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Sailfishing in Costa Rica

By Burke White

The nose of the Dehavilland Otter tipped downward towards the ground. Through the cockpit windscreen, Cousin Morgan and I could not believe that our pilot had his sights on landing our plane on such a short, gravel air strip…no longer than my parents gravel drive way. Our plane came in low, trying to maximize what little length the puny air strip had to offer. The squishy tundra tires touched the rocks and the pitch of the props was rotated for breaking assistance. We came to a quick stop and easily had a couple of feet to spare at the strip’s end. Whew! We were in Tamarindo, Costa Rica. If all went reasonably well, the two of us would be fly fishing for Sailfish the next morning.

Our fishing plan was a rather simple one. We were to rendezvous with our guide and captain around 2:00PM later that day in the bar of a small hotel in the town of Flamingo, just north of Tamarindo. Never having fly fished for sails before, we’d booked ourselves for four days of fishing with Captain Jeremy Lebritt on his 28 foot custom sport fishing boat “On the Fly”. We’d heard good things about him from other anglers. Our taxi dropped us off at our hotel situated just yards from the small marina. We took our bags to the hotel’s office to check into our reserved room. One problem…there was no room reserved for us and “NO VACANCY” were the next two words we heard. Hmmm, guess there was a slight misunderstanding on the dates we needed a room. We hoped that the same miscommunication wouldn’t occur with regard to the fishing.

We were to meet our captain at 2:00PM, it was only noon. We stepped up to the hotel’s bar and had a couple of beers and enjoyed the view of the harbor and the bay beyond. As my cousin and I sat there, we laughed at idea of flying from California all the way to this tiny town to meet some guy and try to catch a big fish on tackle originally designed for trout. Why anglers do this I guess is like why mountain climbers climb. It’s the same ol’ cliché answer. You know…”’cause it’s there” kinda thing. We could have stayed home in California, saved some money and caught some beautiful, wild trout. But that’s missing the point. To us, and I’d assume almost all other anglers, fishing is an excuse. It’s a pass to go somewhere new and have a reason for being there, other than “just looking around”. Sure, we hoped the fishing would be great. Maybe even a Marlin would show at the boat’s transom for a fly, but regardless of the fishing outcome we were in a new country meeting interesting people and animals all in the name of fishing.

Speaking of fishing, it was now after 2:00PM and our captain was nowhere to be found. Cousin Morgan thankfully had our captain’s phone number and after ensuring the waitress behind the bar this would be a local call, left a message informing Jeremy of our location and the time. A few more beers were ordered and more fishing stories were shared. How sick are two cousins who enjoy telling each other stories of fishing trips we’d both been on? Note to self…get a life! The hours and beers flew by until the sun disappeared with a wonderful sunset, reminding us what a beautiful place we were visiting. Also, that it was getting late and we still hadn’t heard from our guide. We two cousins have fished together for many years and we’ve grown accustomed to traveling without an itinerary and sleeping just about anywhere: on docks, on rocks, in cars and a few hotels that weren’t fit for farm animals. Heck, we’d already asked the owner of the hotel if it would be alright if we slept on the deck of his bar. Larry, the owner, said that no one had done that before, but he didn’t see why not.

Now that we had a place to sleep, and knowing that our captain would, at some point, have to come to the marina, we could now relax with our new fool-proof plan. It was time for some more beer. There were several TV’s in the bar. All had soccer matches in Spanish playing on them. At the least, it gave us something to talk about other than fishing. The TV’s glow also gave us some humorous entertainment, as the bright light attracted bugs, which in turn attracted hungry geckos from behind the many fishing pictures hanging on the bar’s walls. These gravity defying, little lizards would tussle about staking the prime dinning territory on the ceiling near the light of the TV’s, awaiting a literal TV dinner. Assuredly, I impressed/bored my cousin with my quasi-knowledge on the foot of the gecko. Truth is, a week before I’d watched a show on the Discovery Channel dedicated solely to the amazing foot of the gecko. Again, note to self…get a life. It was now after 10:00PM. We ordered a few more sodas as we quizzed each other on what late 80’s artist was playing what song on the bar’s stereo. It was the good stuff, like Boston, Chicago, Journey, 38 Special, Foreigner and the like. I haven’t heard that kinda stuff in ages. One more phone call to our captain, and we’d call it a night. We and the geckos were getting full and tired. I was amazed to hear my cousin talking to something other than a message machine. It was Jeremy. He’d been fishing and didn’t get in until very late. Hearing of our need for a room, he sent over the one and only taxi in the town of Flamingo to pick us up for a quick ride on a bumpy, dirt road to a small hotel where we’d sleep for twelve American dollars. At last, two beds an air conditioner and a reasonable night’s sleep before the big fishing day. It sounded utterly perfect to me.

The next morning, we grabbed some café con leché and a bit of a pancake to settle our beer dinners from the night before. We listened to Jeremy as he shared the basic strategy to catching billfish on the fly. Then we boarded his boat and motored out of the harbor. The seas were a bit rough as we headed westward for some forty miles. The ride was a quite one, as Cousin Morgan and I did our best to confidently convince ourselves and each other that neither one of us was sea sick at the least. There were a lot of pale, positive nods followed by a shaky thumbs-up. It was good news when the boat’s throttle was pulled back and we settled into trolling speed. Two big rubber teasers were dropped behind the boat. One hookless teaser was short and to the left of the transom. The other was about twice the first teaser’s distance out and much closer to the centerline of the boat. Our 15 weight fly rods sat ready on the boat’s gunwale as Cousin Morgan and I figured who’d get first shot. I got the blessing.

Within five minutes of trolling, a shout of “ultima” was heard. Later we found that meant “last” as in the last teaser. Whatever it meant at the time, we all could see a dark, spear-like bill slashing madly at the silly, rubber bait. Then the fire drill began. The boat was pulled out of gear. As the boat coasted forward, the mate reeled in the teaser and the angered sailfish followed. At about twenty feet from the transom and hopefully with good timing, the fly was cast to the fish as the teaser was ripped from the water. The enraged fish took his anger out on my brightly-colored, parrot-sized fly. With a whack of the bill and a couple of chomps, my fly was in the mouth of a big sail. I quickly set my rod, hoping to dig my hooks deep into the boney mouth of the fish. The hooks never caught and the fish swam off into the rough, blue sea. The trick as we learned from my mistake is to wait until the sailfish has turned away with the fly in tow. Then, and only then, is it time to put pressure on the line to sink in the hooks. At this point, the hooks should slide to the corner of the billfish’s mouth and find purchase in the soft tissue. Crap, all my years of fly fishing taught me to set the hook when a fish grabs. This was going to take some getting used to. I’d missed my first billfish opportunity, but hey…at least my hangover was gone for the moment.

With such a short time spent trolling before seeing our first bill, we readied ourselves for what we new would only be a few minutes until the billfish scramble began again. Several hours later we snapped out of our glossy-eyed trance when again “ultima” was shouted. This time Morgan jumped up to answer the call. The hot fish came to the boat, chasing the teaser. With a good cast and a fast removal of the rubber bait, the sail slammed the fly. Unlike me, Morgan waited for the fish to turn after killing the fly. The backing raced from the reel for a solid three seconds then, my cousin hit the breaks. The hooks found home and up came a beautiful, tail-walking sailfish. The first five minutes of a sailfish fight are amazing. The fish stays on top of the sea, showing color and strength. From there, the fight can quiet a bit as the fish takes the battle deeper. It’s at this point when a #15 fly rod makes sense. The heavy-butted rod helps the angler lift the big fish up from the deep. Within another 15 minutes or so, the fight is almost over. The hardest part of the fight is to bring the fish close enough for a leader grab, making it a “legal” catch. The hooks are removed and the darkened sailfish, once revived with a boat-side tow, slips gracefully back to the sea. The first day out we raised about 10 sails or so. Of these fish, we hooked about 3 each and landed one each. That would work just fine for us.

We hit the dock around 50 that evening and regained our land legs. Once back to our hotel, we were treated to news that we’d have a room for the next three nights. We cleaned ourselves up and headed out for some local food. There are several nice restaurants in the town of Flamingo. As you might guess, seafood is high on the list of eats. The fish is fresh and the most expensive plate we ran across was about 15 American. After a fine meal, we decided to get some sleep as the long, sunny day and the previous, late night had worn on us. We watched the only English speaking channel on our fuzzy TV for a short while then found some solid rest. The best feeling on any fishing trip comes just before an angler falls asleep. The thought of what a fun fishing day was had and the fact that we’d be doing it again in the morning always brings a giddy feeling to my gut. Then we slept.

The next several days of fishing were roughly the same in fish count. We’d raise a few, hook a few and land a few. The secret fun on this trip, and any fishing trip for that matter, occurs when you aren’t fishing at all. We saw dolphins of all sorts. Sea turtles and assorted sea birds dotted the ocean’s surface. Humpback whales and pilot whales allowed us to watch them as they worked for their food. The bow of Captain Jeremy’s boat was low enough that I could lay with my chest hanging over it, just mere feet from the bow-riding dolphins. I could hear the clicks and squeaks from these beautiful creatures as they effortlessly cruised within arms reach of the boat. The dolphins even swam upside-down and jumped to eye-level to inspect me as I watched them. They are amazing animals with an inquisitive look in their eyes and a perpetual smile on their beaks. I get the feeling these critters truly were enjoying themselves. If that’s at all true, Dolphin and man were sharing a grand day.

The winds came up hard on our third fishing day. We decided to stay close to shore for comfort and protection from the white-capped seas and see what might come to hand. Even inshore, the waves were pretty tall. In fact, it was too tough to cast a fly. We tried for a while, but when I stuck a Clouser Minnow deep into my back, we figured we might want to put the long rods down for a while. Fortunately, our Captain threw a cast net in the harbor before we set out and we had a live well full of interesting live bait. Lookdowns, Goggle Eyes and Blue Runners made up the percentage of the baits. We picked up some heavy spinning rods rigged with circle hooks. It was great to see that circle hooks are used while live baiting fish in Costa Rica. In theory the circle hook won’t “gut-hook” a fish. Instead, this oddly shaped hook will slide to the corner of the fish’s mouth for easy removal. We hooked an assortment of fish like Roosters, Jacks, African Pompano, Needlefish and even a beautiful Snapper. Each fish different in shape and color from the next, all were incredible to visit for a quick moment. The shoreline was quite a site. Clear blue water crashed against robust, volcanic rocks and the lush green jungle formed just above the salty, high-tide line. It was a wonderful site to take in.

After four days of fishing North-West Costa Rica, we headed back to the small air strip in Tamarindo for a quick flight to San Jose, Costa Rica’s capital city. From there we were off to Houston then finally San Francisco. It’s always a strange feeling for me to return to what I consider a large city. All the cars and people rushing about…doing whatever we people do at such a hurried rate. I sometimes wonder if we’re missing something in the grand scheme of things. The people of Costa Rica seem to lead a more relaxed life. Even the dogs are relaxed as they calmly roam about the dirt streets looking for an occasional pat on the back. Traveling to other countries, slowing down and taking in the little things is a good reminder to us city-folk who are preoccupied with the dulling noise of such a fast-paced lifestyle. You gotta remember to breathe once in a while and live the simple way…even if only for a short while. Obviously this short article is not a “how-to” on sail fishing with a fly rod. You can learn that from the many articles on that topic or a quality guide. Instead, this is a brief note on why I like to fish. It gets you off your couch, away from work, and whatever troubles you might think you have. Fishing gives you the opportunity to interact with and even touch the amazing creatures that hide below the cover of water. Through this meeting of man and animal a true respect for nature is formed. When shared with others, the value of this experience can become a life-memory…one to put in the library of the mind. Once there, this trip, like so many others, can be played back at will. A quick fishing daydream and you’re back to work refreshed and ready. I can’t wait to file the next adventure in my mind.