Your Cart

Our itinerary was brief on the road from Florida to Texas. Of course, there were some really cool places we would have loved to experience, but we were down to the wire on time. Only 5 days left before the van would be pulling back into Austin, so we had to condense. We decided to make a one-night stop in New Orleans with it being a first time visit for both of us. We weren’t entirely sure what to expect and with less than 24 hours to experience it, we went all in on the madness. With the van parked for the night, we set out for the iconic Bourbon Street. Our mission was simple. We’d have fun and enjoy the night, but we’d leave New Orleans having checked a scavenger hunt task from the list. Being in a city full of history, music, tourism, and nightlife we were sure to find a kind 70 year old fella willing to take a shot with us. After chowing down on some extremely dry cajun chicken, we set out on our quest. 

We moved bar to bar scouting prospects, quickly realizing that this challenge would be tougher than expected. As we walked the streets, we were stopped by two Australian girls who had mistaken us in our mullets as born and bred Aussies. They were headed to Frenchman Street where we were told we’d have better luck finding our age range, so we followed. On the first corner of Frenchman we walked into a bar hosting a happy hour for a record store convention. BINGO! After chatting with some folks and gathering intel, we were pointed in the direction of Jim (never got his last name), a supposed legend in the record industry who had just turned 77 but sure didn’t look it! He was agreeable to our task, so we went bottoms up and cheersed to Jim and our new Aussie friends. 

Our crew grew larger as we continued our trek through the streets of New Orleans. We picked up two local New Orleanians, made our way to the karaoke bar, and eventually said our goodbyes way too late in the night. Mission Complete.

Rolling up to the Mexican immigration office with enough luggage to build a raft is never a great idea. Everyone in our group including us had their luggage meticulously combed through by an airport official. Then, a select few of us were confiscated of our gear until we paid the “import fee”. This fee seemed to be a randomly generated amount of pesos depending on who knows what. After finally settling up with the Mexican officials, we loaded up the vans, and had a 3.5 hour drive from Tulum down to Xcalak. We would be staying at Howler Ambassador Jesse Colten’s lodge, The X Flats, for the 2026 Mayan Permit Tournament. That night we were greeted by our guide for the week, Jose, with a big yell and an even bigger hug. We immediately knew we were going to be in good hands. We had quite a special crew of gringos down there in Xcalak. The type of guys you would watch house tequila shots all night, then, at 7 a.m., you would watch them lace a crab 90ft onto a dinner plate sized target. We quickly realized we were the “young guns” of this crew, and had much to learn. 

We woke up the next morning hungry. Permit tails and jumping tarpon taunted us in our dreams. We had a ten hour day of fishing ahead, and we couldn’t be more ready. More breakfast tacos down the gullet, and we headed to the boat. We started the day looking for perms but weren’t having luck like we were previously. Graham had made a mental vow that he wanted to go in the classic order on the species list. Prior to this trip, he had never fished for Bonefish, tarpon, or Permit, so before he would be making casts for Permit, he needed to knock the bone and tarpon off the list. We changed gears from Perms in the bay to hunting Bonefish moving through the shallow reefs on the ocean side. It didn’t take long before we had found their highway close to shore, and we started taking shots. Within minutes, Graham was fighting his first ever Bonefish. And after that, six more. We had found em’. Nine bones between the two of us, two big enough to go on the board, and we were back on the Permit hunt after some celebratory Coca Colas and shrimp quesadillas. We poled the same area of the bay that Joe had caught his Permit the previous day. And sure enough, we had eyes on the school. Jose and Joe did the water waddle until they were in range and began taking shots. Strippp, stripppp, BOOM. Anotha one. It was just after one, and we already had our Bonefish and Permit. The slam was in our sights. All we needed was that tarpon, and Jose had a plan. 

He had found a pod of migratory tarpon rolling in the inlets of the ocean side in the weeks prior to our arrival. We anchored on the reef, and waited them out. It was hot. Reaallll hot. We waited there for a good hour, seeing a roll every 20 minutes or so but too far away to cast. Our fatigue convinced us to move spots, but the anchor wanted us to stay. It had fallen through a keyhole in the reef, and we could not get it to budge from our position on the boat. Dying to cool off in the water, Graham volunteered to dive in and free the anchor. The water was so clear you could see his every move. A few yank attempts and we were free, but time was not on our side. The day had reached its end, and we needed to get our fish on the board. We didn’t get our slam, but Graham had tacked a new species off his list and Joe had now hit a 2 day Permit streak. That was plenty successful for us. 

That night, we rode into town with our crew for family dinner. Stories of the day were told over piña coladas and tacos before calling it early at the lodge. We had one more day on the water, and we wanted to give it our all.

The last and surely most daunting step of this mission was the Permit. We had been lucky enough to land a Permit on each day of fishing thus far, but time was tickin’, and we were officially in the fourth quarter. After searching and searching, Jose spotted a school of Permit 220 feet away and closing in. Joe and Jose exited the boat to position themselves on foot. By the time they were in position, Joe was nip deep in water, and Jose was practically floating from his Yeti Panga backpack. It was silent, pureeee silence, as they waited for the school to come into range. Finally Jose broke the ice, “70 feet 11 o’clock”. 70 feet in nip-deep water seemed a little ambitious, so Joe shot as much line as he could in the path of the school. “Perfect shot”, said Jose. Joe’s hands had somehow developed heartbeats during this whole ordeal. “Strip”, said Jose. Joe slowly moved his floating crab fly and one of the Permit took interest. The fish followed and followed and followed, but did not eat. The school took a sharp right and was now  moving towards 2 o’clock. “50 feet, 2 o’clock”, were Jose’s instructions. Joe put the fly 6 feet in front of the school, and began his retrieval. Again, follow, follow, follow, yet no eat. Jose cursed in Spanish, looked at Joe and said “that’s Permit fishing”. To make matters worse, a cloud rolled in covering up the sun, making Joe and Jose blind to any fish in the area. They waited, hopes shattered by the nature of Permit. By this point it was around 3 p.m., leaving only one hour left to get back to the tournament dock. The cloud gave up on blocking the sun, and by some miracle, there was another school of Permit 70 ft away at 12 o’clock and rapidly closing in. The shot to be made was clear, it was a 50 foot shot at 12 so by the time the fly settled, it was 6 feet in front of the school. Joe began to slowly strip the fly, just enough to barely move it. “Follow”, repeated Jose for what felt like 10 minutes. Then it happened, “SETTT” Jose screamed as Joe pinned the fish. Joe, Jose, Graham, and the junior guide Emanuel all simultaneously erupted with yells of victory. After a 30 minute fight the fish was landed. We were ecstatic. Step three complete. Hugs were exchanged, pictures were taken, and Modelos were in order. We did it, we slammed with 20 minutes left to get back to the dock. Our Permit ended up coming in an inch short of the biggest Permit, and we placed 4th overall thanks to our buzzer beater slam. Jose, The X Flats, and Howler, we cannot thank you enough for making it all happen.