Before becoming so enamored with local salt water fly fishing that the idea of fishing elsewhere seemed foreign, my father, brother and I each had some shots at permit on the flats. Although we had limited exposure, we did learn some key things which may help you should you get the opportunity to try to catch one of these fine fish.

We had all heard that these fish spook easily, but my first experience drove this home. Fishing in Boca Paila (in southern Mexico), I was out alone with a guide and saw my first permit some 200 yards from the boat. We had just come to the edge of a long flat and our momentum had us drifting slowly over the edge. We were both sitting down (the guide about to get up to pole the boat and I was just picking up my fly rod) when the guide pointed to a large tail merging from the water. The guide motioned to me to strip some line out in case the fish came within my casting range. As quietly and carefully as I could, I began to strip line from the reel and, seconds later, the permit was gone.

I’ll never know if the sounds and vibrations from the boat caused this fish to leave, but I will also never forget the overall experience and lesson. These fish do spook easily!

My second encounter (same place) came with my father poised to cast. Three nice permit were cruising in 5-6 feet of water. Pop got a great cast in front of them. The permit ignored his fly.

My father pointed out, from his vast readings and discussions with other fisherman, that "Cruising permit are hard to catch." For the next several hours, I watched as he proved this to himself, over and over again. Although exciting to see the fish and watch my father have reasonable shots at casting to them, I was beginning to get the impression that either my father was seriously jinxed or that he was right about cruising permit.

My next encounter came the next day. We had just fished a lagoon where some bonefish were visible in 6 feet of water. The guide had taken a Crazy Charlie I was fishing and wrapped some lead around it. It was just enough to sink the fly to the level of the bonefish, and resulted in one landed.

The guide was poling us around some mangroves away from the lagoon onto a long flat.

And there, in the middle of the flat, was a tailing fish, with a tail far too large to be a bonefish.

While my father pulled out the video camera, I prepared to make my first cast to a permit (smaller than the ones we had seen the previous day, but large enough, at about 5 pounds, to make my heart race).

I’ve gotten to dissect this experience for years, as my pop got the entire sequence on video.

I first cast about 2 feet to one side of the permit. The permit seemed oblivious to my cast, neither spooking nor interrupting its bottom foraging to turn to the fly. Our guide, disgusted, suggested I cast again, shooting for 6 inches to a foot to the side of the fish.

I cast again, and as the fly hit the water about 8 inches from the permit, you could see it react – it stopped tailing and turned to the fly immediately.

For about twenty feet the permit followed my fly as the blood rushed to my head. At one point it followed that Crazy Charlie so close, I thought it had hit and by mistake tried to set the fly.

Best mistake I ever made.

After the attempt to set the fly, my line went limp for a second as I dropped the rod tip, contemplating blowing my first great chance for a permit. I began to strip the fly in, and the fish was on.

What I had done, by mistake, is to drop the fly. Permit are known to attack prey as they escape downward to the sand bottom. Their mouths are perfectly shaped to suck escaping prey out of the sand.

My fly, with its extra lead weight, had dropped to the bottom after I mistakenly tried to set the hook. And, like clockwork, the permit chose the moment my fly dropped to actually hit.

In addition to learning first hand why folks say "drop the fly", I also convinced myself that the very best chance you have at a permit is at a permit which is tailing. It forgave my first cast, close enough to spook a cruising permit, but too far to interrupt its tailing feed. It went after the fly when I got it closer on the second shot, despite being a Crazy Charlie (not a well known fly to take permit on).

After it hit, it took off for every small piece of mangrove growth in sight on the flat. I managed to maneuver it away from several, but eventually the guide stepped out of the boat and began removing mangrove growths before the permit got to them. I learned during the fight that permit are more effective than even jacks at finding structure to try to hang your fly on. By the time I landed the fish, it was hard to tell who was more excited – the guide, for his well timed foray to remove obstacles to landing the fish, my pop for getting the entire sequence on video, or me for catching my first permit.

My next shot at permit came several years later, further south in Espiritu Santo Bay. This one was a gimme, as we had seen a fairly large school of permit as we entered an area by boat. We had been able to keep the school in sight as we went around and in front of it, and as I prepared to cast the boat drifted so I had an easy cast to 30 or so oncoming permit. I cast in front of them and, as I saw them near me, decided to drop the fly. Bingo, another small permit.

The next day, my brother Jim and I shared a guide. We fished in the same general area, but that day there was almost no wind. Having just caught a permit, it was now Jim’s chance.

Jim casts better than I, but that day even his better casting was not helping. We saw pod after pod of 3-5 permit cruising around. Unfortunately, with no wind, they saw him too. It was maddening, because in addition to seeing many permit, some of the permit we saw were bigger (10 pounds plus) and some were enormous.

Jim had switched flies repeatedly but had settled on a fairly large crab pattern, as crabs are a permit’s favorite food. He had devised this humorous approach to stripping the fly – he would move his hand somewhat like a crab while stripping and, sure enough, if you watched the fly in the water this hand movement did translate well into the fly moving a bit as a crab does.

But he spooked about 10 pods of permit in a row.

Four hours later, sensing I was getting bored and getting frustrated at his luck, Jim suggested he leave the boat and try to wade to a large permit we could see some 100 plus yards away. The guide and I watched in the boat as he slowly moved towards the approaching fish. At about 20 yards from the oncoming fish, he froze and waited.

As the fish got closer, my brother put a great cast in front of the permit. The permit moved slowly towards the fly as Jim moved his hand crab like as he stripped in. As the permit came closer, Jim dropped the fly and the permit’s tail went up out of the water as its head darted for the bottom and BINGO, Jim had just hooked a nice permit.

Seconds later, Jim was calling for the boat, as he feared the permit would spool him immediately. I held the rod as he entered the boat and for the next hour and forty five minutes, Jim fought the most exciting, beautiful fish of the sea. We drifted for miles during the fight, and attracted a contingent of large barracuda. The guide and I threw every bottle and object in the boat at the cuda to keep it away from this beautiful permit.

When I finally got my hands on its tail, I could not believe what I felt. We had estimated the fish at 20 pounds or so early on in the fight, but I had landed 20 pound fish before, and this was no 20 pounder. As we dragged the fish in the boat, the leader popped off. We grabbed some quick pictures, and off the permit went, looking less effected by the ordeal than brother Jim.

Summing up or limited experience, cruising permit are your least likely opportunity, pray for locating tailing permit and, when in doubt, drop the fly.