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Return to Itinerary Day 4: The Rivadavia Read about our experiences last December by James Anderson
Nestled between Lago Rivadavia
and Lago Verde in Los Alerces National Park, this short but timeless river
that will abide in our memories forever. It felt like we were floating
through a calendar, you know the one, with the angler casting into that
surreal, aqua-marine water that looks more like a Caribbean bonefish flat
than somewhere in the Andes. The Rivadaia's unique combination of
jade colored water, snow capped mountains, and lush jungle make it an
unusually stunning trout environment to say the least. I felt at
any moment a Tyrannosaurus Rex could have come bursting through a
As our raft circled a vast
fish infested eddy, our eyes became the size of pies and our mouths began
to drivel appropriately. With perfect vision we could see 20/20, (which
not only refers to the accuracy of our eyesight, but to the number of
fish below our vessel and their inches in apparent length). A teeny
200 was the perfect sinking line for the task at hand, matched up with
an equally perfect 9 Our boat's hoots and hollers evoked a positive vibe of retaliation and escalation from our fellow floating partners in crime. Upon hearing our cries of success, they jocularly shouted back, regardless if they had a fish on the end of their line or not. It's hard to say which boat had more fun at the end of the day, and that's what this game is all about. Without a doubt, we all emerged as winners, (and you could read it on everyone's face, as clear as the water beneath our inflated battleships). I'll tell you one thing, this river definitely belongs in the hall of fame and anyone who is lucky enough to float it will feel like a champion....
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Lago Rivadavia
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thick patch of bamboo and snatch one of us out of the raft, as if we were
anglers in Jurassic Park. Thankfully however, we were the
only predators out there catching anything; predominantly, la trucha
arco iris, or better known to us as the rainbow trout...
foot
Winston Boron IIX 7 weight or 690-4pc Sage XP. Unfortunately, it was my
turn to row. Never-the-less I couldn't help casting a line and letting
it drift towards the finned nemeses. Before long a fat 18 inch bow grabbed
my fly and raced away with the current. As one could imagine, such
a scenario had all the accoutrements of an inextricably entwined cluster
@#$! Luckily I was able to avoid disaster by grabbing my rod and passing
it to my Dad in the front of the boat. He reluctantly agreed to
help, put his rod aside and reeled my fish in. 
