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".
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| chile fly fishing lodge |
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| bodega |
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| gaucho |
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