Within half an hour of working our way upstream, I had caught and released my first Patagonian fish, a healthy, 18-inch brown trout. We waded into the river at a spot just below a small, postcard-perfect waterfall that made for a memorable introduction to the watershed. Barrueto and I drove to the Huemules River, named after a species of local deer that symbolizes Chileans’ love of the outdoors, and is featured on the country’s national shield. The next morning, with the sun out and the wind at a low roar, Mr. By 10 p.m., I was in a deep, asado-induced sleep. Just about every meal was similarly fit for a gourmand lumberjack. Dessert was leche nevada, a classic Chilean sweet dish similar to a French floating island. Dinner that night was an asado, or traditional Chilean barbecue, of beef ribs, rib eye and flank steaks, pork loin, chicken legs and local sausages, accompanied by boiled potatoes, a simple salad of lettuce, tomatoes and yellow bell peppers grown on a nearby farm, and several bottles of Marques de Casa Concha Grand Reserve, a Chilean cabernet sauvignon. Barrueto about where we would fish during the week ahead. Guests are welcome to fish the lake as soon as they arrive, but because it was raining, cold and windy on the afternoon I checked in, I enjoyed a pisco sour in front of the fireplace and chatted with Mr. Meals are served at a large communal table, and the family and guests, only 12 at a time, typically eat together. Barrueto built the operation from scratch, eventually bought out his partner, and now runs the outfit with his wife, Consuelo Balboa, whom he met during a stint in culinary school.ĭuring the fishing season, the couple lives at the lodge with their children, Manuela, 13, and Martin, 10, their dogs, Blanca and Gauchito, and a house cat named Ruby (named for the Montana river, one of Mr. Barrueto if he’d like to open a fly-fishing lodge there. The owner and operator, Eduardo Barrueto, the son of a local teacher and angler, was guiding a wealthy client on the lake some years ago when the man asked Mr. The lodge itself, a rustic-deluxe structure built from native lenga trees and river rocks, is tucked away in a small, verdant hollow with its own glacial lake. The region’s powerful hold on the popular imagination is reflected in everything from the multi-billion-dollar outdoor sports brand that bears its name to Bruce Chatwin’s cult literary masterpiece, “In Patagonia.” Patagonia is one of the most celebrated travel destinations on the planet, a wild and remote expanse of towering peaks, rushing rivers and vast grassy pampas steeped in gaucho culture. Now all I had to do was get the leviathan in my net. This was exactly the sort of moment I had come to Patagonia for. The object in question was, in fact, the largest trout I have ever seen outside of Instagram, easily two feet long, perhaps longer. Then the “log” rose to the surface and ate a fly. I scanned the area, but all I saw was an underwater log. Becker said, “Look at the bottom of the pool. We put him at just under 20 inches.Ī moment later, Mr. Sure enough, there was a large, dark slab rising and falling in the water column, rhythmically picking flies off the surface for its lunch. It was one of the most striking spots I’ve seen, on or off a river. With its overhanging granite walls, moody light and silty water the color of sapphires (if the sapphires had somehow been electrified), the chamber bore traces of both the real-life Blue Lagoon and the fictional Middle-earth. Just before lunchtime, we ran a stretch of white water that squeezed between a pair of enormous boulders, then opened into a small, hidden canyon. March brown hidden water travel fly rod series#We had begun the day by navigating a series of Class III rapids, then catching a handful of brown trout and rainbow trout that would have been considered whoppers on most other rivers, but here were just the latest in a series of ho-hum catches measuring 18 inches or more. My guide, an American expatriate named Monte Becker, his colleague, Hayden Dale, and I were on the Paloma River, a renowned trout stream in central Chile. But I had yet to land anything truly special - a trip-maker - and this creature appeared to be just that. In the preceding days, I had fished all manner of beautiful rivers and lakes and caught (and released) more than my share of fish. On the final morning of a weeklong fly-fishing adventure to Patagonia last December, I finally found my white whale.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |