See them coming, swimming toward you like ducks across the sky at dawn. It’s hard for a Northern Rockies trout-chaser to fathom: no hatch to match, no current seam to aim for, just you and a couple dozen bonefish headed your direction. Throw it too late and you’ll spook ‘em. Too early, and your fly might get caught in the coral or the turtlegrass. But time it just right and suddenly there you are—light breeze, palm trees, and a fish headed straight for Honduras.

Standing thigh-high in the waters of Belize will teach a dedicated Western river angler more about flyfishing’s diversity than a thousand bonefish books could ever hope to. Because the tropics are so NOT Montana in March. You’re warm, you’re comfortable. You’re wearing shorts. And for once you can leave the “Nobility in Suffering School of Flyfishing” packed away at home with your leech patterns and waders. Indeed, a day on the flats leaves your head as clear as the surrounding sea, and you never have to worry about hooking your backcast in the willows.