Hooked on Patagonia
Northern Ireland natives Patrick Nixon and his father Larry get the full Patagonia fly fishing experience near Coyhaique. With the right flies, they found their just reward.
Ilifted my rod again to cast, my arm starting to tire. It was beginning to snow and the wind was pummeling my face as it raced across the lake. Ten minutes earlier the sun had been shining. This was fly fishing in January, mid-summer in the Southern Hemisphere. But it was Patagonia, home to four seasons in one day, what did I expect?
“Hurry Patrick, this is all good water…did you cover that big rock over there,” urged Pancho, our guide, swiveling the boat into position with one deft stroke of an oar. I never remember having worked so hard in a single morning's fishing, concentrating on my casting, trying to bounce a Fat Albert foam dry fly off a rock so it would land in the water.
“Set, set, set,” cried Pancho, pointing to the splash that engulfed my fly. I lifted the rod a second too late and the leader and fly whipped back at me. “You take your eye off the fly for a split second and you miss the take,” scolded the seasoned Chilean guide, who, with his polarized sunglasses, had seen the brown trout rise before it had even struck.
This was a different type of fly fishing to what I'd been used
to as a boy growing up in Northern Ireland. I had learned to fish in so-called put-and-take fisheries, veritable gravel pits stocked with hatchery rainbows whose eroded fins and tails take much of the fight out of them. Much of the time you use sinking lines and drag dark lures through the murky water.
In Chile's Aysén region, they use a lot dry flies, particularly big foam patterns to imitate terrestrials like beetles, grasshoppers and dragonflies. In glacial lakes and rivers there are few hatches so the trout, even the big ones, are right in close to the shore or river banks waiting to snap up whatever falls off the rocks. Due to the clear water you can sight fish, so polarized glasses are a must.
“In rivers in North America you don't get as many terrestrials, or there is more pressure from fishermen,” explains Francisco “Pancho” Vilches, our guide, and owner of Chile Trout lodge. “There are more predators, like ospreys, so the fish are in deeper pools, or eating smaller dry flies, which makes it more technical. Here the trout spook easily but if you cast the right fly they will take it.”
A line of foam typically runs horizontally about a meter from shore, becoming a literal feeding channel where you need to precisely place your fly. In that channel, the water flow is often slower so you must immediately mend a cast to avoid the slack line being dragged by the faster
“In lakes and rivers there are few hatches so the trout, even the big ones, are right in close to the shore or river banks waiting to snap up whatever falls off the rocks.”
current and causing the fly to display an unnatural movement.
Throughout the morning I had landed and released half a dozen brown trout, averaging around 2 pounds (1 kilo), which fought like demons. All were beautifully colored with a brown back, red spots and yellow underbelly.
This was the fourth and last day of fishing and the most challenging weather-wise but by far the most productive. We were on a remote lake some three hours' northeast of Coyhaique and had stayed the previous night in Chile Trout's “rolling lodge,” a 15 square-meter (161 square feet) tiny house on wheels that Pancho built himself and lugged across fields to park right on the water's edge.
We had spent the first few days at Chile Trout's lodge, about 20 minutes from Coyhaique, fishing the nearby Lago Frio and Huemul River and then headed north to the Nirehuao valley.
So-called “spike camps” are popular in North America for fishing remote areas. Because of harsh weather, camping in tents can be uncomfortable and requires carrying a lot of equipment. But this was luxury. A snug little cabin, consisting of a mini central living room with a stove and two bedrooms on either side with bunkbeds. You get up in the morning, pull on your gear, and walk 50 feet to the boat.
“We have so much water in the Aysén region that the rolling lodge gives us access to more water that is far from our main lodge,” Pancho said. “You don't want to drive three hours to fish and then have to go back. This allows us more time on the water and less time in the car.”
From Ireland to Chile
Iwas fishing with my father, Larry, who had traveled halfway across the globe for this rare
chance to reconnect with his son through this wonderful pursuit that had bonded us and was always at the center of our conversations.
Now 74, fishing has been my father's passion since he was 12, having pursued everything from monster pike to halibut and tope shark. He was the angling correspondent for the Belfast Telegraph, Northern Ireland's most widely circulated newspaper, for 30 years where he wrote under the nom de plume John Dory (a jovial wink to the sea fish of the same name) and has authored two books about fishing in Ireland.
But for him, like many, Patagonia holds a mythical status, a far off land with snow- capped volcanoes, virgin forests and sprawling yellow pampas, woven with crystal clear rivers and fjords and too many trout for too few fishermen.
“It's incredible. You can take photographs but nothing does it justice. You've got to come here to see it,” Larry said.
Like Montana, 100 years ago
The Aysén region is Chile's third largest in terms of area but the most sparsely populated. The region has different types of climate zones separated by mountains. The coastal areas in the west have a lusher, temperate climate, while the easternmost parts, where Coyhaique is located, are cold steppe with lower precipitation.
Spires of multi-colored lupin flowers reach five feet in height and line the southern highway and surrounding fields, announcing the glorious but short-lived Patagonian summer (December – February), where temperatures fluctuate from 8-21° C (46-70 F). The sun illuminates the rosettes of blues, purples and pinks that contrast with the changing hues of rain-laden clouds in the steely blue-grey sky.
The quality of fly fishing in the Aysén region is often compared to that of Montana, but 100 years ago.
According to Rodrigo Sandoval, one of Chile's most recognized fly fishermen, this is largely due to a sparse population and low pressure from locals. Blue Ribbon quality streams with crystal clear water make for exciting sight fishing. There is a higher percentage of large brown trout which are opportunistic and easier to catch for novices. “You have a real chance of catching large fish and you also have this sensation of being an explorer, of being alone on the river with no one else around,” Sandoval says.
Amongst the most popular fishing spots are the Simpson, Baker and Cochrane rivers, the Mañihual and Ñirehuao valleys and the Paloma, Elizalde, Ardilla and Polux lakes.
When the industry started to take off 30 years ago, much of the scouting was done by North Americans who set up their own lodges and charged premium rates giving fly fishing the stigma of being an elite sport in Chile. However, that has been changing in recent years with the availability of more and cheaper options for equipment, lodging and local guides.
Yet for Carlos Dinamarca, a Coyhaique- based fly- fishing guide, being such an isolated region and an industry heavily dependent on foreign tourists, the Covid-19 pandemic has hit hard, and this season has all but been written off. But long-term, there are also other more far-reaching challenges for the development
“The quality of fly fishing in the Aysen region is often compared to that of Montana, but 100 years ago.”
of the fly fishing sector here. “We don't have enough properly trained local guides that speak English,” he said. “The tourism sector also doesn't get much support from local authorities, it isn't valued. And the cost of permits is very low and with little regulation.”
“I realized that instead of spending my life in a super stressful environment, saving money to eventually retire in Patagonia, I’d rather move there right away.”
Chile Trout Lodge
Taught by his grandfather to fish, after leaving high school Pancho ignored calls from his family to study dentistry and took off to the United States to learn English and become a certified fly fishing guide from Sweetwater Travel Guide School in Montana. After meeting his wife Karina while studying ecotourism at Chile's Andres Bello University they agreed to try their luck in Coyhaique. Pancho used the skills he learned working on construction sites in the U.S. to build his own lodge and put together a construction business to supplement income during the off-season.
Working as a fishing guide with Chile Trout is José Miguel Vives ( Gino). Originally from Santiago, Gino had a successful career as a video game programmer in Silicon Valley before giving it all up to return to Chile's south to pursue his true passion. “I realized that instead of spending my life in a super stressful environment, saving money to eventually retire in Patagonia, I'd rather move right away and start enjoying it, while I still have the energy,” he said.
“I've been happy since I made that call. It's not an easy life, but it has its perks. I don't have any more Philz Coffee, which I used to love in San Francisco, but we have the best lamb in the world. You quit one and get another.”
Practice makes perfect
Our third day, fishing the Nirehuao River, was when things really started to come together for me.
Under a constant drizzle and Gino's guidance, we patrolled the high banks of a spring creek, using short roll casts to avoid back casting into vegetation. One of the great things about Patagonia is the open spaces and low vegetation surrounding the rivers giving amateur casters like myself plenty of space to practice, especially faced with strong southerly winds. By the end of the morning, I had netted eight beautiful brook trout up to about 1.5 pounds (about half a kilo) on a Fat Albert fly.
Meanwhile, Pancho had taken my father stealth fishing to a small land-locked back channel lagoon where one had to crouch and cast over the reeds and carefully place one's fly without alerting the wary browns. He was rewarded with a 3 pound ( 1.4 kilos) brown specimen caught on a dragonfly nymph.
On our last day, after leaving the comfort of our tiny house, a 15-horsepower engine powered our cataraft up the lake battling against waves, headwinds, hail and sleet. We drifted the lake's rocky shorelines. Underwa
ter forests of weed lapped up against the cliff face with small gaps of clear water in between, which is where I was instructed to place my fly.
“In I reland, you'd never dream of casting over weed,” commented my father.
Finding a small cove for shelter, the squall quickly blew over and the sun peaked through the clouds once more. Cormorants and Chilean blue eagles perched on the surrounding cliffs while swallows dove and dipped, skimming the water without stopping their flight. I was finally getting used to these conditions and we netted over a dozen good-sized fish.
As we drove back to Chile Trout Lodge, the purple summer lupins had a sprinkling of white snow.
“Last week, it was so hot, my kids were bathing in the lake,” Pancho said, reminding us of the changeable weather in these latitudes.
“It can be very cold, sometimes with three seasons within an hour of each other and you need several rods to cope with the conditions,” Larry commented.
But there was nothing our guides weren't prepared for and they showed great patience.
“You learn a lot from these guys,” said Larry. “No matter how much you think you know, no matter how old you get, you always learn new tricks about fishing. You never know it all.”
Patrick Nixon is a freelance journalist based in Santiago, Chile, and an editor-at-large of Patagon Journal.