Patagonia, The Horseman, Part 11

patriarch of rural chilean valley

 

At the lodge there was the Gaucho and the Horseman. The Gaucho was a middle aged gentleman solidly built and dark in complexion. To an outsider like me, he looked like the quintessential Chilean, if there is such a thing. He managed the farm, lassoed and slayed animals for the lodge, and operated the smoke house and barbecued all of the meat we ate. The Horseman, his assistant, was much younger. His complexion was fairer and he had a slight build. He looked like a Jockey. Maybe a little too tall for one. He had one front tooth that was slightly crooked. The Gaucho was good at many farm tasks but the Horseman was the much better rider. He was a magician in the saddle. He could turn his horse on spot 360 degrees, get it to kneel, and make it go backwards. He negotiated the many wooden farm gates with ease without ever having to get off of his horse to open and close them. No other rider could do that. There is no way I could describe the complexity of this task. His most remarkable riding skill however was not manoeuvrability or horse tricks. His prowess in my eyes, a non-rider, was his ability to deliver eggs. Every once in awhile the farm chickens weren't cooperative and the lodge ran short of eggs. The horseman would be summoned to travel to the next valley where he had relatives to get extra eggs. He'd be gone for a good part of the day but always returned with a least two dozen. None, and I emphasis none, were ever broken. These weren't supermarket eggs packaged in a cardboard or Styrofoam for protection. He'd collect the eggs and very carefully stack them in a a round can about the size of a large coffee or for reference sake about the size of a gallon paint can. One day when he returned with eggs I asked to look inside the can. The bottom eggs were place on their ends for strength, not on their sides. They were neatly packed in this way tight to the sides of the can. The next layer was placed once again end first in the space between the bottom eggs. This way there was little wasted space. And so it went, stacked layer on layer, until eggs reached the top of the can. He could pack what looked like two dozen in a can that way. Then he would ride 2 to 3 hours with them through the Andes, up and down, across arroyos, through numerous gates and arrive with all intact. I remember looking into the the can to see how he did it and smiling. In response a big smile grew on his face. He knew I recognised the specialness of what he could do.

the horseman

Patagonia, Carnegie Hall, Part 10

 

Most mornings Jim was up early casting with his Hexagraph fly rod on the range next to the lodge. When the line gracefully unfolded and landed he'd pause and look intently as if imagining a large trout was rising from the dew covered lawn. I'd be loading coolers with drinks and snacks for an all day float on the Futaleufu river. When he saw me he always said the same thing, " Hey Robert, how do you get to Carnegie Hall?" He had river rocks on the casting range marking off distances in 10 foot increments: 10, 20, 30, up to 90 feet. Jim often said with a smile that this was where 80 foot casters became 60 foot casters! The rocks don't lie. Often a visiting angler would join him on the range. Jim would politely give some pointers, joke a bit and talk about fly fishing and the promise of the day ahead. He was a talented host. The morning light would just be cresting the Andean peaks and flooding the valley. It warmed the large Monkey Puzzle tree in front of the lodge and the many flowers in the garden. Jose, a Gaucho, was usually around smoking a rollie or sipping Mate from a gourd. Majestic Chilean horses were always there grazing near the Bodega (barn). Chickens were also around. They were always around as was my dog, Brooke. The sheep in the corral would just be waking up. From the lodge kitchen came the smell of coffee, bacon and eggs. Fresh eggs. Mornings were always quiet. Just soft pastoral sounds. The sound of living things. The sound of the natural world waking up. Looking back some of the best mornings of my life were right there, witnessing it all: The horses; the chickens; the Monkey Puzzle tree; the garden; the Gaucho; the smell of coffee and breakfast; Jim throwing tight loop after tight loop in the warm morning light imagining large trout rising from the lawn. How do you get to Carnegie Hall? The answer was always the same, "practice".



chile fly fishing lodge

bodega

 

 

gaucho

Patterns in Nature

Patterns. You see them everywhere in nature The dots and speckles on a Trout. A pattern. Stripes on a Zebra. A pattern. The barring and spots on a Northern Flicker. A pattern. Some patterns camouflage, some attract. The art and fashion world have long borrowed from these patterns; these consistent arrangements. Here are some patterns.

ring necked pheasant feathers

 

brown trout camo

 

 

Midges Saved the Day

high plains hwy

missouri river rainbow

 

I spent last weekend on the Missouri River. I was on a budget so I slept in my vehicle and brought snacks. The river fished well. November can be a good time on the Missouri. If the wind lays low then some great surface action can be had. On Saturday it didn't blow too hard and the fish were on Olives in the afternoon. I caught several on dries. On Sunday I got an early start, around 9:00 am. The fish were up and already very active on midges, mainly emergers. Fall is considered Baetis(Olive) time (afternoon hatch) for the dry fly angler but experience has taught me that the midge fishing can even be better. The key is that it tends to be very calm in the morning and with the river surface being glass-like, trout are often found actively feeding on midges...a tailwater staple. That is exactly what I experienced on Sunday morning. By noon the wind was full throttle and the Baetis hatch never really developed and therefore I spotted few surface fish. With the morning midge activity I caught nice fish on midge dries but had more success using an emerger pattern fished just inches under a Griffith's Gnat (dry). The rainbows were concentrating on the rising swimming emergers. I had to angle my cast downstream at a bulging fish and skate or wake the tiny dry with dangling emerger in front of the fish to get a response. Often they surged at the emerger and inhaled it. Midges saved the day.

missouri river

The whole river valley was full of  life: Ring-Necked Pheasants, Hawks, a Bald Eagle, many Coots in the side channels, Beaver, Muskrat, Deer and Antelope, and of course bulging and sipping Trout. I saw several good sized brown trout on redds. In mid afternoon the temperature hit mid 50's F. It was a great way to spend an early November weekend.  I caught my first trout of the 2012 season on a dry fly in early April and possibly my last this past weekend: November. The small fly season can truly be a long one. The key is river selection (water type). Here are some pictures of the trip.

 

butte near cascade montana