HUNTING THE OCELLATED TURKEY

ADVENTURE IN CAMPECHE, MEXICO – HUNTING THE OCELLATED TURKEY

The staccato rattle of a male, oscellated, wild turkey echoed through the steamy jungles of Dzibalchan in Campeche State, Mexico. I had waited for decades to hear the “singing” of the male oscellated turkey.
I had traveled to Campeche City, Mexico at the invitation of The Director of Tourism, Lic. Luis Augusto Garcia Rosado. We had enjoyed dinner together on a previous trip to Campeche and laid plans for my return. My first trip evolved out of my interest in catching bay tarpon in the Los Petenes Biosphere Reserve near Campeche. Cpt. Miguel Encalada, my fishing guide, had arranged the meeting with Rosado. A friendship and plan to improve tourism in Campeche quickly developed among our trio.
My recent trip to Campeche involved two weeks of tarpon fishing, exploring historical areas of Campeche and the surrounding area, visiting Mayan ruins sites and hunting for the elusive oscellated turkey in the dense jungles of the Yucatan.
I spent the first week of my journey in the company of Cpt. Miquel Encalada and his boat man Mikey, a Maya Indian, who spoke very little English. Their combined capabilities took me through endless miles of mangrove jungles, into bays, lagoons and freshwater creeks entering the Gulf of Mexico. Catching my first tarpon on a flyrod proved to be one of the outdoor highlights of my life. Tail-walking across the surface of the gin-clear waters of the lagoon, the fish made a desperate attempt to escape the sting of my fly. After a few quick photos, I slid the silver king back into the water to fight another day.
My fishing days came to a close all too quickly. However, I had eagerly awaited the second leg of my journey as I had the first. A driver from the tourism commission took me the two hours from Campeche to the Merida airport to meet Ray Eye, a renowned turkey hunter from the states. We arrived back at the Campeche Plaza Hotel at 12:30 a.m. Our wake-up call came at 2:30 a.m.
Our driver hauled us an hour and a half away to the small community of Dzibalchen to the southeast of Campeche. Our original outfitter had to cancel because of a serious auto accident in the family. Upon arriving at Dzibalchen, we were met by Senor Jorge Sansores and Mayan guide Aureolia. Sansores explained that his hunting lodge had already closed for the season, because of the hot weather and the additional fact that Aureolia and his family had moved into the lodge.
Just across the street from the lodge, a residential home, sat a dilapidated open-air shed. It became our headquarters for our hunt. We would meet there each morning and return there about 10 a.m. each mooring for a mid-day meal and a much needed siesta.
Ray Eye and I loaded hunting and camera gear into the tourism van. We were accompanied by two Maya Indian guides, the driver and Sansores’ son. The van struggled to negotiate the rough roads leading through the jungles.
Shortly, we broke out into large corn and soybean fields which had been harvested. The earlier word of Senor Sansores began to make sense. Two nights previously at the hotel he had told me if we would visit in late February or March, he could show us flocks of 300 to 400 oscellated turkeys. I doubted what he said, because all the film footage I had seen of oscellated turkeys showed them being hunted in dense jungles. Hunters stalked the birds and shot them out of trees.
Seven miles into the jungle, we reached our hunting destination. Our guides unloaded the gear and motioned for Eye and me to follow. We traipsed through the red earth of a freshly plowed corn field, next to jungle so thick you couldn’t see two feet into it.
A mile down the field, our guides pointed to a path through the jungle. They lead us only a few feet before pausing in a small opening they had hacked out with machetes. Each guide promptly unfolded a couple of camp chairs and indicated we should take a seat. It quickly dawned on me that we were going to hunt turkeys which would be feeding in the corn field. Eye and I each had the same thoughts. Neither of us had ever seen video footage or written material about hunting oscellated turkeys in agricultural fields.
Well before daylight we heard the first rattle of a singing gobbler. We were ecstatic. Eye began recording the sounds immediately. Soon we heard wing beats as a bird flew from its roost perhaps 50 yards behind us. Aureolia pointed to the other side of the field where the turkey had landed. “Muy grande,” he whispered to us. Looking through his camera lense, Eye indicated that the bird appeared quite large.
The majestic gobbler entertained us nonstop for two hours, but never approached the blind. It faded into the jungle from which it had emerged, singing every few minutes Aureolia pulled a small camcorder from his coat pocket and began showing us video he had captured on other hunts. We could not believe what we were seeing. Hundred of turkeys milled around in the fields. He also had video of mountain lions, peccaries and other wildlife. Ray Eye and I vowed to return next February.
The heat became stifling and we headed to the shed. Cold soda and sandwiches awaited us. Sansores pointed to several hammocks he had hung inside the shade of the shed. Eye is a big lad and watching him crawl into a hammock proved entertaining. He fell asleep almost immediately. Within minutes I read something rustling around outside. A small flock of chickens wandered thought the shed. All went well until a rooster decided to crow near Eye’s hammock. Eye darned near yanked the shed down from his surprise.
At 3 p.m. we headed back to our hide in the edge of the jungle. Sweat trickled down our backs as we settled into our chairs planning to hunt until darkness fell.
Aureolia consistently checked the field with his Nikon binoculars fro any movement in the field in front of us. During one of his breaks from scanning, he caught movement to our left. “Turkey,” he whispered. Eye turned his camera slowly in the direction our guide had pointed. I was the shooter.
“Where is it, Ray?” I asked. He said it was only 25 yards out, but I couldn’t see it through the dense brush.
“Shoot it,” Eye commanded. I couldn’t see the bird. We needed this turkey badly. Eye motioned that he had lost sight of the bird. He panned his video camera searching for any movement. Less than a minute later, the gobbler stood 5 feet away, poking its head into the edge of our blind.
“Don’t move,” I whispered. “It is 5 feet away.” The gobbler moved down the edge of the jungle. At 7 yards, the gobbler started to turn into the jungle. I whispered to Eye and he said to shoot it, even though he couldn’t see it. “We need this turkey,” he said.
I raised the bead of the ancient shotgun to the top edge of the gobbler’s head and fired. The magnificent bird went down in a heap. Everyone in the blind erupted in approval as I headed to my prize. I had completed a lifelong dream.
Campeche State is the safest place in all of Mexico. The entire of Yucatan Peninsula is safe as well. Campeche City is an old Spanish Colonial town full of art, culture, history, beautiful parks and churches and warm, friendly, people.
To book your oscellated turkey hunting adventure, contact www.campechetourism.com or www.snookinnhunting.com.mx. Check out www.outdoorlife.com/chasingspring to view more about this turkey hunt.




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Chasing the Baby Tarpon of Campeche Bay

Bill Cooper

3/10

The faint smell of saltwater invaded my nostrils as Cpt. Miquel Encalada brought his Mako flats boat up on plane and sped across the mirror smooth waters of Campeche Bay, Mexico. “Welcome, amigo, to the world of Tarpon Bay,” he said through a tanned face full of gleaming white teeth. “Our adventure begins.”

Indeed, I had just begun an adventure for which I had waited a lifetime to experience. Visions of the ‘Silver King’ leaping to the sky filled my mind. For well over 50 years I had only read of these great fish in the pages of Outdoor Life and Saltwater Magazine. Now, I would pen my own story.
The unique baby tarpon destination of Tarpon Bay is located on the western gulf area of the Yucatan Peninsula. Sight fishing is the expectation in 1-to-5-feet of crystal clear water in the UNESCO Los Petenes Biosphere Reserve, which runs some 80 miles from the edge of Campeche City to the border of the Yucatan State. Vast areas of mangroves, turtle grass flats and an uncountable number of channels provide feeding and resting places for back country tarpon. Anxious anglers may fish all day long without casting a fly to the same waters twice.
Cpt. Encalada has spent all of his life on or near the water somewhere in Mexico and Central America. His charming wit and uncanny knowledge of the environment around him soon had me at perfect ease. He had voluntarily explained in our first conversation by e-mail that I was making the trip at the worst possible time of the year to catch tarpon. I insisted we give it a shot regardless of the cool weather and expected windy conditions. I would be teal hunting prior to the fishing trip and hunting had been superb near Sisal in the Yucatan.
After a run of 27 nautical miles in the flats boat, Cpt. Encalada slowed the skiff to a halt. His boat man, Mike xxx, a local man of short stature and Mayan decent, immediately took charge of the craft poling into position for the first fly cast of the day to the massive tangles of the mangrove jungles.
At my request Cpt. Encalda had invited along on the trip his good friend Alberto Avila, an experienced tarpon fisherman. Avila and Encalada would alternate on the bow of the boat casting to cruising tarpon. Because of a tender shoulder, I would limit my flycasting to only two hours or less. However, my time behind the camera proved as rewarding as fishing itself.
Equipped with an 8-weight, 9-foot Sage rod with matching reel, Avila began casting to the mangroves where a freshwater creek entered the bay. Despite Cpt. Encalada’s honesty about the possibilities of fish being few and far between, I fully expected the purple and black Tarpon Toad on Avila’s line to disappear as soon as it hit the water. The incredible wild, seemingly untouched by man beauty of the mangrove wetlands captivated my spirit and I secretly hoped for Avila’s success at landing a baby tarpon.
I questioned Encalada unmercifully as he scouted the waters ahead while Avila made cast after cast to promising looking tarpon lairs. He fielded every question with poise and confidence, no doubt having heard each inquiry hundreds of times from fishermen over the years.
Beginning tarpon fishermen can reasonably expect to cast their flylines 35-to-45-feet and catch fish. However, having the skill to cast 60-feet makes the guide’s job much easier because of the spooky nature of tarpon.
Encalada’s voice crackled with excitement as he chattered in Spanish to Avila and simultaneously pointed to a tarpon which had just rolled to the right. “Cast in front of the line of bubbles,” he instructed Avila with the authority of a Pittsburgh Steelers football coach.
Mike turned the boat perfectly aligning Avila for his next cast. One, two, three false casts and Avila’s Tarpon Toad landed two feet in front of the cruising tarpon. The fish exploded into action, spooked by the fly rather than enticed to strike.
“Tarpon are the wariest fish in the mangroves,” Encalada explained. “That was a perfect cast, but tarpon can be really tough some days.”
Cpt. Encalada continued my tarpon education as Mike poled the boat towards another rolling tarpon. “A falling tide flowing from the mangroves makes for better fishing,” he explained. “And the faster the flow, the better the fishing conditions because more food becomes available with the faster flow.”
“Tarpon, tarpon,” Cpt. Encalada excitedly whispered to Avila. “Cast to one o’clock,” he chattered as he pointed towards a hole in the mangroves. “Perfect. He sees the fly. Strip, strip, strip. Stop. Stop. Strip, strip. He’s chasing. Strip faster!”
My heart pounded heavily as the action unfolded in front of me. A flash of silver charged towards the fly. It missed and streaked for the cover of the mangroves. Our foursome sounded like a ‘choir of anguish’ as we aired grand sighs in unison.
I clearly understood how tarpon fishing gets in the blood so quickly. The adventure contains all the elements of a great drama. Highs, lows, surprises, planned approaches, spooky fish, love, hatred, respect, disdain, admiration and above all a longing desire to return to the hunt in the mangroves over and over.
Cpt. Encalada rotated to the bow. He soon spotted a couple of cruising fish and bowed at the waist as he cast to create a lower profile on the boat. Mike closed the distance to the fish. Encalada false cast numerous times and laid 70 feet of line out perfectly. Well, almost. The water erupted as the line drifted to the surface. Some expletives, which I did not understand, rolled from Encalada’s native tongue. “I overcast them by two feet,” he explained. “The flyline spooked them.”
In the course of moving the flats boat from one area to another, Cpt. Encalada continued my education about the rich and colorful history of the Mayan culture. He pointed out that there are more Mayan ruins in the state of Campeche than any other area of Mexico. However, Campeche is just now beginning to develop their ruins for visitors.
My education about fishing for baby tarpon continued as well. I was all ears. Basic equipment is essential to all anglers and a good guide can save anglers many hours of failure and frustration. Cpt. Encalada patiently explained every aspect of the necessary equipment for flyfishing for baby tarpon.
Encalada spotted several tarpon from 5 to 12 pounds cruising in and out of the mangroves. He quickly tied on a chartreuse Tarpon Toad, gave Mike instructions for boat position and began his false casts. The toad landed perfectly, just a few feet in front of the school of silver fish. The largest fish looked more like 20 pounds to me.
Encalada stripped his line once, twice and the action happened so fast at that moment that it all remains a blur of my fishing memory. I later referred to his actions at the strike as the Tarpon Toad Two Step. As he had instructed me, Encalada set the hook by lowering his rod tip, while simultaneously stripping the line across his left hip and sweeping the rod hard to the right. The swift action appeared as graceful as the moves of a well trained ballerina.
The blue, Sage rod arched heavily and the whir of line burning from the reel echoed in my sunburned ears. “Music of the tarpon symphony,” I thought to myself. The moment of tarpon magic had arrived. The King of the mangroves had entered in grand fashion, a moment burned on my gray matter which I shall never forget.
Encalada ran the boat to one beautiful location after another – islands, freshwater springs bubbling up from the bay bottom, canals, lagoons and beaches. He even graciously allowed me a few moments to cast to barracudas with my Ardent baitcaster, the only reel now made in America. David Gray, the company’s founder had graciously sent a pair of reels with me for testing. The barracuda gave the delightful reels a heavy duty work out, but the handsome reels performed magnificently.
My lifelong dreams had been more than fulfilled. However, my heart still pounds in my dreams when I once again envision the first baby tarpon that charged from under the tangled roots of the mangroves and chased my fly which I stripped rapidly straight towards me. Head to head and face to face with the King. My return to experience the rush once again will, indeed, not be soon enough!
Note: Mexico has experienced tremendous drops in its tourist industry because of flu and drug scares, which have grossly exaggerated by U.S. media. Almost all of the drug problems are centered in northern Mexico. I felt very safe everywhere I traveled in southern Mexico. The people were warm and friendly. I strolled the city streets of Campeche at night, enjoying fine food, live music and entertainment totally relaxed and refreshed from the magical atmosphere that is Mexico. To find out more about baby tarpon fishing, check Cpt. Encalada’s website at: www.campecheflyfishingtarponbay.com.mx. For tourism information about this beautiful Spanish colonial city go to: www.secretario@campechetravel.com.mx. Or e-mail me at: brcooper@dishmail.net.