Does not get old…

So, when I was a little kiddo, both of Grandads would would take me fishing.  One of them was in to it a little more than the other.  The other one was a little broader in his interests.  One did nothing but fish the other one would dress in his best weekend cowboy clothes, go to the mall then come home and work on his cars and other projects.  “Papa” would either be on the water or be home watching fishing shows or looking at fishing magazines.  I’m now daydreaming of my grandad shuffling through Fly Rod and Reel magazine at a 45 degree pitch in his easy chair and stumbling upon my article, I know he would be very proud, so would “PawPaw” cowboy.

It’s a huge honor to be in any magazine really, but the one that has been around for what seems like forever is Fly Rod and Reel.  To some maybe its no big deal, but seeing your work in a nationally printed magazine does not get old and never will…thank you FRR and Bob White…I mean to be interviewed by Bob White,doesn’t get any better.


FRR Paul


Country Sucks

So, I got a little wine in me and watched the Country Music Whatever Awards and got on Facebook and vented..whether thats good or not, who knows:

“What would Waylon do? Seriously??? These jokers make millions off rock and roll music that would “suck”, but does suck if it wasn’t called country….if you come up with song that mentions a truck, a dirt road, a beer can, pasture, tailgate, country girl, her boots and a whiskey jar, you’re golden…its such a ridiculous formula that makes saying country music a bad word….awful. Sucks because there are so many good song writers in Nashville that don’t get recorded because of this crap ass roadblock of nashville garbage.”

Then I wrote my own little country music formula flyfishing song….would totally be a hit in the flyfishing category in country.

Its a cool mountain morning
and the sun is coming up
draggin my highside clacka
on the back a my truck

churning up the dirt on the
riverside backroad
my hippy mountain girl
is gonna row don’t ya know

been locked in the cabin
all damn winter long
gotta take the edge off
taken rips from the bong

My mountain girl is wet wading
in the river
the way she cast makes
me wanna shake and quiver



Baby, Lets us go…. down the river

Fly fishing all day long, we’ll be together

Drinking beers and whiskey ….in my drift boat
Darling its about time we did a…. flooooaoaaaat

Catchin trout all day long
on a dry/fly dropper
wishing it was fall
when we could throw a hopper

Sippin on the whiskey
sipping from a flask
having trouble tying knots
like a dumbass

thrown nine foot leaders
from a nine foot 5
knee deep in the water
now I feel alive


Everglades Special – 12 Species so far

Having just got back from a great trip to the Palometa Club in Mexico, I was able to get quite a few different fish on the fly, just not the Permit.  Here is the update so far…12 Species.





Largemouth BassBass



Mutton SnapperMutton Snapper

Mangrove SnapperMangrove Snapper

Jack CrevalleJack



Juvenile Bluerunner, as corrected by the Captian, Michael BensonAmberjackNot pictured: Barracuda, Mayan Perch, Dogtooth Snapper


Day 4, Palometa Club, Mejico

Day 4 was awesome, no other way to describe it.  The hopes were high, but also running low in the tank.  It was the last day, and of our immediate group of 4 that came together, only one Permit had been caught, and it was on a bamboo fly rod.

Ryan and I set out with Alonzo and Fabian and headed south to a huge flat short of the barrier islands we normally pass through.  We saw nothing but the Barracuda that were policing the edges for stray quarry.  We moved onto a flat close to where Davis had caught his fish a day prior.  A couple fish came up from the rear, of which we tried to chase, but seeing they were on a mission, getting back in the boat was the right call.  It was Ryan’s turn, fish here, fish there but nothing really came of it except a decent shot Ryan had at a group of feeding fish right up to his rod tip.  He casted the fly, fish ate right upon landing and was not detected.

We move on down the bay at full throttle.  The boat instantly comes off plane to a lot of chaotic Spanish, pointing that created nothing but chaos.  Not a moment that instills confidence and calmness.  I was rushed to the bow, my rod practically thrown at me in this moment of confusion.  I elevated my self while stripping line on the bow, looked up and there it was, a school of about 250-300 permit of decent size.  Now let me backtrack to the point leading up to this.  In the preceding 3 days, I have had to explain to the other guides everyday that I am using only one fly.  Because of language barriers, (keep in mind they do speak pretty good english) it is still hard to help a Mexican Permit guide understand why the hell I would want to use only one fly.  So I threw it, and I threw it, and still threw it into the meat wad of silver…nothing.  I changed it up to my Bonefish size Ever. Spec., still nothing.  Ryan then took the bow, armed with a weighted shrimp.  They were dorsiling, tailing, grouping, meandering and feeding close to the surface in 4 foot of water. The school gave us plenty of shots.  Finally, Alonzo threw the white Raghead crab at me, and said…”you must use this fly, you must…other fly no work, never will.”  So, at some point it’s not just my fish anymore, it’s the guide’s, the team’s fish also.  I gave in, without a whole lot of fight, and threw the non Everglades Special fly into the school, and bam, full rod tilt.  After the fish was landed, I was happy, with out “fly change regret.”  I had come this far, tried, tried, tried and gave in to catching a Permit however I could, and I was GREAT with that.

PP Perm

We chased the school for a while longer, as Ryan was on the bow the rest of the day.  The school disappeared, so we ate lunch and got back after it.  Hope was dying, we were starting to get into overtime on this day, Ryan needed at least one more good shot to end this thing.  We went back to the first flat we started on where we saw quite a few groups that morning.  “Two O’Clock, tails…..get out the boat.”  Ryan and Alonzo were on the trail, belly button high water, 6 foot 5 Ryan, and 5 foot Alonzo….26 inch Permit.  The cast was made, settled, strip…eat.  Ryan and I came back to put 2 flags on the flagpole, and ended a day of fishing I will never forget…never.  Back to Charleston, and the rest of the waters and my Everglades Specials.

Ike Permie1