Plumbing the depths

For anglers around the world, Patagonia is one of a few Meccas. Known for massive trout, stunning scenery and little fishing pressure, it is a place dreamed about, pored over in picture books and occasionally, for the lucky few, visited.

Feeling like I am living in the "lucky few" category these days, it seemed only right to take advantage of my proximity to the hallowed waters by wetting a line. After many fishless months, I was ready to get back onto the water and see how the rivers down here treated me.

I was not disappointed.

First thing I needed to address was my lack of gear, transport and local knowledge. Luckily, guides are plentiful and the local fly shop was happy to point me towards German.

Picking me up at our hosteleria, German and I headed out in his late-80s vintage Renault (detail important later in the story) for a local hotspot. In my subtle application of the Spanish language, I had conveyed to him, "quiero pescar con moscas secas en un rio pequeño donde puedo andar en el agua." Basically, I want to fish with dry flies in a small river where I can walk in the water. He understood me perfectly.

Rio Pichi Leufu was a beautiful river about an hour from Bariloche. On the dry side of the Andes, we were blessed with a cloudless sky and relatively light winds. Perfect conditions for a day of fishing.

Within minutes of casting a mayfly into the riffle, I had a fish on. And the fishing remained consistent throughout the day. At German's insistence, I spent a while casting a beadhead nymph, with impressive results. And once I had proved myself worthy, German took me to a special little side arroyo.

This place was like the Land of the Lost for prehistoric monster trout. As I watched, I could see massive beasts cruising the depths and voraciously attacking mayflies hatching on the surface. Of course, they weren't fooled by my clumsy presentation. Still, it was impressive to watch.

About an hour into the fishing day, German noticed the headlights were still on in his car. Feeling a bit energized from the hot fishing, I was excited to have the opportunity to push his metal chariot up a grassy hillside so we could position it for a rolling start. An hour later, sweating in our waders, we had succeeded in getting it started. Not before I had plenty of time to consider our remote location, of course.

Car troubles aside, the day was amazing. And while the taste of Patagonian fishing only left me hungry for more, I was happy to have had the opportunity (not to mention a wife who understands my needs). Perhaps someday, I will return again to plumb the depths of this fishing Mecca.