October 3, 2013
Author: Will Rice
QUINTANA ROO, Mexico - The year: 1982. The month: March. The day: Thursday, the 25th.
Over a year had passed and he still had not caught a permit. What had started out a mild curiosity had blossomed into a distant fascination. Permit were a magnetic enigma - their behavior vexing and alluring all at the same time. From there, things morphed into what Isaha, his closest associate and now fishing partner, called an unhealthy obsession.
“It es just a permit, jefe. Your life will not change either way if you catch one or not,” said Isaha in the early morning as he poled a breezy flat under cloudy skies and poor light. Over the time they had worked and fished together, Isaha’s english had improved greatly. He said the words with compassion, like a friend.
He ignored Isaha and stared looking for nervous water - or maybe a sickled onyx tail.