Fishing in Patagonia

Tony and I went with Tony Valdescott and his wife with a small party to Patagonia. In my childhood I had ridden a lot with a very lame groom who had worked in Patagonia. From that time on the country was one high on my list to visit. We landed in Santiago. What absolute bliss, I was in Patagonia. Our next destinations became more and more magical. We went first to Lake Velcho, huge and beautiful, surrounded by mountains. We stayed on a small island. Bruce Sanderson was our host. Daily, a small motor boat took us to various rivers and lakes with big trout in them. A Patagonian ghillie accompanied us, or we should never have found them.

As it was getting dark one night Peter Bates, who was also fishing the same little lake, got into a big trout (8 ½ lbs), so our ghillie put us ashore to walk back to our boat and stayed to help Peter. The path in day light was hazardous, but now it was dark it was horrific. There were fallen trees and logs and alternative tracks. Tony and I were well into our eighties and we certainly floundered our way and to our intense relief found the boat! We then drove back to Peurta Monte and flew to where we fished the Simpson River. It was beautiful and exciting as it had every kind of pool and rough and smooth beats. I drank Mate with the guides and walked miles and caught very few fish!

We flew on to Coyache and fished the Baker River. Again a big river which ran for many miles and was cobalt blue.

Our Patagonian farmer ghillie took us for a two hour drive to a river whose name I have forgotten. There were six men fishing with Tate and Lyles's Golden Syrup tins, with wooden handles fixed into the lidless top. They were 'spinning' with heavy lures, which when cast, peeled off the line which was wound round the tins, very effective. They left when we arrived and may have been poaching.

It was getting late, we had walked 2 miles from the car, forded a big tributary and had to do the same on our return. I started walking back down the river and met the Ghillie and Martin, in deep discussion on flies and then on past Tony who was playing a fish. OK, if he could so could I! I climbed down into the river which had about two yards of gravel below the bank and then was really fast flowing. Quite quickly I got a good trout and must have turned somehow for I was in the river, the fast flowing part of it. Tony shouted, "Don't Panic". There was no way he could get to me as I was going down stream much faster than he could walk.

This was getting serious. I had on two jerseys and a Barbour and body waders and it was 300 miles to the Arctic ocean. I managed to turn over and swim to the bank and climb up it and the ghillie and Martin arrived. The American ghillie was obviously dumbfounded and had no idea what to do with an ancient lady who was soaked to the skin. Martin took charge, but first I reeled in my fish and killed it.

"Off with your waders" was his first command. He held them up and emptied the water out. Then the Barbour, all the pockets full of water. Then off with the two jerseys which he wrung out. "Now put them all on again". I protested about the waders, I had walked from the car in shoes, but he insisted. I must put the waders on or I should die of hypothermia on the walk back. They then escorted me across the tributary and shouted to Tony to follow us to the car. With a few rests, Martin got me the two miles to the car and the American waited for Tony. There was a high fence to surmount and I needed help from Martin and the American to get over that.

"Now", said Martin, "everything off". While I stripped he searched the back of the car and found jerseys, trousers and a jacket. Windows were shut, engine and heater on and I was warm as toast all they way back and suffered no bad results.

The American had his tail twisted and was told that his job was to be with the elderly clients! Quite right.

Next day we flew back to Coyache and went fishing in a big lake. Nearly everywhere there was about 20 yards of reeds, difficult to fish over until the ghillie went back to the cars and collected two wonderful gadgets. Float Tubes. They had a harness of webbing making a seat. One sat on the tyre in the water, put flippers on your feet and paddled off backwards. A splendid way to go where ever you wanted in the lake. There were little zipped pockets at each elbow for flies and cigarettes.

I did get blown right across the lake and had a moment or two of panic that in the strong wind I should not be able to get back, but with a great effort I managed it and caught a fish on the way.