So we started fishing the Silveiro River in the Chico and Nilda's Pousada Potreirinhos in 1996-97.
And we started to get the hang of it. Casting, presentations, nymphing...
Caco Fleck tried bamboo rodmaking. I build my own rods of graphite blanks.
Tita Kroef became an fixture in North Patagonia.
Ruy Varella started writing for national circulation fishing magazines.
Varella coined our trademark mantra.
In the first time we get there he got early and the river and he caught one after another with watching his casting prowess. Every time he got one hooked he yelled:
"- Rainbow."
As much a celebration as a brag. And the thing caught !
Guides from Argentina like Diego Guglielmi, the late
Roberto 'Tati' Tachinni and in special Alejandro Klap came to Brazil to teach us.
We made contact with the legendary brazilian flyfisherman's the started to came to fish "our" river. I became friends with Beto Saldanha, an extraordinaire bamboo rod builder who spent some years away from flyfishing from lack of companion.
Well, we were here !
Meanwhile...
I have a few photos hanging in the wall here, of some trophy fish that I caught over the years. A trend I started because the shop were developed the pictures I took of a fishing trip for Dorado in Esquina,Argentina gave me some blown up copies for free.
Than I caught a hefty 13 pound peacock bass, so beautiful a have to put two photos in the wall. And then I added a photo of big boga I caught with light tackle.
I had my wall of trophies, but no trouts. My prefered game fish.
I was waiting for the right one.
....
In the winter of 2000, Tita asked me if a could go for more days then our usual extended weekend of fishing in Ausentes.
Hell, yes !
So we set for a weekend to weekend, whole week of trout fishing, cigar smoking, wine drinking, never forgeting the Laphroaig bottle and the great, great food that Nilda fixed up for us.
I was very cold. And the fishing was very, very good.
After some days we found ourselves happy and acomplished.
So how about some invention.
We usually fish the Silveiro some three kilometers down of its confluence with the Marco river. And when we were feeling charged for a hike we would go to Marco river bridge to fish its way down to the confluence and then all the way to the inn.
In a homage to the Malleo river, we called that fishing Marco abajo.
But we never tried Marco arriba, where we ever wondered if there was any fish waiting for us.
A Chico's cousin Helio had stretch of the river that was said to be beautiful. So after another truckload of a breakfast we took our rods and went Marco arriba.
We planned to fish near each other, but not the same spots, to increase our possibilities but to be able to help each other.
I recall a big pool surrounded a thick vegetation that we weren't able to fish, so we started to fish faster waters, the topography built a river that were a sequences of a small fall, a run, a small pool, four or five of those as river steped domn the mountain into the valley.
We were all set with olive wooly buggers, because we meant bussiness.
After an hour or so we were as happy (for fishing and not working) as we were skunked.
No yelling, yet !
In matter of fact is was so silent that we did not have make any noise to comunicate. And for the most time, we signaled each other to not screw our chances to get the get one.
If there was any trout there.
Enough of all this building up !
I made a cast down and across the end of the run, and let the fly swing into the pool.
In the second time a stripped the line I felt tug...
Hey ! I felt a tug.
Let me set this hook and tell to the world, but with elegance, no need to scream....
"- Rain... ( then I felt second tug, but not like others, this was a strong fish)
....BOOOOOOW !"
Some much for elegance, I could not control myself, seriously, was a genuine adrenaline rush!
And the fish jumped the perfect jump. Yes, it was a big fish !
Tita saw this and crossed the river so fast he looked a cartoon running over water.
" Do not lose it ! Do not lose it !" He screamed.
"C'mon, Tinho. Do not screw this one !" I tought.
We need this photo.
Ah ! The photo.
Finally I would have a trout in my wall. This is the one ! Look at the agreggated value of this whole story !
Bragging rights forever !
And I would use my brand new water proof camera and do some under water shots.
After the longest fews minutes of my life, there it was. In Tita's net.
That was by far the biggest, most beautiful, fat, developed trout we ever saw there !
At least at that point in history.
Tita was concerned with the fish, so he handled to release ( as if I would not be as caring).
I took some under water shots. Ans when he was about to release , I said :
"- Hey, give me the fish and take photos!"
I was almost forgetting.
"- Be careful !" I could not believe he said that but I understood that was hsitory in the making.
One photo,and a second one... Just to be safe.
And the we released it.
So good a moment that after seven years, a month and nine days, I can recall everything as if it was yesterday. ( Better, considering some "yesterdays"...)
Even considering that was just a fish I felt like painted a masterpiece.
That was in the distant times of photo sensitive chemical film imprinting.
So only a week later I would see the photo.
The one for the wall.
There it was...
I did not believed my eyes.
It was all blurred... My face... I did not have one.
The best trophy trout ever made for a busted photo because I took the undewater shot and forgot to clean the lens.
There was a drop of water that that distorted the light and made me faceless.
Perfection ruined forever.
Maybe the river found a way to teach me humilty. As it ever and once again does to all fishermen.
So the photo never got to the wall, because I did not looked well in the photo. So vain.
I got a big brown in Argentina and at the right time my buddy, Paulo 'el viejo' Schreiner, camera failed, and he got it set. That beautiful fish slipped throught my hands.
Maybe a curse, maybe another river lesson.
I caught trouts that fought more, I caught that 4 pound brown in a size 18 b.h. prince nymph in the Norquinco.
And that one Marco Arriba was the best.
If I ever catch a 10 pounder in Boca Chimeuhuin or a huge steelhead or a giant running salmon. It will never be as good.
And for all the things that are good in fishing, the game, the friendship and that emptiness that fullfills my mind and awashes my soul with tranquility can not be described in a picture.
Words barely can do it. What, if you are still reading this mumblings, can realize.
And now as remember all this things and think about that moment Marco Arriba and how
I felt elated and accomplished. I realize that the only really perfect photo was that of the counfounded image of myself. I may put it in the wall to remember these feelings more often.
Or maybe I will just take down the other ones.
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