Today
I met the best fisherman on Vieques. I spent less than two
minutes with him, he spoke no English and I never asked his
name, but it was so obvious that he was a superior angler that
I’m still shaking my head in disbelief after our brief
encounter.
Amanda and I had just parked our Jeep and were walking down
Encampment Beach to one of my favorite bonefish flats around 4
o‘clock this afternoon. I didn’t think I had much chance of
catching anything, it was windy, late in the day, and the tide
was too high. None of that mattered at the time because I just
wanted out of the house after seeing the end of Penn State’s
disaster at Illinois. We were less than twenty yards from the
road when I spotted an older man climbing over the rocks that
mark the beach’s western end. He was clearly a local, wearing
torn jeans and a long sleeve shirt despite the heat. It was what
he was carrying up the beach that made my jaw drop.
He had a three foot piece of driftwood over his shoulders and
hanging from each end, tied by a short length of sturdy crab
trap line, were two huge silver fish. From over a hundred yards
away I immediately recognized their unmistakable shape as a
species I’ve spent the last fifteen years chasing in both
Florida and here in Puerto Rico. They were permit, each well
over twenty-five pounds and nearly three feet in length. They’re
one of the most elusive and difficult fish to catch anywhere in
the world, especially on a fly rod. I’ve had anglers come to
Vieques from as far away as Sweden to go after permit without
success, and here came two prime examples up the beach, hanging
from a piece of bamboo.
I stopped the man immediately and started stammering about his
catch. “Where did you catch them, what kind of bait did you use,
and can I take your picture?” were a few of the questions I
managed to spit out in amazement. His answers surprised me even
more.
He caught them just past the very flat I was heading to, where
I’d seen many but never hooked a single permit in over two years
of trying. His bait was a hunk of conch tossed out on a simple
hand line with twenty pound test. He had probably never used a
rod and reel in his entire life. The fish he was taking home
were actually two out of the three permit that he had caught
during the morning, the first one got away. What was the most
amazing thing of all was his lack of excitement at a catch that
had this full time fishing guide going through the roof. Hooking
a single permit is the very essence of a perfect day on the
water. Back in my Key West days, where they’re a lot more
common, catching three permit would get you mentioned in the
sports page. The fisherman in front of me, with fifty pounds of
these fish hanging off his shoulders, looked as excited as
someone coming home from the grocery store.
He was probably a Dominican, judging from the Spanish he spoke,
and as I finished taking his picture I couldn’t help marveling
at the real differences between us as anglers. I was carrying
the newest Sage fly rod and reel worth nearly $1200 retail,
while he had an old hand line, often called a yo-yo, that sells
for about $3 at the hardware store. I was wearing a pair of $180
polarized sunglasses to help cut the glare and spot fish, he had
a pair of dime store shades with purple glass lenses. I had on a
new pair of Teva booties to protect my feet from the sharp coral
and sea urchins, he was barefoot. Finally, he was the one
walking away with two incredible fish, and I knew I’d be going
home empty before I even started casting.
He was eager to get home with his catch so I took a few more
quick photos and said goodbye. Back in Key West, where I’d catch
dozens of permit each year, I never thought to bring one home
for dinner. Killing a permit, the holy grail of fly fishing, is
a huge taboo among the guides and anglers up there. When a
permit agrees to be caught on a fly it must be cherished,
photographed, painted in watercolors, and written about
poetically after its safe release. Catching permit in the Keys
elevates the guide and angler to a higher plane in the sport.
You become the elite of the elite. Eating one is pure sacrilege.
This isn’t the case down here in Vieques and I’m actually happy
about it. Permit are actually delicious and the two being
carried up the beach will feed his family well this week. After
almost fifteen years of looking at the permit as a nearly
mythical creature, it was a bit of a shock to see them for what
they really are; just another fish in the sea. My high tech gear
and I came home empty this afternoon. We were shown how it’s
done by a hand line, a hunk of conch, and a clearly superior
fisherman.
Capt. Gregg McKee,
WildFly Charters
