Victor Castro (1962 – 2020)
Victor Manuel Castro Gutierres was my fishing guide when we met in 2007. Over the next 13 years he became much more than that.
He was a mentor, sharing his knowledge of saltwater fly fishing and the coastal ecosystem of Mexico’s southern Yucatan Peninsula, as well as a dear friend. Even though we lived nearly 1,200 miles apart, we stayed in touch with regular messages and social media. He guided me to my first bonefish in 2007 and my first permit last March (see “Journey to Xcalak,” issue 48, July/August).
A saltwater fly fishing trailblazer on Mexico’s southern Caribbean coast, Castro died August 8 in Chetumal, Mexico, after a brief battle with COVID-19. He was 57.
Judging by the outpouring of grief and sympathy for Castro’s family, my experience wasn’t unique. He touched the lives of thousands of traveling fly anglers from across the world over 25 years of guiding the waters around the small fishing village of Xcalak, Mexico. With infinite patience, a sly sense of humor, and unflinching integrity, he altered the fly fishing landscape on Mexico’s Caribbean coastline, playing an integral part in the development of a low-impact, ecologically friendly tourism industry centered on Chetumal Bay flats fishing.
Born December 14, 1962 in Xcalak, Castro grew up fishing with his father and started his career as a commercial fisherman. Twenty-five years ago he took an English course, traded his speargun for a fly rod, and dedicated himself to ecological tourism and fly fishing.
“My dad was a commercial fisherman for many years, and he struggled a lot to bring the daily bread to our table, with many limitations,” said his son, Victor Manuel Castro Arreola. “Over the years he founded his business, Osprey Tours.… He became passionate about the flats. He was a fighter. His life changed.”
Castro hosted anglers from the US, Canada, Mexico, South America, and Europe, contributing to Xcalak’s development as a fly fishing destination that filled a gap between Ascension and Espiritu Santo bays to the north and Ambergris Caye, Belize, to the south.
He led countless anglers to their first bonefish, permit, and tarpon over the years, poling his pangas Lizbeth, Yamily and Brianna across Chetumal Bay, but he was especially fond of wading the flats in search of bonefish.
“Walk like a cat,” he often advised. “The bonefish is very spooky.”
Castro exhibited unyielding patience and had a knack for connecting novices with the bay’s wary denizens. He used a combination of warmhearted encouragement and the skill acquired through years of guiding to find success for his clients. He had a profound generosity of spirit that manifested in an easy smile and lively eyes.
He loved his family and enjoyed talking about them as much as fishing. He’s survived by his wife, Flora; sons Victor, Andres, and Jesiel; daughters Lizbeth and Yamily; and grandchildren Josmar, Cindy, Melanie, Brianna, Victor Alonso, and Samuel. He also left behind many friends and extended family members in Xcalak. When word of Castro’s death spread on social media, friends from around the globe shared scores of thoughts and condolences on his and family members’ Facebook pages.
Both of Castro’s parents and his sister also died from COVID-19 in a span of just a few weeks, and with few clients visiting Xcalak because of coronavirus travel restrictions, the family’s finances were strained. A GoFundMe page to help defray the family’s medical bills doubled its fundraising target in two days.
“The GoFundMe was a success because Victor had so many friends,” said Rob Mukai, an American hotel owner who called Castro his closest friend in Xcalak. “He made a huge impact on a lot of people.”
Castro’s son, Andres Isai Castro Arreola, will carry on his father’s legacy with Osprey Tours.
“It’s very strange and he will be missed,” he said. “But we will continue on because my father was a great man.”
The first time I fished with Castro, in 2007, he returned my tip because he thought it was too much compensation for the number of fish we saw. He went inside his home and returned with a plate full of his wife Flora’s homemade banana-leaf chicken tamales. It sparked a friendship that carried on despite infrequent face-to-face meetings. During the the last few months of Castro’s life, we communicated often about the state of the pandemic.
“We have great weather for fishing, but now we don’t have fishermen,” he said. “Such is life.”
When a tornado ripped through the busy commercial area of a city not far from my home last spring, he sent a message to make sure my family and I were okay. We routinely swapped fishing pictures, and shortly after I submitted “Journey to Xcalak” to our editors, with my friend on my mind, I was inspired to make my own homemade banana-leaf tamales. They weren’t nearly as good as Flora’s, and I told him so when I shared a photo.
“Those tamales look delicious,” he replied. “It’s always good to try.”
Our last day together in a boat was special because we caught a permit, but it has become even more meaningful since Castro’s death. A friend and I were supposed to go out with Castro’s nephew Felipe Miravete that day, but a scheduling conflict meant the jefe himself would guide us. Any time you catch a permit is a great day, but catching it with my old friend took it to another level. I expect to catch more permit, but I’ll never again sit in the panga with my friend and talk about it. I feel cheated, although I take comfort in the memory of sitting there with him, eating a sandwich and sipping a Dos Equis, talking about his life on the water, and about living his dream in a tropical paradise with his family.
“It’s been a good life,” he said.
I’d call it great.
—Trey Reid
TAIL FLY FISHING MAGAZINE = SALTWATER FLY FISHING
