Permit Epiphany

There was a time when I assumed catching permit was only possible by travelling to exotic, guided destinations. Then in 2022, Este and I began spending several weeks each year travelling up the east coast of Queensland, camping in caravan parks and searching for DIY permit. When neap tides and manageable winds aligned, we began finding and catching these coveted fish. We even found permit on flats within a kilometre or two of major concrete boat ramps.

During these trips, I had a permit epiphany: in addition to Australia’s guided permit fisheries, our northern coastline has hundreds (perhaps even thousands) of other flats that are ripe for DIY permit exploration. All you need is time and energy — and lots of it, for there are more flats than you could hope to explore in a lifetime.

MISSION PLOTTING

The permit epiphany swirls in my mind as I stare at grainy Google Earth satellite imagery, plotting another DIY permit mission. It’s May, and Este and I are in Karratha, part way through a 3-month road trip up the WA coast with our boat. The next week offers some of the best permit tides of the trip — a set of neaps, with slow rising high tides in the afternoon.

But there’s a hitch: strong easterly winds up to 25 knots are forecast. The flats we’d planned to fish are too exposed in that wind direction. Winds of this speed also make fly fishing from our boat a real pain.

So, I search for an alternative location on the north west coast, where we can hunt permit on foot. Specifically, I’m looking for flats with 1) classic permit habitat; 2) road and/or foot access; and 3) somewhere to camp or stay.

To address the first criteria, I scan the satellite imagery for flats with mazes of sand bars and channels. Such flats generally have a rippled or scalloped appearance on Google Earth. Preferably, the flat will lie at the mouth of an estuary or creek system. Another key feature, taught to me by Hinchinbrook guide Clint Isaac, is drying spits and bars that will squeeze the path of permit moving with the tide. Such locations make ideal stake-out points to intercept permit.

Plenty of candidate locations emerge. Most have a van park or camp ground of some kind within striking distance. We pick a location that has 4WD trails leading near the flats, book into a van park, and arrange access permission from the traditional land owners. The final step is to check the crocodile situation. ‘I haven’t seen one since 2006 and people go diving and swimming around here,’ the manager of the van park assures me, ‘But obviously keep your eyes peeled.’

SCHOOLING PERMIT

Day 1. A quick breakfast, two cups of coffee, and I’m crouched down, deflating our 4WD tyres for the sandy trails. As air hisses from the tyres, my stomach churns with nervous anticipation. Will the 4WD trails be too rough to drive? What if that croc has come back? And do any permit even live here?

After some 4WD rough and tumble, we catch our first glimpse of the flats. They look heavenly. Sand spits, bars and gutters stretch in both directions, beneath transparently clear water. I say to Este, ‘There must be permit here.’ We take a deep breath, lace up our wading boots, and walk across sand dunes to the water’s edge.

By the time we start wading out, it’s an hour into the rising tide. Even with the neap tide cycle, the area we are fishing has metres of tidal variation. The contour of the flat is so uniform, we wade hundreds of metres before the water reaches our knees.

Around this depth, I see three schools of fish, about 200 metres away. The schools look like floating brown blobs. ‘Can you see those fish? What are they?’ I ask Este. ‘Got them, I can’t tell from so far away,’ she responds. I dare not vocalise my suspicion that they are permit. ‘Probably mullet. But let’s wade closer and check them out.’

Every step towards the blobs, they look less like mullet. First, we notice their bodies are too deep. Then we see forked tails, with yellow tips protruding into the air. By the time we wade within casting range, my heart is pounding. The fish definitely are not mullet. They are permit.

We take a few moments to watch them. They are not feeding, but circling in a daisy chain — common permit behaviour when the fish are waiting for enough water to swim onto dry flats. Daisy chaining permit can be notoriously difficult to catch. But in this case, the sheer number of fish (over 20 in each school) makes me think there must be a greedy one somewhere.

I take the first shot, casting a tan size 1/0 Alphlexo Crab near the edge of the closest school. Relief washes over me when the fish don’t spook from the splat of the fly landing. After the fly sinks to the sand, I begin a painfully slow and intermittent retrieve. Drag, pause. Drag, drag, pause. Repeat.

First cast, nothing. Second cast, nothing too. But the third time’s a charm. A permit peels off the school and tilts down on the fly. It is so close to my feet I clearly see its lips open and close over the fly. Knowing how quickly permit can spit out flies, I rip back on the fly line before I feel pressure. The fish responds by bolting for the horizon, well into the backing.

The ensuing fight is scatty, with head shakes, rapid changes in direction, and bright silver mooning flashes. But soon enough the fish rests quietly in my hands, staring back at me through its bulbous black eye. A medium sized Indo-pacific (Blochii) permit, with honeycomb yellow fins and a polished dinner plate sheen. We can’t believe our luck — a permit to hand, exploring an unfamiliar flat on foot, in the first 10 minutes of fishing.

We admire, photograph and release the fish, and celebrate with a fist bump. Then look around anxiously to see if the daisy chaining permit schools remain. Thankfully, they do.

Este takes the next shot. This time, it takes half-a-dozen casts to hook-up. As the permit takes off, an aerialised fly-line loop catches around the rod butt, busting the fish off. Worse still, the startled fish runs through the middle of the nearest school, scattering spooked permit in all directions. By the time we re-rig, the permit schools have vanished.

Three hours pass before we find more permit — a small pod of fish crossing a spit. The tide has risen significantly, resulting in half metre waves breaking over the spit. The waves drench Este as she half runs/half wades along the spit, trying desperately to get in front of the permit.

With seconds to spare before the fish enter a deep channel, she fires out a cast. It lands in front and she hooks-up. This time, she secures the prize —another beautiful Blochii. It is the last permit action for the day, but we’re on a massive high. Mission accomplished, and it is only day 1.

PERMIT DOUBLES

On the same flat the next morning, we find more schools of permit — several are in the vecinity of 100 fish! This time, the fish are not daisy chaining — they are moving south to north, at speed. Why they are moving in that direction is a mystery. The adjacent estuary, which you might expect the permit to enter at high tide, lies in the opposite direction.

The most challenging part is predicting the path of the fast moving schools and wading into range, before they pass us by. I misjudge the path of the first school and never get the shot. But my first cast to the second school is slammed. Another permit on!

Usually, Este and I fish for permit one at a time, taking it in turns to shoot at sighted fish, with the non-angling party holding a rod rigged for a GT or queenfish. But after seeing so many permit yesterday, we’ve switched to a second permit set-up. As I fight my permit, Este spots another school and wades within range. She takes the shot, comes tight and screams with joy. It’s our first ever permit double hook-up. We are ecstatic when we land a mixed double — hers an Anak, mine a Blochii.

Incredibly, the same flat produces four more permit after this, including a second double the next day. But we see very few permit after the first two hours of run-in tide. The lack of permit later in the tide bakes my noodle — with so many fish around, there just had to be permit feeding somewhere. We decide to leave the schooling permit in peace, and spend the last two days of the neap cycle exploring a different flat in the hope of finding another treasure trove.

FEEDING SINGLES, PODS & TAILERS

Accessing the new flat requires tackling a different 4WD trail and hiking along a beach, including a tidal creek crossing. At first we struggle to find permit, with zero fish seen during the first half of the run-in tide. Then, as the tide rises higher, we see a single fish mooching along the edge of a beach. Este casts, the fish tilts down onto her fly, and the rest is history. It is a stunning Anak, the largest fish of our trip.

What comes next is an Abracadabra moment of pure permit magic. From out of nowhere, countless permit appear suddenly, swimming as singles and in small pods along the whole length of the beach. Some are tailing within centimetres of dry sand; their backs and sickle fins clear of the water. Others are grubbing on the bottom a couple of rod lengths out. Still others are floating on the surface further out, perhaps keeping a watchful eye for danger while their mates feed. There are so many fish, it is the most astonishing sight I’ve seen while permit fishing.

That afternoon and the next, we land six of these beach feeding permit in total. We also inspect the beach at low tide and find plagues of tiny brown hermit crabs. We theorise that these permit peanuts are what the fish are eating. Our larger size (1/0) Alphlexo crabs prove an imperfect match for the much smaller hermit crabs, with many casts between each permit eat. Had we been carrying small brown crab patterns (size 4 or even 6), I hate to think how many more permit we could have caught.

NO GREATER HIGH

In the end, we finish with 14 permit landed over the 5-day tidal window (an equal mix of Anak and Blochii). This world class result illustrates the phenomenal potential for DIY permit exploration in our country. However, two final points should be kept in mind.

First — and obviously — not every permit hunt pans out like this. Fishless days and trips are part of the cut-and-thrust of permit fishing. If you can’t enjoy and value them as a learning experience, this caper isn’t for you. This particular trip was some of the hottest permit action I’ve experienced.

Secondly, if you have limited time, or want to maximise your chances of catching a permit, your best bet is to fish with a guide. We are lucky to have world class permit guides in this country. Este and I still plan at least one guided permit trip each year. Much of our DIY success is attributable to what we’ve learnt from guides.

As much as I really love catching permit with guides, the buzz that comes from finding a new flat on Google Earth, speculating that it holds permit, and catching a fish is priceless. For me, there is no greater high. If that sounds appealing to you, you’re in luck living in Australia, for we surely have more flats to explore, and better permit fishing, than almost anywhere in the world. It’s up to us, as anglers, to put in the effort, and make the most of the bounty on our doorstep.