Patagonian Paradise

  It’s early December, about 9:30 in the evening, and I’m relishing the indistinct twilight at the end of a long day of fishing. My shoulder aches from fighting dozens of large, powerful wild trout, but there is at least another half hour of light left, and what appears to be a massive brown sipping duns off the surface not 20 feet away. The flies are huge, #10, maybe bigger, and they remind me of an eastern Green Drake hatch. I’ve been using that universal fish catcher, an Adams, with more than adequate success and I can’t think of any reason to change now; except this fish doesn’t seem to be impressed. I don’t really care, I’m tired in a good way, hungry, and more than ready to return to the lodge for some malbec and one of the chef’s succulent specialties – seven hour lamb. In fact, just thinking of these rewards distracts me enough to miss that brown when he decides he’s had enough of my fly floating over his head. I know it’s time to go.

My visit to the beauties of northern Patagonia begins with touchdown at the Bariloche airport, and a scenic hour and a half drive down the gravel road toward Rio Manso Lodge. My excitement grows as we round each bend. I have plenty of fond memories here, as do most of the other members of my group. We have all caught large rainbows, browns and brook trout in these waters, and like a group of schoolchildren, we are chattering about our expectations. I’m reminded of opening day as a youth when the anticipation of casting a line into the virginal waters of the new fishing season almost guaranteed a sleepless night.

When we pull into the lodge, dear friends are there to greet us: Sharon Green, the lodge manager, has everything running perfectly. Javier, Facundo, and Marcello are all experienced guides who have come to know these waters and us well. Unlike the Limay, Chimehuin or Collon Cora Rivers to the north that are well-known with long histories, Rio Manso Lodge came into being in 2004. The fabulous fishing of the Rio Manso and surrounding lakes was virtually unknown by North American anglers before then.

After dropping our bags, we organize an evening of fishing the channels in front of the lodge. Technically a part of Lago Hess, the Manso River funnels through this weedy area providing a rich feeding ground for cruising browns, rainbows and brook trout. So much of the fishing in Argentina is with 150 or 200 grain sinking lines , weighted streamers and heavy rods. The channels offer match the hatch dry fly fishing and we’re all more than ready to take advantage of it. With five of us in the group, I’m the odd man out. John and Mike set off with Javier, and Marcello takes Tom and Ann to the far channel. I set off alone in a one-man raft to try my luck.

The quiet of the evening in such a place penetrates your very being. There are no cars, no hum of civilization, no contrails - just the distant squeak of an oarlock or the muted chatter from the other anglers exploring the maze of the channels. I pull my raft into the weeds along the shore and wait. I can almost picture the fish moving in from the lake to feed. Then I see it, the first gentle rise. It’s hard to tell the size of this fish, but they average 18-20 inches here, and I’ve seen browns up to ten pounds. I’m fishing an emerger because the hatch is just starting up. Second cast and I’m on. The fish makes a strong run to dive into the weeds, but I lean hard on the rod and bring him to the side of the boat. It’s a beautifully spotted rainbow showing off his distant heritage of California’s McCloud River. I release him gently and sit back. Peals of laughter and distant shouts pierce the evening as my companions find success as well. Later, while sipping Pisco sours in front of a roaring fire, we’re recounting our expertise as piscatorial matadors who have teased each fish into charging. Stepping outside, we’re dazzled by the sheer magnitude of the Patagonian sky, bursting with stars anchored by the Southern Cross. We had no idea this was just the beginning.

Day two we drive the short distance into Lago Fonck, a lake known for its beautiful brook trout, plentiful rainbows and the occasional big brown. We’re a mere three miles from the Chilean border. The shores are surrounded by old growth forest of lengas, coihues and ñires, and the appearance is not unlike parts of the American northwest. A few miles from where we fish, a recently discovered forest of alerce trees, a giant Patagonian conifer, is over 3,000 years old. The Andes are volcanic in origin, and the landscape reflects this violent past. Massive plateaus of basalt rise above the forest. High above the edge of the escarpment I see a pair of Andean condors soaring the thermals on their ten foot wings.

The dragonfly hatch is in full swing and everywhere fish are rocketing out of the water like bug-seeking missiles. Dragonflies are a huge protein source for the region’s fish and they aren’t about to miss out on a meal this good. Two to five pound fish soar three feet or more out of the water for the tasty morsels. I spot two dragons mating and know that their time is at hand. Sure enough, a feisty rainbow smacks them down. We’re all fishing floating lines and large dragonfly imitations. On an earlier trip, I doubted whether the biggest fish were really just eating dries and fished hard with a sinking line and streamers. Ann fished only the dragon fly and out-fished me ten to one. I’m not about to make that mistake again. The crystal clear water of the lake frequently let’s you watch the action, or sight cast to cruising fish. Javier rows us along the shoreline in the lodge’s Carolina skiff. The stable bow provides the perfect casting platform and as Javier edges the boat along, it almost feels like bonefishing. We’re learning from experience to use leaders no lighter than 3X.

By the time we regroup for a shore lunch on a sand bar, there are big smiles everywhere. John and Tom have lost count of the number of rainbows and brook trout they’ve caught. Mike, Ann and I have played musical chairs in the boat, taking turns casting, hooking, and fighting big strong Argentinean trout. We are still on the hunt for the grande maron, the big brown, but right now, we’re content to drink wine, eat bread and cheese, and wait for the steaks sizzling on the grill. By the time we finish with lunch, scarcely anyone can move. Brief thoughts of a siesta cross everyone’s mind, but the sight of a rising rainbow just a few feet away remind us there’s a lot casting yet to do.

Like the other lakes and rivers in this area, Lago Fonck’s fish came from initial plantings of eggs in 1904. Rainbows of California’s McCloud River stock, brook trout from New York and Maine, browns from Europe and landlocked salmon from Sebago Lake, Maine were introduced into these waters. Unlike North America, where dams truncate most watersheds, Patagonia’s waters are remarkably free of barriers, allowing fish planted almost anywhere in a watershed to spread throughout. The results have been spectacular as we’re finding out.

The afternoon provides the biggest fish of the trip as the browns begin to feed heavily. My friends all catch big, beautiful browns in the five pound range. These are strong, wild fish that test your nerve as they run for the snags that line the lake’s shores. By the time evening comes, we’re more than ready to return to the lodge.

Dinner comes late in Argentina, usually no earlier than 10:30pm. No one seems to mind, especially after the kind of fishing we’re having. Rio Manso’s chef concocts exquisite meals night after night – chicken wrapped in bacon, pork with beetroot sauce, trout with lemon sauce, or my personal favorite – succulent 7 hour lamb. Dulce de leche is an Argentine obsession, and this sweet caramel sauce is delicious dripped over ice cream or thickened in a crepe.

The next day finds our group splitting up to fish the multitude of different waters in the area. John and I have headed up the Manso River with Javier to fish a combination of river and lake fishing. The first run we stop at is filled with nymphing fish. I count over twenty actively feeding in the strong current, and we work hard to get drag free floats. When John succeeds, we see the wink of a mouth and he catches a fat brown. By the time we pull our raft from the river, John has caught close to 30 browns, rainbows and brook trout up to 24 inches, mostly on dries. I’ve done almost as well, and we’re both satiated.

The Manso River offers diverse fishing settings within minutes of the lodge - from long, smooth glides and deep undercut banks to rumbling rapids that the require portages. The river interconnects with several lakes, each of which is a complete destination in its own right. The lakes hold the largest fish, and the average fish runs 18 – 24 inches. While we were at the lodge, another guest hooked and lost a brown estimated at 30 inches. Our largest of the trip was around 27 inches and close to six pounds. Perhaps most remarkable was the fact that dry flies accounted for about 95% of the fish we caught. In mid December, the dragonfly hatch begins four to six weeks of great dry fly fishing.

In the river, streamers are more the ticket and the volume of water dictates the use of sinking lines. The fish are smaller here, but fight well in the current. Sometimes we wade fish where conditions allow, but at this time of year, it can get a little dicey. One day, I’m waist deep casting along the bank when the fly stops. I can tell this is a serious fish, the kind that gets your blood going when you feel its strength, and I slowly edge back toward the shallows. I coax it from under the tree branches sweeping out from the bank, but I can tell something doesn’t feel quite right. Perhaps I’ve foul-hooked this fish. I work it closer and get my first real look in the crystal clear, rushing water. My fly is fast in the mouth of a 10-inch rainbow. That poor rainbow is lodged in the jaws of a monster brown, shaking its head like a dog with its favorite bone, and even though I’m putting on considerable pressure, and working him gradually toward me, he doesn’t want to let go of what could be a very filling meal. Drawing closer, he eyes the net that Javier has edged into the current, and finally, almost reluctantly, let go and glides back to the dark water. Javi and I just look at each other and laugh.

The weekly pattern has been set: float a different section of the river or fish one of the lakes, and spend evenings in the channels casting to rising fish. By our trip’s end, we’ve all caught way more than our fill. There’s a feeling of contentment as we end each day at the lodge with a sauna or massage, cocktails by the fire, and fine cuisine. This is Patagonian paradise.

Argentina is one of the most pleasurable fishing destinations on earth. The whole experience is unlike anything else, and worthy of any traveling angler’s serious consideration. I know I’m already planning my return. After all, there’s still a little matter of that brown in front of Rio Manso Lodge.