Upon our return, we reported to White how close we had been to catching a permit. That was all he needed to hear to postpone his daily tasks as lodge manager and join us the following day at Moore's. We started early the next morning, and Coco McKinney, a young Crooked Island native and our guide for the day, pointed his skiff toward Moore's and jumped it on plane. While searching for permit, we came across several schools of bones that were willing eaters. After releasing a couple, we decided to go for broke and search for permit once again. McKinney poled us onto a huge flat of hard-packed white sand surrounded by turtle grass. "Look way out at the very edge of the flat, 60 yards away," he said. "I see something — I don't know what it is, but it's something." As we came closer, I caught a glimpse of a broad fish weaving along the edge of the sand and grass. I pointed it out to White, who then made a perfect 80-foot cast, landing the Kung Fu crab just in front of the fish. It didn't turn on or spook. It just lazily swam right by. We chased this fish for another 20 minutes, and it passed on every offering. After it was finally out of range, White abandoned his game face, turned, smiled and said, "I don't care how many permit you throw at: It's going to be awesome, and it's going to make you nervous."