Minutes after dropping our lines and just as the sun drops below the jungle canopy, Bob Greenberg hooks into an estimated 220-pound monster in Rio San Juan. The massive tarpon explodes out of the water with a volcanic eruption, the water spewing like lava. The fish runs so hard that Bob – though extremely fit – forgets about trying to move the huge beast and just hangs onto the rod.

As Bob struggles on the bow of the pangastyle boat, I couldn’t help conjuring visions of Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, when the tired Cuban angler valiantly fought the fish throughout the night. Bob pumps and winds whenever able to gain a few inches of line, only to exclaim his despair when the huge animal senses the closeness of the boat and tears off on another long run.

Over two hours goes by and now it’s pitchblack dark. We use a flashlight to follow the line’s entry into the water, our boat trailing the now-tiring silver king. Bob, sweating profusely but gamely hanging in there, begins to feel some give. As he gains line, Chili, our guide, soon leans his belly over the side and reaches out to grasp the leader. The fish – far larger than any of us in the boat – still remains a powerful adversary, so Chili lip-gaffs it to steady the head in the dim light.

His needle-nose pliers extract the hook. The tarpon, momentarily unaware of its renewed freedom, pauses briefly. When the next movement of its massive head comes with no resistance, it immediately barrels for the bottom with such a huge swirl that our boat whirlpools in a semi-circle.

Like the giant tarpon, we feel temporarily numb by the successful release. But seconds later, we shriek in joy so loudly that the surrounding jungle noises suddenly grow silent. Our celebration concludes with handshakes and back slaps and high-fives as we motor downriver under a crystal-clear, star-studded night, all of us relishing this uncommon experience in an unfamiliar setting.

Knock-Down Brawls
Our journey began in San Carlos, Nicaragua, a non-descript little village that once served as a Spanish fortress. My husband, David, our friend Bob Greenberg and I arrived via a small commuter plane that safely touched down on a 1,500-foot dirt-grass landing strip. We transferred to a taxi and minutes later boarded an awaiting panga for the run to the lodge. After greeting us, Philippe Tisseaux, host and owner of the La Esquina del Lago Fishing Lodge, wasted no time filling us in about the challenges that lie ahead.

“This is extreme fishing,” he said with a knowing smile. You’ll be fighting tarpon deep in the heart of the Nicaraguan jungle.” Philippe mentioned tarpon upwards of 200 pounds that can often be jumped and successfully released in these seldom-fished waters.

“Rio San Juan tarpon fishing is the ultimate challenge, but one for experienced and patient anglers,” he said, noting that a good dose of skill as well as luck certainly ups the odds. Brian O’ Connor of Corolla, North Carolina, also visiting the camp and a veteran of previous tarpon trips hereabouts, overheard our conversation and added, “It’s a knock-down, drag-out brawl with the tarpon controlling you.”

“This is true,” replied Philippe, “but always use finesse with your fighting technique and gear with these giant tarpon.” He recommends spin tackle and reels spooled with 20-pound braided line because it doesn’t stretch like monofilament. Philippe ties a Bimini twist to create a short span of double line, followed by a clinch knot to 10 feet of 100-pound-test leader.

Fly fishers will want 7- to 9-weight rods except against the massive tarpon, when 12-weights will more aptly carry the day.

Philippe arrived in San Carlos seven years ago and quickly recognized the potential for sport fishers. In 2003 he bought land bordered by Lago Cocibolca (Lake Nicaragua) as well as the Rio San Juan and Rio Frio. He built La Esquina del Lago, which translates to “the corner of the lake.”

After getting settled in our rooms, we take in the sights, sounds and smells of this remote outpost. A puff of volcanic ash can be seen from Rincon de la Viera, rising over Lake Nicaragua’s horizon and dissolving into a beautiful orange-colored sunset. Approximately 31 miles in the distance, I can see Costa Rica’s majestic forested mountains.

Sipping what Philippe assures is Nicaragua’s finest rum – Flor de Cana Rum Grand Reserve – we sit on rocking chairs on the mahogany porch, sharing fish tales, admitting eager anticipation and watching fire flies flash among the trees.

Night in the jungle unveils a symphonic cacophony: Shrills of jungle birds, croaking and gurgling of frogs and toads, howler monkeys and at times rain drops tapping on the corrugated roof in a pom-pom rhythm. Despite the din, we fall rapidly asleep.

Poons in the Lagoons At six the next morning, David, Bob and I climb into a 23-foot, uncovered panga for five days of fishing with Chale “Chili” Jairo Montilla and Francisco “Chico” Narvacz. Just a few minutes from the lodge, we begin trolling four lines with different colored Rapalas. After a few runs without any strikes, we reel in. Chili and Chico know the rivers’ hot spots and it doesn’t take them long to gauge the presence of fish.

The Rio San Juan flows southerly from Lake Nicaragua in San Carlos past the villages of Sabalos and El Castillo, where picturesque ruins of a Spanish fortress tower on a hillside above a wide stretch of rapids. We bypass the rapids, and most of the fishing takes place in Reserva de Biosfero Río San Juan, a stunning rainforest of towering trees, winding vines, exotic shore birds, monkeys, sloths, deer, nutria and other jungle wildlife concealed by the canopy. The Rio San Juan in particular provides good forage for great populations of egrets, roseate spoonbills, herons, cormorants, anhingas and jacanas, to name just a few feathered friends that territorially stalk bait-size fish along the river’s bank.

I see lots of men in small wooden canoes fishing for colorful, bass-like guapote. Chili says that they sell the catch to locals or the few restaurants along the river. Other subsistence anglers can be seen fishing along banks with nets, sticks or hand lines for panfish-like mojarras. Women wash clothes and dishes in the river too. Stilted houses scatter about the shorelines, most of them primitive in appearance without what they might consider the extravagances of electricity or plumbing.

Friendly Nicas – most of them industrious subsistence farmers who raise livestock and grow produce – wave as we put-put by. Locals can be seen awaiting long boats operating as ferries to carry them between destinations, as motorized vehicles aren’t practical. Occasionally a larger boat passes us carrying mahogany logs and various other supplies.

My adrenaline races when the first tarpon strikes my lure four hours later. It’s a big one– a sassy 6-foot silver king weighing about 155 to 160 pounds. As so often happens with plugs, the hooks reset during the violent two-hour skirmish and they end up lodged into the fish’s outer cheek. Now pulling the rod at times with its body parallel to the boat, my arms became rubbery and my body aches as I silently beg for the darn fish to cooperate.

The great poon puts on an amazing air show with full- and half-bodied leaps, head-shakes that slosh the water, and so many runs of various lengths that I lose count of them. Remembering the need for perseverance and patience as Philippe advised finally paid off. Chico wrests the leader in his gloved hand, firmly holds the silver king’s jaw steady, and he carefully slides the last hook off to detach the lure from the silvery animal. Off swims the tarpon with a bolt of its tail, and I sit down to catch my breath. I feel simultaneously thrilled at the successful release and no less relieved that the ordeal has finally ended.

Bowing to the King
As we move on, David releases a toothy garfish. Bob soon catches a really spunky snook, itself doing a smaller version of my tarpon’s jumps and gyrations. The snook gets our taste buds fired up, and it goes into the cooler. Philippe told us to pack enough clothes for “one or two nights” downriver after we’d left his dock that morning.

Instead of running back to Philippe’s place, we pulled in the lines and made a two-hour, non-stop run to our next destination: Sabalos Lodge, also on the Rio San Juan.

The wood-planked hotel offers rustic rooms opening along an open corridor above the river. Like La Esquina del Lago, Sabalos Lodge doesn’t provide hot water for showering, but each small room includes a fan.

We’re all quite happy to rinse off the grime from hours of sweating and applying layers of suntan lotion. To top off an even nicer welcome to our new digs, Sabalos Lodge grills the snook Bob caught earlier, providing us with a delicious lunch. To be sure, in order to obtain shots at giant tarpon and to enjoy the totally non-commercialized regions of Nicaragua, amenities such as plush hotels and modern restaurants must be forsaken, so we relished every bite of the tasty fillets.

The fishing turns out to be so good around Sabalos that we stay for three days. Tarpon action proves to be sporadic, with nothing striking the lures for hours and then suddenly a huge one makes an appearance. Between those stirring episodes, we enjoy bouts with snook, laguneros (rainbow bass), guapote and other exotic species to keep the action steady. Even so, we all notch several tarpon releases in the 100- to 160-pound class in addition to Bob’s 220-pound behemoth mentioned earlier.

In Sabalos, dusk brings clouds of sayulas, a non-biting, fly-like bug attracted to light. We dine on the dim outdoor porch seated away from several green and red florescent ceiling lights. At night, rain again pounds the steel corrugated roof, and the pitterpatter of the rain drops combined with the tiredness from a hard day’s fishing again drifts us off to sleep quickly.

Rio San Juan, receiving as much as 200 annual inches of rain, is one of the wettest regions in the world. Like most rainforests, the rain comes and goes in spurts. When at times the equatorial sun blazed down upon us, we’d actually welcome a soaking downpour to cool us off.

We arise each morning at 5 a.m. to the voice of Chili imploring, “Comida mucho” (a lot of food), suggesting that this is the best time for the bite. Tarpon tend to be more active before dawn than even after sunset, says Chile and Chico, so we grab sips of coffee before crawling into our trusty panga, still sleepy but also anxious to hunt for tarpon.

We spend mornings trolling and looking for fish, with either Chili or Chico adjusting the boat speed so plugs won’t snag the bottom. We jump many fish, lose most of them, but still release more than a few. Our guides at one point decide it’s time to leave Sabalos and move upstream to El Castillo. They report that the rapids north of that town often produce really big tarpon – but not today. We get hookups with several smaller poons in the 75- to 125-pound class, but fail to bring any to boat side for a release – such is tarpon fishing.

Patience Pays
No one can possibly visit these remote rivers without being entranced by the animal and plant life. We enjoy listening to the growling of howler monkeys, seeing a sloth clinging to the branches of a nearby treetop, admiring a graceful egret fishing the shoreline about every hundred yards, and spotting all the colorful jacana birds walking across water lilies.

Patience and the beautiful natural scenery help us endure the long stretches between strikes from big poons in Rio San Juan. It is late afternoon when David jumps a tarpon in the 150-pound class and Bob releases one nearly that size. During the intense midday sun, we take a break and head to the nearby El Topal restaurant for what we expect to be a typical Nicaraguan lunch or dinner: pollo con pico de gallo, a fried mixture of chicken, beans and rice.

Median Montian and her 82-year-old husband, Enrique, own El Topal – and they have 24 children – yes, 24. Before arriving, however, Chili suggests we buy guapote from a local fisherman, and it happily surprises us to find the fish being kept in an iced container. Median cooks the fillets in a skillet on her wood-burning stove, substituting the tasty guapote for the chicken.

The hearty meal that includes copious helpings of beans, rice and plantains (bananas) costs $2 a person – what a feast. We leave a good tip, mindful of the two dozen mouths the Montians have to feed.

As we return to the La Esquina del Lago to conclude our visit, Philippe tells of others at the lodge who caught hard-fighting laguneros weighing in the 15-pound range.

We never nabbed one that big, but we did enjoy plenty of dukefests with snook, mojarras, guapotes and of course big tarpon. For those diehard adventurers who occasionally enjoy the respite of fishing and sightseeing in areas seldom visited by others, Nicaragua fits the bill. You’ll not only enjoy shots at triple-digit poons, you’ll also savor the delicious skillet cooking at the quaint El Topal.

Bring Your Camera

Granada, the New World’s oldest city, overlooks Lake Nicaragua, which flows into the Río San Juan before continuing 120 miles to the Caribbean Sea. The 19th-century city projects a gracious feel, with broad avenues and handsome private residences. Brightly colored adobe houses line cobbled streets surrounding Cathedral de Granada and Parque Cólon, a vivid central plaza.

Volcán Mombacho towers 4,400 feet above the city. While it hasn’t been active in several decades, occasional puffs of smoke still rise from its ragged rim. Below Granada, Lake Nicaragua shimmers. It’s the third-largest lake in Latin America, slightly smaller than Peru’s Lake Titicaca.

You’ll see three volcanoes in Parque Nacional Volcán Masaya with Santiago crater the only active one.Mercado Artesanías, a Gothic structure the size of a square block, can be found in Masaya. It houses an artisan market lined with hundreds of booths selling staples and tourist souvenirs.

You’ll also find Catarina to be a charming colonial village known for its tropical plant shops. It offers great views, as far as 30 miles to Granada and Lake Nicaragua, across the blue waters of Laguna de Apoya.

Hilly cobblestone streets of San Juan de Oriente are lined with small shops. The village produces large decorative and functional pottery.

The mausoleums and tombs of Grenada cemetery include those of six former Nicaraguan presidents. Many also visit the historic cemetery to view an 1880 neoclassical stone Capilla de Animas (Chapel of Spirits), a replica of a French chapel.

Where to Toss Your Bags

Most flights to Nicaragua connect into Managua, the capital. It’s a sprawling city of approximately two million residents. Lacking notable architectural and cultural interest and no street signs, I’d recommend driving 45 minutes directly from the airport southeast to the charming city of Granada.

We booked our trip via e-mail with owner Philippe Tisseaux at tarponsnook@hotmail.com or go to www.nicaraguafishing.com. Other options include Hotel Colonial (www.nicaragua-vacation.com), about half a block from Parque Cólon; the La Gran Francia (www.lagranfrancia.com) that’s near the park and one of Granada’s more luxurious properties; and Casa San Francisco (www.casasanfrancisco.com), a vine-covered, mosaic-tiled restored Spanish colonial mansion that sports a happening bar and good restaurant.

While Nicaragua cannot be considered a gourmet’s destination, restaurants of note include El Zagúan, located behind the Cathedral. It features mariachi music and food prepared from an open grill. Casa San Francisco, in a hotel around the corner from the San Francisco Church, offers good cuisine.

Souvenir shoppers can negotiate dirt-cheap prices on hand-crafted goods such as ceramics, decorative and functional pottery, hammocks, embroidery and leather products.

• Official Name: Republic of Nicaragua
• Area: 129, 494 square kilometers (50,193 square miles), and the largest nation in Central America
• Capital: Managua
• Government: A representative democratic republic
• Population: 5,603,000
• Religion: Predominantly Roman Catholic with expanding numbers of Protestant groups
• Language: Spanish
• Currency: New Cordoba (18.54NC = $1USD)

Visit the U.S. State Department’s web site for more details about Nicaragua: http://www.state.gov/r/pa/ei/bgn/1850.htm

Mary L. Peachin is a Tucson, Arizona, travel writer and photographer whose byline appears in numerous outdoor and travel magazines and newspapers. She also authored the book The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Sharks. Visit her web site at www.peachin.com for more details.