TAKING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT By Clem Booth

I’m unashamedly going to put it out there; this is such a great title to an article! However, being a person who mostly tells the truth (yes, even in matters piscatorial), I am bound to mention - just in passing you understand - that it sadly wasn’t my idea.

Indeed, it was your esteemed editor, philosopher and obsessive lover of the eclectic, Andrew Savs, who uttered these words after I’d regaled him with details of my most recent escapades in Patagonia. Seemed to capture the scene perfectly!

But, let me take a step back and first offer a smidgin of context. Most people - myself included - primarily travel to ELV Lodge in Southern Patagonia to have a crack at what is considered by many to be the finest wild rainbow trout fishery on the planet; the giant Lago Strobel, an extraordinary body of water if there ever was one. Eight by ten miles of crystal clear water inhabited by a vast number of eager (occasionally anyway) to please fish of a lifetime.

Every year in late January, together with a few fellow fishy pilgrims, I make the long trek to Patagonia, full of anticipation, excitement and more than a dash of gratitude at being able to undertake such adventures. When it comes to ELV Lodge in Patagonia, there’s a fairly good chance of making lifelong memories; of the place, the people and, yes also the fish. It’s a trip I can most heartily recommend.

There is however a story behind the story and that is of Rio Barrancoso; for most of the year a modestly-sized, snow-melt fed freestone stream that bubbles and gurgles its way down a gorge into Lago Strobel. Over the years, Rio Barrancoso has added some truly amazing pages to the book of my angling life.

Some might remember the 1965 movie epic “The Greatest Story Ever Told”; what the Barrancoso epitomises - for me anyway - is the greatest story seldom, if ever, told.

In the early part of the season after the snow melts the river fills up and hundreds if not thousands of trout from the lake wend their way up the swollen waters in search of a “piscatorial partner” with which to share the urges of the reproductive cycle. The Barrancoso constitutes the breeding grounds of the immense Lago Strobel; impressive indeed such a little stream in producing generation after generation of spectacular trout.

But, in case you’re wondering, no, I’m also not referring to this time when the river is chockablock with lake fish. There are actually two runs of chrome rainbow trout from Lago Strobel into the Barrancoso and without doubt these spawning runs offer spectacular fishing opportunities. However, it’s something altogether more subtle and challenging that floats my boat year after year.

What gets me excited - in a bit of a lather actually - is the time after the flood. Akin to that period in biblical times after the floods receded and Noah was able to convincingly proclaim “Hey peeps and animals, we can do this shit!” This is the side of the Barrancoso that has forever captured my heart.

After the water drops back, a delectable calmness descends on the river as it reassumes the persona of a little trout river no larger than the streams of the incomparably beautiful Cape that defined my youth and which I still regularly hanker after.

There is however a difference, and a rather

important one at that, and that is the presence of a smallish number of colossal rainbows that continue to inhabit the Barrancoso’s pools and runs alongside the extraordinarily beautiful resident trout. Often not fished for or if so only in passing by traveling flyfishers, the combination of skinny water and skittish leviathans is to say the least mightily appealing to an unreconstructed small stream nut. I couldn’t possibly imagine a trip to ELV Lodge without also some spending quality time on the Barrancoso.

I’m also a thoroughly unrehabilitated split cane addict and within my personal forest of Tonkin cane is a little eight foot six weight in a four piece format that was created especially for the Barrancoso by Gary Marshall, an acknowledged national treasure within the guild of U.K. rod makers. It is an exceptional wand; firm and purposeful, yet delicate, and, importantly, capable of dealing with the Patagonian wind.

But, here’s the rub; “the Patagonian”, as I dubbed it, was actually designed with the smaller resident rainbows of the Barrancoso in mind. Packing this little rod to a showdown with the giant interlopers in the Barrancoso is indeed akin to taking a knife to a gunfight! Improbable as it may sound, this bamboo toothpick has proved itself time and again in tangling with the monster trout of what has become one of my very favourite streams. I’m not excluding the need for an occasional dash up north on the M1 to beseech Gary to tend to this or that battle scar although this fine bamboo stick has so far more than earned its keep.

Fast forward to the latest trip in 2019. I’d

High Noon on the Barrancoso

Like me, Nano hankers after little rivers and clambering down sheer cliffs and over boulders to target specific fish. Nano, BTW soon to be a Dad, is also an aspirant civil engineer and not a year passes without my nagging him to finish his studies although spending season after season in the Patagonian wilderness is an outstanding excuse to bunk classes. Don’t tell him I said so though!

We gingerly climbed down into what is the most frequently fished part of the river from whence the idea was to work upstream on the first day and downstream on the second. It’s heavy going; I’m in my 65th year and, as my chiropractor once observed, “subtleness might not be your strong suit” so I take it slowly and methodically following behind the 35 year old Nano who in a former life might well have been a klipspringer!

I’ve actually no idea how long it took before Nano eventually slipped the net under what was a 12 pounder in perfect condition.

As an aside, you can and probably do spend a lot of money on fly fishing tackle; my advice is to avoid skimping on wading boots. Buy the very best of the best; they might cost a lot an arm and a leg but so does breaking a leg in a place like Patagonia. It’s a long and bumpy way to the nearest hospital! On the Barrancoso, excellent boots with strong ankle support and stickiest of studded soles are a must.

Over the course of two mornings that Nano and I explored the Barrancoso this year, numerous, and I mean hundreds, of resident trout were taken and what great fun they were! But, a crack at some of the huge - many 8 pound plus - trout that lurk in these tiny pools was always going to be the real target. Whatever one might say, size matters. It turned out to be a wonderful time, a change of pace from Lago Strobel and we made lifelong memories together. Isn’t this what fly fishing is all about? It is for me.

I’m not going to bombard you with detailed descriptions of all of the battles; some were won and others decisively lost; and, anyway, some things are best left to the imagination. But allow me nonetheless to mention two; one victory accompanied by understandable elation and the second distinctly more akin to a decisive Pumas win over the Springboks.

In a small pool no larger than a Koi pond in the posh end of town, we spied not one but three absolutely huge fish; not dark as they eventually become after a time in the river but bright and visibly in the “pink” of condition. All three were comfortably into double figures; fish of a lifetime on any river let alone on this tiny stream. Trembling hands and sweaty palms? Oh yes! I’ve fly fished for 50 years but the excitement of these moments is still overwhelming. I need to actively calm myself with a well rehearsed routine to avoid making a total hash of it.

Climbing down the steep rock face, I c o n c e a l e d m y s e l f b e h i n d a r a t h e r conveniently placed boulder right on the edge of the pool. The fish were - I kid you not - a mere rods length away. After a good forty minutes carefully covering the three fish countless times, one veered off like a Spitfire over Dover and ate my #14 nymph. It was a memorable battle, pandemonium might be a far better description now that I think of it.

I’ve actually no idea how long it took before Nano eventually slipped the net under what was a twelve pounder in perfect condition. A magnificent specimen it was; a couple of pics and we slipped it back to rejoin its comrades. Springboks ahead with a splendid converted try, Pumas yet to score. At that point, all was indeed right with my world.

The second was in a somewhat larger pool a little downstream. A pod of fish were visible, at least one seemingly in the fifteen pound plus range. Yes, fifteen pounds!! Let me pause for a moment and say that accurately estimating the weight of these big rainbows in the clear water is next to impossible; nevertheless one fish stood out from the others and was clearly a big old beast.

Once again, cautiously navigating the rock face I got into position. Quite quickly I hooked and landed a lovely rainbow of

Nano Peralta, guide extraordinaire, slips the net under a wild 12 pound rainbow

perhaps eight pounds and lost another a little heavier. But we were both obsessed with the monster at the head of the pool that dwarfed all the others. Eventually, it rose to a small streamer and I shall truly never forget the mayhem that ensued. Precariously perched on the lower part of the rock face, I needed to quickly make my way down to the water while this giant rainbow thoroughly tore the pool (and my confidence) to shreds.

In the end, it was not to be. After a battle royal I seemed to slowly be getting the upper hand, but then in stepping forward and trapped a loop of fly line just as the fish set off on another screeching run. The twelve pound tippet stood not the ghost of a chance at all and I was left not only “Salmonid bereft” but trembling from the excitement of it all. No arguments when losing a fish this way - it happens and that’s all part of the game. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

I guess it’s fair to say that the Pumas scored a decisive penalty try under the posts. But, as I pen these words, it was an OK outcome and no less of a memory than if I’d have prevailed. When you take a knife to a gunfight, be prepared to have to extract the odd slug from your body in the aftermath! Some of these fish are going to batter you although now and then one will come to the net. That’s the nature of the game.

Two unforgettable moments among so many more during our magnificent mornings on Rio Barrancoso.

My journal records that we eventually hooked eleven of these massive fish, and netted seven. None were less than seven or eight pounds and quite a few were in double digits. And, let’s not forget the many residents we caught in addition, some of which were of excellent size and exquisite colouration. It was indeed a time to savour and to be grateful for.

Over the years Nano and I have caught a heap of big chromers on Strobel; they are beyond special and are quite simply breathtaking. And we will continue to pursue these magnificent creatures despite the wind and the enormity of the lake; it’s the raison d’etre of the trip after all. Lago Strobel is unique, extraordinary and to my mind, a destination permanently belonging on any bucket list. Luciano and Roberto Alba’s wonderful lodge is also something to behold and one is treated like royalty throughout your stay.

But when we sit quietly together nibbling an empanada, sipping a drop of Patagonia’s finest and chatting about life in general and trout in particular, invariably it’s not only Lago Strobel but also the little Barrancoso in skinny, low water mode, stalking huge trout and waving a little bamboo wand that brings a special smile and knowing glances to our faces.

Rio Barrancoso: “Un lugar para hacer recuerdos” a place to make memories

Please do come along sometime - you won’t regret it!