For me one of the hardest things to do is leaving a spot that’s producing fish, but short on time and long on enthusiasm, we decided to move.
The marl flats are home to mongo size permit, but like many spots in Oman, can go from littered with fish to not a fish in sight in two shakes of a lambs (or goats) tail. That’s part of the challenge of the place. If it looks fishy, stick it out.
We arrived at the lagoon with the tide still high and the wind up and set about camp. We’d spotted a herd of goats on the way in. Nothing unusual. Not usually at least.
Unhappy with the weight of my crab flies I got the table out, kicked off my Havianas, and got out the vice and feathers. By now the goats had spotted the Grey beard, which in goat world at least, seems to be the equivalent of a bikini. They shot over in no time and surrounded us. Once again the heard left behind a straggler. With stars in his eyes this kid couldn’t leave Ray alone, and followed his every move. Eventually Ray spotted a gap and headed onto the marl, so the kid stuck with me. I rigged up and headed off. Not taking any chances he decided to follow. So there i was, walking a good kilometre or two to Ray on the sand, with our fishing goat.
Today the marl was dead, a few gars kept me entertained on flippers but that was about all we found. The walk back presented a dinosaur. A Japanese angel shark caught by commercials a long way from its known range.
Bad fishing makes for good Bocce, and so the moon grass became the scene for an epic afternoon beer and Bocce competition. I lost at both, naturally, but what a setting.
We woke up to few covered sleeping bags and fly lines, and for some reason I count find my shoes. Looking back at my pictures they were right next to the back wheel. It seems the little guy had distracted us while the herd nabbed them. Pikey goats, should have seen it coming.