Upon touching down in Coyhaique, Chile, a scattered list of similarities between Patagonia and Montana fly fishing starts to write itself. Livestock and ranch homes dot the rolling hills. A familiar dry summer breeze gusts over a skinny gravel road, as comparisons between landscapes are drawn. At first glance, one might not be able to tell the difference between Patagonia and the American West. It’s not until you string up your rod and quite literally get your feet wet that you realize Chilean Patagonia is an entirely one-of-a-kind, charming corner of the world.
During the first week of February, our Missoula fly fishing shop hosted eight anglers to Cinco Rios Lodge and Estancia del Zorro in southern Chile. In total, we fished for six days with Cinco Rios. We spent three days at Cinco Rios’ beautiful lodge above the famed Rio Simpson, where the region’s best glacial lakes, freestone rivers and spring creeks are only a short drive away. After the third day of fishing, we completed a seamless transfer to Estancia del Zorro (EDZ,) a large, working ranch with private fishing access to celebrated spring creeks and freestones where shots at trophy brown trout are common. This split-week program is known as Cinco Rios’ “Best of Patagonia” trip. It truly presents the best opportunity to fish all of what Chilean Patagonia has to offer. From big water and bigger dry flies, to small, intimate streams with technical dry fly opportunities, this trip offers the most diverse array of water types in the region.
Now months after my bittersweet departure from Cinco Rios, I reminisce about the amazing fly fishing, but also savor the incredible cuisine, wildlife and camaraderie.
This is a day-by-day summary of the magical fishing at Cinco Rios and everything/one encountered along the way. Whether you’re thinking about a international fly fishing trip in Patagonia or boarding your flight to Santiago as you read this, our hope is that it gives you an idea of the amazing fly fishing adventure in store.
Day One: Arrival at Cinco Rios
Cinco Rios Lodge arranged for private transfers from the Balmaceda Airport near Coyhaique, where we arrived after connecting flights in Santiago and Puerto Montt. Upon arriving at Cinco Rios Lodge, we are met by Sebastián Galilea, the owner of Cinco Rios, and a platter of refreshing Pisco-Sours. Our group eagerly chatted about the week ahead like schoolchildren. Before I can even unpack my bags, we are several Pisco-Sours deep and planning the week ahead. This was simultaneously the very best, and very last, thing I needed after almost 36 hours of sleepless travel. We moved from our afternoon cocktails to our first of many memorable meals that we would enjoy at Cinco Rios. In addition to great fishing, Cinco Rios offers mouthwatering Chilean cuisine featuring locally sourced meats, produce and wine– and plenty of it! Full and content with all of Cinco Rios’ chef’s offerings, we called it an early evening, eagerly awaiting our first day of fishing the next morning.
Day Two: Aysen River
We rose with the sun the morning of our first day of fishing. Breakfast is light, which is consistent with most Chilean breakfasts, but little when compared to the amount of great food you eat later in the day. We finished our coffee and met Lalo, head guide at Cinco Rios, for an orientation, during which he thoroughly explained the waters we would fish for the next week, as well as the history and geography of the area.
The guides at both Cinco Rios and EDZ rely on decades of experience in Patagonia. They are all Chilean, with many being Coyhaique born and bred. To say they know their way around is an understatement. They approach each day of fishing with a sort of patience and confidence that is rare to find. They are incredibly insightful and hardworking– pushing you to stay in the water longer and fish harder. You fish long days at Cinco Rios, wadering-up at 9am and returning to the lodge at 7pm or later.
On my first day of fishing, we headed out with long-time Cinco Rios guide, Mandinga, to the Aysen River. Jet boat in tow, we drove west through the Andes jamming to Limp Bizkit and other “Nu Metal” bands. The Aysen starts at the confluence of the Manihuales and Simpson Rivers. We rigged our rods quickly before jetting upstream. From afar, the mountains here are reminiscent of those found in Glacier National Park. They are steep and jagged, yet heavily forested. Many fern-like plants like wild rhubarb line the bank.
We started the day in a thick hatch of small mayflies and caddis, with large rainbows confidently suspended high in the water column. This was my first realization that despite my countless hours of research before this trip, fishing in Chile isn’t always fast fly rods and big beetles like it’s written up to be. We sight-fished to and caught a couple of large, picky rainbows on a small Parachute Adams (and lost several more) before firing up the motor and jetting downstream.
The rest of the day consisted of big water, sink tips and streamers. Just like fly fishing in Montana, some of my favorite days are spent on the boat, prospecting with big streamers in search of “the one.” The chance of connecting with large, chrome King salmon in the Aysen only heightened my interest. No more than 10 miles from the fjords of the Pacific, these fish run up the Aysen to other rivers and are the focus of many local fishermen. While we didn’t catch a King, we had a completely incomparable afternoon of sight-fishing with streamers. The bright sun and little wind that day initially threw me off, but it provided excellent conditions for this kind of streamer fishing. We rowed up and down along messes of woody debris, spotting and casting to big rainbows and browns visible through the crystal clear waters. More than once, I hooked and lost big rainbows only for them to turn around and crush the same fly again. It was so different from any experience I’ve had streamer fishing a river.
Day Three: Paloma River
Our second morning of fishing started like any morning in Patagonia should: a bit hungover and ready to roll. While we were all moving slower after our first day, the intrigue of what our second day had in store had us fired up. We gathered in the front lawn once we were fed and caffeinated.
Cinco Rios Lodge sits in the shadows of Cerro Mackay, a towering “hill” with many steep granite crags popular with local rock climbers. The sun slowly peaked out from behind Mackay, as the guides hooked-up to their boats for the day ahead. The famed Rio Simpson flows just out back of the lodge. From the back porch, you looked down upon the Simpson at the bottom of a steep canyon, below a stunning backdrop of the Andes. That morning, rainclouds spilled over the Andes as a flurry of songbirds fluttered in and out of the Simpson. Another cup of coffee and a good book, and I wouldn’t have made it far from the armchair.
Instead, I hopped in the truck with Lalo and we peeled out of the driveway, bouncing over cattle guards and down a skinny gravel road before arriving at the bank of the famous Rio Paloma.
The Rio Paloma system consists of a series of clear, blue glacial lakes adjoined by the Paloma and many other tributaries. Looking at the region on the map, it’s easy to get overwhelmed by the vast amount of fishable water.
We strung up our rods and marched through a pasture, down to the boat nestled beneath several tall trees. These towering evergreens house the infamous Cantaria beetles, a large “horned” insect that had occupied my dreams for the better part of a year. The beetles live for years inside the trees before emerging as large, leggy adults. Cantaria beetles live in symbiosis with these trees, unlike the pesky pine beetles we deal with in Montana. Here, males as large as three or four inches long compete for mates with long, antler-like mandibles. These beetles are notoriously clumsy and, to our luck, don’t fare well airborne in the constant Patagonia wind.
The vessel of choice for this area is a motorized cataraft, which moves you up and down the rivers and lakes with ease and is more comfortable and stable in the wind. We cut across the current and ducked into a smaller channel connecting one lake to the main stem of the Paloma. Lalo hopped on the oars and dug hard to fight the punishing wind. My fishing partner, who happened to be my father, rigged up a large Fat Albert to imitate the Canteria beetles found in piles along the river bank. I double-hauled a large, black Sex Dungeon to the bank, mended and let it sink. The structure in this particular stretch of river, which was full of boulders and sunken logs from historic forest fires, looked like it was designed to hold big fish. Despite the vibrant blue hues of the Paloma, the water is almost crystal clear. We started moving fish on both the beetle and streamer almost immediately. Time and time again we sight-casted to big brown trout in shallow water and watched them chase our streamers back to the boat.
For lunch, Lalo neatly set us a table along the river. He prepared a grilled fish dish along with salad, soup and a charcuterie board. My dad and I drank beer and wine and joked with Lalo until it was time we made something of our afternoon. We caught and missed several notable fish throughout the rest of that day. Driving back into Coyhaique, Lalo abruptly threw his blinker on and pulled over in the shoulder. “You guys want one?” Lalo asked, motioning to a nondescript building tucked behind another off the street. It happened to be a hole-in-the-wall empanada joint that you’d have to be a local to know about. “Nevermind,” he said, “you NEED one.” While still full from lunch, my dad and I reluctantly obliged. To our surprise, we enjoyed what had to be the best empanadas on the planet just before returning to the lodge to get ready for yet another wonderful dinner.
Day Four: Manihuales River
Perhaps the best part about starting your day at Cinco Rios is the anticipation of where the day will take you. Between both lodges, the guides have access to and fish over 25 different bodies of water, including lakes, rivers and small streams and spring creeks. You could fish new water everyday and never see it all– and many Cinco Rios guests have. I spoke with several anglers who have fished with Cinco Rios for nearly two decades and never fished the same water. The mystery of where you will fish on a given day thrilled me, and I couldn’t wait to see where our third full day of fishing took us.
We quickly packed our bags before leaving for our third and last day of fishing out of Cinco Rios Lodge. Upon returning that evening, our bags would be loaded in a shuttle before heading to Estancia del Zorro, just an hour away east in the Pampas. While I was sad to leave the staff at Cinco Rios, I knew that we had plenty of fishing ahead of us, with conditions improving every day.
We found ourselves on the banks of the Rio Manihuales for our third day of fishing. It rained hard the night before, and it continued to drizzle throughout the morning. The day gradually warmed as the clouds broke and sun started to peak through the blanket of heavy, low-lying fog. From the launch, we gazed downstream and spotted lazy rainbows sipping a now thick hatch of small mayflies.
In many ways, the Manihaules reminded me of Bitterroot River fly fishing. It is deep and crystal-clear with signs of high water sprawling 50 yards beyond the river’s edge. Like our freestone Missoula fly fishing rivers, this was an indication of how much this river must change throughout the season. We pulled onto a gated road that only Cinco Rios has access to and drove down to a sprawling cobblestone beach. Our guide, Ivan, spoke of high and low water on the Manihuales and the tremendous mayfly hatches that have given this river its reputation. We launched our boat for the day, an NRS raft, and pulled up the anchor. As we pushed through flat, slow current, we spotted and casted to rainbows slowly breaking the surface to feed on emerging mayflies.
Unlike the rivers we fished the previous days, the Manihaules’s slow, meandering current made the dry fly fishing challenging. To catch these fish required a good drift and patience. We rolled through a gorgeous, green countryside before approaching a tall box canyon. The once slow, flat river now picked up speed as we dropped into the canyon. Here, large foam eddies peeled off on either side of the boat, as Ivan maneuvered through heavy rapids. With keen eyes, we headhunted for sipping trout glued to the edge of the canyon walls. We eddied out and went back to the drawing board. I cracked open my fly box, and Ivan and I perused through my flies.
“That’s the one,” Ivan said, pointing to a singular beetle out of the dozens of patterns I brought with us that day. I grabbed the fly, a black and purple iteration of a Fat Albert I had tied months ago in anticipation, and frantically tied it on. I hastily casted towards the edge of the deep eddies and landed the beetle with a big splat. If you could manage a semi-natural looking drift through the wind and swirling currents, you were rewarded with slow, yawning dry fly eats on your beetles.
Approaching the end of our float, I realized how we had not seen another soul that day. It then occurred to me that we had not seen a single other angler in the three days of fishing we’d had with Cinco Rios. Never have I seen trout fishing of that caliber without droves of other anglers or boats accompanying it. Ivan rowed steadily from eddy to eddy as I thought about how lucky we were to have the Manihuales to ourselves that day. We caught several fish before exiting the canyon to another rocky beach, where Ivan’s rig sat along the river, alone.
After that day of fishing, our van came to a halt at Estancia del Zorro and we stiffly lumbered out towards the front door. An hour prior, we said goodbye to Cinco Rios and the lush, coastal rainforest and headed east. We rolled down a long gravel road and I gazed out the window, watching the countryside quickly turn from steep, green mountains to the dry, rolling hills and prairies. Jackrabbits tumbled across the road and herds of sheep tucked together with their heads buried in the thick grass steppe.
That night, the wind blew with vigor. You could tell this part of the world existed with the wind. The trees nestled in the gullies at the Estancia leaned with the howling wind, surrendering to the powerful gusts. Dark storm clouds swiftly rolled over the valley as rain started to fall. We tipped our heads, leaned into the wind and marched into the Estancia. A door swung open and Sebastián ushered us inside.
Sebastián treats his guests like long-time friends. He has a commanding presence, yet cheerfully listens along and contributes to the fishing stories at the day’s end. At both lodges, Galilea leads an incredibly hospitable and professional staff. EDZ has been in Galilea’s family for almost 100 years, and his staff there treats you as their own. The lodge at EDZ is a quaint and charming ranch home, painted red with rustic wooden decks and balconies. We’re welcomed into the dining room with empanadas and tall glasses of Chilean red wine. Here, a long, beautiful wooden dining table is set for dinner. We meet our guides for the rest of the week in the adjoined living room and immediately dive into the fishing reports.
EDZ has its own guide staff, and they are just as excited as we are for the days ahead. We would be fishing a variety of private waters for the remainder of our trip, including lakes, small freestones and spring creeks that you could literally step over, including the world-famous Zorro Spring Creek. As the wind blew rain sideways outside the lodge, we dined on filet mignon over pesto risotto and sipped red wine. Completely content, we retreated after dinner to deep leather couches like housecats near a mesmerizing wood stove. We drank and laughed our way through stories as the night came to an end.
Day Five: Estancia del Zorro Spring Creek
Our fourth full day of fishing started with a gorgeous sunrise over the pampas. A dry wind had blown any sign of the past night’s storm down the valley and out to the coast. From the porch, you can look in either direction and see nothing but rolling grasslands. The beauty of fishing at EDZ is the vast amount of private water they have access to. Prior to our trip, Sebastián cheerfully mentioned to me over the phone that they had just added another 100,000 acres to their already extensive program.
This first morning at EDZ started lazily. Because we were fishing private waters and it was a bit cooler on this side of the Andes, we were in no rush. We poured a second cup of coffee, chatted with our guides and moved at our own pace. I was fishing the home creek at Zorro, which lies only about 100 yards down the road from the lodge. Interestingly, the wind blew with such a punishing force that it overcame the downstream flow and blew a much stronger current upstream. If my guide, Andres, hadn’t pointed out the phenomena I would have guessed that the creek flowed east, towards Argentina.
My first time meeting Andres was in Missoula, coincidentally. The summer prior to our trip, two Chilean men stumbled into our Montana fly shop in search of flies and direction. Andres and Ronald, another guide at EDZ, had come from Washington to fish the small creeks in and around Missoula. To our surprise, I mentioned that I would be fishing with a certain fishing lodge in Chile the following year– a small world indeed! We chatted about each other’s fisheries and picked out flies for each other’s trips. That day in Missoula last summer, they left and drove east to fly fish Rock Creek and I, full of wonder, stared excitedly at a cup full of beetles, mice and grasshopper fly patterns.
Fast forward many months, and Andres and I met again to fish his home water in Patagonia. We piled into Andres’s truck with Juan, EDZ guide and photographer. We sped off down the long, bumpy driveway and peered into the creek below a small bridge. It was a slow moving, almost stagnant spring creek no wider than 10 feet across in spots. Large weed mats blanket most of the stagnant water, leaving dinner plate sized pockets of open water. Beneath them we noticed deep, crystal clean water. Brown trout dominate this particular creek, some knocking on the door of 30 inches long. For months, I imagined what Zorro would look and feel like. Now that I was there, the task seemed much more daunting. We turned right and drove east to a large checkpoint in the distance.
We arrived at the Argentine border in only 10 minutes from EDZ. I’ve carried many random things in my wader pockets before, but this was the first time I had carried my passport to the river. We handed our passports to a border agent who held onto them for the duration of our fishing, and then proceeded towards Argentina. We would be fishing an upper stretch of Zorro just beyond the Chilean Border. We parked at an inconspicuous pull-off just beyond the checkpoint and rigged our rods. This morning was officially the windiest conditions I’ve ever fished in.
Rigged with small beetles, we carefully made our way up stream. False casts were virtually impossible, so a quick lift of the rod, followed by an abrupt splat with your fly line was the best way to go from spot to spot. From bend to bend, I knelt and crawled my way upstream. We targeted the dinner-plate sized gaps in the weeds, sometimes leaving our beetles to twitch and swirl on the surface for 10 seconds at a time. For much of the morning, the deafening sound of the wind at your back distracted you from the fishing. Then, abruptly, a brown trout would appear from under a cut bank or beneath the thick carpet of weeds and confidently eat your beetle. These fish were strong. Even without much room to run, these browns were still known to break off 2x and even 1x fly fishing tippet with powerful head shakes.
At lunch, we returned to the checkpoint and gathered our passports before returning to the lodge for a hearty meal and a bottle of wine. We took our time, again, before driving down to a different stretch of the creek within eyesight of the lodge. This was the meandering spring creek I had dreamt of.
Juan and I crept up large oxbows with deep, still pools and continued working the small beetle pattern upstream. As we slowly made our way back to the lodge, I took in the surrounding scenery. The wind had died down to a consistent breeze, gently combing over the yellowing fields of the Estancia. In this sea of tall grass stood several alpacas. An EDZ gaucho moved a herd of sheep on horseback in the distance as flocks of birds coasted in the breeze. I meticulously wandered through calafate berry bushes and let the line slip through my fingers. If this wasn’t heaven on earth, we were pretty darn close.
Day Six: High Mountain Lake
My fifth day of fishing in Chile was undoubtedly the most unique and unforgettable day of trout fishing I’ve ever experienced. I had long wondered whether the lake fishing in Patagonia was all it was rumored to be. Patagonia, and this region specifically, is home to numerous lakes ranging in size and depth. Most anglers I’ve encountered associate lakes with monotonous fishing; however, this couldn’t be further from the truth in Patagonia. All week, I had heard rumors about the fish that can be found in the numerous lakes to which EDZ has access to. Hector, head guide at EDZ, knows this all too well. Like me, he has a sometimes annoying desire to target “the one,” sacrificing numbers of fish for the chance at a bruiser trout.
This morning, we left with much more urgency than the day prior. We had an hour and a half drive ahead of us to a remote, high mountain lake. From the back seat, we spotted flamingoes and rhea, a small Patagonian ostrich. “There,” Hector exclaimed, pointing to a large black mass along the road. With wingspans of 10 feet, two Andean Condors lept gracefully above us and flew away from the road. We exchanged one-liners, pointed out wildlife and, before we knew it, we arrived.
Any remaining patience I had immediately disappeared at first sight of the lake. Teeming with anticipation, we pulled through a gate onto a narrow, heavily forested two-track road and descended to the shoreline. We threw open our streamer boxes and made our gameplan. My fishing partner, Josh, would first prospect with a large, Galloup’s streamer. Hector advised me to tie on a large beetle with a balanced leech dropper. Through the wind, we buzzed to the other end of the lake, turned around, and proceeded to let the wind troll us from one side to the other.
For much of the morning, we fought against the wind to place our flies along the thick reeds that lined the bank. While the catching was slow, this run-and-gun style of fishing was anything but monotonous. Hours passed before we spotted our first fish, a large brown laying close to the shore. The trout turned and darted into deeper water before I could lift the rod.
These lakes are home to some of the region’s biggest trout, often found in shallow water cruising for damselflies, leeches, beetles and even mice. Because of this, lake fishing in Patagonia is much more technical and provides many sight-fishing opportunities. Hone your casting skills and bring your A-game, because the lake fishing in Patagonia is straight out of a storybook. Catching trophy fish in these lakes is easier said than done, and your opportunities are limited.
Several hours later we encountered one of these trophy trout. We blew onto a rocky point at the far end of the lake. Waves crashed onto large boulders, and through the waves we spotted a deep trough close to shore. “Closer,” Hector repeated, as I measured out my cast through the wind. My flies landed and I sloppily tossed a large mend in the line. Before my line hit the water, my flies abruptly jerked and sank to the depths. I quickly stripped in the slack and raised my rod, where I was met by strong, lumbering head shakes.
“There he is,” I shouted, breaking the now hours-long drought. I stripped vigorously, as my fly line swam towards me and under the boat. Hector, Josh, and I barked commands and advice back and forth at each other and danced around the boat. We held our breath and watched an enormous blur of gold thrash and emerge to the surface before darting back to the depths. This continued for what seemed like hours before the fish finally hit the net. Now months from my trip, the first sight of that fish still haunts me.
Day Seven: Nirehuao River
Our final day of fishing at Estancia del Zorro started with a hearty breakfast and a gourd-full of warm mate. After days of constant wind and variable conditions, the forecast for our final day was sunny and still. Repeatedly, I reminded myself to soak in as much of our final morning as possible. But the anticipation for the day ahead kept my mind wandering.
My father and I would fish the Rio Nirehuao with Pablo on our last day. It flows through the picturesque sand and stone formations of the “Valley of the Moon.” All week, I was told about the amazing hopper fishing found on the Nirehuao. As I stepped out of Pablo’s pickup along the bank, I finally understood. If you don’t like bugs– this place isn’t for you.
Immediately, hoards of hoppers leaped and tumbled across the grassy flats. The volume of hoppers we found here cannot be overstated. Thousands of hoppers clumsily fell into the tiny river as we marched upstream. With the absence of the steady Patagonian wind that day, the hoppers were out of sorts and could no longer hop and lazily coast from riverbank to riverbank. Instead, they awkwardly lept, then fluttered down to their demise.
We walked with Pablo upstream as he pointed out sipping fish. As the sun rose and the day grew longer, an unusual silence fell over the plains. The river was clear and flat, and the crackling grass beneath our feet followed the deep gulps upstream and out of view. Careful approaches and precise presentations were required on this day. Without wind, the fish could easily spot you, or your tippet, through the clear water. To stand out, we tied on small dung beetles in hopes the fish were growing tired of the taste of grasshoppers. To my surprise, we guessed correctly.
In a small riffle, we spotted a large brown drifting from side to side, confidently eating drowned hoppers. Pablo stood atop the opposite bank and called the shots. From behind the bend in the river, I looped a cast around the corner and listened. I strained my eyes and tried to peer through the tall grass as I stripped in slack. Just as planned, the brown rushed over and crushed the small beetle.
After managing a few fish on the beetle, we arrived back at the truck to have lunch and a cold beer under the shade of a small tree. The sky was blue and cloudless, and high temperatures that day pushed 90 degrees. Feeling a bit defeated by the technicality of the day’s conditions, we decided to head downstream to bigger and faster water. The lower section of the Nirehuao closely resembled Rock Creek fly fishing, with much more structure and swifter flows. We parked at a new location, jumped a fence, and walked through a pasture, kicking up hoppers as we went. At the new spot, I wet-waded through the hip-deep, cold water and met my dad and Pablo at another hole upstream. We caught numerous big browns on small hoppers as we leap-frogged each other upstream. It was one of those days to step back, take a breath, and let the beauty of a perfect day slow down your approach and cadence. This was the hopper fishing you dream of, and was easily one of the best days of dry fly fishing I will ever have. Even more special to me was the fact that I experienced it with my dad.
As the day came to an end, Pablo and my dad split off to fish the head of a riffle themselves. Pablo recommended that I cross the run and climb the 10 foot cutbank to spot fish for them. I happily obliged, and tip-toed my way across the river, letting my submersible pack keep me afloat. I navigated my way through thick cover on the bank and headed upstream to meet them at the start of the pool. I scanned the river upstream before abruptly coming to a halt. Below me, a large brown cruised upstream along a ledge that paralleled that bank. I ducked behind a tree and watched. Sluggishly, the big male brown turned and retraced his path back downstream. I quickly unpinned my fly and placed a delicate cast 10 yards in front of him, careful to not let my sprawling shadow blow my cover. Like he’d never seen one before, the trout darted towards my fly before stopping on a dime and carefully sipping the small hopper. I swiftly raised my rod and came tight. Without hesitation, the trout turned and peeled off to the other side of the large pool. I scrambled down the bank, keeping my rod high in the air, and paddled across. Pablo, noticing my obvious struggle, hustled downstream and tossed me his net. I reached back with my rod and scooped up the 20” brown. Relieved, I looked up at Pablo and laughed. I couldn’t think of a more perfectly chaotic way to wrap up my fishing in Patagonia.
As we drove back to the Estancia, I gazed over the Valley of the Moon for the last time. We pulled over and cracked a beer, soaking in the awe of this landscape one last time. As anglers, we can all relate to the feeling of cracking a beer, sitting back and relishing on a good day of fishing. I thought about all of the preparation and late nights tying or reading about flies, and the immense gratitude I felt to the guides for introducing me to their home waters. I’m lucky to remember this day by that feeling.
We arrived back to the lodge for a final party with the other guests and the Cinco Rios family. Our last dinner was held in the quincho, an open-aired room adjacent to the lodge traditionally reserved for “asado.” There, a wooden dining table was set beautifully, and featured vibrant, locally-sourced green salads, sauces and several bottles of wine. A whole, butterflied lamb crackled over an open fire in the corner of the room, as the smoky aroma filled the air. Elicio, the caretaker and “asador” at EDZ, gleefully sharpened his knives and carved up lamb and chorizo for us with a smile. After dinner, Sebastián introduced us to a charming local guitarist, who led us through cheeky Elvis classics and traditional Chilean songs. Bottle after bottle, we enjoyed wine, sang along, and chatted with the other guests and guides late into the night.
The next morning, we would pack our bags and shuttle back to the Balmaceda Airport to restart our long voyage back to Montana. As our remaining hours dwindled on our Patagonia adventure, I thought back on the amazing rivers, lakes and streams we fished and the wide diversity of places we were able to see in only a week in Chile. Furthermore, I thought about the kind and insightful guides that shared this experience with us. Truck time and river time alike, the hours spent chatting and joking with the guides and staff at Cinco Rios and EDZ was a delight. There wasn’t a second of this trip that wasn’t filled with world-class fishing, dumb humor, tall tales and taller glasses of wine.
Now months from my time in Chile, I catch myself trying to emulate little experiences I had with Cinco Rios at home. Whether it’s the ineffective attempts to emulate the amazing dinners served at Cinco Rios, or simply slowing down, taking in and appreciating the little nuances of my local Montana trout fishing stream, I relearned how to appreciate Missoula fly fishing and my relationship with the sport. I gained valuable fishing experience approaching and learning new waters, and how to work together with your guide and fishing partners to achieve a mutual goal. I also learned that, above all else, the most important part to a successful fishing trip is surrounding yourself with good people; Cinco Rios has some of the best.
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