Steelhead vs. Permit vs. Musky
What’s the dumbest fishing conversation you’ve ever had? I’m going to guess “the greatest fish to catch on fly?” makes your top 10. At least, it should. We’ve all had some version of this debate in a boat, around a campfire, or at a bar—probably on numerous occasions.
It’s as useless as it is ubiquitous. How many times was Flip Pallot (may he rest in peace) asked about his favorite fish to catch? Some version of this question appears in almost every interview and angler profile (including Skwala Ambassadors and team pages; we try to be slightly creative in our versions, though.)
Why do we argue over the superiority of species when the answer is inevitably subjective and the outcome totally pointless? Some of it comes from our subcultural obsession with rankings, lists, and hierarchies (a topic we’ve covered before). But I think the most honest answer has nothing to do with winning or being right. We argue the attributes of our most beloved fish because doing so gives us an excuse to talk about them, to analyze them, to think deeply about them. In constructing arguments about why we love one fish or another, we’re basking in the warmth of pleasant memories. It’s a naval gazing exercise of the most satisfying kind: we get to spend hours thinking really hard about our favorite fish. What could be better than that?
Why steelhead, permit, and musky? Because they attract Heaven’s Gate-esque followings in the fly world. Card carrying members of these fish cults are notorious for their unhealthy obsessions and will gladly pontificate on the superiority of their chosen quarry until the bartender runs a rag under their noses.
So, in the spirit of celebration dressed up as competition, we bring you The Ultimate Fly Fishing Cage match: Steelhead vs. Permit vs. Musky.
Steelhead
If you’re looking for an OG American fly fishing legend, look no further than our wild, native, migratory, anadromous rainbow trout. West Coast fly fishing culture hatched from the fertile gravel of rivers from California to British Columbia. You’d be hard pressed to find a more dedicated cadre of anglers than those who swing, step, and advocate for these fish. No matter how lousy the weather, meager the returns, or dismal the outlook, they show up and push through.
Representing steelhead in this battle of the fishes, we have April Vokey. Though she now hosts an exceptional podcast Anchored Outdoors, April started out as a steelhead junkie and guide in British Columbia. April travels the world with fly rods, but like the fish she’s championing, returns to her natal Canadian waters every autumn.
"I’ve never been big on crowning an “ultimate” fish. That whole hierarchy thing feels silly. But if we’re throwing steelhead in the cage, I’ll swing for them. Not because they’re the best, but because they’ve wrecked more of my life than any other fish.
“Steelhead aren’t ghosts; they’re tests. You can do everything right and still blank . . . for weeks. Then, out of nowhere, one eats, and it feels like the river just gave you a secret you weren’t supposed to hear. That’s the hook—not numbers or grip-and-grins, but that rare flash of connection.
“We’ve built an entire culture around these fish. Whole rivers, stories, and lives revolve around their runs. They’ve shaped literature, art, friendships, and so many arguments in fly shops. Few fish leave that kind of mark.
“Musky guys? Come on. You’re just gluttons for punishment. Sure, steelheaders might go weeks on end without a grab, but at least the fishing is fun. We’re standing in coastal rainforest rivers elegantly casting graceful loops on Spey rods. You’re standing on glittered-out bass boats with 17 screens, snapping off your rotator cuffs chucking ugly streamers with even uglier water load casts—getting all excited just to see a follow. A FOLLOW!?
“Permit? Let’s be honest. They’re basically high-school mean girl proxies. Everyone wants them, most won’t even get a glance. At least steelhead will occasionally say yes. I think anglers stuck on permit are just trying to make up for teenage humiliations.
“In the end, we’re all just trying to waste time in the best way possible. It’s not about which fish is king.; it’s about what they pull out of us. Steelhead just happen to pull the most out of me."
Permit
No fish defines the modern fly fishing zeitgeist as completely as permit. A generation ago, almost nobody fly fished for overgown pompano, people just occasionally ran into them on the flats while targeting tarpon or bonefish. Now, they’re the default measuring stick for angler achievement. “Oh, you swung up a 20-pound wild steelhead and caught a 100-pound tarpon? Cool story, bro, but I caught a three-pound permit in Mexico last year, so take a seat while I tell that story!”
Permit are the fish of masochists. We love them because they torture us. They’re not the biggest fish; they don’t fight the hardest or jump the highest. They’re just assholes. That’s the primary draw, and it’s a powerful magnetism. The ever-growing ranks of permit devotees are like the S&M wing of fly fishing. They enjoy pain (their own and that of others) and wear their suffering like the old timers used to wear trout patches on their vests.
Just ask Doug McKnight. Doug’s a genius fly designer and trout guide in Montana. He lives where most people take their trout fishing vacations, but do you know what consumes most of Doug’s free time and disposable income? Not trout.
“The truth is, permit are a giant pain in the ass to catch on fly. Coming from Montana, the one silver lining is where they live. If I’m going to blow all my money on fish that are borderline impossible to catch, at least I can look at coconut palms, white sand, turtle grass flats, and live coral while failing.
“Permit don’t suffer fools, slackers, or half-assed wannabes. You have to have all your shit together at all times to be successful, down to the smallest detail. Gonna enjoy your margarita after fishing and not clean and dress your fly line? Cool, your cast is going to land 5’ short of your target the next day, and we are all going to laugh at you.
"That’s the other thing about permit fishing, you usually have to do it in front of a hostile crowd, and your boatmates get a better view of the show than you do. Bonus points to anyone reading this who has had a guide ask you to get your eyes checked when you get home or been heckled by a 10-year-old upon returning to the marina. Yes, both of those things have happened to me.
“Musky are all about chuck and chance. With permit, you can’t cast your way to success by merely covering water and fishing efficiently. Steelhead fishing is basically a boredom competition—who can stand in a river longest while holding a giant rod and waiting for a fish to run into your fly. It doesn’t require 1/1000 th the concentration that permit fishing does. There are no coffee breaks or left-handed cigarettes when you're up on deck scanning the horizon.
“People say musky are the fish of 10,000 casts. That’s probably true, and steelhead are damn near the same story. But permit? Permit are the fish of one cast. You better make sure it’s a good one, because it might be the only cast you get.”
Musky
Dan Donavan owns Musky Fool Fly Fishing Company in Wisconsin. His entire life and livelihood bends to the gravitational power of North America’s largest predatory freshwater fish, so we gave Dan the final words.
“No single fish conjures more emotion and drama than the muskellunge. They are the purest form of angling. They can't be bought, don’t care how good your cast is or how long you’ve been fishing. They require grit and a healthy dose of pure futile faith. They don't allow you to stand in a run all day drifting flies into their face, and they sure as shit don’t give you sight fishing opportunities. You have to grind, throwing 10,000 plus blind casts until, finally, impossibly, you don’t detect an eat, you witness a murder.
“Anyone who says they have them figured out is lying to themselves. Every fish is unique, its own special contradiction. One might stick in one place all season, while another roams relentlessly. One might eat a fly five times; another will look once and be gone forever. The only pattern in musky fishing is that there is no pattern. One single glimpse of a fish can haunt an angler for a season, or a lifetime, even if they never see that fish again. There’s no autopilot. We love them because you have to earn them. Every. Single. One.
"They live in cold-shouldered lakes and tannic rivers, Northwoods rock bars and cabbage flats, logjams and tea-stained seams. Loons, pines, frost on the oars, a tavern that still takes cash—place matters, and musky country drips with it.
“Trout may own the coffee-table book; musky own the after-hours bar story. They’re the fish you text about at midnight, the fish that make you freeze-frame GoPro footage like it’s the Zapruder film, the fish that drive grown adults to try and cheat their way into the record books. They pull in bass heads and salt folks, conventional anglers and gear junkies, guides and rookies—because the challenge is universal: Can you keep your head when a sea monster appears three feet from your toes? Can you maintain your faith in sea monsters after hours, days, months of nothing?
“I respect the church of chrome, but if you’re going to spend three days debating if that tick was a “grab” or a leaf, come visit us. We’ll show you what an undeniable eat feels like—a four-foot chainsaw trying to leave with your fly, leader, and soul. Don’t even get me started on permit. Debating the finer points of presentation while your fly gets rejected over and over again for hours defines futility. While permit anglers claim to be playing chess with a professor, we are trying to wrestle a crocodile in a phone booth. Go get your doctorate in fussy refusals; I prefer a lesson in temperamental violence. Both are noble in their own right, but only one puts you at risk of a heart attack while your fly gets destroyed boat side.
“Chase steelhead. Chase permit. We’ll cheer for your fish and roast your life choices. But when you’re ready for a freshwater apex that wants to erase your fly at your feet, come find us.”