North 40 Hosted Trip: Casting at Giant Belizean Permit - Belize - Day 3
Day three greets us with a much-needed onshore wind that will help keep us cool through the hottest part of the day. After a quick breakfast, consisting of chorizo egg tacos, we head out to the dock as the boats pull up. I am once again greeted by our head guide, Rojo, who hands me lunches to split up between the boats. The lunches smell of fresh tortillas accompanied by jerk chicken and veggies.
Casting at Giant Belizean Permit
Our guide, Darrel, is a self-proclaimed permit expert. He lives and breathes permit fishing and prefers to only chase these fish, all day. That is more than fine with my father and me as this was our goal for the week, to cast at giant Belizean permit.
Seems like permit have PhDs. Read all about North 40 Hosted Trip: Belize - Day 1 here.
Pulling up to the first area, we begin to scan the calm waters on the lee shore of the island. We were scanning mainly for pushes of water and tails that indicated permit feeding in a school. Darrel says there have been three to four big schools of permit in this particular area. As we motor along looking for schools, Darrel cuts the engine and yells at our guide in training, Francisco, “STOP the boat… STOP!!” I look in the direction he is looking at and about 50 yards away are several little “sticks” sticking up out of the water. They are not moving. I ask, “are those permit?” Darrel laughs and says, “Ju betta clean jour glasses boy…” in his Creole accent.
Upon studying them further, I notice there are 5-6 laid up permit milling around calmly. We step out of the boat, into the Belizean snow, their name for knee-deep mud, and begin post holing our way closer to the fish. Just when I was about to cast, they moved off sensing our presence with their 8th or 9th sense. As we watched them go, we noticed they swam to a larger school of fish, then it was game on for the next hour. We chased them on foot, post holing through knee-deep mud, making the water waist deep. I have 3-4 shots, but as soon as the fly lands the fish blow out. Darrel says the tide is lower than normal and wants to try a new spot, so we move out to deeper water.
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As we pull up to what my dad named “big flat,” we immediately see a school of 30-40 permit all in the 20 to 30-pound class. You can see the push of water from nearly a quarter mile away. Darrel and Francisco make their plan and we approach slowly with my dad on the bow ready. As our game of chess began with this school of permit, my dad was shaking so badly he could hardly cast. The fish were coming right at him and feeding hard. He made several nice presentations, but they all came up a few feet short before the permit decided to change direction. After four legit shots, it was my turn.
Cast Again
I stepped on the bow and began stripping off line when Darrel told me to get out of the boat. As I stepped into the water, I notice something big pushing water about 150 feet away. It is a giant single permit. We work our way over to this feeding fish that is rooting in the mud like a dog trying to dig up a bone. As I make my cast, three more permit come in and began competing for the same meal. Darrel yells, “Hit them on the head!” I laid a cast to them and hit them on the head, slow strip, then nothing. “Cast again,” he yells. I do, and they swim off to rejoin the school. I slump knowing that this was probably one of the best chances I would get all week.
Stepping back into the boat we see another school further down the flat, so we decide to move in their direction and make another play. As we inch closer, I once again jump out of the boat. Next thing I know, the fish are coming at me like a pack of wolves and feeding hard. I laid a cast out to their right, leading them by about 10 feet, which was more than I anticipated. Luckily, they turned towards the direction of my fly, I did one slow strip, then another, then BAAAM! The line was literally ripped out of my hand halfway through the second strip. Darrel threw his arms in the air holding my rod high as we both anxiously awaited my line to clear onto the reel. Once it did, we high fived each other and then all hell broke loose.
The fish ran so fast it wrapped my backing under itself creating a loop of line that would eventually stop the reel. I immediately loosened my drag, started stripping off line to help it clear, and then ran through thigh deep water at the fish. Darrel yelled, “Break the reel! Break the reel!!” I took this as remove the spool. So, while running through thigh deep water, I unscrewed the spool tension cap, popped off the spool, and tossed it to Darrel. Darrel, remarkably un-did the knot while I felt what 16-pound fluorocarbon could actually hold. My rod was straight, no line coming off, and my line was stretched to the max before Darrel handed me back the spool for me to put on. As I put the spool on, I couldn’t take the time to align it correctly, due to poor manufacturing, so I put it on as best I could. I then screwed the on cap and fought the fish with a quarter inch gap between my spool and reel.
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After a few minutes, and several hundred yards of backing, the fish finally stopped, and the long painful fight came to an end. The fish used its flat, tall sides to fight me as I reeled it in. During the fight, I noticed Darrel at the back of the boat puking in the water. He told me he was sick, but I really think all of the stress is what triggered his demise.
Francisco was there helping me along by keeping the boat out of the way, then as the fish got closer, Darrel walked over and tailed the giant permit. I was in shock at its size and weight. After a few quick pictures, I released the fish, watched it swim away, and I immediately knew that something inside of me had changed forever.
