Regardless of how much money one possesses it can’t buy luck or even a species to the list of accomplishments. The author of this piece seems to be one of the unluckiest men ever when it comes to removing a sought after fish off the bucket list. Ten years without a fish landed is a long time to go without catching a single specimen of the targeted species but you have to applaud Chiappone’s resiliency, that is, until he finally throws up the white flag and capitulates after an extremely frustrating and derisory day on the water. His story becomes an overly increasing melodrama about a man’s seemingly bad run. As time wears on, luck becomes the backdrop to his lack of dexterity on the shallow water flats for species that infamous for its skittish and often erratic behavior.
Here’s a great read about a man’s elusive quest for the pinnacle of sight fishing: permit on the fly.
Adios, Señor Permit by Richard Chiappone
I DON’T ACTUALLY SPEAK Spanish, but since a school of Mexican permit precipitated a life-changing decision for me, I think I should wish them well in their native tongue. That said, I never want to see another member of their species for as long as I live.
I cast to my first permit in 1996, and in all the years since then, after all the long fights from Alaska to the Caribbean, after all the world-class guides and all the rum drink hangovers and all the monster VISA bills, I have not had one single permit take a fly I cast to it. Not one. None. Nada.
I’ve tried for them in Ascension Bay, the Southwater Cays of Belize, Little Cayman Island, Abaco Island in the Bahamas, and, finally, Chetumal Bay near Xcalac, on the southernmost tip of the Yucatan Peninsula, where—after casting to so many uncooperative permit in one day I lost count—I witnessed an entire gang of the miserable bastards actually fight over my fishing partner’s fly. Then and there I realized that this kind of abuse at the fins of a fish cannot be good for a person.
And I quit. Read More…