Palmetto Bluff Real Estate Company Sales Office
Office Hours
Monday-Friday 9am - 5pm
Saturday 9am - 4pm
Sunday 12 - 4pm
Saturday 9am - 4pm
Sunday 12 - 4pm
Written by Palmetto Bluff
Jun 11, 2021
It’s the end of the world as we know it… and I don’t feel fine.
December 31, 1999. The world stands on the precipice of the much-hyped Y2K millennial shift. I, however, stand on the bow of a flats skiff staked out on a channel pass in Belize waiting for one of the most elusive fish on the planet. I imagine the intensity to be akin to hunting German U-boats in the Caribbean during World War II. My expectant wife sat in the jump seat eating delicious peanut butter cookies. How we got here is a long and winding story that started in Montana. The guide stands disinterested on the poling platform staring into the azure middle ground. Time inches by painfully slow.
“Feesh . . .
“Where?”
“There . . .”
“Where exactly is there?”
“11 o’clock coming toward you . . .”
(Could we have not just started with the clock hand designation?)
The “feesh” were a pair of large permit cruising through the channel. The sickle rapier of a dorsal fin and an all-knowing eye that resembles the moon. Multiple years, flight transfers, and boat rides had brought us to this moment in time. I held the crab fly between my thumb and forefinger feeling the punch of the hook tip. Some epoxy, deer hair, silly- looking bead eyes, and crazy legs were going to fool this thing into eating? Apparently, the imitation of life. All I had to do was make the cast as they slid into range. So very simple in theory. Like lassoing a submarine.
“Cast, NOW.”
False cast, set up the double haul, feel the rod load, the leader unfurls behind, apply the power, drop the line hand, shoot the line, and . . .
What happened next still remains one of the greater mysteries of my life. I did not see the crab gently touch down as anticipated in 2 feet of clear water 3 feet ahead of the lead permit. I, instead, felt the crab find purchase in the small of my back in my expensive fishing shirt as I completely blew the cast. The “feesh” didn’t care; they glided by in a phantom-like suspension, and I think one rolled his or her eye up at me. I looked at the guide. He looked away and simply said, “beeg feeshes.”
“What now?” I asked.
“Nothing, they leave. Now we leave.”
Blame it on the wind, blame it on a myriad of things. I simply screwed up the cast. And, I am okay with that.
Peanut butter cookie? We caught multiple permit the next day, but not on a fly rod. Not quite the same, and they weren’t big “feeshes” like these behemoths.
We do not attempt to independently verify the currency, completeness, accuracy or authenticity of the data contained herein. All area measurements and calculations are approximate and should be independently verified. Data may be subject to transcription and transmission errors. Accordingly, the data is provided on an “as is” “as available” basis only and may not reflect all real estate activity in the market”. © [2023] REsides, Inc. All rights reserved. Certain information contained herein is derived from information, which is the licensed property of, and copyrighted by, REsides, Inc.