The Thrill & Heartache of Topwater Permit at Beh Kay Lodge

We arrived at Beh Kay Lodge on the heels of a couple of cold fronts in the weeks leading up to our trip, and to pour some salt in the wound, we brought another one with us. Water temps were down, jackets stayed on, and though we were seeing plenty of fish, the permit weren’t cooperating as we had hoped. By the third morning, something shifted.

An easterly wind pushed warmer Caribbean water into the bay, and with it came that subtle but undeniable feeling every flats angler recognizes… today could be different. Our guide, Rodo, ran us to a proven flat, and within minutes, my boat mate for the day, Paul, was on the bow with a school in range. As was his lifelong profession, his cast was surgical. The fish reacted instantly, competing for the fly, and one finally committed. The fish rushed in to eat his offering and paused for a moment. We realized the fish was still clinging to its school and was a bit wary. Then, in a moment’s notice, the fish took the fly and was off, peeling line through Paul’s hand. As the line neared the end and looked like it was about to make its way onto the reel, disaster struck. The line shot up in a twirl and wrapped itself around the other side of his reel. As I watched in horror, everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. Paul stayed calm and freed his fly line, and I thought he was clear, but it just wasn’t timely enough. The line went slack and then silent. The boat shared a moment of disbelief.

There was nothing left to do but keep fishing. So we moved on.

Continuing our pursuit, we saw some singles and small groups ghost across the extensive sand and grass flats of Espiritu Santo Bay. We took turns and collectively cycled through roughly five patterns, trying to establish the magic offering. Each fish inspected the fly and refused in its own way. The tide began to shift again, and with it came another adjustment. Rodo asked me to put on a floating crab and gave us a clear directive: find the highest floating fish in the school and try to feed it!

When my turn came to hop on the bow, waiting for the right opportunity, one finally presented itself. A fish hovered above the others, glowing in the brilliant tropical light. This thing was big too, maybe 25 pounds or more by all estimates. I was fortunate to lead it properly and began a steady retrieve. The fish was quickly intrigued by my dry fly offering, and before I knew it, this absolute monster was in pursuit of my fly. I’m glad my nerves held in that moment, because what was most likely four or five seconds felt like an eternity as I watched it all unfold before me. The permit was steadily waking behind my surface fly, and I could see it clearly as it quartered toward our position in the water. The next thing I knew, it finally accelerated and engulfed the fly off the surface with an audible “GLURP.” It was one of the most electric eats I’ve ever witnessed as an angler. It was a true topwater permit explosion, a sight that will forever be burned into my consciousness.

My strip set came tight. The fish dove for the bottom, briefly tracking back toward the school before bolting off for the Caribbean. Paying close attention to my line clearing after our previous snafu, I finally got the line clear and the reel started screaming. I looked back at Rodo, and we were both losing our minds with excitement over what had just taken place and the sheer size of the specimen we were firmly attached to. We were all cheering in disbelief at what had just transpired. If you’ve been fishing long enough, it’s not a matter of if the big one will get away, it’s when, and that’s exactly what happened next. All of a sudden, and without clear indication of why, the line went slack…

I sat for a moment, not quite sure how to process what was taking place. I just couldn’t believe it. I did everything right… didn’t I? I started reeling the line in and immediately noticed the lack of tension, which told me from experience the fly was no longer there. I kept reeling in with anticipation as to what had failed within my system. The line, leader, and leader knot to the tippet all looked good. Then just past the tippet knot, the fluorocarbon was badly frayed, cleanly cut about an inch above the knot. We sat for a moment trying to think what could have happened. Coral is always a thought, but there was none around in this particular area. As we pondered further, we concluded it was likely collateral damage from a passing needlefish or mackerel slicing through the water, with the knot acting as a likely attractant. Rodo had seen this act before.

I couldn’t believe what had happened and was beside myself, wishing the outcome had been different. As any angler knows, heartbreak is simply part of what we experience throughout our fishing journey. We win some and lose some, but all in all I’ve come to peace with losing the largest permit of my life, and on a surface eat no less. The search for the next big permit has already begun, and without a doubt, this experience will drive me to keep coming back for more. Seeing that behemoth of a fish eat the fly on top was worth the trip and the heartache of the loss. I know there’s more where that came from, and Beh Kay on Mexico’s famed Espiritu Santo Bay is the place to find them.

The author with one that didn't get away...