a bonefish patrolling the shallows. I set the hook and let the fish run — there’s a reason bonefish are often called the “torpedo of the flats.” After a run of about 100 yards, the fish turned, slowed and I reeled it in.

The fishing guide netted the catch and detached the fly from its mouth, as Gregson and I went into photography mode.

“OK, grab your fins and goggles,” instructed Gregson as we put down our fishing rods and reached for our snorkeling gear and underwater cameras. Meanwhile, the guide was sitting in the boat, holding the bonefish gently under the surface.

We hopped into the water, about 4 feet deep, and swam toward the fish from the far side of the boat, in order to create the least amount of murkiness around our photo subject.

Gregson shadowed me as I approached the silvery bonefish and showed me how to properly take underwater shots. The idea is to “be deliberate” and look through the goggles to know the fish is in focus. Get as close as you can, snap a few shots, then rise above the surface, dip back and under, and do it again.

As the guide patiently held the fish and I snapped away, Gregson treaded water and coached me through the other steps of taking great fish photos…

“Remain calm — the less movement of your camera, the better.” I took a deep a few breaths, slowly and evenly.

“Take as many angles as you can: side shots, vertical shots, shots of the tail.” Love those tail shots.

“Communicate with your guide, let him know what you want.” Turn the fish toward me, please.

“Be careful you don’t step on a stingray while you’re out here.” Umm, thanks for the reminder!

“And don’t forget to take a photo of the fish being released.” Oh, yeah…duh!

Then, Gregson stopped, pulled off his goggles and looked serious.

“Probably the most important thing is to focus on the eye of the fish,” he said, “and everything else will blend in.”

Gregson’s photo tips were fresh on my mind the following morning, the final day of fishing during the workshop. After my casting mistake and losing the jack crevalle on Ketchu’s panga, I pouted while overhead blue skies gave way to ominous dark clouds around Congrejo Caye.

Time to take cover, so we pulled into a protected cove to wait out the rain. Ketchu, who has three decades of experience as a fishing guide, jumped to my side to offer a few of his own tips on how to cast in tropical waters. Clearly, I needed help.

He told me to aim higher, cast a little sideways to keep the fly out of the wind. Create tension on the line just before removing it from the water on my back cast, he said. And don’t forget the all-important “Hailey Mary,” when there is no time for false casts and you have just one shot to put that fly in front of that fish. 

With Ketchu’s help, I improved the distance of my casts from 60 feet to 80 feet, farther and more accurate than I’ve ever done before. 

“Yes, man!” Ketchu said giving me a fist bump. “A few more feet. I know you can do it. That’s what I’m talking about!”

The storm quickly passed as they do in these parts, and we poled gently along the shallow sea. Where I saw nothing but dark blue, Ketchu spotted a school of jacks about 200 feet off the bow. “Homeboy,” he said to me, “get ready. The fish are coming.”

I stepped onto the casting platform and waited….

"Now! 10 o’clock, 70 feet,” Ketchu instructed, using the clock system to let me know where the fish swam.

“Cast!"

I made two false casts and then bombed a solid cast to the fast-moving pod of jacks. Standing on a raised platform at the stern, Ketchu saw the fish changing directions. 

“They’re moving! Strip, strip, strip, strip! 12 o’clock, 30 feet. They’re coming right at us!”

Then, he noted what was missing from my technique.

“Andy,” he said, “give ‘em the Hailey Mary!”

Focusing on my fly and creating tension with the water, I brought the line back and waited two seconds for the line to uncoil, before unleashing a perfect, Hail Mary cast. I let the fly sink into the pod’s focal range and then I started to strip, strip, strip.

I felt a nice tug and set the hook — and this time I did it correctly.

The jack fought me, taking about 200 feet of line, and made me sweat for 30 minutes. It was my first jack and I marveled at its elongated body, about 25 pounds, and its two-part dorsal fin, speckled with yellow — a definite photo opportunity!

I grabbed my camera and hopped into the ankle-high water, while Ketchu held onto the jack. Goggles were unnecessary as I took a knee amid the turtle grass, checked my shutter speed and looked through the viewfinder.  I could see the fish come into view, its mouth wide open — perfect! I pressed my finger against the shutter, ready to frame this beauty. Remain calm, I thought, as I focused on the all-important eye.

My Leica snapped away effortlessly and I moved gently toward the jack, getting all those important angles Gregson had mentioned. Before asking Ketchu to release the jack, I captured the tail in one proud and story-telling shot: a dark yellow fin, poised before it disappeared into the deep blue beyond – in perfect focus.

IF YOU GO: Yellow Dog Fly Fishing Adventures hosts two more photo workshops in 2017: August 24-30 on the Henry’s Fork River in Idaho; and October 14-24 at Playa Larga and Las Salinas in Cuba. For more information, call 888-777-5060 or visit http://www.yellowdogflyfishing.com/.