Embargoland
On January 1, 1959, Castro and his band of armed rebels stormed Havana, crushing the Batista regime. Following the Cuban Missile Crisis, in 1963 President John F. Kennedy invoked travel restrictions under the Trading with the Enemy Act. As the story goes, Kennedy, recognizing the finer things, procured 1,200 “personal-use” Petit H. Upmann cigars before the embargo came into effect. Cuban flats fishing, however, remained at that time well off the presidential radar.
As a direct effect of the trade embargo, more than 50 years later Cuba is a land lost in time. Its lack of U.S travelers may have helped cripple its economy but, in an ironic twist of fate, hasn’t hurt the fishing. It’s protected it. How good can a fishery teetering on the ramshackle pillars of communist Cuba be? As good as Belize? The Keys? Los Roques? With enough salty destinations to spin the globe and point, do we need yet another to feed the insatiable animal within? The short answer is, “Yes, Cuba is that good.”
This island archipelago, located 90 miles south of Key West, is peppered with national marine preserves rich in aquatic biodiversity, including migratory tarpon, permit, and tailing bonefish. Its forbidden fruits—outstanding flats fishing, quality cigars, fine sipping rums, and a city superimposed in 1950s-era steel and mortar—offer untapped potential and hope.
Hope. You can hear it in the voices of Cuba’s top flats guides, poling Dolphin skiffs on government-enforced, 20-day-on, 10-day-off schedules. And you’ll encounter similar sentiments from the thousands of embargo-crashing Americans already visiting the country annually.
In the wake of a new administration and the bill introduced in Congress in 2010 to lift the long-standing travel ban, Italian-owned operation Avalon Cuban Fishing Centers continues to field inquiries from a rising tide of Americans. Will those same fly fishers be storming Cuban flats anytime soon? If yes, any notion of the rebellion yet to come requires only three basic armaments foresight, flies, and good fishing. Viva la revolución!
Jardines de la Reina
Fishing in Cuba is like hitting rewind on the clocks of time—imagine casting alongside Keys pioneers during the heyday of the ’50s and ’60s. Within the Jardines de la Reina archipelago, there is no pressure from competing fishing operations or recreational vessels. Other than the posse that launched alongside you earlier that morning, the panoramic views remain unstained in all directions. Development is nil. Commercial fishing is restricted to bluewater, outside the reefs. And shallow-water gamefish—robust populations of bones up to 10+ pounds, tarpon up to 100+ pounds (in season), and permit—act suspiciously unsuspicious to your flies. Well, not necessarily permit . . . but here they’re less suspicious than in most places.
We arrive in Havana late on a Friday night, sip sugary, crushed-mint mojitos, and when our heads finally hit pillows, the phone begins buzzing like an incessant housefly—one you just can’t kill. It’s 5 a.m. and the imported, Japanese luxury bus is waiting outside. It’s filled with singing Europeans, some South Africans, and a couple of Canucks and U.S. gringos ready to be whisked away to the port town of Jucaro. I’m last to stumble on—and first to pass out. From Jucaro, where many of the local guides reside with their families, it’s approximately four hours by ferry into the Jardines heartland, where your floating hotel, the Tortuga, awaits.
Geography. Named “Gardens of the Queen” by Christopher Columbus, the Jardines de la Reina is an uninhabited chain of islands, similar in climate and geography to the Keys. Once purportedly a favorite fishing haunt of Castro, the island system runs more than 100 miles to the northwest from Cuba’s southeastern coast. The company Avalon, through its Cuban government ties, has exclusive fishing access to the area. The Jardines was designated a Cuban marine park in 1996. Today it’s one of the largest marine parks in the Caribbean at more than 837 square miles, with more than 600 cays and islands to explore.
Tarpon. For anglers at the comfortable, well-provisioned digs at Avalon’s floating Tortuga, there are numerous tarpon flats located a 15- to 45-minute run from base camp. Morning tarpon fishing involves poling flats anywhere from 3 to 6 feet deep—both inside, on, and just outside a reef. At low light, cruising tarpon are difficult to spot, and you seek roving and stationary schools, with backs, tails, and fins shimmering in the early-A.M. glow.
Afternoon tarpon fishing, depending on your guide, involves longer runs to a large turtle grass and sand flat called Boca Grande. Boca Grande, which could easily swallow several NFL-size football fields, starts shallow against a mixed mangrove and beach shoreline, widening and gradually deepening to about 3 to 5 feet. On an incoming tide, guides station the Dolphin skiffs at various points throughout the flat, planting their 20-foot Stiffy pushpoles into the grass, and waiting for marauding schools of ’poons to peel out over shallow water. The fish run in formations of rogue singles and doubles to larger schools of 20+ tarpon.
In good overhead light, you see fish from hundreds of yards out as their black backs provide missile-like contrast against the bright, turquoise-green bottom. With deft maneuvering by your guide, you take position to intercept. Casts are from 50 to 80 feet long, leading the fish by about 3 feet. When tarpon come into range, immediately start stripping—medium to long, and quick. The reward—when everything clicks—is an eat on the first cast.
Jardines ’poons are not overly leader or fly shy. When you botch a cast, pick up and throw again. They will inevitably eat. Strip-strike with your line hand and hold tight until you’re confident the hook is firmly set in the tarpon’s tough maw. Sharp, strong hooks are critical. This string of events usually culminates in a jump(s), then a beeline for the horizon. Clear the deck line by spreading your rod and line hands apart. With your free hand, loosely pinch the line between thumb and forefinger—too tight and it will jump, potentially catching the rod’s fighting butt. Game over.
When the fish is on the reel, hold on and let the reel do its work. When the fish jumps, bow and point your rod at the fish to avoid having the hook unbutton. When the fish lands, crank furiously. Turning the fish’s head with a “down and dirty” rod angle is key to turning the fight in your favor. Once turned, angle the rod in the opposite direction the fish wants to move, tiring it as quickly and efficiently as possible. If it’s taking a half hour to land a 50-pound fish, use more drag and more muscle.
Avalon guide Bemba could often be heard yelling, “Cojones!” across the flat. I took this as a cue to “man up.”
You will spend most of your week at the Tortuga chasing ’poons in the 30- to 60-pound class. There are shots at bigger, migratory fish during the May through June window. Use 11- and 12-weight rods rigged with full-floating or intermediate sinking lines. We did not use IGFA leader and tippet formulas and instead stuck to basic 6- to 10-foot leaders, with 60- to 80-pound bite tippets.
Copyright © 2012 Intermedia Outdoors
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