Figured I’d share a bit about a wild trip I took a few years back with the Skinny Water Culture crew.
Oman is a pretty serious trip. Total travel time pushes 30 hours of air travel. I drove to Miami to keep it to two flights. Leg 1 was a little over 22 hours in the air. We landed in Qatar. The airport is like Dubai, complete with Lamborghini dealership, Michelin Star Restaurants, and all the brands. I ate some shwarma and tried to sleep. Next leg was in to Salala, Oman.
About 30 hours after leaving Miami, we arrived in Oman. It was a little sketchy, but not worse than the Bahamas out islands or South America. Our cab driver took us to our hotel on the Gulf of Oman. There were a lot of Europeans but zero Americans. They asked us a lot about why we were there. For those that don’t know, Salala Oman is next to Yemen, and across the drink from Iran. The wives were worried.
We were fishing with No Boundaries Oman, from the mothership Nostrus Temptrus.
After a few hours of mid-day comatose sleeping, and a general lack of awareness of time and space, I hit the beach at the resort with my 10wt. I scored my only GT of the trip. It was a bit smaller than my fly.
The host picked us up and took us to the boat for dinner and drinks and to meet the crew while they loaded stores. We returned to the hotel that night, buzzed, dazed, confused, and full of Indian food cooked by the crew; mostly made up of Bangladeshis, and South Africans. Circadian rhythms be damned, we all slept hard.
They picked us up in the dark of morning and we drove north up the coast towards a land based lodge where we’d stay prior to heading out into an island archipelago in the Gulf, at the edge of the Indian Ocean, where we would meet the mothership.
But first, permit. Indo-Pacific perms to be specific. We stopped in the Rocky Mountains that towered along the coast on the edge of a vast desert. 1000’ down, we pulled off on to a peninsular beach covered entirely in smooth rocks. The water was clear. The beach was littered with plastic and trash, and covered in mammal bones; whales, dolphins, turtles, birds…. It was bizarre.
The tide was high. I was assured there were permit there. And there was. I fed one in the surf shortly after arriving and did not make it happen. A few guys got some small ones, but once the tide went out, just before sunset, everything changed. Dodging camels in my back cast, I had over a dozen tailing perms to cast at. The low tide and light didn’t make it easy. The sand was churned and the water was murky. Hitting these fish in the head wasn’t enough. You needed to rub a lamp and make a wish to get an eat. I had at least 10 shots before I fed one. It was a solid fish.
After a good bit, the guide grabbed the leader and prematurely released the fish with the net. No hero shot on my Indo PAC Perm, but I still count it. A few of us got one.
After an amazing meal and far too much liquor, we crashed out in our walled campground of a lodge.
The next morning, we loaded up in trucks pulling two 30’ center consoles with twin 200 outboards. We fished down the rocky cliffs along the coast looking for bream, spangled emperors and Africanus Permit.
It was rough. It was blowing. It was tough conditions for weighted fly lines but we gave it a good go and caught all sorts of wild fish before biting the bullet and running 70 miles into the slop to meet the mothership.
The boat was great. Very comfortable. Food was great. We spent most days exploring the coastal rocks and reefs of various islands, on foot. It was pure fishing. We caught all sorts of insane species. It was an incredible trip.
34 hours home. World Cup in Qatar. The flu. A week to recover.
It was a trip of a lifetime.
