Sails of Tropic Star

by Dan Blanton

Brilliant shards of sunlight sliced through the billowing cumulus clouds that layered the tops of precipitous jungle mountains, like meringue on a Key Lime pie. It was late afternoon; it was hot, and the tropical sea beneath our 31-foot Bertram was calm, despite the fact that an Equatorial front drenched the coastal range every afternoon without fail.

As I leaned against the fighting chair, talking with Stu Apte, rivulets of sweat rushed down my forehead into my eyes, making them feel like I had just taken a hit from a can of cayenne pepper spray. My heart was still pounding as the surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins slowly subsided, and my arms still ached from lactic acid build-up. My back was another story. The best thing going at the moment, was the great feeling I had from just releasing a 115-pound Pacific sail that I had taken on a fly; and the magnificent taste of the ice cold, Panama beer I was chug-a-lugging as fast as humanly possible.

"Great job teasing, Stu.", I said, between slugs of brew. "I couldn't believe how many fish were trying to eat our teasers." "There must have been at least four, maybe five sails in that last pack."

"Yeah", replied Stu. "We had a hell of a time clearing all the teasers." "Had a fish on everyone of them, and there were two fighting over the main teaser when I yanked it from them so you could cast - incredible!"

"You know, Stu", I continued. "There have been several times during the last two days, when we have teased up multiple sails, pods of them ganging up on the baits." It would have been possible on several occasions to have gotten a double, had we wanted to. What do you think about giving it a try the next time opportunity presents itself?"

"Hey, sounds like a plan to me", Stu replied. "I'm up next and you're teasing - go for it if you get a chance!". "I'll do the same if the scenario is reversed".

It was the second day Stu and I had been able to share a boat together, and so far, it had been incredibly productive. Stu had already landed three good fish on fly that morning, and I had scored two; and even as we talked, the mate was quickly deploying freshly baited teasers, while our captain was turning the boat for a better angle from which to drag them through a froth of sheeting baitfish and diving birds, not 200 yards distant...

Stu Apte and I were both fly-rodding for Pacific Sailfish out of Pinas Bay, Panama, which is located about 200 miles south of Panama City, not far from the Columbian border. We were staying at Tropic Star Lodge, an angler's paradise renowned for its stellar service, comfort and unparalleled fishing opportunities.

We had come to Tropic Star the first week of May, 1993, to teach a billfish fly fishing school; and to those individuals who cancelled at the last minute, or who considered signing up but didn't... well, suffice it to say, you missed out on one incredible learning and angling experience - bad decision, guys, really bad!

For Stu, it was like returning to the wellspring of his love affair with billfish fly-rodding. He first visited the lodge in 1964, when he came down to check out Ray Smith's offer to manage the place. He took his first sail on a fly then, was thrilled about that, but not about the job, turning Smith down. Later he took a 90-day sabbatical from Pan Am to teach Smith's captains and mates the arts of big game angling.

It was deja vu again, for Stu, since in addition to instructing the billfish fly-fishing school, he and I also spent several hours teaching all of Tropic Star's Captains and Mates, proper teasing techniques.

Tropic Star lodge sits on 1,500 acres of incredibly beautiful, jungle real estate, encompassing all of Pinas bay. The lodge was built in 1961 by wealthy, Texas oil transport magnate, Ray Smith, who died a few short years later, in 1967. Smith's widow sold the lodge, which was then named Club de Pesca de Panama, shortly thereafter, to a Canadian corporation; and Edwin Kennedy, one of the principal stockholders, who owned Arctic Star Lodge, changed the name to Tropic Star lodge.

Following a severe Columbian earthquake in 1976, which caused a tremendous amount of damage to the property, Kennedy sold the lodge to Conway Kittridge, a gentleman who fell in love with the place at first sight. Kittridge wasn't even fully aware of Pinas Bay's big game potential, despite the fact that angling zealots, the likes of Zane Grey, had been extolling the virtues of the region's billfishing since before the days of the Great Depression. All Conway knew was that he just had to make this wondrous place a permanent fixture in his life; and he did.

Ray Smith spared no expense when he constructed his lodge back in 1961. And Conway Kittridge hasn't slacked a microbe either, when it comes to maintaining the quality and stature of the place; and despite the fact Tropic Star is 33 years old, its reputation as the premier billfishing destination, in all terms, is widely known. In fact, only a couple of weeks before making the trip down, I had the opportunity to chat with a couple of old friends, who both happen to be world class anglers - Del Brown and Len Bearden - and knowing they both have visited and fished most of the fabled billfish destinations, I asked which was their favorite. You know the answer - Tropic Star Lodge...

The first person you'll probably meet after walking the long length of the lodge's pier, up the walk between picturesque palms, passing under the Tropic Star welcome sign, will be Conway Kittridge's daughter, Terri Kittridge Andrews. The first thing you'll notice about Terri is her huge smile and her unabashed warmth and enthusiasm. She is the Hostess with the Mostess - a gal you'll enjoy being around.

Terri and her husband Mike now manage Tropic Star. Terri formerly managed the operation's booking office in Orlando, Florida, but after transporting some needed parts down to the lodge, she, too, became enamored with the place, deciding to stay on as its manager.

Both Terri and Mike love fishing, but Terri is the real angler of the two, once holding nine conventional line class world records. A few of them still stand.

Mike Andrews, formerly a machinist, air-conditioning and freezer mechanic, now retired from the Panama Canal Commission, runs the entire maintenance operation at Tropic Star. And quite an operation it is. Was I impressed. They have a complete machine shop with enough spare parts, including a complete engine and tranny, to make any repairs necessary to any one of the nine, 31-foot Bertrams they operate. There is a railway that lifts the boats from the beach to the shop; and three to four hours is the longest any boat would be down for repairs. At most other lodges, if the boat breaks, you're out-of-it unless they can scrounge up another.

The Bertram's were a delight to fly fish out of, boasting enormous, uncluttered cockpits and hulls that sliced through the occasional chop like the proverbial hot knife through butter.

In addition to the machine shop, which guarantees you'll be fishing when you should be, other lodge amenities include: spacious, well-appointed, air-conditioned rooms; swimming pool, maid and laundry service, bell boy service (you carry nothing the moment your feet hit the dock upon arrival); roomy main lodge, lounge/bar (with bartender and waiters), shaded cabana, and a glassed-in dinning room with a panoramic view. Meals will rival those of some of San Francisco's finest restaurants. You are waited on hand and foot - pampered to the hilt! Tropic star is a great place to take your non-fishing lady.

Tropic Star's fishing program is excellent: breakfast to order at 6:00 a.m., off the dock by 7:00 a.m. or earlier, a great basket lunch at sea, and you're heading back to the lodge by 4:00 p.m.. The bait reef is only 20 minutes distant, and believe me, getting plenty of fresh bonito or tuna for making "Panama" strip baits is extremely important. Changing the belly strip in your teaser every 20 to 30 minutes makes a profound difference in keeping raised sails interested, particularly in the afternoon, when their bellies are bulging. The farthest run up or down the coast to the fishing grounds is about 45 minutes, and often the best action is closer to port. Some of the fastest action occurs close to shore; and the ocean is usually calm. Additionally, there is no other competition. Tropic Star is the only operation in the area, and its a long hop by private boat from Panama City. The nearest road is 100 miles away.

The region is alive with bait, and on more than one occasion, we witnessed both sails and sharks balling bait, ripping into the silver mass with such a frenzy, the surface looked like the inside of an over-loaded Cuisinart. Horrified baitfish leaped frantically skyward, while Frigates circled and pelicans crash-dived into the brawl. Stu and I could have easily casted to, and hooked bait-blasting sails two or three times, but since we were videoing teasing techniques, we didn't seize the opportunity. Others, like Florida-based, Outdoors Writers, Steve Waters and Walt Jennings, two of our students, did however, with Jennings hooking and landing a beaut that came from a pack of surface marauders.

Our first day at Tropic star, after settling in, was spent teaching our six students, knots, rigging and fish-fighting techniques. While Stu and I didn't always agree on certain methods, we did agree that there was more than one right way to do things, and we tried to give our students a complete overview of what fly-fishing for billfish was about. Within a couple of hours we had everyone fully rigged and ready to go. The plan from then on was to spend time in the evenings after dinner, adding to, and refining what they had learned. Stu and I each were going to try to spend a day with each pair of students, aboard their boat to help with the teasing, and to coach them.

Fishing was so good that week, that every student landed more than one sail on a fly, some boated several. Every one of them improved their technique ten-fold, a couple of them reducing fighting time from more than an hour on an average-sized fish, to less than 20 minutes.

Our students fished a full six days, while Stu and I managed to get in three days. During that period, the group raised more than 250 sails, hooked 183, and boated 38. That's not too shabby by any standard. Sails are tough critters on fly tackle, and are damned near as hard to get a hook into, and then keep it there, as a tarpon.

My roommate for the duration was our video cameraman, Karl Anderson, one great guy, who I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know. In addition to being an accomplished cameraman, Karl has more than 15 years of offshore angling experience, world-wide. He brought down a trove of teasers, which helped to increase our productivity by a marked degree. It was a special thrill for me, to tease up Karl's first fly-rod sail. He hooked the critter, but lost it when the class tippit parted. You need to understand, however, that Karl had never held a fly rod in his hand before he received the five minute casting lesson I gave him, while standing in the cockpit of our boat. It was the last day, very near quitting time, and while we tried to raise another fish for Karl, it just didn't happen.

As I sat there, finishing up my beer, cooling down and pondering a possible sailfish double, the captain suddenly kicked up the engine rpm's a couple of hundred - a sure sign he had sighted thrusting bills and burgeoning sails thrashing the surface into foamy whorls of white water and frantic bait.

We quickly closed the distance, the captain skillfully maneuvering the boat so only the teasers would pass through the carnage. All eyes were locked on the teasers and everyone was ready for the inevitable. We knew sails would attack the teasers; just how many was anybody's guess.

Almost in perfect unison, all aboard yelled "sail!", and the scramble was on to man the teasers.

It was my job to do the teasing for Stu, so I snatched up the main teasing rod; the mate took the second, and both Karl and Stu quickly hand-hauled the flat line and daisy chain from the water.

The moment we had the two teasing rods in hand, Stu yelled "NEUTRAL!, just like he'd done all the previous times. He insisted the boat go into neutral the moment a sail first nailed a teaser. Most anglers and crews, keep the boat on the troll until the fish has been teased into casting distance, which means the boat will still be "on the slide" (moving) when the cast is made. Apte insists the boat be dead in the water when the fly is tossed. We never had a problem drawing the sail to the boat using Stu's technique, and when the fish was in range, there was no prop-wash to obscure the fly or the fish. Not one hungry sail, properly teased, ever lost interest or refused the fly.

Sails were everywhere! At least a half dozen were crashing and slashing at the teasers the mate and I were working. I had to slow down the crank on my reel so the mate could rip his teaser through the gang of billfish first, removing it from the water so only mine would remain. I had a helluva time keeping a fish from swallowing my bonito-laced chugger, and more than once during the process, I thought the rod would be ripped from my hand.

As I continued working the fish, Stu, nonchalantly strolled over to his rod, picked it up, and took his sweet time about readying for the cast. He was making a point for the camera, that you have plenty of time to get set.

"Are you ready!", I asked, trying to maintain my cool. "I'm having a tough time keeping these things from eating the teaser off the end of the line!"

"NOW!", commanded Stu.

At about 40 feet I ripped the teaser from the water with enough force that it rocketed past the bow, splattering back into the pacific. While I ran for my camera, Stu was setting the hook into the massive mouth of a big sail.

The enraged critter screamed off like a Polaris missile out of control, careening wildly in and out of the water, providing a display of magnificent leaps as it headed for Guam. Stu was calmly slipping on his white cotton gloves, preparing to kick butt, and I was at the starboard rail trying to get a jump-shot, when I noticed my teasing rod about to be yanked overboard.

"What the hell!" I muttered, as I grabbed the rod with one hand, setting down my Nikon with the other. Again the rod was almost ripped from my grip. One of the other electrified sails had grabbed the teaser as it sank and was trying to swallow it.

I quickly snatched the teaser from the fish, making sure this time it landed in the boat; and while the enraged sail thrashed the surface looking for its lost meal, I grabbed my fly rod, ripped 30 feet of shooting line off the spool and praying it wouldn't tangle, made a back-handed cast to the fish.

It garbaged the fly; and we had our double!

Stu's fish was well into his backing by then; and as my sail crossed under Stu's line, leaping and porpoising across the ocean, my fluorescent green, mono shock-line was glowing in the sunlight, like a Star Wars light sword.

Just as we were congratulating each other on our double, passing our rods over and under, to keep from tangling lines, Stu's fish fell off. "Damn!", I said to myself.

However, as Stu was cranking back his string, another sail nailed his fly and he was "on" again - "alright!", the team chorused.

That fish jumped, shook its head and came unbuttoned too; and again Stu found himself cranking in a fishless fly, line and backing; and again, another sail slammed his fly, jumped and got off. In all, the scenario repeated itself four times, for a total of five different sails being hooked and jumped by Stu during a single teasing session. Although Stu landed 10 sails on a fly in just three days of fishing, that last session was the highlight of the trip for him - hooking five sails on a single cast, was something he would not soon forget.

I did manage to land my sail, making it three for the day, seven for the trip; and while there were some previously exhilarating battles, I would have to ditto Stu's feelings that this was, indeed, the crescendo of the adventure, quite possibly, the highlight of my entire billfish fly-rodding career...

THE IMAGES