Fishing Action Along Colombia’s Wild Choco Coast

Anglers head out for a stormy day on the water aboard Bizcocho. Jess McGlothlin

The boat picks up speed, spray kicking up alongside as we point the bow north and angle away from the rainstorms descending the green hills en route to Bahía Solano. I kick off my flip-flops and settle in for the ride, 10- and 12-weight rods already rigged and ready to grab at the first sight of busting tuna. I study the local fishing village as we slide past, heading into the rich blue waters of the Pacific. 

Ahead lay the next stretch of this particular journey: the 60-odd-mile run up the Colombian coastline toward the border with Panama. On our right stretched the densely canopied jungle of the roadless, rainforested and infamous Darién Gap. On our left, the mighty Pacific Ocean reached toward the horizon.

I was here for both. 

Most of us have heard mention of the Darién Gap on the news; maybe you’ve read an article or two about the prolific smuggling trades happening in the lawless no-man’s land between Colombia’s mainland and Panama. What you perhaps haven’t heard are tales of the Pacific coastline of the Darién—stories of the many fish species that call these waters home, and of the captains and fishing guides who spend their days chasing them.

We pick up speed, zipping along the coastline. Behind me, guide Eduardo trades a rapid-fire story in Spanish with Capt. Wilmer and mate Camillo, and all three laugh. They’re as keen to get to the fishing as we three anglers sharing the boat are. There’s a lot of water to cover between the town and the lodge, and those 60 miles should hold the first shots at fish this trip. For the moment, I smile, holding on with my cameras in my lap, eyeing the open water ahead. 

Ashley casts for roosterfish and tarpon while Grillo and Ale keep an eye out for signs of baitballs. Jess McGlothlin Where the Wild Things Are

I’ve been fortunate enough to toss a fly in the water in many storied places around the world. Something about the waters off the Darién Gap, however, rings different. The seafloor drops away sharply from the coast here, and a mere 20-mile run from Bahía Solano can put boats in more than 10,000 feet of water. This sharp drop-off means species that would often patrol far offshore come in close. It’s possible to hook into yellowfin tuna, snapper and even sailfish with the rainforest looming overhead.

Sailfish are perhaps what capture my attention the most. One morning, angler Anthony hooks into a sailfish less than 15 minutes after we leave Punta Ardita Beach, home to Darién Lodge. We don’t troll—free-swimming sails are present in strong-enough numbers that we have shots at swarms of them. And who would want to troll when you can target free-swimming sailfish first thing in the morning? 

But sails aren’t the only targets at hand. The spring months bring a massive sardine migration to these waters, and the schools of baitfish draw in numbers of cubera snapper and yellowfin tuna. The process feels a bit like playing whack-a-mole. We head to a promising fishing ground each morning, looking for the telltale birds swirling overhead. Anglers get ready with rods—one fisherman in the front, one in the back of the boat—and as soon as the birds start diving, we jet over, often gliding in just as the blitz surfaces. If it’s snapper, the sea turns red, the bright bodies of the fish contrasting sharply against the dark water. We toss flies or lures in and start stripping madly. There’s yelling, shouting—it’s chaos. Chaos of the best kind. Often more than one angler hooks up, and we’re triaging hauling fish up and getting them off the hooks so we can throw in again.

A productive day on the Choco Coast, from running out in the skiff to catching tuna and snapper, is never boring. Jess McGlothlin

Whoever said fishing isn’t physical hasn’t had to wrestle in a 40-pound snapper or tuna on a 10-weight fly rod.

We fish three anglers to a boat, a mix of fly and gear anglers, and often two people will actively fish while the third either catches their breath with a beer or helps manage fly lines and the general chaos of the boat. It’s a mix of chaos—usually controlled chaos—and laughter. Between running-and-gunning from blitz to blitz, we all look at each other, wide-eyed and grinning. This is what we came for. We might be tired and sore at the end of each day, but we’re happy. Deliriously so.

It’s not just a snapper-and-tuna game in these waters either; there are plenty of species to target. Other fish I’ve seen pulled from the Choco Coast include green jack, yellow snapper, skipjack, grouper, needlefish, African pompano, roosterfish and even tarpon. It’s a veritable playground for anglers willing to get creative, try new ways of fishing, and put in the work. 

And there are plenty of fish to go around. “Atún para todos” becomes a phrase in our boat—tuna for everyone. 

Sleep, eat, catch and release—not a bad routine at Darién Lodge. Jess McGlothlin Punta Ardita and Darién Lodge 

Days on the water are long at Darién Lodge, averaging 10 hours and sometimes more like 12. It’s a lot of time spent fishing, and a lot of time essentially weightlifting fish into the boat. When the time comes to rest and refuel, however, the experience matches the caliber of the fishing. Many evenings after a long day on the water, I find myself sitting in the lodge pool, looking out over the little sandy cove that is home to the village of Punta Ardita, the lodge itself, and a little Colombian military spike tent camp from the nearby base at Jurado. I watch the scene, a coconut in one hand and a plate of exceedingly fresh sashimi and mango at the ready. 

We might be in the middle of nowhere, but we’re certainly not roughing it.

Darién Lodge consists of a series of well-outfitted private cabins and an open-air dining-lounge area that opens up to the pool and the beach beyond. Meals are carefully executed by chef Saudy and consist of very traditional—and rather excellent—fresh Colombian food. To no one’s surprise, tuna is featured at nearly every meal, and we’re also treated to a wide variety of preparations of plantains, rice and avocado. The mango trees near the lodge offer a steady supply of fresh fruit, and the military men stationed adjacent are more than willing to help knock some down with a long stick they’ve acquired. Life’s simple on this beach: fish, rest, eat, sleep. Watch the soldiers head into the jungle on patrol each morning and return each evening. Sip fresh coconut water while floating in the pool. It’s a strange mix of a resort experience and a broadcast we’d see on TV—the kind of place you wouldn’t believe until you see it yourself. 

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Sometimes it’s best to explore on two feet. Ashley looks around for snapper and other species in a lagoon not far from the lodge. Jess McGlothlin Welcome to the Nature Channel 

Some of the most memorable moments come when we don’t have lines in the water. It’s something I’ve noted while chasing fish in strange corners of the world—as much as the fishing is the reason why we end up in certain places, sometimes it’s the ancillary moments that help cement the experience. Whether it’s watching the lodge’s pet spider monkey, Choco, eat her breakfast mango and then promptly steal a beer someone left lying around from the night before, or getting to the common area early to watch the sun warm the horizon and enjoy a cup of coffee in the predawn half-light, those quiet moments help form the feel of a place.

After one week of fishing, it’s guest Tony, wonderfully enthusiastic and an utter pleasure to be around, who best sums it up. It’s midweek; we’ve been fishing hard, bringing snapper and tuna to the boat in droves, fishing through rain, sun and all sorts of weather. Tony hails from Seattle and, to this day, remains one of the most engaging and utterly enjoyable anglers I’ve had the pleasure to share a boat with. We’re sitting on the bow deck as we change fishing spots, talking about life and luck and everything in between. Boat talk.

We’ve seen whale sharks nearly every day around the baitballs, their big, dotted, slow-moving bodies impossible to miss as they sail around the chaos of baitfish. Every time, we all turn into little kids in awe of a new creature; rods are forgotten as we strain to catch the best glimpse of the giants in the water. As the movement of the boat pushes some of the hot, humid air away, Tony and I watch the steep lines of the rainforest-laden mountains of the Darién Gap, wondering what’s happening underneath that canopy. Birds abound, fish of all kinds are in the water, and the place itself fairly glimmers with activity.

Tony turns to me with a grin that’s both honest and content. “It’s like we’re in the Nature Channel.”

I find myself grinning back, my eyes moving to the green mountains rising sharply from the water. It does indeed feel like this could be an episode of the old PBS program I remember watching as a kid. I’ve found it’s a rare thing to get to spend time on the water with people who can truly be as in awe of the place itself as they are of the fishing. These people can see the experience in a wild place for what it is. They can celebrate each fish caught but also sit back with a coconut at the end of the day and toast to just watching the sun set and the fact that we get to go to these places to chase these fish. And sometimes, when we’re very lucky, we meet incredible people along the way.

Here’s to sharing more time on the water with the people who see the whole picture. And to chasing more tuna and snapper in the waters of the Choco Coast.

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