Sometimes you lose the big one.

It was one of those days that we probably shouldn’t have gone out. The forecast looked grim, with thunderstorms on and off all day. But, it was calling for relatively low winds (8-10), and we still thought we could find some fish even if the light was tough.

As we ran out, we quickly realized that the forecast was way off. The wind was blowing closer to 20-25 as the boat cut through white caps and big waves, though it was less cloudy than we expected. We decided to give it a go since we had already made the effort.

We began looking for permit when we got to the first flat. We saw only bonefish here and there, but the wind and glare made it tough to spot them in time to get a good shot, and the fly I had on was a big permit crab. The wind was irritatingly strong and relentless, blowing in our ears and making it difficult to hear each other. Balancing on the casting platform was a challenge.

We moved on to the next spot and began to see permit almost immediately. Even through the chop, their black tails stood out, mostly as they bounced off the boat and fled. The casting was tough, and the wind made it hard to position the boat in time for a good shot. Still, they kept coming, and we finally got some serious interest and follows from a few fish. We could actually get pretty close to them because they couldn’t feel the boat in the wind.

We got to another spot just as water was filling the flat. Rays and sharks started to meander, which is usually a good sign that permit might show up. We were chatting away when suddenly, Rick’s voice took a serious tone. “Isn’t that a school of permit, 10 o’clock?” I turned my head and saw a school of ten or so very large permit feeding in shallow water about 25 feet from us. Normally that might be too close, but the wind helped disguise our presence. I made a quick cast, and the fly landed a foot in front of one fish, the choppy water muffling the sound as it hit the surface. The fish lit up, charged forward and tried to pin the fly. I started to set the hook but quickly felt that the fish wasn’t there. He charged forward again, pinning the fly with such force that his large tail came clear out of the water and mud fanned out around him. With a long strip set, the fish was on.

We hooted and hollered, delighted to have hooked this big fish. He raced across the flat going one way, then quickly changed direction, the line slicing through the water, the slack in it giving me anxiety. We motored after him, getting within feet of the leader a few times. Then he swiftly left the flat and entered the deep channel, fighting to keep himself on the bottom. The 10-weight was doubled over in my hands, and he was still taking line.

My heart was in my throat the whole time. We peered through the choppy water, and just as Rick commented that the channel looked pretty clear, I realized the fish had run to the only sea fan in the whole channel and wrapped himself around it. And in the blink of an eye, I felt slack in the line and brought a cleanly broken leader to the surface.

It felt like a kick to the gut, and we were both seriously disappointed to not land that fish. Getting a big permit to eat is always a feat, and it was one of the coolest sequences either of us had seen. We caught some nice bonefish later that day, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that fish. Later that night, after spending way too much time replaying it in my head, I finally decided that if that permit could figure out how to find that sea fan and break me off on it, then he deserved to win that battle.