Cracking the Code: Fly Fishing for Oman’s Elusive Permit

***WARNING*** If you have even the slightest case of permit fever STOP reading this now as it will only exacerbate your symptoms!

By CLARE CARTER

We knew they were out there, taunting us, watching us from a safe distance, slowly daisy chaining in the crystal blue depths of the Arabian Ocean or ferociously attacking shallow muscle beds like a pack of hungry wolves. When spooked these behemoths can catapult their giant silver and gold bodies over 4 feet out of the water in all directions, rigid as if paralysed they sail through the air before returning sulkily to the depths…. It’s a sight to be seen!

I’m talking about Trachinotus Africanus, or to the avid fly angler… (African) permit! Known to grow to over 20 kilos this beast is one of the larger of the permit species. Ginormous silver bodies, accented with bright yellow/gold fins and a set of somewhat extraordinary plump pink lips (my type of fish!).

Found in the Gulf of Aden and Oman, Mozambique and South Africa to Western Indonesia. These brutes were causing us no end of sleepless nights trying to figure out how to actually land one on fly. With no known records of fly caught Africanus we had to start at the beginning and figure out what made them tick, from feeding patterns, food preference, behaviour, habitat and body language…. this was not going to be an easy task by any means, but having hooked and lost a few we knew it was possible so we set to work. Our off-season was spent researching, discussing, tying all manner of fly patterns from the well known to the rather obscure and planning our attack.

Watching, as the last of the Khareef (monsoon) rains rolled back out to sea, taking with it the low lying grey clouds and large murky swell yet leaving us with a rather nasty red tide, all we could do was wait some more. But with blue skies on the horizon the sea slowly started to clear up and come alive with huge schools of sardines and bonito. The word from the locals was that this would be a great fishing season due to the substantial rains that had fallen over the summer months so we were quietly optimistic.

Setting out early, the sun just breaking through the desert mist as it appeared from the east, illuminating the rugged green mountains of Salalah. Reaching our destination we kitted up: 10-weights, a large selection of leaders, various flies and lots of nervous energy at the ready. Slowly drifting along side the reef watching for a large silver flash or cheeky V-sign from a tailing monster, you could cut the tension with a knife!

The sun was still low making it hard to see into the water but further ahead I was sure I could see something glinting. Was it a mass of golden tails or just foam and bubbles from the waves as the rising tide desperately tried to engulf the last few inches of rock poking out above the water? As the white waters were rapidly sucked back over the rocks into the aqua blue ocean all was revealed.

A school of over 40 fish all frantically feeding, tails waving erratically and giant silver bodies fighting to hold their prime feeding position against the retreating swell.

Brandon was up first, his fly line stripped out and perfectly laid on the deck to avoid any tangles as he stood on the back casting platform ready for action. With the nose of the boat pointing out towards any rogue swell I reversed him into position.

Time stood still! All you could hear were the waves crashing against the cliffs and a few sea birds circling above watching us with great interest. I was so nervous: Now was the moment of truth! Would all of our preparation and planning pay off?

Carefully he began his cast, a beautiful tailing loop landed the fly quietly just to the left of the school and we both held our breath, strip, strip, the line juddered as the hook nagged over the rocky bottom making us jump each time.

The reel was screaming and within seconds, backing was disappearing into the deep blue.

Picking up again he recast, this time right into the mass of feeding bodies, I could hardly watch, the tension in the air was tangible, would the line touch one of them and send the whole school leaping for safety?

Strip, strip, strip! Just as a wave surged over the group, the line went tight! Brandon set the hook and we watched, as it ripped through his fingers in a huge curve off to the left, sending the rest of the school literally flying in all directions. Kicking the boat into gear I slowly moved out towards deeper water as Brandon attempted to gain control and get the fish onto the reel.

“Did you hook one?” I stupidly found myself saying.

“I think so!” came his surprised reply.

“In the mouth?” I said in disbelief.

“Yeah I saw him turn on my fly” came the reply.

Surely not?! It must be foul hooked or some cheeky reef fish had whipped in and stolen the fly right under their noses????

But the reel was screaming and within seconds, backing was disappearing into the deep blue. I was relieved that the fish had made an escape for freedom to deeper waters and not decided to head over the reef where we would have surely lost him on the rocks.

The next few minutes seemed like hours, not a word was spoken. Brandon frantically reeling and then watching line disappear again as I stood staring, mouth wide open, into the deep blue desperately searching for that tell all glimpse of silver.

As the beginning of the fly line appeared from the depths and safely back onto his reel we caught our first flash. It was a permit for sure, but which one Indo or Africanus? A dirty fight ensued with bursts of speed followed by violent head shakes as the fish desperately tried to spit the hook. Brandon, showing no mercy, kept the pressure on and guided this gold finned monster towards the boat. As he finally came close I could see his angry eyes glaring through the water at us.

He was not giving up that easily and certainly did not like the boat let alone the net. My nerves along with his last few cheeky tricks meant it took a few attempts to actually land him but exhausted and somewhat moodily he finally gave up the fight. We were speechless. The first Africanus to be caught on a fly rod - and he was absolutely beautiful. What a rush, what a fight, we could hardly believe our eyes! All the hard work, planning, research, waiting, fly tying and time that had gone into working these fish out had finally paid off. Snapping in to action we measured and tagged him, a not too shabby 45cm, he was solid and stocky with small scratches down his sides from the muscle beds topped off with the most extraordinary perfect pink pout I have ever seen. A couple of pictures and he was back in the water, and with one final goodbye tail slap he slunk off to the deep to join his friends and we erupted with joy.

Through the water I could see their hungry mouths decimating every tasty morsel they came across as they frantically fed

No time to waste, it was my turn. Let’s see if this was a fluke or if these buggers really do eat flies!

Moving further along the reef we came to another school of fish, happily grazing, not a care in the world. Rod gripped, my palms started to sweat, heart crashing and a huge lump in my throat - I readied myself.

Nerves together with an unpredictable swell made me feel as though I was swaying around like a drunken person.

Brandon positioned the boat nose into the waves and started to reverse in. Through the water I could see their hungry mouths decimating every tasty morsel they came across as they frantically fed, eyes wildly searching the rocks and tails flicking in all directions.

There is something about permit fishing that makes my knees go weak, I usually try and tell myself that I am seeing just a school of hungry reef fish in the hope that I can trick my brain into staying calm. On a few occasions this has worked, but not today… This time the pressure was on! To be brutally honest my first cast could have been better, I believe Brandon’s comment was something along the lines of “hmmm, I think my granny could do better than that, and she’s never held a fly rod in her life”. Deep breath in and out, with the next cast landing right in the money.

Hands shaking, I waited, crouched over as if I was trying to hide from something or someone. As my fly reached the bottom I started to strip slowly. The sea seemed to calm and I held my breath… but nothing! Picking up I cast again, this time more towards the centre of the school, landing the fly right in the middle of the feeding frenzy. Grimacing I shut my eyes as Brandon hung his head in shame. Oh, God! Please don’t spook, PLEASE DON’T SPOOK!

Attempting to gain back control I cranked the drag down a little and set about trying to get this monster to play nice.

Opening one eye I could see the fish all still feeding, apparently unperturbed. Fly on the bottom I began my retrieve, bumping along the rocky floor somehow dodging the plethora of pink vacuums, I held my breath. As it reached the edge of the school a large silver body seemed to stop and for a second turned his eye to my fly. In an instant he was on it and: ‘Pop’, it disappeared deep into his pink mouth.

Setting the hook, the water erupted, fish came charging out from the rocks towards the boat and peeling off to the left and right all around us.

I desperately tried to keep tension on the line as it took off to the right in a huge curve, line slicing through the water and tearing through my fingers. In seconds the reel was screaming as the fish made a bid for freedom, all I could do was hold on and watch as the fly line disappeared and my pink backing followed suit… Bloody hell!

Attempting to gain back control I cranked the drag down a little and set about trying to get this monster to play nice. Thank goodness he too, like Brandon’s fish, had run out to sea and not over the reef. But that was just the start: The battle was just beginning.

The next 10 minutes felt like a dream. I really can’t remember what exactly happened. It was pure and utter mayhem: A haze of vicious head shakes, violent bursts of speed followed by frantic line retrieval as I attempted to tame him. Finally, after maybe 15 minutes or so he was in sight. I could see his huge silver body as he threw himself about like a stroppy teenager desperately trying to get free. Swimming left then right and even flipping on his back, he was a cheeky bugger for sure, and boy did he dislike the boat. It took several attempts to get him into the net and a lot of colourful language! Every time he came close he would dive down or tail slap the net out of the way then shoot off to the side to dodge it altogether. F’ing and blinding he finally gave in and succumbed to being landed. And there he was: Sitting in the water, grumpy pink pout and huge inquisitive eyes staring back at me. He was stunning!

No time to lose, we tagged, photographed and measured him: A whopping 68cm! A big kiss on those luscious pink lips and I said my goodbyes. With one final swish of his tail he slunk off to join his friends and our mission was complete!

We had done it! We had Cracked the code!

A new species of permit could now be added to every fly fishing fanatics bucket list and it was time to celebrate!

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