Where Can You Fly Fish for Permit in Puerto Rico? Wherever you find them.

We weren't a normal family and we didn't do normal things; when all of my classmates and their families joined the vacationing hoards in Hawaii and at Disneyland, our family packed up and flew the other direction, to Puerto Rico.

I went to Puerto Rico for the first time when I was in fifth grade. My uncle Mark was an audiologist in Ponce and he and my aunt owned an amazing house on the outskirts of town with a pool and fruit trees. I'll never forget that home or the banana pancakes they made every morning. I also remember my Puerto Rican cousins scaring the crap out of me on their mini sailboats that constantly felt like they would tip over. I also remember taking my uncle’s larger sailboat to Coffin Island, which was the most tropical place I’d ever seen. That boat was named, “The Octopussy” given in a nod to the 1983 James Bond movie of the same name. I have fond memories of eating dozens of carne pastelitos from the Kasalta Bakery in San Juan, and I recall my dad nearly passing out while diving for a conch shell at Coffin Island because the water is so clear and, as he put it, “Objects appeared closer than they are.”  I still have the photos of tarpon that I took on that trip to Coffin Island. I took my wife to Puerto Rico just after I got married; I took my boys there for their first beach trip.

Sometime around 2022, I began to hear about some lesser-known tarpon grounds in Puerto Rico, fishable with an outfit named No Name Lodge.

We host fly-fishing trips through our fly shops called House of Fly, and it didn’t take me long to figure out how we could get a trip together.  Of all the places in the world, if there was going to be a fly-fishing lodge in Puerto Rico, I wanted to be a part of it. When I found out the guys from No Name had also carved out a permit fishery, I knew this: I’d have to get down there and try to catch one.

Year 1 was 2023 and it was a bust. We planned a trip, but covid was still in everyone’s mind and travel was just starting again. We apologized to Cooper, the owner of No Name, for not having a crew to bring down, and, honestly, it was a bummer. 

In 2024 we called Cooper and said we could make it happen in February 2025. For that trip I brought my dad, Fred Telleen, who manages The Trout Shop in Craig, Montana, Brian Holum who is involved with The Trout Shop and House of Fly, Jay D’Arpini who is the talent behind most of House of Fly’s fly-fishing media, along with several dedicated customers. 

I won’t go in to all the details of that trip. But, in short, here are the key things we learned: Boquerón is an amazing town; the food is diverse and fantastic; there are tarpon everywhere; and just about everything about that city is one-hundred percent cool.

During that trip, Jay and I got to spend a day on the permit flats with Baja fly-fishing guide Jeff Feczko. The permit flats are offshore on long, coral reef breaks consisting of small, foot-high breaking waves that offer parrotfish, wrasse, conch shells, that classic Caribbean-blue water… and permit tails.

Jay and I were blown away by how many permit we saw tailing that day. We must have cast at 20 of them yet still we couldn’t come tight. But we were stoked about the experience and what possibilities lay ahead, enough so that we shared a bottle of seven-year Don Q rum, out on the flats, to end the day.

We returned to No Name earlier this year (2026). Jay and I were looking for a rematch, and we’d only get one day to make it happen. My dad and Brian joined us again, and I also brought one of my lifelong friends along, a guy who I lived with down in Argentina, Steve Brown, who is now one of the proud owners of Fisher Brewing in Salt Lake City, Utah. We also had two amazing clients with us, Harry and Tom, who frequent our fly shop in Great Falls, Mont. I’ve fished many places in Central America with Tom. We also had our friend, Mike, on the trip, an amazing contractor from Great Falls who had a goal to catch his first tarpon on fly (checked that off the list).

In 2025 we learned that catching those permit is no cakewalk. There’s a ton of coral and small waves on those flats, and natural crabs are everywhere. To catch a permit’s eye a fly must look real, bobbing and weaving in those waves, just like the naturals. That means you must play the waves and understand the sink rate of the fly so you can sort of predict where it is when a permit approaches. Everything must go right and even if you hook a permit there’s no guarantee you’ll land it; our guide that day, Zack Gibson, estimated you still have less than a 50 percent chance of landing one because of that coral and a huge dropoff at the edge of the reef.

On day three at No Name Jay and I got our shot. It had been a very windy week, but there’s no room for complaint; it’s always windy in saltwater fishing. When we began the day, our goal was simply to shoot some close-up footage of tailing permit. We thought catching one was a farfetched goal. Still, we each tied on a green Flexo crab that Zack tied, and that we have recently dubbed, The Right Hook, because of its large front right claw. “Flexo” or “Alphlexo” crabs are literally constructed of automotive Flexo tubing placed on a hook with chenille claws. They are made with simple materials with subtle, yet complex details, and they look pretty real.

Out on the flats we saw plenty of tails, but it was a highish tide and the fish never stayed in one place long enough for us to get good shots. Eventually, Zack wandered off to grab the skiff and the moment he was out of sight I got my chance. That’s when a permit tipped up in shallow water about 40-feet away. I made several good shots, but the fish eventually slid away. I remember thinking that was the shot I'd replay in my head all evening, wondering if there was something else I could have done.

Then I spotted another tail. It was about a hundred yards away and slipping out of view in the waves. It seemed almost pointless to chase that fish, but I had nothing to lose. By the time I reached the area, I was trying to work a wind knot out of my line, and suddenly the fish appeared, 30 feet in front of me moving right to left.

I made a cast about three feet ahead of where I thought the permit’s nose should be. The instant the crab landed, the fish’s tail came up. Then a second permit materialized. Both fish began tracking the fly. I didn't move the fly. The waves were already doing the work. I simply kept tension in the line and watched the body language of the fish. Then I felt weight. One tail kicked. I softly strip-set. Chaos followed.

The fish exploded off the flat and into deeper water before I even understood what was happening. When I looked back, Jay’s reaction told me he was tracking everything. Later, he told me I seemed completely calm and focused. Inside, I was not calm. Then the line went slack. The fish was gone. Or so I thought.

I soon discovered my backing wrapped around one coral head. Then another. I waded deeper, freed the line, reeled in slack, and held onto the tiniest shred of hope. Could this really happen? When the line came tight, I felt the fish surge. A miracle.

I was surprised by that fish’s strength. The only permit I’d ever caught was in Belize and that fish was no bigger than my hand. This fish was different. Every surge convinced me why people become obsessed with them.

Eventually, we worked the fish back onto the flat. Jay looked at my fly line and said, “I have a good feeling about this.” Oddly, so did I. We worked the permit up onto the flat a number of times, but Jay was carrying his camera and his one-armed attempts to grab the permit’s tail failed each time.

About then, Zack finally realized what had happened. I looked over my shoulder and saw him coming across the flat at full speed. When he arrived, he didn't waste a second. He kept my line elevated and launched himself into the waves trying to secure the fish. In my memory, he looked like Aquaman.  A moment later he emerged from the water with the permit wrapped in both arms and yelled, “I'm not letting go!”

At that point, my composure disappeared. Jay was yelling. Zack was yelling. I was yelling. And for a few seconds the entire world, life, in fact, felt simple and perfect. I held the fish gently, looked at its colors, its eyes, its tail, and tried to burn the moment into memory. I made sure to slow down for a minute.

Catching that permit was really special for me, a singular and magnificent fish in Puerto Rico that I’d always wanted to find. But, on the long wade back to the boat I thought about everything else I was grateful for.

I was grateful that Jay was there.

I was grateful for my family taking me to Puerto Rico and all those amazing trips I’d experienced as a kid.

I was grateful knowing my dad, Steve, and Brian would be waiting back at the lodge, ready to hear the story.

I was grateful for my wife and boys back home in Montana. In fact, when we were running in the skiff, I texted a photo to my wife and boys. They immediately understood two things: it was a permit, and it mattered.

I was especially grateful to send a permit photo to a couple of friends, Calvin and Paul, settling a few scores in our longstanding angling rivalry.

Before heading home, I took the crew to visit my cousins, Chris and Patsy, in Dorado. They welcomed us into their home, showed us around the Dorado Beach area, and reminded me why Puerto Rico has always felt so warm and welcoming. We even caught dinner off the beach.

Everything was tremendously copacetic. But, of course, the sea always collects its payment. Mine came in the form of roughly 30 sea urchin spines driven into the arch of my foot.

As I sat there nursing the pain with Don Q, while my cousin Chris pulled quills from my foot, Patsy walked by, laughed, and said, “You gotta pay the price.”

That made perfect sense, and that night I fell asleep with a rum in my hand, foot elevated, with Jaws playing on TV. I woke up just as the credits rolled. To this day, I've still never seen Jaws. But I did catch a permit, surrounded by family and friends, and I feel like Puerto Rico still has plenty to offer. In my mind, there’s still a lot to see.