It wasn't supposed to be a fishing vacation, when my parents decided to take a family vacation to the Yucatan, my mom constantly reminded me of that. But I was persistent. It would have been torture to be so close to fly fishing paradise and not even wet a line. But I had little information about the area, had no contacts and had never flats fished before.

Through some wonderful luck, I was able to arrange one day of guiding in Boca Paila. Boca Paila (pronounced Boka Pie-la) is a small estuary slightly north of Punta Allen, which lies at the mouth of Ascension Bay. The area is made up of large lake-like lagoons which have numerous flats, mangroves and creeks home to bonefish, tarpon and permit.

We met the our guides, Manuel and Luis, slightly before eight at the parking lot at the Boca Paila bridge. We attached bonefish leaders and picked out flies from the two dozen I had tied the week before. The guides fired up the motor and we chugged out into the first bay. A quick trip to the far side of the lagoon brought us to a narrow flat which ran along the mangroves. Manuel began slowly poling the boat along the edge, while Luis stood in the bow with me, looking for the fish. After the longest five minutes I have ever waited, Luis saw them. These were the first bonefish I'd ever seen, and when I cast, they behaved exactly as they should have - spooking and tearing off the flat.

But the ice was broken and as we continued down that flat, I had countless chances, none of which were successful. Unsure of what was to come, the guides decided that we should move.

We ran through some marshy channels into a huge, shallow bay. We searched fruitlessly along the mangroves for bonefish, until we rounded a point. On the far side were two tails. "Palometa," whispered Manuel. Permit. A pair of small ones. We changed flies quickly, although the 8 pound bonefish leader was probably too light if I did hook up. That was not a problem however, as the permit lived up to their reputation and spooked as the line was in the air. It didn't help that the crab fly I had was far too big and made a rather noticeable "plop." As we poled around the corner of the bay, we encountered a trio of small permit, also uninterested.

Having seen no signs of bonefish, we motored to a cut between several bays. Almost immediately the guides noticed bonefish flashing in the deeper water. I couldn't see them, but cast in the general direction that Manuel was pointing. A few short strips and I felt the magical tug. I raised the rod and I was hooked up on my first bonefish. It made several fast runs, though none incredibly long. When it finally came to net, I was ecstatic. After a quick photo shoot, we released it and resumed our search. I was tired after fishing all morning, and needed a drink. I sat down and gave my dad a shot. He had his fly rushed by a small permit, which created a moment of intense excitement, but it left as quickly as it arrived. Before lunch we returned to the far side of the bay, where we had seen the permit earlier. Now, later in the tide however, there were lots of bones cruising the edge. I flubbed plenty of chances, and did catch my second bone in some deeper water off a point. The guides groaned when I hooked this one, apparently it was the smallest of its school.

I shrugged it off, it was disappointing, but there was a lot of time left in paradise. I worked on stretching the shocker, while the guides poled along the edge towards the inside. My dad had a couple of shots at bones and permit, but no takers. Once the flat had run out, the guides fired up the motor and we ran up a mangrove creek. I once again waited for what felt like an eternity before we found the first two tarpon lying on the far side of a mangrove island. They spooked, and we continued up, and turned into a smaller side creek.

As the creek narrowed I saw more and more 'poons. Most were about 30 inches. At one point, we found a deep hole next to a mangrove hammock, where there were quite a few tarpon. As I cast to the spooking fish, there was a loud thump. Then another. I turned just in time to see a good sized tarpon leap full speed into the side of the boat. At this point all of us were doubled over in laughter. It was not funny, however, that I couldn't hook any of the tantalizingly close fish. The creek was less than 5 feet wide and 3 feet deep at most, so all the fish were quite conspicuous.

We bushwhacked through a tight spot in the 'groves and found a wide spot where we waited for the tarpon to show. Like clockwork, a nice school appeared moving towards us. I cast, and one broke off after my blue and yellow fly. I watched as it followed, opened its mouth, felt the hook hit, and then drop out. The hook wasn't as deathly sharp as it needed to be, and as a result, no fish. If you go tarpon fishing, use the best hooks you can find, because you may only get one shot. I did. Though we saw lots more tarpon, and had a lot of fun back in the creek, I never had another follow. We eventually got out of the creek and went back to a shallow flat for bonefish. We saw some fish so we got out to wade. There were certainly lots of bones on this flat, and I had some good chances, and even had a strike, but I didn't hook up. When we came to the end of the flat we returned to the boat and motored back to the parking lot.

The car wasn't there however. The best surprise of the trip came when the guides decided not to dump us and leave, but to chug out to the middle of the channel. "Bonefish?" I asked. "Yes," they replied, " blind cast." I wound up and threw a long cast across towards the mangroves. about a quarter of the way into my retrieve, there was another magical tug. I again raised the rod, and the fish took off on the typical bonefish run. It was perhaps the best bonefish of the day, and it came to net right as my mom pulled into the parking lot.

Five days later I returned to Boca Paila with my father. It was late afternoon and we hoped to find some bones on a wadeable flat. Unfortunately the sun angle was wrong, the water was too high and we couldn't see the bones even if they were there. We worked our way along the mangroves and I caught one small snapper, but fearful of getting caught on a rising tide, we headed back to fish the channel. I worked a popper through the current and had a hit from a small jack, but didn't hook it.

Before we left we stood on the bridge and looked down at a school of mullet circling around a sandbar.Suddenly a 40 inch barracuda swam lazily under the bridge. He disappeared into the channel and five seconds later, the school of mullet exploded. The 'cuda chased the frantically leaping mullet around the inlet for a minute before departing. It was a thrilling note to end on. As the sun slipped beneath the edge of the jungle, we loaded the car and headed home. Our time in paradise was over.