It’s a Pacific Northwest tradition: when winter sets in, anglers flee the short days, rain, snow, and ice for white sand flats and palm trees. It sounds inviting — unless you’re a winter steelhead guide, which I am. In that case, you wait for another window to get your fix of light beer, palm trees, and sight fishing.
Late in the steelhead season, once moss takes hold in my beard, a certain client’s mantra echoes in my head:
“Tarpon and Beer. Let’s get the F$%K out of here!”
May and June slow down for both steelhead guides and anglers, making it the perfect time to sneak off to the flats. Come July, steelhead return — but after years of low rivers and high heat, I’m easily convinced: it’s also a great month to chase permit, GTs, bonefish, and anything else swimming the azure waters near the equator.
That’s my rationale, anyway. With this mentality I have embarked on a journey across three countries and two continents in an attempt to quell the thirst for sight fishing and cold beer. After a quick detour east to chase tarpon and permit in the Caribbean, the trip will follow a western trajectory. The first stop in the western leg will be Christmas Island, the world’s largest coral atoll, teaming with bonefish, trigger and GTs. It’s been years since I was there and this trip, twice cancelled by COVID, is long over due. Christmas Island will be a stepping stone of sorts, a resting spot in the vast Pacific between North America and the Australian continent. The logical step would be to set sail from CXI across the pacific for Australia, exploring the seemingly infinite atolls along the way. At last that is not in the cards, no sailing experience, this time and so after a short return home to central Oregon I will make the 14 hour flight to Australia and the infamous Blue Bastards of Cape York. In many ways Australia feels like the final, final frontier. A vast, largely uninhabited country and continent, roughly half of which lies north of the Tropic of Capricorn. With two species of permit, giant trevally, the endemic blue bastard and countless other flats and pelagic fish it is a place that makes the hair on my arms stand up when I talk about it.
Part of travel is memories of the places you visit once you return home. My house is full of pieces of art, delicious olive oils, rocks and shells that I have acquired during my travels around the world. Mementos, souvenirs, trinkets, whatever you call them, these items are visual, tactical and mouth-watering reminders of trips with friends and family and have the ability to transport me back to these places and experiences. I can’t say that I will not return from these trips with similar reminders. However, this particular adventure needed something other than a frequent flyer account to link these three incredible fisheries together in my memories. No, this is not my pitch of a meme coin. With the help of Winston Fly Rods and a multi-rod tube designed to look like the beautiful tube that every Winston rods comes in, I have a canvass on which I can collect art, quotes and the signatures of every guide, client and unique character I meet along the way.
So, travel season begins. Time to dust off the passport, restock the fluorocarbon and crab flies, and pull out the 9–11 weight single hand fly rods. I’m fortunate to have a quiver of Winston Air 2 Max rods ready to go. If you see me in an airport, local watering hole or waiting on a ride, come say hello and add your name to what is sure to be an incredible summer.
Episode 1: Puerto Rico
First stop: Puerto Rico. Five days of off-the-charts tarpon fishing.
After a wild night soaking in the energy of Old San Juan and a morning wandering its historic streets, we hit the road to No Name Lodge in Salinas. The waterfront pulsed with weekend vibes — packed bars, music, mojitos, and locals embracing the moment. We joined right in, maybe a little too much, and definitely a little too late into the night.
The first thing that struck me about Salinas? The fishery’s incredible variety. Over five days, we poled mangrove lagoons, winding rivers, beachside flats, and some of the most jaw-dropping white sand and coral points I’ve ever fished. Tarpon showed up everywhere. If you dialed in the presentation, they ate — visually, violently, and without hesitation.
That first 30 seconds after the eat was chaos: line flying, hands scrambling, the fish launching into acrobatics.
Tarpon fishing in Puerto Rico delivers a wild juxtaposition. One minute, you’re floating alone over glassy Caribbean flats. The next, you’re battling a fish beneath hurricane-damaged piers, Bad Bunny and highway noise playing in the background. Somehow, it works — and you want more.
The mangrove lagoons and rivers held tarpon in the 25–40 pound range — perfect targets for the Air 2 Max 9’ 9wt paired with a Bauer SLT. The rod had the backbone to handle the fight, the sensitivity for short casts, and the precision for long ones. Lightweight and responsive, it made hundreds of shots each day feel effortless.
On the beachside and barrier flats, I reached for the 10wt AIR 2 MAX. The extra power helped cut through the wind and wrangle the larger fish. These flats held 40–50 pounders, with a few 60+ cruising through. Not Florida behemoths, but plenty big enough to spike your heart rate as they ghosted across the white sand.
And Puerto Rico isn’t just about tarpon…
With favorable tides, we walked permit flats along the southern coast each morning. We spotted solo tailers in the shallows and fired shots at fish shadowing rays and nurse sharks. Even while tarpon fishing, we found permit on the outside flats.
That’s why I kept a 9wt rigged with a crab fly, ready on standby. I’ve grown fond of the 8’6” 9wt Max for permit — shorter, faster, and capable of generating tight loops and high tip speed with heavy flies. No lobbing required. It handled 20–60 foot casts with ease — the sweet spot for most permit shots. I can’t wait to test it on triggers at CXI and Aussie permit on the next two legs of the journey.
As usual, the permit won. But no one cared. After each close call, everyone’s eyes widened like dinner plates.
No one wanted to leave. We all could’ve used a few more days in Puerto Rico — soaking in the views, chasing fish, and riding that tarpon-induced high.
Now, back home, I’m cleaning gear, editing photos, walking the dog — and repacking.
The South Pacific is calling.
It’s travel season.
