THE HOARSE SCREAMS of my Sage 6010 reel won’t come to an end, and the dangerously arced fly rod is being pulled convulsively towards the surface film. I struggle for footing and lean back on the fish as much as humanly possible, but I have a bad feeling.
I have caught permit on the flats before, but the fish out here on The Elbow – a subaqueous reef in the southern part of Belize’s Turneffe Island, use radically different tactics to get rid of the flies. They flutter and spiral irresistibly downwards, and even the slightest hint of leniency brings consequences – usually resulting in snapped leaders. The crux of the matter is to prevent the fish from reaching the sheltering embrace of the jagged corals deep down. Once that happens, the fish will break you off and the battle will be lost.
It is like some mean-spirited prankster just tied a cruise ship anchor to my fly line. It disappears into the abysmal blue depths at a dangerously fast pace, and I can’t seem to do anything about it. As the backing starts peeling off, I know I’m done for, and only a few seconds later, I fall backwards as the line goes slack. “That was a BIG fish”, says the guide, without offering much in terms of consolation, and he’s obviously right. He now materialises at the casting deck, where I am crouched in frustration, and grabs my rod. He proceeds to check the drag on the reel, which I had set to a daunting 9/10 in the morning, and seconds later, he hands me back the rod and drops another Pizza Fly in my hand. As I tie it on and mentally prepare for another round, I glance down at the reel and notice that the drag is now set at 10/10…
LATER THAT DAY – after escalating winds force us to quit the offshore fishing, I have a word with one of the dive masters at the Turneffe Island Resort. He coincidentally happened to be out diving at the Elbow that day, and he saw a 35lb+ permit racing towards the corals with a Pizza Fly in its mouth and a taught fly line dragging behind it. “35+lbs!”, I repeat in an inquiring manner. “Yep, but I saw WAY bigger fish out there!” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. I don’t know whether to feel comforted or scared by this surprising info. All I know is that I really blew it today. I had three more shots at big permit, and managed to screw everything up. Now, I can only hope and pray that the winds will calm down, so I can head out to the Elbow again and get my revenge.
Over the next couple of days, me and my fishing buddy Martin’s patience is really put to the test. Usually, the weather here in Belize is very sedate and stable in late April, but the calm serenity of our Caribbean sanctuary has now been blown relentlessly to the sea. Fiery-tempered winds howl and hiss in the compound evergreen leaves of the palm trees, and the ocean is hardly recognisable now with its frothing 15-20 feet waves pounding the sheltering coral rims.
DENNIS YOUNG, our passionate guide is challenged to find some decent fishing for us in the coming days – after all, there isn’t much shelter to be found when you’re stranded on a small and relatively featureless island out to sea. Nonetheless, Dennis manages to put us on some massive schools of tailing bonefish that provide us with some exciting challenges. And whenever we hook up with one of these ghostly speed devils, we even tend to forget about those alluring charcoal and silvery permit out there on the Elbow with their bright yellow brushstrokes, powerful flanks, and soulful gazes.
WHILE FISHING THE MANGROVES, I’m fairly certain Martin forgets about the permit for at least 20-25 minutes. Here, he hooks up with one of the migrating silver kings that are just starting to rally. The self-assured tarpon takes the fly with brute force and after the prescribed strip strikes, it starts popping out of the water here, there, and everywhere shaking its head epileptically. When it finally tires of the frantic jumping, it employs new tactics to get rid of the hook. It writhes and turns; rolls aggressively in the surface – and all of a sudden it rushes for the entanglement of the mangroves. Martin is tiring out, but he is determined to land the fish, and in the end he succeeds. When he finally sits there with more than 40lbs of silvery armoured tarpon in his lap, he is as euphoric as I’ve ever seen him.
AFTER FOUR DAYS of us continuously asking our guide when the weather is going to calm down, I can tell he is starting to get just a little tired of the repetitions. He is a great guide, but no oracle – and he can only tell us that usually this kind of weather doesn’t occur at this time of year. All we can do is cross our fingers and make the most of the situation. I do so by catching a ‘small’ permit of around 10lbs at Permit Paradise – an aptly named and fairly famous flat to the north of our resort. It engulfs a Merkin Crab in the middle of a big, muddy foraging frenzy, and delivers a heady fight with numerous long runs and powerful manoeuvres. When I land it, I have a strange feeling that things are going to turn to the better. And that same evening, after a massive thunderstorm passes, the winds suddenly calm down.
WITH TWO DAYS LEFT, Martin and I are eager to get to the Elbow again. And when we wake up the next morning and issue out of our cosy little cabana, we are excited to see that the sea looks calm. When we meet with our guide, he isn’t quite as optimistic. He fears that massive swells from the past few days might cause severe difficulties – and he is right of course. The unprotected Elbow reefs to the South are still being pounded by massive waves, and even though we agree to attempt some fishing from one of the resort’s big dive boats, things look gloomy. We see massive schools of permit, but we can’t really get to them. Our flies are being pushed towards the surface and out of reach, and after two hours of desperately clinging on to a rope in the front of the boat doing haphazard casts and being smashed by gruelling waves – plus almost getting tossed overboard a few times, we agree that this irresponsible folly has to end. We’re gutted. But we still have tomorrow!
WE CAN HARDLY BELIEVE the change from yesterday, as we rush out towards the open waters of the Elbow again. With just this one day left, we are excited beyond words that the ocean is one big stoic expanse of calm azure blue water. The fish are here too, and it doesn’t take us long to find the first school of fish – and what a school. The ghostly shimmering of fifty or more permit emit from the distorting mirror of the surface film. Soon after, the heavy epoxy fly whistles ominously through the air and takes the water with a big splash right in front of the nervous mass of fish below. I let it sink for a few seconds and start the ultra-fast double-retrieve.
SUDDENLY, I feel a nerve-wracking tug propagate through the line, and as I lift the rod to set the hook, the line starts disappearing through the guides at an unrelenting pace. This time, however, I’m prepared. Every single leader knot has been double-checked for strength, the drag is set to maximum, and I use whatever muscle power my 11-weight can muster to prevent the fish from breaking me off on the corals deep below. After what seems like an eternity, the snarl of my tormented fly reel comes to an end, and I manage to turn the fish and bring it towards the surface for a bit. Hereon after, I am my usual confident self, and even an additional couple of maniacal runs can’t prevent me from bringing a pristine 25lb permit to the boat. Moments later, I sit in the boat with the incredibly beautiful lead-coloured fish in my arms and a big smirking smile on my face. We snap a few pictures, and as I put the sturdy fish with its twinkly eyes and leathery skin back into the lukewarm water, I draw a sigh of relief.
As the day progresses, we hook up with several more fish – and land some additional 20lb+ permit that make us forget completely about all the impatient waiting, the thunderstorms, the ones that got away, and not least the arduous upcoming journey back to little old Denmark. I guess that is the essential magic of sublime fishing; it dissolves whatever time-constrained psychological ballast you’ve been carrying around and provides you with an enticing window of opportunity. It feels divine!
The really big ones evade us this last day on the Elbow, but hey – it is always nice to have a reason to come back!
FACTS ABOUT TURNEFFE
ISLAND RESORT:
Turneffe Island Resort is a Belizian luxury lodge situated on its own little idyllic island in the Southern part of the greater complex of coral and mangrove islands called Turneffe Islands. The island houses around 30 guests in beachside apartments and cabanas. The lodge also consists of a main building with a cosy dining hall, an outdoor pool area with its own wooden deck and bar, as well as a marina.
Typically, you’ll be fishing from eight o’clock in the morning until five o’clock in the afternoon, both wading and from the cool and practical boats. This means that you have about nine hours of flats and open water fishing every day, and this is more than enough to try out different spots and different fish. One week’s worth of guided fishing – including housing at the resort, costs 2,990 USD in the high season, and it includes delicious lunch packages and cool drinks, so that all you need to worry about is catching that highly prized trophy fish. At a supplement, you can book some night fishing, which is a great idea, if you want to target tarpon.
The season stretches across the whole year, but March, April and May are particularly great for permit fishing. If you want to go full-hearted for a grand slam, or if you are a sucker for tarpon, the period from mid-May until the end of September is the optimal time to visit the lodge. The average size of the permit is truly impressive with 20lb fish being common and 40-50lb fish being a real possibility – if you’re able to land them that is!
For more info, check out www.turnefferesort.com. Here, you can find up-to-date prices for housing and guiding and book your own trip.
WHAT GEAR TO BRING:
When fishing for offshore permit at the Elbow, your gear needs to be completely top tuned. Any weak links will be met with severe punishment – i.e. broken leader tippets and snapped leader/fly line
connections. Generally, the gear has to be top tuned – and being an overly optimistic UL fanatic doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. There are permit up to 50lb+ at the Elbow, and even smaller fish (those weighing in at around15-20lbs!) will tear your gear apart if it isn’t up to the task.
10-weight rods will do for the most part, but if you’re hoping to hook up with one of the real giants, a 12-weight rod might be more suitable. You’ll be fighting the fish directly below the boat, so you’ll need a fairly short rod with loads of backbone. And forget about those double-handed saltwater rods. You’ll need to bend the rod right down into the handle, to put maximum pressure on the fish. By using a fighting handle further up on the blank, you simply shift the power centre in the rod to a more lenient place. And in the process, you risk breaking the rod. (This has happened numerous times on the Elbow)
In terms of reels, you’ll want one of many excellent large arbour reels out there – one of those with a drag system that can stop a team of horses. Don’t worry too much about the backing. If more than 30 yards of backing peel off your reel, you’re doomed anyway, and the fish will break you off on the corals below. It’s all about hooking and holding!
With regards to the fly lines, clear lines are certainly to be preferred. Permit have great vision, and, especially in open water, fly lines are quite conspicuous. You’ll need a couple of different ones (floating, intermediate and sinking), since the depths at which the permit are found varies. Sometimes, they’ll be popping their heads out of the water and feeding in the surface film, while at other times, they’ll be further down, and the only way to get them is to use a relatively fast sinking line.
The leaders should be designed for pure abuse. Double-check all leader knots, and finish off with a 3ft section of 20-25lb test fluorocarbon. Only the very best and meticulously tied knots will hold up, so don’t be sloppy.
The guides at Turneffe Island Resort swear to a fly they call the Pizza Fly. It is a pink and extremely heavy epoxy fly that is as dangerous to cast as it is effective. With lightning quick retrieves, it moves erratically and unpredictably through the water like a shrimp, and it really gets the permit agitated.
Words By: Rasmus Oversen
Photos By: Rasmus Ovesen, Martin Ejler Olsen and Leslie Berkeley
