The writer’s camera catches what no one wants to see far from port.
August 15, 2025
By Capt. Justin Valakis
The flats of Key West can be a thrilling adventure, where navigating shallow waters in search of bonefish and permit presents unique challenges. With the wind whipping and the tides shifting, running a boat at 30 knots in just two feet of water can turn your heart into a drum. Below us, conchs, sea fans, crab traps, sponges, and a vibrant array of marine life darted beneath the clear surface, making the world feel both alive and electric.
On this particular day, we had just wrapped up an exhilarating session fishing the flats of Mooney Harbor, located about 25 miles west of Key West. The water lay still, a sheet of glass that reflected the stunning colors of the Marquesas—azure, cyan, and emerald. We had successfully hooked several bonefish, but the elusive permit remained out of reach. After catching a tarpon at first light, we were in pursuit of the grand slam of Key West: the tarpon, permit, and bonefish. With determination, we set our course south of the Marquesas to track down the permit.
Captain Justin Valakis (left) and angler Jason Schultz with a huge permit. About five miles into our journey, the sky morphed into an ominous black mass looming to the southeast, swirling as the wind picked up. None of this was forecasted in our clear blue sky predictions. Within moments, the storm bore down on us, and I pushed my brand-new motor to its limits, adrenaline coursing through my veins. We faced a critical decision: Attempt to outrun the storm back to Key West or anchor down within the Marquesas and ride it out. With no cell service in the middle of nowhere, we were flying blind, unable to track the storm’s path. Realizing we were encircled by the brewing tempest, we chose to anchor on a nearby beach and hunker down.
The fishing action was awesome after the storm moved on. As the sky erupted with lightning and thunder roared like an angry beast, we sought refuge beneath our rain gear. Each crack of lightning sent a jolt of fear through us, forcing our primal survival instincts to the forefront. Time stretched and blurred as we waited, hearts racing. Then, just as the storm’s fury seemed to reach its peak, the clouds parted. An eternity felt like it had passed, and as the sun peeked through the dissipating storm, the wind fell silent.
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And there, not 20 yards from our refuge, a school of tailing permit danced across the surface. My client, eyes alight with excitement, climbed onto the bow, a sly grin spreading across his face. With a flick of his wrist, he cast a perfect line, dropping a crab right in the path of the lead fish.
And just like that, the grand slam was on.
This story was featured in the July 2025 issue of Florida Sportsman magazine. Click to subscribe .
