“Fly Fishing Across Mexico” Ep 1/7— It started with a bet, ended with a fishing trip around the world
Featuring: Dorsal Outdoors
In this first episode of the “Fly Fishing Across Mexico” series from Dorsal Outdoors, The boys talk about the Search and how a century-old plan starts to come together.
Ben, a walk-on kicker at Ole Miss, reminisces about a spontaneous decision ten years ago to go fly fishing in Belize on a small budget. Encouraged by a friend, George, they planned the trip, facing doubts about affordability and logistics. Against all odds, they embarked on the adventure, and the story reflects on the enduring nature of their fly fishing trips over the years despite significant life changes.
This is the first of a seven-part series we will be bringing you over the next couple of weeks.
Dorsal Outdoors has some amazing content over at there YouTube channel link is below 👇
Backstory from : Dorsal Outdoors
“You really think we can pull that off?” I nodded back at George reluctantly, trying to punch down the doubts I even had. “Fly fishing in Belize...by mowing people’s yards? There’s no way that adds up.” My sunglasses blocked my frustration at the question.
What was so hard about this? Multiply 10 yards, subtract 1 flight and hotel, add an experience we would never forget. It was simple math. “There’s no way. Belize is an elite, $10,000 location.” I bit my lip. $200 for flights, $80 a night hotel (split 4 ways), $5 dinners.
Maybe shoestring-elite could be a thing? “What could we even catch there?” Now was my chance. I quickly spewed out “Tarpon, Bonefish, Permit, Snapper, Barracuda, Jacks…” “Ok ok ok. If you say we can do it. I’m in.” It was a sweltering September Saturday, in a way that only Tuscaloosa, Alabama can deliver. Those kind of game days that say “fall” on the calendar, but feel like summer on your back. I was walk-on kicker at Ole Miss, which meant that I got free tickets to the games I didn’t dressout (i.e. all of them).
As a bonus, most of my friends from Birmingham were busy ignoring their degree requirements at the University of Alabama, which meant free lodging for the Nick Saban-Ed Orgeron match up. The previous night had been a sprint from class-to-car- to-Corridor X, where my dimpled golfball of a ‘92 Accord did its worst groupie impression behind the limobuses delivering the Rebels down to Bryant-Denny Stadium.
I crashed into town just as the Friday party circuit began, which meant being haplessly tossed about from house to house without a clue what was going on. I wasn’t a big drinker, yet guys who I barely remember from high school kept shoving Natural Lights into my hand while screaming Roll Tide. Thanks? Moving away from the game day tent, George asked- “So what did I even say last night?” I gently explained that after band party number 5, (or was it 6?) he had cornered me to ask why were limiting ourselves.
It seemed like we only fished to farm ponds just under the line of trespassing or places we could camp and fish. He had emphasized with wave of his arms, “If guys from sport fishing magazines could travel the world, why can’t we?” Problematically, this poured gasoline on an idea that was already a wildfire in my mind. I had been having the same thoughts. And on that Saturday morning- sweating out of my Ole Miss polo, under a forest of game day tents, I leaned into the most ridiculous proposition of my life:
1 week. Small budget. Foreign country. Fly rods. George gave a hesitant laugh and asked “when do we leave?” ___________ Ten years later, not much has changed. Ok, that’s a lie: nearly everything has changed. Marriages, babies, dogs, houses. But the fly fishing trips still follow an oddly similar rhythm.