North 40 Hosted Trip: Birthday Permit - Belize - Day 5
Another Day Full of Adventure
Today is my birthday. I turn 38 years old. As my father and I make the run out to the permit flat, I can’t help but think about all the fishing adventures we have shared together. He first took me fly fishing when I was six years old, and I can remember it like it was yesterday. I can picture the Touchet River, in eastern Washington, teaming with stocked brown trout. I can picture getting snagged in every tree around me, while he made perfect casts into a run full of feeding trout. I can remember how frustrated I was getting snagged and tangled until finally he made a cast for me, handed me the rod, and I felt the powerful pull of a brown trout. Since then, we have traveled all over the country, and the world, chasing fish with fly rods. For my college graduation, he took me on a trip to Alaska to the Kvichak River, where I would become a guide for the following four years. Now here we are, once again, shoulder to shoulder making our way towards another day full of adventure.
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As we approach the first flat we see no sign of feeding permit. The tide is very low and the rocks that were once underwater are now bare and dry above the surface. Darrel, our guide, makes a game plan to check some water on the outside flats, so we make a short run to another spot. With the wind and the sun at our backs, we start drifting into a bay that has mixed rock and sand, and it is about thigh deep for me. We immediately spot a school of resting fish; their fins are sticking out of the water like tiny black twigs and there are roughly 30 of them.
Permit on the Reel
We stop the boat, and the fish, once again, sense our presence and begin moving slowly off. We step out of the boat and follow them quietly, not making any splashes or sudden movements. We lose sight of them but keep heading the same direction they do. As we continue to pursue them, sure enough, we see a push of water and feeding tails about 100 yards down the flat. We make our way closer and closer, moving right, then left, then they turn and head straight towards us. I make a leading cast and the fish move quickly at my fly, then they turn sharply, and my line goes tight. A large permit screamed away from me, and I was happy to clear my line and get the fish on the reel.
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This fish felt bigger than my fish from a few days before. It was running into the wind, quartering away from me. Soon, I was 100 yards into my backing, then 200, then 300… I was beginning to panic as I saw my backing disappear. I asked Darrel, “should we chase it in the boat?” He said, “almost…just wait…. wait…” Then, sure enough, the fish finally stopped with less than 50 yards of backing left. The wind on the line was a sweet song with notes that would change as the fish pulled harder then change again as it grew tired. I could listen and feel on the line when I could gain line and when I had to let go of the reel. Darrel laughed, saying, he knew when I needed to reel because he could hear the wind on the line too. After 30 minutes, we had the large permit to hand. I had done it, caught a 25-plus pound permit on my birthday. Life was good, and now it was the old man’s turn to try and get one.
After a quick celebration and some high fives, we put my father on the bow of the boat. We searched again for more fish for about an hour with nothing to show for it. Darrel wanted to head back to the bay where we hooked my fish to see if other schools of fish had returned and were calm. As we approached the bay, we noticed several feeding permit in the mouth of a small river coming into the bay. We headed that direction as quietly as we could. The water was still very low, and we could see the backs of the fish out of the water. Making our way into the river mouth, we noticed it opened up into a large shallow bay. We could see two different schools of permit feeding and making their way towards us.
Strike One
At this point, my father fired a cast at the first school and before he could get his hand on the line, the lead fish rushes the fly, tips up, and eats it. Darrel yells, “STRIP! STRIP...!” But, before my dad can get his hands on the line, the school shoots off in another direction. “Strike One,” I say. After several more attempts, we have successfully spooked every fish in the bay.
As we head home, my father, the guides, and myself cheer with a few Belikins. We talk about the day and tell stories of our fishing past, our families, and our plans for the future. I am filled with gratitude as I think about my family, my friends, and the times I get to spend with them outside doing what I love.
Miss out on Holy Grail Permit - Belize - Day 1? Catch up here.