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Continued from Itinerary Day 9The Arroyo PescadoRead about our experiences last December by James Anderson
After I locked my dust encrusted
Honda 250 to a tree near the gate of the Arroyo Pescado, I walked
the long, Poplar lined driveway to get the key. I noticed it was windy, real windy. Along the way, I began to wonder When I arrived to the house, I met a lady with her 10 year old son and 6 year old daughter. After signing in the guest book and paying the $150 paso rod fee (US$50), her son Javier excitedly asked me in Spanish if I needed a fishing companion, "senior, necesitas un campanario de pescar?" "You mean a guia de pesca?" I asked as I smiled and looked to his Mom for approval. She smiled back, adding that he knew the creek well and that he would
be an excellent attribute towards the afternoon's success. Admittedly, I was a bit apprehensive
of this idea at first, mainly because it seemed like I might end up baby
sitting all day. But in the end I could see how much he wanted
to go and agreed that yes, in fact I did need a companario de pescar.
Javier and I walked back to the gate to get my bike. He hopped on the bike behind me he held on to me tight, following his mothers instructions, but after we were out of sight, he just balanced himself with his legs hanging to either side. He pointed out which way to go, hopping off to open and close the gates as we came to them. When we reached the power lines, Javier suggested we stop and fish, so I hit the kill switch. It was way too windy to sight fish to these hungry bows, so I tied on a streamer with 3X tippet. The multi-colored green wooly bugger wasn't in the water for more than a second
Javier had never been to the origin of the spring, and neither had I. We left the bike, took the rod, and started walking through some of the sharpest grass tuffs in Patagonia. We explored past the bridge, rested in the dark weepy willow hollows, and sloshed our way through the marshlands, (all the while keeping our eyes peeled for Mr. Huge Brown who was out there somewhere, hiding from a hot summer's day sun. We never did find Senior Morron Enorme, but we did have fun bombing several enemy Naval fleets, (aka: floating sticks and sheep turds) with our often inaccurate intercontinental ballistic missals (aka: rocks). It was funny to see that this amused Javier as much, if not more than catching 20 inch rainbows with a fly. It was equally funny to realize that he and I were in the same boat! When Javier and I had returned to our ride, I realized the Honda
rear tire had gotten a flat somewhere along the way. (Their Navy must have radioed for a ground infantry search and destroy mission on our only means of transportation). This was not optimal,
considering the
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what my day on the creek would
be like. My hands rubbed together as I began to imagine the several hundred 18 to 20 inch "cookie cutter"
rainbows I had heard about, just waiting for me to deliver a foam beetle
for breakfast. 
before it was smashed on the very first cast. With a big bend in the rod, I looked back with a wide-eyed and open mouth face that read "that was ridiculous!" and saw a face smiling back at me that read, "see I told you so!" After catching a few more in a row, it became apparent that fishing with a bugger was just way to easy. But it was too windy to teach Javier how to cast, so instead I decided that I would do the casting and Javier
would take care of the rest. He joyfully agreed. Our tactical combination of sloppy fishing skills,
proved to be a serious success in the field, as I lobbed the feathered chum in, and
Javier reeled 'em in...
closest town was an hour away. Once we got back to the house, I
luckily ran into a couple guys from the states who were fishing the creek and
happy to help. Gary assisted me with getting the tire off the bike and
Gene drove into Esquel. They let me share a room with them since the
city was totally booked. The following morning I said my thanks and
goodbyes, took the tire to a Gomeria (rubber store) to get fixed, and returned to the Arroyo Pescado with a world class rally-racer trapped in the body of a cab driver. When we arrived the gate was unlocked
and it was dead calm. After putting the tire back on the bike, I decided
to stay and fish one more day with my companario de pescar. This time
we could see all those big bows along the banks and cruising around the
reeds. They were chomping their foam beetle breakfast just like I had
dreamed, only this time, Javier was the one reeling them in. 