DIY permit crew Ray Montoya, Jeff Tyser and Ben Pellegrini
By day five the sea was well and truly on its head. It felt like our window of opportunity had been slammed shut by the 30-knot gales. Ben and I had arrived in Oman hoping to find the turquoise millpond that keeps popping up in Ray’s Instagram feed. We were now faced with the polar opposite. In search of calmer seas, we continued south towards the quaint town of Shuwaymiyyah, yet despite more stable conditions we didn’t see a single permit. With time running out, we had to gamble, and made the call to return to the Ras Madrakah region. There was no doubt it was going to be incredibly tough to spot fish up there
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(let alone put a crab in front of one), but at least we knew they were around. In a way, I found these dwindling odds quite liberating. With only a few days left, I made a conscious effort to relax and embrace the experience for what it was. I have been privileged to fish in some truly unique places around the world, but a DIY mission to Southern Oman stands all on its own. It certainly isn’t easy. If it’s Trachinotus Blochii you’re after, expect to cover huge distances, by car and on foot, for very little reward. Expect unrelenting exposure to extreme sun, heat, sand and wind. Expect trash in quantities that will diminish your faith in humanity, and
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a commercial fishing industry that will all but destroy whatever faith remains. Whatever you do, don’t expect anything remotely resembling a consistent fishery. Despite the obvious adversities – perhaps because of them – there’s a magic to the place that, once experienced, never leaves you. It’s in the stark beauty and deafening silence of the Arabian Desert, the sense of freedom, and the absolute simplicity of it all. It’s in the pursuit of flyfishing’s holy grail, without needing live-aboards, skiffs or guides, without cocktails, billionaires and 5-star cuisine. The whole experience is raw, visceral and, if you ask me, absolutely perfect.