Fishing Report #20
June 08 – 15, 2025
Welcome to the Caribbean,
The ancient Mayans believed that when an angler landed their first permit, their soul split in two: one part remained on land, living its life, while the other stayed forever in the water, searching for that moment again. No matter how many years passed, or how many other species came to hand—that first flash of silver under the sun, that unidentified swimming object exploding through the surface and ripping backing off the reel, would stay burned into memory like lightning that never stops flashing.
They also said that Chaac, God of rain and relentless desire, rewarded those who knew how to wait. That every hidden permit, every false alarm, every yes that turned into a no at the last second, was part of the lesson. Because fishing wasn’t about catching—it was about understanding time. About accepting that not everything arrives when summoned. But sometimes, if you return enough times, if you cast with humility, and if your heart still believes… then yes.
This week in the bay, under capricious skies and unruly tides, that’s exactly what we lived: a return to the very spot where longing becomes story. And waiting. Until it happened.Monday opened with radiant sun, a gentle southeast breeze, and the kind of energy that whispers something big is about to happen. Ryan, fishing with his father Joseph, connected with his very first permit. The fight was brief, intense, unforgettable. Joseph had his own shot, too—lost just before the finish. The celebration didn’t escape: a well-deserved round of tequila closed the day. The rest of the group found bonefish, baby tarpon, and some snook—but that day, clearly, belonged to that father and son.
Tuesday brought more of the same in weather and opportunity. George had his moment with a permit that slipped off near the boat, while the rest of the crew spotted plenty of fish, cast after cast, always one heartbeat away. Bonefish showed up in good numbers, but the permits kept their distance—like they were waiting for something more.
Then came Wednesday. The kind of day that breaks statistics. Vincent had his first permit encounter, and as if the universe wanted to make up for all the previous misses, he followed it up with a double-digit run of unforgettable moments. Brendan landed one too, with a few snook joining the celebration. Ryan continued stacking species—bonefish, snook, tarpon. The Joshes joined the list of the lucky, while Leo and George found themselves in a tug-of-war with big snook and eager tarpon that left arms sore and hearts full.
Thursday dimmed the lights. Thick clouds and a stubborn wind made things tougher. Permits showed, but didn’t commit. The consolation prize came in the form of bonefish, snook, and tarpon—enough to keep lines tight and spirits afloat.
Friday stayed on that same wavelength: persistent clouds, a shifting wind from east to southeast, and plenty of fish that showed themselves but kept their mouths shut. There were tarpon, snook, and bones landed—but the silver ghosts remained just that: ghosts.
And on Saturday, as any good story demands, came the final act of drama. George lost a permit right beside the boat, in that cruel instant when you’re already celebrating. Leo managed to land one… and his second victory was rudely interrupted by a shark, who took part of the permit as breakfast. The rest of the crew wrapped things up with solid action on snook, tarpon, and bonefish, beneath heavy skies and wind that no longer asked for permission.
Weather
This week’s weather behaved like an old guide: it knew all the secrets, but only shared a few if you caught it in the right mood. We started off with sunshine and southeast winds around 13–15 mph—more than fair conditions for those who know that, here, the “yes” depends more on the fish than the forecast. By Thursday, however, the clouds settled in for a stay, and the wind shifted from the east, pushing up to 17 mph. No storms, just a brooding, heavy air—as if the sky couldn’t quite decide whether to help or hinder. Light came and went, and when it comes to permit, that’s no small detail. Still, fish were seen. And sometimes, that’s all you need to believe.
Flies
There was no need for alchemy. When permits decided to give it a thought, they responded—as they often do—to the local legends: ESB Spawning Shrimp, Casa Blanca Crab, and trusty Flexos in white, olive, beige, and light gray. This week, white stood out again in clean water and bright light.
Bonefish kept being the reliable friend: Gotchas, Squimps, and Crazy Charlies in small sizes and subtle presentations. Always willing, always the first to say yes—especially when the permit says no.
Snook and tarpon made no deals. They struck on instinct, like someone answering without thinking: EP baitfish, Deceivers, and the ever-effective Black & Purple did their job, provoking those raw, explosive takes. In this bay, when they show up, thinking is a luxury. You cast, you feel—and if you’re lucky, you yell.
We leave this week behind with that perfect mix of physical exhaustion and emotional gratitude that only well-lived fishing can bring.
Thank you to each angler who arrived with an open heart and a mind set to learn. To those who shouted at their first permit, hugged after a hard fight, or toasted the moment back at the dock.
Thank you to the guides, who read the water like it had subtitles, who point out a fish at 80 feet with the calm confidence of someone saying, “Right there. Trust me.”
Thank you to the lodge staff, who make every return feel like coming home—even if you come back wet, worn out, or with half a permit in your hand.
And thank you, always, to this bay—for never making promises, and yet somehow always delivering. Because no one comes here just to fish. You come to remember why it’s worth insisting.
Don’t hesitate to reach out to our friends at The Fly Shop® to learn more about life at Espiritu Santo Bay, inside the Sian Ka’an Biosphere Reserve (which means “Where the sky begins” in the Mayan language).
Taak ulak k’iin and Ka xi’ik teech utsil
(See you later and good luck, in the Mayan language)
Martín Ferreyra Gonzalez and the entire ESB Family
800-669-3474 | 530-222-3555 | travel@theflyshop.com | ESB Lodge
