“Why do you want to go to Honduras for spring break?”

“To fish”

“Honduras has the highest murder rate you know…”

“Technically we’re going off the coast so well be fine…”

We needed something rogue for spring break. The winter has done it’s toll. The Boys are sick of it. I mean it seems like you can only go for so long without seeing the sun, not to mention we couldn’t even see running water. The evils of Vermont winters. We had to do something about it. We knew it involved fishing and the continuation our rogue ways of food consumption and toxic intakes. But more importantly the fish. Yeah…. The fish.

The Big One asked his guru where we should go to fish saltwater on the fly. Roatan Honduras was his suggestion. Upon further research the consensus was it was not rogue enough, and there were too many people around the island. We wanted more space, less inhabitants. Soon enough we stumbled across Roatan’s neighboring sister, Guanaja, the hidden gem of Central American waters.

I was getting my liquid courage going at Nectors, just a casual Tuesday night, seeing what the local female UVM culture was looking like when they came in. The Big One and DR. J coming in hot! Didn’t expect to be blessed by their presence, but glad as hell that they came in to save me. I’m not much of a jam bandy person. GUANAJA BABY!! The hype was contagious as they both agreed on our destination. I had already sided with Guanaja, so I was just waiting for these two boys to figure out their positions. All’s a go. The Big One bounced, as he is currently occupied by a significant other, but me and J were ready to get after it. We sat down at a table, gorged ourselves on someone else’s plate of cold tots, and began dreaming of our trip. Guanaja. Guanaja. Guanaja.

A few years ago Hurricane Mitch decided to hover over the Island of Guanaja for a couple of days, rearranging the flats into the perfect habitat for trophy fish. Tarpon, Bonefish, and Permit are all regulars there. We had to see this for ourselves. School became second priority as the preparation began. I was visiting the library regularly, but just to watch salt water fishing videos, and researching the Island of Guanaja. School can wait.

Flies, leader, tippet, hooks, materials, rods, reels, flats boots, spear gun the list goes on. We had two duffle bags each in the airport. All of it was gear. I wore the same board-shorts and button up shirt the entire trip. Yes I wore a button up on the flats.


Thanks to the PigFarmInk Nor-Eastah crew we were able to learn how to tie our own leaders the night before departure. A skill we are all lucky to know. We would have been screwed without it. Barracudas were biting through even our wire tippet. The dream became a reality and we were off, in style of course, showing up to the airport in New York at2:00 AM pretty sauced, running up the down escalator to get to the tram. The Rogue Boys make a scene at the terminal.

Our induced blackout lightens as we stumble into the Roatan airport. “Dude, do you even remember the El Salvador airport?” We were there a few hours ago but no we didn’t. The only part of El Salvador I remember was wandering off trying to buy a SD card for my GoPro. Good thing yo hablo espanol, un poco. A puddle jumper comes every few hours on Saturdays to take people from Roatan to Guanaja. We had a few hours to wait. I mean we had a few hours to drink beers aggressively and crush the airport scene. The Mad Hewy made a VERY friendly acquaintance, a cute blonde whos claim to fame is a butt pic on the Chive. Me and Grit proceeded to break the rules of open beers outside as we shared a smoke. We met Stone, a limerick reciting crack head. He honey potted us for 5 bucks for a recitation of Cocaine’s story. The time had finally arrived, not too early as we may have been getting too rowdy to be in an airport in a foreign country.


If it’s possible to get kicked off a plane we would have surely been ask to exit ours. Hollering the Rogue Boy screeches as the plane flies over the Bay Islands of Honduras. The pilots asked for us to stay seated, The Big One stood in the doorway of the cockpit filming the pilots. Scence.

James Mugele