[013] Fishing the Collón Curá
I'm travelling in South America. Here's what I'm up to, some photos and other bits
Fly fishing is a simpler activity than it looks. Fish feed on flies which land on the river. The idea is to present to the fish an artificial fly (made from feathers, synthetics, a mole's butt hair - that sort of stuff). The fish might think it’s real and if it goes for it you've got yourself a fish.
You don't need a rod or reel, you could just throw the fish a fly tied to a line. But the rod helps you to fling the line a greater distance and the reel helps you retrieve it. Voila: now you have an activity which looks artful and complicated.
T’other week I fished the Collõn Curã. It’s a beautiful wide river in the dry Patagonian steppe just north of San Martin de los Andes. We fished for rainbow trout as Jurgen - guide and my mate's boyfriend's brother - manoeuvred our rowing boat downstream.
My casting started woefully. Fishing isn’t at all like riding a bike. Intuition won’t help me move the line where I want it and even holding the rod I feel clumsy. My efforts result in a tangled mess of line, cold hands fumbling with knots and a hook in my fingertip.
Jurgen stops to show me. A flick of his arm lifts the line off the water with grace, he rhythmically orchestrates it back and forth then softly lands the fly on the water under a willow tree. I watch and then try to emulate. I want to throw the line far but the more I try the worse I get. So I don’t try, and it’s even worse. It’s basically that scene in Forgetting Sarah Marshall where Paul Rudd is teaching Jason Segel to surf:
“The less you do, the more you do. Let’s see you pop up. That's not it at all, try less, do it again. Nope, too slow, do less. You're doing too much, do less. Stop. Remember, don't do anything. Nothing... Well, no you gotta do more than that, just do it, feel it. YEAAAH... That wasn't quite it, but...”
Anyway, things improved and I caught a few fish. It’s never been about catching fish though. Since I first fished five years ago it’s been about surrounding myself in nature. The act of fishing is a meditation. Standing still. Scanning the river for any sign of movement. Probing the water to distinguish fish from trout-shaped rocks. Listening for a rise which disturbs the glassy surface. Feeling the strong cold flow against your waders. Your senses are heightened and you start to notice other things. The kingfisher perched on a branch, the sunlight filtering through the willow leaves, the silence of the Steppe around you.
Alone on the Collõn Curã there was a special kind of stillness. Distinct from that of a cold starry sky in the desert or the muffled earthy protection of a thick forest. Here the bright sunlight should have produced the sound of cicadas and dry earth, but instead there was just peace. The splash of our oars and the swish of my fly line through the air.
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Also the sound of guilt and discomfort. I don’t like that the culmination of my fishing is a hook through a fishes mouth as it battles to get away, then an awkward exchange as I free the hook from his mouth and release it - as gently as I can, not that this is making much difference - back into the water.
So why do I do it? Is this so different to the big game hunters in Africa? Well yes, I think, but also I’m unclear. A lot of people ask me if I eat the fish I catch? Their insinuation is that this would make fishing OK. Sating my hunger and depleting fish populations is OK, but fishing ‘catch-and-release’ for the sensory experience is not.
My experience is that I can sate my need to eat through other ways but I haven’t replicated the pleasure which fishing gives me through other activities. So I stumble forward, eyes open but closed, confused and uncertain.
But one thing I am confident in is that there are much bigger threats to our fish in the form of industrial pollution and agriculture, sometimes in the name of big bucks for greedy execs. And I know that the strongest fighters against these forces are the men and women which take to our rivers for the absolute joy of fishing… and these people fill me with hope. Simon Cooper's fortnightly newsletter is a great voice on fishing and UK river health (bad), and Paul Whitehouse's BBC documentary highlights just how culpable water companies are for the depressing state of UK rivers.
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In the fortnight since I was on the river I’ve arrived in Valparaiso (Chile) by way of Pucon (Chile). I’ve visited a cheese farm. Caught a cold and healed it in geothermal springs. I’ve adopted a stray dog on an afternoon walk. I’ve shared beers and music recommendations with a 50-something bloke from Liverpool. I’ve watched the red glow of Volcán Villarica at night.
Currently in Concon, a surf town up the coast from Valparaiso. The fog has turned up after a few days of clear days and big swell.
Love
George
Listening to a lot of beautiful Hermanos Gutiérrez music this week