The Mexican guide Gabriel whispered into my ear as if we were spectators at a golf tournament. “Ees a SnookGrande!! Do you haf de Goomee Meeno?” he said, in broken English. I nodded in affirmation and pointed backwards to the starboard side of the panga. There a neatly stacked quiver of flyrods laid waiting, mute, slender rapiers patient for a chance to strain and arc in battle. Gabriel melted silently off the casting deck to the middle of the panga. His assistant and “guide-in-training” who

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