Everyone there seems to enjoy themselves. The
lodges' maid Isabella and her 7 year old
granddaughter Soledad danced and danced, Pete
the Waso made the rounds, Marcelo when he's
not serving is dancing. Evana the cook and
Juan Carlos, it's quite an event, even 70-year
old Warren got jiggy with it. (It was way beyond
my ability to describe it.) All the men sit on
one side of the barn and the women on the other
venturing out from time to time to dance or to
greet Don Garcia, an old man who has a ranch
on the opposite side of the River and is apparently
the matriarch of the valley and is placed just off
the head of the table with Jim R. (the only local
afforded that honor) and you can tell all the
others respect him. Sleep came quickly after
a full day of fishing then a full night of fiesta.
Friday morning arrived rather cool. It has been
cool the past couple of nights and sweaters have
been needed and Marcelo's fire first thing in
the morning to knock off the chill was just
the ticket.
After a bowl of oatmeal it's necessary to start
packing, as for Wayne and Tom the trip is over.
They're headed to Esquel for their flight home
while Harry, Jim and I get one more day to fish.
A scheduling error on someone's part has allowed
us an additional day of fishing so we're moving
to a hotel in Futaleufu tonight and doing a two
boat float today. No real hardship on our part.
There were a lot of hugs, handshakes and well
wishes as we say goodbye to our new friends and
acquaintances. Some of these goodbyes were easy
and some not. Jim R. as I mentioned, is winding
down as owner of the lodge and not in the best of
health and he knows he may not see some of these
people again. Harry has presented the guides a
couple of new Hexagraph fly rods in appreciation
for their efforts and the porch is emptied of a
weeks worth of waders, rods and vests and all is
loaded into two trucks for a final ride over "the
road." One vehicle is headed to the airport in
Esquel and the other towards the river for one
last float.
Knowing this trip is our last over the road the
trip becomes a little sentimental so we stop and
smell the cliff as we pass Sonia's land slide and
toss a few rocks into the rapids far below. Juan
our driver seems to have the best arm though G.B
won't admit it. Things seem a little more relaxed
today, Juan and guides G.B. and Nicolas seem more
like part of the gang, maybe it's because Friday
is usually a day off from the river for them so
they're not taking it too seriously. Maybe it's
because we're getting to know each other and a
little of the client/guide separation Jim R.
requires is wearing off. We're headed for the
"border float" which it's apparently near the
Argentina/ Chile border but is only about 20
minutes from the lodge. We turn into the pasture
towards the Lagoon to pick up the second boat that
was left there on the trailer yesterday and then
to the main road about 10 miles to the put in.
This float will again last all day but will only
cover about 10 miles of river.
G. B takes Harry up river a ways while Nicolas
loads Jim C. and me and we head down to a channel
off the main river that becomes a nice little
fishable stream where we catch absolutely nothing
in our almost two hours there. I walk at least
half the channel to where it returns to the main
river and meet the others who have floated in.
The guides decide its time for lunch so we row
into another back water area beside a shear
rock wall that plunges into a deep, deep hole.
A hundred or so yards down from us is a small
wooden boat with 3 bait fishing locals is
anchored from which one of the group is
constantly bailing water. While we are there
one of them hauls a nice 20 something inch
rainbow into their perpetually sinking boat
and after a few more minutes they start their
puttering gas motor and head further down river.
This is the only "local" boat we've seen all
week. There been a few "can" fishermen from
time to time that the guides call poachers
but most disappear when they see us. On one
hand you empathize with the locals. When I
was young we fished to catch, keep and eat
but on the other hand these are all stream
borne fish, not hatchery trout like in some
parts the states, I'm sure it does put a dent
in the populations.
We set up for lunch in the shade of a grove
of small willows surrounded almost entirely
by water making a most pleasant and peaceful
spot. We started off with a beer to wash off
the bad luck we had experienced up to that
point then enjoyed steak and potatoes with
bread toasted to perfection over an open fire
by Nicolas; it doesn't get much better than this.
After our leisurely lunch we loaded up and
headed down river, first to a willow covered
pool where I cast a small ant to a large fish
and hooked a strong fighter.
Since we were near the main current of the
river maneuvering the boat to allow landing
(without the landing Nicolas had forgotten)
was going to be difficult but he managed to
row the boat up river a ways to a small island
where we beached the nice rainbow. And since
I didn't experience a "nearly falling out of
the boat" problem as I did last time I was in
willows like these, I was able to get a nice
picture with the fish.
Nicolas grew up in Buenos Aires and learned
English while attending a colonial type school,
so though he speaks English very well, though
he does have a slightly French accent.
During a swift float along a bank covered with
willows Jim C. was casting a hopper into likely
spots when his cast travels 8 inches further
than expected and it is immediately captured
by the tree. Now normally when something like
this occurs the guide would quickly maneuver
the boat in a manner that would allow the
unfortunate caster to retrieve his treasured
mound of fir and feathers but we were moving
so quickly that all the normally reserve Nicolas
could do would be utter the now famous words in
his best Maurice Chevalier voice "Guudby meestur
grass haapa."
We stopped at another sand bar and fished the
ripples while waiting for Harry to work the
opposite bank and wade across to us. G.B.
floated in and we watched for a while he
attempted to demonstrate the proper technique
for swimming a Jim's green across the ripples.
All week G.B. was insisting we swim almost all
the big dry flies across the surface like you
would a muddler with never any results that I
can recall so I wanted to see how it was done.
It didn't work for him either but Nicolas did
get a nice picture of G.B. breaking one of Jim
R's rules of never, never letting the guides' fish.
Nicolas had another brilliant idea to hit another
backwater channel piece that required wading
through muddy silt to a swift riffle to make
long casts across river with willows behind.
After not catching anything there he and I made
our way to solid ground then began to walk back
to the boat along the island. While making our
way through the thick willows we emerged onto
the main channel over an undercut bank. Directly
below us in an area cut into the bank about the
size of a large bathtub we could see a nice rainbow
in his feeding lane. We were in a position that he
could not see us and Nicolas told me to put on a
heavy nymph. As I tied on the fly I was thinking
what I'd do it this thing took the fly, the way
his relatives have fought the last few days most
of these fish need acres to be landed, not a few
feet surrounded by willows, tree stumps and bank.
I said to Nicolas "what if he takes it and runs?
I don't have any room to play him." Nicolas said
"if he runs and he breaks off you'll loose him",
made sense. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
There was no room to cast so while standing
away from the bank I gently swept the rod out
and let the nymph land and hopefully quickly
sink. Two misses and I put one right in front
of him and Nicolas, who was at the front of the
pool closer to the fish said, "he took it!"
I set the hook and the fight was on, under the
bank, to the end of the pool (8 ft) under the
willows, back under the bank, to the rear of
the pool (2 ft) all the while I'm trying my
hardest not to let him get too far in any
direction. In the mean time, Nicolas has departed
through the willows to retrieve a camera from the
boat. By the time he returns with Jim C. in tow,
I have the beast partially beached on some floating
grass at the rear of the pool so Nicolas can hand
land him (remember no net, thanks to Nicolas) then
hand him over to me for a nice round of pictures.
I think this was my final fish for the day, for the week.
It was a fine fish and a fine memory with which to
end the trip. We fished some more, stopped some more,
talked some more, enjoyed the scenery and thought
about how lucky we were to be able to experience
such a magnificent place. The wind has been blowing
all day but now it is becoming overcast and much
cooler. Jackets come out and the fishing goes from
poor to bad. As we float towards the take out,
the storm clouds behind the mountains to the
west are growing and it looks like we'll have
weather for sure.
Dusk is settling as we pull to shore, Juan Carlos
and Juan are both there along with another driver
that works part time. They and the guides begin
breaking down the boats and we remove waders and
stow gear, a few more pictures and we're on our
way to Futaleufu for the night.
Our hotel, like many buildings in Chile, has a
very small town European feel, a small square
wood framed two story building with clap board
sides and the proprietors living below.
Betty shows us upstairs to two rooms: one with
one bed and another with two, while her husband
completely ignores all that's going on. Juan
Carlos has our luggage and we make arrangements
to meet him for dinner a few blocks from the hotel
in about an hour. We clean up some and tackle the
luggage, attempting to get everything back into
it. It should fit, after all, it all came out of
there, but it takes more effort than you'd expect.
And don't forget to remove all your knives and
clippers and anything else that may be deemed
dangerous. Well we get everything back to where
it belongs and head down the street to the café.
The waitress in the café is a little concerned
about us when we arrive until we say the magic
get any thing you want words "Juan Carlos" se'
se' Juan Carlos mucho Grande' woda thunk it; we
found another one of Juan Carlos' old girl friends.
We sat and ordered cervasas and shortly in walks
Juan Carlos greeting people on the street as he
comes in the door and then greeting people inside.
This guy knows more people than the mayor, plus
everybody likes him (it's kind of hard not to)
even old girl friends. Come to think of it most
are old girl friends.
After dinner Juan Carlos tells us what time he'll
pick us up in the morning for our drive to Chaiten.
It's been another long day and we have no trouble
falling asleep on another cool evening it Futu.
I wish I had realized earlier the fact that Chile
has no mosquitoes, this answers why the windows
have no screens which is a little bothersome when
you'd like to have it open just a crack but don't
want critters invading. Actually there are no
critters at all. There is a native deer, a small
18 inch tall thing that looks like cross between
a pig and an antelope but no one has seen one in
years. No squirrels, no rodents, I did see a toad
and Harry saw a lizard but G.B. didn't believe him.
Next morning Betty is in her kitchen, she has her
wood stove fired to take off the chill and has
Nescafe along with toast, jams, rolls, juice,
fruits and cheese. A nice little breakfast served
by a nice little lady. Juan Carlos arrives and we
load again and head over the river and down the
valley towards Chaiten.
The drive back for some reason is completely
different than the one in, I can't seem to
remember much of the drive in at all. Maybe it
was just the excitement of getting there that
made the miles run together, heading out a
little slower.
When we arrived in Chaiten Juan Carlos headed
straight to the airline office to have our
luggage weighed and stored until flight time.
We really did not know the precise time of our
flight due to the airline working on a very
loose schedule dictated apparently by whim
and weight. So since we had a while to wait
and Juan Carlos has strict instructions to
see us on the plane, he felt it was again time
to eat so we headed to his favorite spot.
Though Harry has the best command of the Spanish
language it was still not sufficient to order
lunch. He thought he'd heard something about
fresh shrimp which sounded great to all of us
but what it turned out to be was fresh steamed
clams and mussels. Though we all like clams and
mussels from time to time none of us were prepared
for a plate full the size of a basketball. It was
a little more than necessary but we ate our fill
for about 5 bucks a piece.
With the time we still had until our flight, we
hit the phone store, made the rounds of a few
shops in the area that provided woolens, canned
jellies, local honey (A few things to keep those
at home from becoming restless) and a bottle of
Ahi for home. Juan Carlos drove us around town
and showed us the ferry pier, waterfront and a
few other spots, then to the airport to wait
some more.
There's a quite of bit of waiting, and in Chile
you're generally forced to go by their clock. It
seems that the smaller the plane the more the
departure is more of a suggestion than a rule.
We had about an hour at the airport before the
truck arrived from town with our luggage brought
by the girl that took it from us earlier. It
appears she's the ticket clerk, baggage check,
luggage storage, transporter and loader into
the plane. The large plane was our ride out
this time. Both planes showed up again, but
for some reason we got the big one. Each plane
in and each plane out hauls fishermen. We flew
from DFW with a group that was going to one of
the other Futaleufu River lodges and they were
on our plane back to the states. The planes come
and go daily with locals, but on the later days
of the week it's fishermen. The skies were much
clearer on our return flight to Puerto Montt and
the view over the islands was spectacular with
the patch work of farms on each island a into a
multi hued green quilt with salmon farms dotting
the shorelines of almost every island.
The plane was the larger one this time and I
got the luggage seat next to the door on the
ocean side and Jim C. sat in the copilot seat.
Arriving in Puerto Montt with about a two-hour
layover left us with more time than we needed.
Eduardo was there to meet us but left shortly
after we were settled so we got some ice cream
and coffee, roamed around the small airport with
its one shop, then loaded up for Santiago.
Now in Santiago and with another few hours to
await our next plane we made some calls and hit
the duty free shops for some Chilean wine and a
bottle of Pisco all neatly boxed for convenient
carry and storage in the overhead bin. Jim C. hit
the bar to knock back a few and have a smoke, and
Harry and I walked through the mall-like collection
of shops and stores. Our plane departed around 10:00
pm so by the time we're in the air it's been a long
day. Harry and I were lucky enough to be able to sit
next to each other but across an aisle and it's not
long into the flight when we're settling in and trying
to get some sleep. Oh how I miss my business class
seat. We managed some sleep but it's not enough so
by the time we touch down in DFW we're still beat
but we're home. Well, some of us. Harry has an hour
or so layover for him connection to Houston and Jim
has to find another terminal for his trip back to
Sacramento, then a couple of hours on the road to
Chico. On the plane we all had to fill out a form
for customs that asks, among other things, if we'd
been around livestock while we were out of the
country. I guess the question is somewhat subjective
because I answered no. Harry and Jim answered yes and
they had to spend 10 minutes at customs getting there
shoes disinfected. (Note to self for future trips).
Cindy had come to pick me up and when I went outside
to look for her I see her going in another door as
I'm coming out but we got connected. We got everything
loaded said farewell to Harry and Jim, took my livestock
tainted shoes and headed home. What a trip.
~ David
|
Finding an access onto the river was a chore.
The heavy growth and steep bank made it
almost impossible and once you did find a
way in, moving up or down worked best for
the stronger waders.
Nicolas said he was going down river to meet
with the rest of the group and they would come
and pick me up on their way back. After an hour
or so Juan Carlos and Jim C. arrived in the truck
and said they hadn't seen Harry or Nicolas for a
while so we loaded up and went back to the horse
barn where we found Nicolas but no Harry. Juan
Carlos started loading the truck for home when
Harry showed up a few minutes later. We compared
fish stories and came to the conclusion that the
fishing hadn't picked up much.
Of course he once dated the girl at the
phone store so she gave him a hard time
but they both left smiling, so I guess
no one stays mad at Juan Carlos.
G. B. was able to get a fire going today without
my help and had the chicken on the grill in no time.
Harry and Jim C. fished a little while I took some
pictures and waited for lunch. It was just a perfect
day, lots of sun, very little wind and clear water
with good friends and family.
Everyone is eventually herded onto the dance floor,
the music is transferred to a boom-box and all
the entertainers change from their costumes to
their party clothes and the dancing continues
until midnight.