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1ST
GRAND SLAM - JIM ARCE
LEAP
YEAR GRAND SLAM
by Jim Arce
In January, 2000, Pat and I were planning a trip to
celebrate our First Anniversary on February 20th.
She was dreaming of sandy beaches, warm breezes and
exotic cultures. I was dreaming of catching a
permit.
I learned of permit in 1996 when I went to Christmas
Island for my first bonefishing trip. Before the
trip I read several books on fishing the flats. As
I studied the intricacies of catching bonefish, I
read of an even more elusive prey, the permit. I
was captivated, and dreamed of a time that I would
pursue them.
Pat and I found a destination that had everything we
were both looking for, especially permit. It was
Playa Blanca, a small resort in the Yucatan just
north of Espiritu Santo Bay. We flew to Cancun via
Miami and spent the night.
The next morning we boarded a small 4 seat Cessna at
the Cancun airport. We flew south for about 1 hour
and landed in another world. On a small limestone
airstrip carved out of the mangroves, heavily armed
federalis checked us carefully to make sure we were
not drug runners. Having passed inspection, we
piled into a small boat and motored across a lagoon
to Casa Blanca, the mother lodge to Playa Blanca.
The staff greeted us with refreshing drinks that we
enjoyed on the beach while they loaded our gear onto
the truck. The barrier reef was right in front of
us. The beach was pure white, the water was crystal
turquoise, and palm trees swayed in the breeze. The
intensity of city life began to melt away. Shortly,
we climbed aboard the truck and sat on wooden
benches.
The drive south took us farther and farther from
civilization. The narrow road led through thick
brush, with mangrove lagoons on our right and palm
covered beaches on our left. Wildlife scattered as
we drove along slowly. Birds flew from the brush
and iguanas scampered from the warm soil where they
had been basking in the tropical sun. We passed few
dwellings.
After 40 minutes we came to a clearing on our right
where an ancient Mayan temple rose mystically from
the mangroves. An enclave of cabanas built of
stucco and dark wood with thatched roofs sat on the
beach to our left. We had arrived at our
destination, Playa Blanca. It was Saturday,
February 26.
That night after dinner, I readied my gear. I
assembled an 8 weight rod for bonefish, and a 10
weight rod for permit and tarpon. I cleaned the
lines and straightened the leaders. I checked over
the flies that I had tied so carefully in our living
room in San Francisco for weeks while dreaming of
this very night. Tomorrow I would fish for permit.
I was ready.
TRIP REPORT
Fly Fishing Adventures
888-347-4896
flyfish@napanet.net
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