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Continued from Itinerary Days 5,6,7:The ChubutRead about our experiences last December by James Anderson
While allowing my thoughts to eddy in revery of the Chubut, one line seems to come to mind: "No time to de-slime!" This action packed, fish back to back, 3 day float through exclusive water caught our fancy in more ways than one. The vistas, fish blisters, king fishers and parrot whistlers, the sunrises and sunsets, the smile one gets as one nets, a cigar a day, the milky way, campfire barbecues, a sip or two of booze, the serendipitous views- all things merged into one, and a river actually did run through it! Normally I'd claim that the Chubut is my favorite river in the world, but it seems like down here, every river is my favorite...
As our high riding, gray carpeted
raft exited through the thick willows, and joined the slow flow of the
Chubut, (pronounced chew-boot) Patricio turned back from the captain's cooler and asked, "Uh...What
have you got on?" Assuming he was not referring to my ridiculously
matching and almost embarrassing assemblage of Simms G3 waders, aqua stealth
boots, river tech shirt, and guide vest, I answered, "An Olive Green
Zonker... you think it will work?" I swung the streamer in his direction,
which he caught and inspected carefully to see if I had lawfully de- barbed my weapon of choice. With a thumbs up flick of the wrist, he tossed it overboard, replying with a smile, "Yeah, that might work..." But his smile suggested something different, something more along the lines of, "Are you kidding!? Those ferociously voracious sharks will be all over that Zonker like white on rice!" And they were...
I wish we had counted our fish by fish, because it could have been that
100+ day I had always dreamed about. Bill and I calculated with
an average of 10 fish being caught every hour, (per angler), for 11 hours
straight (yeah I know, prepare for to fish long days with these boys)
we had easily caught and
"OK, time to reel in." (Patricio had warned us about going through
the willow tunnels before). "And by reel in, I don't mean just
strip in and hold the fly in your hand, no, I mean reel in all the way..."
Through his Argentine accent I could hear wisdom from experience and obediently
began reeling in. Bill, who was riding up front did the same as we entered
the long, green, tropical tunnel. Bill pointed out it was like going to
Disney Land, I agreed thinking it was like a cross |
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released
over a hundred fish each. My hands endured physical documentations
to prove it. The blisters on my right hand (from both casting and
battling fish) along with the sore tendon of my left index finger (from
stripping in all those slimy zapatos) had me fishing left handed by day
two. I was glad I spent all that time last October in front of the
TV watching the Red Socks "reverse the curse" with a beverage
in my right hand and a Joan Wulff's "Fly-O" practice rod in
my left.
between
the pirates of the Caribbean and African Safari, except there were no
lines and we could possibly poke a hole in the raft and sink. Patricio
maneuvered the slow reacting and heavy raft through the punji-sticked
jungle like Bart Simpson on his skateboard. After passing through four
or five of these cool corridors throughout the day, we finally floated
up to camp which Nico had already set up. It felt good to get out
of our boots and waders, hanging them on our the branches to air out.
Marcos 
cooked
up a wonderful campfire dinner complete with salad, thick Hertford steaks,
potatoes, pan-fried onions, and desert, all which were washed down with
a bottle or two of vino tinto.
After a few rounds of drinks and funny campfire stories we retired to
our cots with images of jumping rainbows as the sound of the river put
us to sleep. Tomorrow would be another fun day with friends fishing
the chubut. 