Fishing upside down in Argentina and Chile

Fishing upside down

Every fly-fisher’s bucket list probably  includes a trip to Argentina or Chile. We’ve all seen pictures in magazines and on websites of big beautiful trout caught in the wild’s of Patagonia.  So, in January of 2013, my wife, Dottie, and I and our friends Tom and Katherine Culligan went to Argentina, then Chile, to enjoy some fishing and sightseeing.

Part I

It is summer here in Patagonia, Argentina, and a hot wind is blowing, yet there is no politician for miles.

Dottie and I, and Tom and Katherine Culligan, flew south last week to escape the cold, learn the tango, and catch some fish. Two out of three isn’t bad.

We escaped the cold. It’s hot down here. We caught some fish. But we didn’t learn the tango. And, most important, we didn’t fall off the globe.

After a few days in Buenos Aires, during which we visited every monument, old church, government building, and, of course, the tomb of Evita, Eva Peron, we flew south and west to a land that looks very much like Montana.

But before I mention the fishing, let me just say that some of the most expensive real estate in the Americas, north or south, is in the Recoleto necropolis, where Evita was laid to rest, in Buenas Aires.

We’re talking six to seven figures for a modest tomb – perhaps small by early Egyptian standards, but elaborate and extravagant in the minds of most of us who figure we’ll be planted under an old shrub in the back 40 some day.

I was also sp disappointed that Madonna was a no show at the Casa Rosada, I cried for Sonoma.

The truth is I left you – but only for a few weeks.

In our wild days and mad existence in Patagonia, we fished the Collon Cura river (pronounced Coshun Cura by locals), with two extraordinary guides, Tuqui’s and Sancho (both muy guapo Dottie said) and caught muchas truchas (rainbow trout) planted here in the late 1800s from brood stock taken from California’s McCloud River.

Katherine out-fished us all, catching the most fish and the biggest, 22 inches. Dottie, using a dry fly for the first time,  caught trout using a dry-fly for the first time, and I hooked, and broke off, the biggest German brown trout I have ever seen. Tom also caught a lot of big trout.

The wind down here is constant and strong – somewhere between blow-you-away and a free-trip-to-Oz. Never the less, we managed to catch fish and have fun..

Part II

 The Collon Cura River is born in the Andes just east of the border between Chile and Argentina and runs to the Atlantic Ocean. Before the 1800s, there were no trout in it, but early European settlers saw Argentina’s incredible river system and decided they would be perfect for trout. They brought in brood stock eggs from Germany to introduce brown trout, and rainbow trout eggs from California's McCloud River to add the feisty rainbow to the waters. They succeeded beyond their wildest dreams.
There are so many trout in the river that they literally jump into the boat. OK, maybe they don't usually jump in the boat, but in my case, one did.
Dottie and I were drifting and fishing the Collon Cura with our excellent guide Tuqui (Carlos Viscarro), having lots of fun catching and releasing really big trout. But the wind increased in the afternoon, so Tuqui rowed us into a small side channel of the river surrounded on both sides by thick willows that hung over the water. The wind was lighter, but still present and Tuqui pointed out that small green inch-worms were feeding on the willow leaves. Whenever the breeze picked up, many worms fell into the water and suddenly the water was alive with rainbows gorging on green worms.
Naturally, he had some green worm flies in his box, and soon we were casting the fake worms into the spots where the trout were rising. They accepted our offerings, but went wild when hooked, making our reels sing as they pulled off line and, unfortunately, often wrapping it around willow branches that hung in the water. We hooked seven big trout, but managed to only land three. Actually, it was just two that we brought all the way to the net.  One trout was a crazy jumper that, after several leaps away from the boat, attempted to leap over it. He fell short and landed in the boat.
Tuqui said that in all his years of fishing, he’d never seen that happen. Nor had I.

Part III

If I were asked to use one word to describe Argentinians, I would choose “passionate.” The best part of our trip was meeting and getting to know our hosts, guides and people we met along the way. Without exception they were warm, gracious and infused with a zest for life, their jobs, communities and avocations.  
We first experienced this with Pablo Piera, our guide for two city tours in Buenos Aires. I've never taken a tour of anything in which a guide was as passionate about his subject as Pablo, and it wasn't just for the historic sites. Our first tour began with a stop at the BA’s oldest cafe, where he introduced us to a signature chocolate drink called the Submarine. It was there also that he attempted to teach each of us the basics of the tango. While Dottie and Katherine Culligan seemed to get it, Tom Culligan and I moved like wooden soldiers with our feet partially nailed to the floor. Through it all, Pablo enthusiastically cheered even our slightest success and pronounced us ready to tango the night away.
He waxed effusively on lesser-known bits of the city's history and his energy was enough to carry us along like a wave does a surfer.
So what does this have to do with fishing? Our fishing guides were no less enthusiastic, perhaps even more so.
Tuqui, whose real name is Carlos Viscarro (every guide has a nickname down here), was great at organizing our daily fishing and finding fish. He was every bit as passionate about the rivers and fishing as Pablo was about his beloved city. Tuqui was especially enthusiastic about making sure that Dottie hooked and landed some big trout. When she did, he cheered her on like an enthusiastic soccer fan celebrating a home team goal.
We fished for three days on the Collon Cura River with Tuqui and his associate guide, Sancho (Santiago Ramis), and we felt like we were vacationing with longtime friends.
We stayed at the Collon Cura Lodge on an expansive former cattle ranch now owned by Ted Turner. The lodge is run by a delightful couple, Malú and Nano Acuña, and staffed by a talented crew, including a chef who created Michelin-star-quality dinners for us every night. Ted wasn't around to join us, but we were assured he does visit from time to time. Note to Ted: You were wrong. Print is not quite dead yet, but you were right on about the fishing.
While the Collon Cura is a big, wide river, we caught most of our biggest trout within inches of the bank, usually using a grasshopper pattern. When a big trout chased down the fly, you could see its dorsal and tail fin streaking toward it like a shark closing in on a hapless swimmer.
The fishing would have made it a great trip in any case, but the Argentinians made it absolutely wonderful. We also credit Rachel Andras of Andras Outfitters for setting us up with such nice people and places.

Fishing upside down, Part IV

One of the really best features of our fly-fishing adventure in Argentina was the company of our guides, Tuqui and Sancho, who stayed with us from our arrival in northern Patagonia until we crossed into Chile.
They actually stayed with us at the two resorts, ate most meals with us and participated in the social aspects of our trips, not just the fishing side.
After three-days of fishing out of Ted Turner's Collon Cura Lodge, we loaded our bags and fishing gear into their pickups and rode south-southwest with them into the Andes and the small town of Junin de los Andes, a community serving the cattle ranches and farms that are spread out for miles on the eastern side of the range that separates Argentina from Chile.
As we got closer to the sharply rising, snow-capped peaks, the terrain changed from the Montana-like wide-open spaces, to river-cut valleys surrounded by steep pine-covered hills. Our destination was Estancia San Huberto, which has been owned and operated by the Olsen family for more than 100 years.
Formerly a cattle ranch, it now caters to fly-fishers who have exclusive access to miles of the Malleo River, which meanders through former pasture land and wooded acres on its way to joining the Collon Cura River.
Today, Carmen Olsen and her daughter, Karen Wilson Olsen, and son, Ronnie Olsen, are the hands-on managers and operators of San Huberto, ably assisted by an amazing staff, some of whom live on the ranch as well.  
In this small community of ranchers and former ranchers now catering to visitors, everybody seems to know everybody, and many are related. We were greeted like long-lost relatives with hugs and kisses on the cheek, once again reminding us of how especially enjoyable our Argentinian guides and hosts made our visit.
The estancia's main lodge has beautifully decorated, exceptionally large hotel-style rooms for up to 12 guests on the first floor. That is also where the dining room is located, although when the weather is nice, you can also dine outside on the tree-lined and shaded patio, which is usually where lunch was served.
Upstairs in a large living-room, lounge and bar area for guests, where we gathered for evening cocktails before dinner, which were usually served between 9:30 and 10 p.m. because we fished until 8:30 most evenings.
The daily routine included breakfast with our guides in the dining room between 8 and 8:30 a.m. and then a brief drive through the dirt roads of the ranch to our assigned beat on the Malleo River. We'd fish until about 1:30 or 2 p.m. and then drive back to the ranch for lunch and a siesta, until about 5:30 p.m. when we'd head back out fishing again.
This highly civilized routine has spoiled us for the usual all-day, all-out days of fishing with no down time.

Part V

While my wife, Dottie, goes on fly-fishing trips with me, she could not have been described as an enthusiastic fly-fisher – until we went to Argentina. There, she discovered the thrill of having big trout rise to a dry-fly.
Our stay at Estancia San Huberto in the northern part of Patagonia near the town of Junin de los Andes was not only delightful in all aspects of accommodations, cuisine and outstanding service, but also a wonderful personal experience making new friends combined with fabulous fishing. This won Dottie over completely. She wants to go back. Our companions on the trip, Tom and Katherine Culligan, agree.
I've already mentioned that our guides, Tuqui and Sancho (Carlos Viscarro and Santiago Ramis), did an excellent job in helping us catch lots of trout. They were also amiable companions and great company.  They even took us into town one afternoon to the local rural (a combination country fair and gaucho rodeo) where we watched local gauchos in an awesome exhibition of team cutting horse competition.
The Malleo River, which runs through the very large San Huberto ranch, is one of the easiest wading rivers we've ever fished. We didn't have to worry about large, slippery boulders, and could wade up to waist-deep without much concern. There was plenty of room to cast. We were using large grasshopper imitations, which, when placed within inches of the opposite bank, enticed some very big fish to rise up and swallow them. Dottie landed several rainbows and German brown trout in the 18-to-20-inch range, and two that measured 22 inches. Tom and Katherine had the same kind of great fishing, as did I.
We fished in a high mountain valley close to the Chilean border, surrounded by the Andes Mountains and in the shadow of the dormant Lanin volcano, which rises to more than 12,000 feet. It was an easy 15-to-20-minute drive from the estancia to our fishing spots and our typical day included fishing from about 9 a.m. to 1:30 p.m., a break for lunch and a siesta, and then back out from 5:30 to 8:30 p.m. for the evening hatch, then back for cocktails and a late dinner with the other guests of the lodge.
The Argentinian fishing part of the trip was arranged for us by Rachel Andras of Andras Outfitters (andrasoutfitters.com.) Rachel did an outstanding job in setting this up, and we highly recommend her as a fishing trip planner/outfitter.
We were sad to leave Estancia San Huberto and our new friends, but we had the next stage of our adventure waiting for us in Chile.
Part VI

Passing through the Andes from Argentina to Chile is probably the closest thing one can come in real life to journey to a mythical middle Earth, especially if you take the lake crossing we chose.

A narrow, winding dirt road led us into the steep and heavily forested wilds of western Patagonia. For close to two hours, we bounced along in a cloud of dust, climbing ever higher until we came to a remote border crossing, where we said adios to Argentina and buenos dias to Chilean customs folks who inspected and stamped our passports. A kilometer or so past the border, we came to a little alpine village on the edge of a mountain lake nestled in a narrow pass surrounded on all sides by snow-capped peaks and piney woods leading down to the water's edge.

A little red passenger and car ferry called Hua Hum (Wah-Um) carried us on what looked more like a wilderness river than a lake. An hour later, we landed at Puerto Fuy – gateway to the eco-inspired fairyland Huilo Huilo, a private 232-square-mile biological preserve, founded by Chilean businessman Victor Petermann. 

Petermann’s intent was to restore, conserve and protect this remote, almost primeval region, some of which was logged in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. 

From the start, he intended to share it with others, and, to this end, he added accommodations in the form of Montaña Magica Lodge and Nothofagus Hotel, which appear more like habitation for hobbits than the unique luxury resort hotels they are. 

There is also a canopy village with small tree house hotel rooms suspended between trees and connected by walkways 30 feet above the forest below, through which native animals are encouraged to roam.

The River Fuy, complete with several spectacular waterfalls and rapids, tumbles through the grounds. A few miles away, there’s a small ski resort on the side of a volcano, and crossing steep canyons below the volcano is a series of canopy (zip line) lines that are the longest and highest in South America. The five-stage canopy ride is called El vuelo del Condor (Flight of the Condor). After I rode it, they considered changing the name to El vuelo del Pollo (Flight of the Chicken).  Pollo actually is a cooked chicken, La gallina, is the word for a live one.  During my flight, I felt more like the cooked variety.

Huilo Huilo has a magical, mystical feel to it, especially when you take one of the nature walks through the dense, shaded, intensely green woods. It was easy to imagine little fairies and other forest dwellers peaking out at us from the hollows of moss-covered trees and rocks, or from the heavy canopy of tree branches above.

The volcano-shaped Montaña Magica hotel is covered with vines. A waterfall tumbles down one side. The Nothofagus is built in the shape of a large native tree, wider at the top that at the bottom (trunk). The natural, woodsy, hobbit-like theme is repeated inside and out, but the accommodations are first class. The indoor pool and spa are the ultimate in luxury. The hotel staffers from reception to dining room are generally young, enthusiastic, courteous and eager to please. But few speak English and most are as pure (inexperienced) and unspoiled as the preserve's creators have tried to keep the outdoors. The Four Seasons this is not. But after a rocky start involving something lost in translation, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Most important, there are also several pure and unspoiled trout streams in the preserve loaded with trout, to which guests have exclusive access.  But before that, I had to go flying with the condors.

Part VII
Heights are a very natural thing to fear. My branch of human development evolved from apes that stayed on the ground, with good reason. 
I know other humans who clearly evolved from tree-climbing ancestors – my wife, Dottie, for example. She was always the one who went with our kids on scary rides at the fair while I guarded the baby stroller.
The thing I looked forward to most in the Huilo Huilo Biological Preserve in Chile last month were the remote, unspoiled trout streams. Dottie was excited about the canopy ride (zip line), thought to be the longest (and possibly highest) in South America.
El Vuelo del Condor the locals call it – the Flight of the Condor. I should have read up on condors.
It never really sunk in until the drive to it. Our four-wheel-drive truck kept climbing higher, switchback after switchback, up the steep side of a dormant volcano. Up and up we went, and I kept thinking, “Just how far do we have to go to be above the treetops?”
The going got steeper and finally the truck stopped and we, wearing harnesses and helmets, followed our guides along a narrow, tree-lined trail even higher up the steep mountainside. We reached a small wooden ladder leading to what appeared to be a wooden landing about 15 feet off the ground.
“That’s a little high for me, but I can handle it,” I thought.
It wasn’t until I got up on the platform; saw the steel cable tied to the tree and where the other end led that my legs turned to Jell-O. The cable stretched out into nothing but thin air, the kind condors apparently fly in. Whatever was below was so far down I couldn’t even see it – rocks, crocodiles, the bones of previous canopy riders – whatever. 
As panic gripped me, I wondered what the little bicycle helmet they gave me was for – to scoop up what was left after I plummeted to earth?
The guides demonstrated how we attached to the cable and told us to hold the harness connection with one hand and use our other, onto which they placed a heavy leather garden glove, as a brake to slow down if we got to the landing platform too fast.
One of the guides went first, the line made sort of high-pitched zinging sound as he disappeared into space. Katherine Culligan went next, followed by Dottie. Then it was my turn. I honestly don’t remember much about the launch. I was like a condemned man walking the plank. I remember being hooked onto the cable and the other guide reminding me that the glove was my brake. Then I was out in the air, not sure whether it was the cable or me making that high-pitched screaming sound. The wind made my eyes water as I zipped along. 
I must have learned the braking part better than the zipping thing, because as I neared the middle of the 500-meter span, I started to slow down and then stopped.
And there I was, dangling high above the chasm, twisting slightly in the wind. 
I’d like to say that I knew I was in no danger and remained calm. That would be a lie.
Instead, I kept muttering “Oh shit-Oh shit!” over and over until one of the guides zipped out, attached a line to my harness and dragged me to the landing platform. Apparently it happens all the time when one uses too much brake.
Now they tell me.
Tom followed without a hitch and a smile on his face. Yeah. Go ahead and rub it in, Tom. 
That was the first of five long flight sections. Tom, Katherine and Dottie loved every one. They flew like condors.
My legs were so shaky I could barely hike to the next launch platform. But I did, and not wanting to relive my stall-out, I flew too, but more like a crazy, runaway chicken with no brakes – zipping as fast across the chasms as I could, barely slowing as the guides stopped me from crashing into the landing platform. When I walked away from the last landing, I felt like a guy who somehow escaped the gallows. Dottie just laughed and said she’d like to do it again.
The next day, Tom and I went fishing, and it was better than good – both of my feet were on the ground, even when they were in the water.

Fishing upside down, Part VIII

THE ONE BIG rainbow I caught in the Rio Blanco fought hard before I released him.

Huilo-Huilo Biological Preserve covers more than 250,000 heavily wooded acres in Chili’s rugged Andes Mountains. Several rivers filled with wild rainbow and brown trout run through it.  

Dottie and I, andTom and Katherine spent four nights in Huilo-Huilo, in what one might describe as the fanciest tree fort ever built.
Chilean businessman Victor Petermann, owner of the preserve, built two hotels on the property: Montaña Magica, shaped like a nearby volcano; and Nathofagus, built like a tree – narrow at the bottom and large and full at the top. Luxurious and woodsy, these hotel-spas provide the bases from which guests can partake in numerous activities, from horseback riding and trekking and skiing, to simply relaxing and getting a massage; and one more thing – fly-fishing in seldom touched rivers.
While Dottie and Katherine chose the spa on the third day, Tom and I arranged a fishing trip with guide Miguel Sarah, who oversees all of the fishing access within the 250,000-acre area.
“It’s the best job in the world for a guy who loves fly-fishing,” Miguel told us as we bounced along in his four-wheeler out into the preserve’s wildest section.
“The river I am taking you to – nobody has fished for three weeks,” he said. Such is apparently the case for a lot of Huilo-Huilo’s streams. Most guests come for outdoor activities other than fishing, while avid fly-fishers head for southern Chile’s famous sea-run trout.
Miguel manages many miles of rivers, creeks and lakes, all loaded with fish, and he can control the amount of fishing exposure each receives, preserving the pristine nature of them all.
After 45 minutes on a narrow, winding dirt road through the mountains, we stopped alongside a bend in the Rio Blanco, one of many rivers in Chile of that name, Sarah said. It was small, as rivers go, with brush and fallen trees along the way and in the water in many places. We could see lots of bugs flying and small fish rising.
Miguel said that this river, like those we fished in Argentina, was home to some really big trout, but you had to put the fly in the perfect spot to catch them. In this case, the perfect spots were narrow spaces close to the opposite bank, surrounded by brush, fallen trees and other obstructions.
Even then, the fish that readily rose to our little dry Mayfly imitations were mostly in the eight to 12-inch range.
“You’ve got to catch all the small ones to get them out of the way so the big ones will take it,” Miguel stated with certainty.
Tom and I hooked and released dozens of smaller fish until near the end of our afternoon, when, after I had caught almost a dozen small trout from one riffle, a much larger trout took the fly. It turned out to be about a 17-inch rainbow; not as big as the Argentine trout we caught, but a nice fat fish nevertheless.
Without more days on the water, I can only say that fly-fishing in Huilo-Huilo provides lots of fun and action for anglers who like to catch lots of trout, if size doesn’t matter. There is some bushwhacking involved in getting to good spots, but Miguel is an excellent guide and we were rewarded with lots of action for our efforts. He will set up special fly-fishing packages at the preserve for you. His email address is miguelansar@yahoo.com.

Part IX

The Huilo-Huilo Biological Preserve in Chile is in the middle of the Andes Mountains. The nearest airport is in the city of Temuco, a three-hour drive west and north of the preserve. It was from the Temuco airport that we took a flight to Santiago (about an hour).
This bustling capital city was an exciting and entertaining final stop before heading home from our 19-day South American adventure. It could have been even more interesting if it wasn’t the middle of Chile’s summer. While the season was good for the fishing. It was too hot for strolling around after about 11 am.
February is the month that most sane city residents leave their homes for the beaches or mountains. And while we rented a lovely apartment in Santiago’s Providencia district, it was a significant walk to city attractions and it was not air-conditioned.
It was comfortable enough in the mornings to do some walking around, but by lunchtime, it was advisable to find a shady spot in which to rest until the sun went down.
That said, Santiago is an interesting city and I’d like to see more of it.  
I have one recommendation for a restaurant – Astrid y Gaston. Gaston, a Peruvian celebrity chef and his wife, have created a very upscale and innovative restaurant in the Providencia neighborhood. The food was expensive, but it was one of those dinners in which each of us was telling the others, “You’ve got to taste this. It’s fabulous.”
We watched the Super Bowl, or at least half of it anyway, at a sidewalk table at the jam-packed California Cantina. Every American expatriate in Santiago, along with Chileans who had spent enough time in the United States to become football fans, packed into and around this little bar for the game.
Dottie and I had to leave for the airport at halftime because we had a red-eye flight home. As it turned out, because of the power outage at the game, we were able to watch most of the second half in the airport lounge before our plane too off.
Our trip home took longer than expected due to a major power failure in Panama City that prompted an additional stop at some jungle-side airport in Ecuador, which caused us to miss our connection, which then caused a second missed connection. But we finally arrived at SFO very happy to see Mike and Dolores McEntee, whose Sonoma-based airport charter service is wonderful, waiting for us. If you ever need a ride to or from the airport, call them, 938-7554.