EC

When you've made plans for a big trip a long time in advance, and then you're fishing every weekend before the big trip, sometimes it doesn't fully set in that you're going until you actually leave. 

An airport change in Buenos Aires and a two hour domestic flight would put us in Bariloche in early afternoon after departing Seattle the midday prior.  A sigh of relief as all our luggage and gear came around the baggage claim carousel.  Jetlagged, odiferous and giddy, we finally found the familiar face we looked for, as Nick and the Turbo Diesel Hilux awaited (I like to think that this rig was a long, lost cousin to an older Turbo Diesel model that I once owned).  All of the very nice, professional photos below were taken by Nick - those slightly out of focus or lacking that certain je ne sais quois were taken by yours truly.  With heads on a swivel, we made our way from the airport through Junin de los Andes and onto the long dirt road that lead to the amazing Estancia Chimehuin, on the banks of the mighty Chimehuin River.



In the view above you can just make out the house in the lower right corner, on the banks of the river.  Below, sun-down on the Chimehuin from the front yard.

So, we went fishing.

There are roughly two miles of water within the fences of Estancia Chimehuin (EC), but with countless braids and side-channels, these turn into more like eight.  We fished the EC stretch of the river for four days, covering nearly all the water.  In addition, we camped out on two separate nights, fishing two different rivers on one trip and fishing the very upper reaches of the Chimehuin on the second overnight.



In our first overnight mission, we camped along the banks of Lago Filo Hua Hum.  The scenery was anything but "ho hum," as you can see above.  Rainbow trout cleared the water in chase of dragonflies among the reeds.  After we had exhausted the boca (mouth/inlet), we headed up river, where we would meet our noble adversaries for the day, mighty trucha marron (brown trout).  It was a sight-fishing game on the Filo Hua Hum. It pains me to say, but my trout eyes are out of shape. Thankfully, Nick's were in prime shape.

Not only were these brown fish beasts tough to see, but they were even harder to handle when they felt the sting of a hook.  After hooking a respectful specimen on my first cast of the day to then watch the fish do a 180 around a boulder and disappear forever, spirits were high to start.  Later in the day we would call that our best chance, as we left the river skunked, having lost five in total and spooking a number of others, some of which neared massive lengths.  It's good to have a day like that every now and then.



But I'd rather it wasn't every day.  Back on the Chimehuin, the fishing was consistent.  Consistently good, that is.

While discussing the fishing with another EC visitor, we were asked to provide a term for the time of day when the fishing gets very good.  We gringos couldn't agree on one so "The Golden Hour," Nick replied.  After spending a week fishing in Patagonia, it seems The Golden Hour would qualify for most hours of the day. 

Above, native perca (perch).  Below, a fish rises during The Golden Hour.

Hilux in its element at The Golden Hour.

 Long days (The Golden Hour), and everlasting nights.

Of the many amazing and gracious people we met on our journey, one in particular sticks out that I'd like to speak of.  Husband of EC's ranch manager, below is Russo at work on our lamb lunch.  At the age of one month, Russo's grandmother crossed the Andes on horseback to her new home in the Chimehuin valley.  On his father's side, Russo's family bought extensive Patagonia acreage blind and then relocated from England over the course of 9 years to settle the region.  Patagonia and the Chimehuin valley are his home.

After splitting 15 years between Argentina and England playing professional polo, Russo returned to his homeland, meeting his gorgeous wife.  He is hilarious, witty, a jack-of-all-trades and does wonders with a blade, fresh meat and a campfire.  Below, venison tenderloin, peppers and onions.  Russo's opinion on dealing with the perils of the English polo social scene or the exhausting nature of fly fishing field testing:  "Somebody has to deal with this shit.  And that somebody is me."

Drink of choice.  The coffee brandy and milk of the south:  Fernet y Cola.  Apparently it offers peace and approval.  Koozie shout-out to the Clem Corps.  

A million thanks to Nick, Jim, Amie, Russo and Clarita and the rest of the EC crew.  I'll never forget it and hope to find my way there again some day.

things, cnt'd

ahem. been a while. fishing/guiding things at the 4UR carried on as they usually do - quite well. while our water has been low compared to last year, the fishing was still great. if you put a good fly in front of a trout the way he likes it, he should eat it. when Stu took me fishing in NZ, we walked a river until we spotted a fish, he rigged me up, handed me the rod and said, "he will eat this." you give a trout a good pattern where he wants it/how he wants it, he will eat it. and he did.

so anyway, by the end of my time (more on that shortly) we were deep midging - size 20 - 24 flies, starting with minimal weight and getting real heavy. putting those flies where the fish wanted them. and guess what - they ate 'em!

(Les with a nice Lake Fork brownie. below, the Gunnison)

when i was in Portland this past winter, i had two really unsatisfying temp jobs. they had their purpose - pay for bills and fun - but i hated going to work and i got very little out of the jobs besides money. it was there that i realized that some things would need to change, should i continue to pursue this guiding thing seasonally. one day i went to the craigslists of Denver, Portland, OR and Seattle, went to "jobs" and searched for "fishing", just to see what would come up. there were a handful of hits in each city, most were unappealing except for one, a Planner position in the R&D dept at a very well known fly fishing company. i thought to myself that i'd be an idiot to not even try, so fired off a cover letter and resume then promptly forgot about it.

a couple months later while on the ranch i received a voicemail from an HR lady at the company. i had three phone interviews, followed by an on-site interview, then was offered and accepted the position.

(above, doo-rag Drew. below, AJ nets another one)

so. i'm moving. further west, and a bit north this time. my new job and new locale are on Bainbridge Island, in the Sound off of Seattle.

(above, the Lake Fork of the Gunnison. below, Big Billy Gascoigne battles.)

so i've got some fishing to do. and some ground to cover. currently covering it, actually, more on that soon. new water and new species are ahead. i'm excited. the Olympic Peninsula will be in my backyard in a week and i plan to take a big bite out of it. or at least get some big bites taken out of what i put into its waters. i'm talking about fishing there.

in the last week before i left the ranch, i felt a range of emotions. excitement, anxiousness were certainly present as the days passed. it was time to get on the road. but i knew there would be some sad eventually. and it did come. a couple tears were running down my cheeks when i took this picture on my way out:

things change. things happen. people move. but it's all ok. sometimes you gotta go.

i hope everyone's well! talk to ya soon!

things, that have happened and, otherwise

well, i have been guiding a lot. the fishing has gotten tougher, fish pickier, water lower and clearer. but we're still catching fish. our big hatches have been gone for a while, the only dry flies that fish will come up to with some sort of consistency are hopper patterns. which is fun. the fish are slowly transitioning to eating midges (very small flies). these are a pain to tie on, and easily tangled by beginners. seen quite a few rookies lately which can be frustrating, but also pretty sweet when you can net a nice fish for them.
a while back, i had some guests. this was fun. my top bunk was occupied by a familiar (and bearded) roommate's face. that was nice. Liz and Ben came down from denver and Matty G cruised through on his own american road trip. we hiked, we fished, we swam, we laughed, we did.

i saw a bull moose:
i had the idea to take pictures of holes in each of our 15 stations on goose creek. here is a real sweet hole on station 14. that rock wall goes up probably 30 feet. i think the deepest part of this pool is 5 or 6 feet. sizely (is that a word?) wild rainbows hang out in this pool:
here is a sweet run on 13. the creek splits about 300 yards above this and then comes back together to make this run. mostly browns in this stretch, but there are a few bows in there too. two weeks ago i had a client hook two browns on one cast in this hole:
i gave Boone another good NJ on the Rio:
i went to a wedding!
Mr. and Mrs. Mueller:
there were a few Batesies there:
and a little dancing:
it occurred to me that i haven't put up many/any pictures of the ranch compound itself. my humble abode, Creekside:
my private porch, window and entrance:
things otherwise include deciding where to go and what to do when the 4UR closes down for the season on october 5th. other things otherwise include going to work now.

i hope everyone is well!