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.

in the middle of it

hello!  a little hiatus from thee olde blog.

had the mighty pleasure of joining some lovely faces in the mountains of northern New Mexico to ring in the year of two thousand thirteen.  been a while since i seen these ones.  missed 'em!

Miss Sarah.  Frances Dog.  Mac.  Meaty.  Outlaw Breen.  

"Frannie!  C'mon Frannie!"

nice moustache willy.

yurt me.

" "

mr. and mrs. shirt patterns with frannie the dawg!

go jesse, go.

this fly will hook you a steelhead.  but only if you believe that it will.

just finished Lani Waller's A Steelheader's Way.  great stuff in there.  of note:

"If I jump around a bit when I write, it's because none of this really happens in a straight line.  Time changes places in the mind as you contemplate, describe, or go fishing, because our hopes emerge, in part, from a desire to relive past events.  The present thus becomes both the past and the future simultaneously, and as long-time angling companion John Ferguson said, "We are always in the middle of it, aren't we?""

A few things I love about Maine

this guy, and what he's doing:

the guys on my left:

and this:

Four Corners Fishing

i've been fortunate to do quite a bit of fishing lately. the following took place between mid-may and yesterday. 

southeast.

i can't think of an analogy for tarpon fishing.  you usually get three shots and then it's your buddy's turn.  an hour can go by before you get one shot sometimes.  and more often than not, the shot's over in five seconds.  sometimes you get two casts at a fish or a pod, but it's definitely the first one that is your best chance at hooking a fish.  if you're unsuccesful, you are then faced with one to sixty minutes before your next shot to think about what you did wrong, or why the fish simply didn't eat the fly.  you feel like you've failed an exam that counted for three quarters of your grade or if you got rejected on a date from your crush.  but as soon as you get your eyes on the next fish approaching, all that just happened is forgotten.  i am not good at tarpon fishing.  i wonder if i should be more pissed off at all the shots i missed.  i mean, it's not everyday i get to go tarpon fishing.  it takes time and money to get there and more time and money to get a guide to get on the water.  if you really wanted to, you could put a dollar amount to each shot, each cast.  i don't know what good that would do, but i guess you could do it.  so maybe i should be more upset i didn't hook more tarpon this season.  but what would good would that do? 

northeast.

also known as 'home'.  while washington's feeling more and more like home, i think maine will always be home.  i get excited when the plane touches down in any place, but it's tough to beat touching down at portland international.  it's literally 10 minutes away from friends and fun.  tough to beat that.  portland's still awesome.  everyone that lives there still is too.  camp is north of there though.  and what a camp it is.  a six year work in progress, this place is amazing.  parts of it are 100% done, while others are 10%.  i want to show all my friends this place.  oh, and there's a trout pond 100 yards away.  and man, did it go off that night.  it had been quite a while since i found myself on a pond with native brookies gulping hatching bugs.  there were five of us across three boats that evening and wouldn't you know it, the only two fellars who had rods bent all night were the old man and me!  ha! 

southwest.

what a place colorado is.  mountains, trees, cold streams, a ton of hungry trout and sun.  tough to beat i reckon.  the fishing in colorado was really good.  how this will effect late-, and even mid-season fishing is to be determined, but it was pretty damn good a couple weeks ago.  ranch life is pretty much the same.  which means, awesome.  really good to see the guys at the 4UR.  and the girls too.  i'm really glad that i got to get back to the ranch.  it's been a really big part of my life the last few years and i'm thankful to have the opportunity to visit.  i tied on one nymph rig in a full day's fishing.  it promptly hooked what was most likely the largest fish in the entire creek.  i landed the largest rainbow in my life in my last evening.  thanks goose creek.  see ya in a bit.

northwest.

also, also known as 'home'.  it's been 10 months now.  the more i see, the more i like.  had a ball last winter on the peninsula, and now it's time to get dialed in on the cuttys in the sound.  here's what i've figured out so far:  if you find them, you catch them.  if you don't find them, you maybe get one, usually none.  so that's fine - i just gotta find 'em.  found a couple yesterday though, which was nice.  got lucky to be a guest on a friend's beach on the west side of hood canal.  sea run cutthroat trout are fantastic fish.  they crush flies, fight like the dickens and shoot back like bullets into the water when you let them go.  and they sure are pretty too.  i caught three fish on three different flies yesterday.  not sure if i just happened to get my flies in front of three fish, coincidentally after i changed flies, or what was happening exactly.