Captain Scott Irvine holds a 30-pound Goliath grouper that was caught on fly rod in Key West. SUSAN COCKING / MIAMI HERALD STAFF
From The Miami Herald
By Susan Cocking
scocking@MiamiHerald.com
The eternal quest to catch a permit on fly rod on the flats isn’t going very well, but recently it had some unintended — but good — consequences.
Fishing the flats west of Key West with light-tackle guide captain Scott Irvine on Monday, we found a sandy depression where a large, silvery slob of a permit sat motionless facing into the outgoing tide. I couldn’t believe my good luck because it is uncommon to find a feeding permit sitting still anywhere; usually they dart around unpredictably.
Armed with a 9-weight bearing a creditable imitation of a crab, I made numerous casts to within varying proximities of the stationary fish. With one cast, he lumbered half-heartedly toward the fly; on another, he seemed to spook off, only to return a few minutes later. But he never acted really interested in eating the fly.
“The first cast was off and it might have tipped him,” Irvine said.
FINDING ANOTHER SPOT
After about 30 unsuccessful casts, we decided to give up that particular campaign for the day. Irvine suggested we relocate to a small shipwreck in 17 feet of water “to get some action.”
As soon as we arrived, and even before setting anchor, we saw small tarpon rolling on the surface and permit mooning below. Irvine rigged an 11-weight rod with an intermediate sinking tip and a chartreuse-and-white Clouser minnow.
If I couldn’t catch a permit sight-casting, I reasoned, maybe I could do the next-best thing and get one blind-casting. A tarpon wouldn’t be a bad deal either.
I began casting toward the wreck, letting the fly sink for about 20 seconds before stripping it back in. I got two bumps, which I missed by failing to strip-strike fast enough.
I made another cast, let the fly sink, and was rewarded with a sharp tug on the other end. This time, I yanked back sharply on the fly line, and felt something of significant size yank back. Suddenly, fly line began peeling off the reel as the mystery monster powered away.
“It feels like a big jack,” I said to Irvine.
He shook his head.
“That’s no jack,” he said.
Filed under: FLY FISHING SALT WATER
