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Archipelago Los Roques National Park is a coral reef that sits about 80 miles off the north coast of Venezuela. Over 350 islands, islets and cayes are arranged in an oval shape around a central lagoon. It is a stunning sight from an airplane.  I was pretty sure it was going to look even better while wading it's waters in search of bonefish.

I was fortunate enough to have been invited to fish this world class saltwater destination by Jim Klug and Chris Patterson of Confluence Films. Jim and Chris were beginning work on their second feature flyfishing movie and I was to be fishing in front of the camera with Jason Jagger, an exceptional angler who has spent countless days exploring Los Roques.  For those who have not seen Confluence Film's first feature, DRIFT, be sure to check it out!

I have to admit I had a couple of late night panic attacks at the thought of spending a night anywhere near Cararas, the murder capital of South America. Since the birth of my daughter Ella three years ago, exotic travel just isn't the same.  Was I being selfish to knowingly put myself in a potentially dangerous situation when there was someone that was more important than any fishing trip?!!! I know, you think I'm crazy...it's totally a mom thing. Having a kid really messes you up...but it's worth it. Rich talked me down and we flew to New Jersey to drop Ella off with her grandparents. Two days later, still filled with anxiety, I boarded a plane for Venezuela with Rich.

Before we get onto the good stuff, I have to tell you we landed at La Guaira at 10pm and spent one very comfortable, quiet and safe night just outside Caracas. I'm embarrassed to say that it was no big deal. The next morning we caught a 5am flight to Los Roques where we were greeted by our host Chris and our guides. It was a 5 minute walk (because there are no cars on the island) to the Posada Acualera, our home for the week. The smell of stong coffee, homemade bread, bacon and eggs filled the open air dining room when we entered. Lush, exotic plants climbed the walls in search of the sun and a comfortable, warm humidity melted over my skin as we sat down to eat and discuss the fishing. I was already in heaven.

According to Chris, we could not have chosen a worse month than November to fish Los Roques. Tides were high (all day long), and it was the rainy season. I was nervous but happy to be there. Rods, guides and cameras ready, we headed for the boats. Five minutes into the ride the rain started but we got to the first flat and only had to wait a few more minutes before the sun came out. We jumped out of the boats. Chris wasn't lying. The water was indeed high, up to my armpits. Oh well. Rich and Jim went one way around a caye and my guide Jesus, Jason and I went the other. By the time we met on the other side 15 minutes later, Rich, Jim and myself were hooked up on bonefish and Jason was 100 yards behind me casting to two tailing permit. That is the way the next 4 days continued - intermittent rain and flat after flat of bonefish averaging over 4 lbs! We often walked along picturesque white sand beaches casting to groups of 2-5 bonefish slowly cruising in search of baitfish. Schools of jacks would often blitz the bait near the beach resulting in  fast and furious casting to frenzied fish. We also spent one day sight fishing to baby tarpon with Jose, the singing guide. Super fun. 3 or 4 jumps and the tarpon were tired out and in the boat. I really enjoyed fighting tarpon while being serenaded by Jose.

Then it was time to see the "rainy season", and did it ever rain. The fishing didn't really change, just our attire. Our guides were determined and professional. With their help, and a little help from the pelicans, some of the biggest fish of the trip (8-10 lbs.) were landed in the rain. As pelicans dive for bait, huge bonefish attack in search of stunned minnows (look closely at the pelican photo). It's fascinating and adds a fun challenge to the casting. Immediately after the pelican dives, you try to cast as close as possible to it without hooking it. Strip, strip and and more often than not you have a huge bonefish. I'll never forget Rich releasing a pelican he accidently hooked as 2 kids relentlessly teased him as by painting sand mustaches on their faces. When Rich shook his fist at the boys they came back at him with sand tears painted on their faces. Very cute.

On one particularly rainy day we were escorted to a pretty remote caye where we were instructed to fish and drink vodka for an hour. If you know me at all you know I did just that. As I fished with Jesus (and sipped vodka) I watched 2 or 3 guys hauling lobsters into a boat. They brought them ashore and 30 minutes later we sat under a tin roof  in pouring rain while feasting on the freshest lobster I will ever eat.

At the end of each day we returned to Acualera where Mimo, the incredible and all too charming chef from Sicily, fed us truly authentic Italian meals each night. The dining and lodging were the icing on the cake after a long day of fishing. The entire experience was perfect and surreal. Towards the end of our trip I was wishing to extend my stay...but someone was tugging at my heart to go home.

Many thanks to Jim Klug and Chris Patterson for inviting me to fish for them. And highest compliments to Chris Yrazabal and his guide staff at SightCast as well as Mimo and his crew at Acualera. 

I can't wait to go back, perhaps as early as April. If you have any interest in joining me, email me.  -Millie Jo Paini

When I awoke to the morning call to prayer I realized that Island Park, Idaho was a long way away.  It had taken us 32 hours of travel including an obligatory wide stance photo op at the stall made infamous by Idaho Senator Larry Craig.  This celebration of absurdity prompted the first brush with authority for a camera check.  This was to be a harbinger of the omnipresent law and order scene we would encounter throughout Kashmir.

Upon disembarking our plane in Dehli, the olfactory impact was immense.  Hot, humid, and musky.  As planned, our guide for the adventure, Maqsood, was waiting to lead us through the throngs of eager porters looking to make a few quick rupees.  Wearing the traditional Muslim dress and cap, Maqsood briefed us as we made our way to our hotel.  His statements often ended in “en Shallah” (God willing) as he assessed  the weeks fishing prospects. Maqsood had everyone excited for the following morning’s flight to Kashmir’s summer capital, Srinagar, and what lay ahead in the rivers that drained the worlds ultimate mountains, the Himalayas.

Our plane and its gorgeous staff descended out of the clouds revealing a landscape much greener than I had anticipated.  The mountains below tree line were covered with forests and emerald valleys of orchards and rice paddies.  The countryside’s pastoral appearance from a few thousand feet was purged upon landing.  I had pulled out my camera to take a picture of the massive construction going on as the Srinagar airport was being renovated to accommodate international flights. I was quickly reprimanded by a member of the local military that photos were not allowed.  While peace is returning to Kashmir, the conflict is still in the minds of the Indian military personnel of which there are over 1 million stationed in this border state with Pakistan.  I observed that while this was primarily a civilian airport, there were numerous barracks and fortifications surrounding  the landing strip.

We completed our compulsory paperwork and headed to the House Boat New Jacqueline on Lake Nigeen near the heart of Srinagar.  Shortly after pulling out of the airport, we experienced for the first time what was to be a daily adventure, the Kashmiri Cab Ride.   With horns blaring our drivers attacked the streets.  There were no stop signs, street signs or speed limits, but plenty of cars, people, cows, motorcycles, dogs, rickshaws, and chickens.  After observing the travel in the area, the attack mode made sense. Without being aggressive one would be lucky to get to a destination slowly.  If unlucky you might not make it at all.  The breakneck pace only added to the overwhelming activity, color, and noise of Srinagar.  I was accompanied in the back seat of the taxi by my good friend and fishing partner for the week, Travis Smith.  Our heads swung frenetically back and forth swinging attempting to take in everything we could.  A bus covered in bottle caps…a cow eating from a garbage pile…a beautifully colored sari… “hey look a real burka”…“was that an entire family on a motorcycle with no helmets?”…“does everyone here have a cell phone?”

Before we knew it we had arrived at the House Boat New Jacqueline  and our entourage for the week had begun to unload our bags and carry them to our new accommodations.  While we struggled to refuse the service and assist with the unloading, we were quickly put in our place as guests and backed off.  Maqsood had arranged a Shikara boat ride to the local Mosque named Hazratbal, famous as the last resting place for a beard hair of the prophet Mohammed.  The sunset was beautiful behind the domes of the mosque and we were soon dozing off as our captain paddled us back home.

When the Mughal Emperor Jahangir was told his partying days were over and he need to dry out he decided he to leave the plains and head to Kashmir.  According to the medicine of the day, the climate in Kashmir was perfect to heal an ailing liver.  In the early 1600’s he built a Mughal Garden in Verinag, birthplace of the Jhelum river.  Around the spring head he built a stone pavilion.  Today the spring head is similar to the head waters of the Henry’s Fork at Big Springs.  There are big, fat trout eating bread balls, crackers and chips, and they are off limits to fishing. This was familiar territory.   

About half way to Verinag from Srinagar we picked a guy up at a military check point.  Originally, I thought he was a hitchhiker, but turns out he was the first of many fishing officials we were to meet up with over our trip.  The daily fishing official was always some guy we picked up off the side of a crowded road.  How he knew where we would meet or when remains a mystery to me.  We took a short tour of Jahangir’s oasis, after which it was time for tea. 

Ali  was the designated camp cook and prepared tea for us about 6 times a day.  He would boil the water and tea and add lots of powdered milk and three generous handfuls of sugar.  However, this tea time seemed a little more serious.   A few more fishing officials had joined the scene and the banter between the officials and Maqsood appeared to be getting a little heated.  Things finally died down.  A few more sips of tea, and it was finally time to wader up and get down to business.   Today we would be fishing the town beat.

Approximately 30 people gathered as we began the process of getting into waders and assembling rods.  Some of them would talk and visit.  Others would just stare. 

Navigating the culture and the landscape requires the assistance of Maqsood Madari. There isn’t a fly shop, there isn’t a lodge, you can barely find a cold beer, and I still don’t know if I ever saw a reliable map, but there was Maqsood, our driver on a Kashmiri cab ride to the ultimate in fly fishing adventure. The Verinag, the Aru, the Ahar, and the Dumal. We fouind fish in them all. Rainbows and Browns left behind when the British decided that getting out of India might be a good idea. Now the trout remain with only a few local and far less travelling fly fisherman to angle against them. Bring lots of flies and lots of lead for the rivers here rage with the momentum of tumbling 20,000 feet down the mountains where they are born. Snag and you are breaking off another rig, a misstep may send you downstream for miles. But don’t forget your license or the local fishing officials will be shaking you down for baksheesh.

Jon's & Travis' Excellent Adventure in Kashmir was featured in the groundbreaking flyfishing movie DRIFT, now available on DVD.

Another morning shared with the mosquitoes!! It's 5:30am and Ned and I are getting ready to launch the boat for my third and final day in the glades. The tides will be low between now and about 10am. He fires up the Yamaha and idles through the Manatee zone between us and the Tarpon. The first two spots we check show little promise. The third spot we checked, that looked the same as the first two in my opinion, gave us a bit more hope. As Ned steered the boat around a mangrove point and cut the motor, there she was.

Within seconds of him pointing out the area we should see fish, a large head and a beautiful set of fin and tail cut the surface of the water in half. The pole hit the water, and we moved toward the ripples where the fish had shown. The air bubbles the fish had released hit the surface and gave me a mark on which to cast. As my heart stopped............. and then started pounding, I stuck the fly on the bubbles. Strip, strip, strip, GET HER!! GET HER!! Ned yelled and I stripped as hard as I thought I could and started ripping the rod to the side to set the hook even better.

The next thing I saw was the water explode as if a drag car was leaving the starting line! Ned was yelling "Tarpon on the fly!!, Everglades style!!" as the fish was clearing the line from the deck at high speed. Then, all hell broke loose. "GET READY FOR THE J..." Before Ned could get the word "jump" from his mouth, plus or minus 60lbs of Tarpon went leaping into the air. That moment was the reason I travelled to the Everglades. On about the third arial head shake, and before I knew what happened, the fly line was traveling back toward the boat as fast as it had left..............without a Tarpon on the other end.

When the smoke had settled, I looked back at Ned and wished I could have seen the smile on my own face. How could I be upset? It was one of the greatest experiences I've ever had with a fly rod in my hand. Later that day, we had a 10-15 pounder to the boat, but lost the hook-up before we got a hand on the fish for a pic. We also had some fun hooking a couple more in the 5-10 lb range. I'll tell you what, I got a lesson in how hard the mouth of a Tarpon really is. It's true that jumping them is the biggest part, but landing them is something I'll have to wait until next year to accomplish.

The snook fishing was great, and Ned helped me hook and land my first Redfish. Shallow water, and very visual, the Redfish and Snook are second to none as far as sight fishing is concerned. The "Everglades Slam" as locals call it consists of Snook, Redfish and Tarpon. What more can you ask for? Can't wait to head back next year and inspect one of those Tarpon while I've got one in my hands! To those of who've read these "Everglades" blogs, thanks for your time.

Jake Chutz

I fly in, get my $20 rental car, drive for an hour and a half, sleep for three hours, and meet Capt. Ned Small at the boat ramp. So here I stand, on the front of a skiff in the Everglades, and we see Tarpon in the first spot we stop.

To make a long story short, I dropped the line out of my left hand on my first shot, put the fly short of the fish on my second shot, felt the sweet but hard pull of the mangroves on my third shot...got an eat, kept stripping, but felt nothing on my fourth shot, and spooked a fish by hitting it in the head on my fifth shot!! This is by far, some of the most exciting fishing I've ever done. I'm planning on good light for photos of the Tarpon we're going to catch tomorrow!

Now that's not how the story ends. Ned sees a fish slide under a mangrove, points it out, and I toss the fly. The first shot was good, but not quite close enough to the roots of the tree. The next shot was slid in a bit closer and out comes a little snook. The take was great, but the tight line running off the deck of the skiff was awesome.  From what Ned tells me, you don't see Snook like this every day.

I can't turn around down here without realizing how lucky I am to have the opportunity to fish the Everglades. I guess Ned is not so bad to spend a day with either :). Thanks for the hard work and expertise Ned. You're one of a kind, and a hell of a guide!

Jake Chutz