14 minute read
WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE
COLUMBIA WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE
FROM ENROLLING AT PAVON CAMPUS, TO SIGNING UP FOR BICUDA 101 AND GRADUATING IN ADVANCED PAYARA, LUKE BARRELL VISITED THE ORINOCO RIVER IN COLOMBIA TO GET AN EDUCATION.
Photos. Luke Barrell
It’s been difficult coming back to reality the last few weeks. My current home is in Northampton (UK) and, while I have been visiting my local reservoir on weekends and the early signs of summer are starting to show, a part of me is still stuck on the mighty Orinoco River in Colombia. My trip with
Alberto Mejia’s Fish Colombia Expeditions had originally been scheduled for April 2020 but then the pandemic happened. With some glimmering hopes for pre-corona normality in 2021 and my jungles flies watching me every time I grabbed my fishing kit, I was hopeful the trip would happen. Unfortunately, the Delta variant had other ideas last year and the infamous joys of red-listed countries kicked in. With the arrival of 2022, I was hoping it would be third time lucky.
The problem with a three-year wait is that every year you find yourself overthinking all the items you might need for the jungle (except perhaps something needed for a sting ray attack… but I’ll get to that). By go-time I had enough lines, leaders, wire and flies to stock a small fishing shop for a month.
I find something truly special about large rivers and Orinoco was no different. After traveling from a lively Bogota the day before, we were picked up first thing at the small river town of Puerto Carreño by a man only identified as the ‘Spanish Machine’. Something about the worn 4x4 and the dusted-up Dakar sticker on the back told me we were in for a good time. As it turns out, the Spanish Machine takes his Dakar sticker very seriously and proceeded to get us to camp at record speed. Two boat crossings, some entertaining roads, hairy rock climbs and a ham and cheese sandwich later, we arrived at the banks of the Orinoco. Expectations can be a dangerous thing when it comes to fishing. Yet, from the second I saw this river (dense jungle in every direction, wild parrots flying overhead), it all felt almost too good to be true. But it wasn’t. We had made it to the jungle at last. Payara (Hydrolycus scomberoides), AKA the vampire fish, have been on my hit list since I learnt about their existence. I spend much of my free time in the UK chasing pike and so dealing with unpredictable toothy creatures is right up my alley. Unfortunately for me, pike and payara could not be more different in their approach. Pike enjoy still or slow flowing water where they carefully ambush prey and payara… well they don’t do that. 500 grain sinking lines in Class IV rapids is the name of the game. So big flies with integrated rattles and stinger hooks were the plan. It was only after a couple of days trying to chase some smaller peacocks on my 7-weight with a small black brush fly that I realised many schools of payara had made their way up into some of the smaller, clearer tributaries. Now I wouldn’t recommend a 7-weight for these fish – not unless you enjoy line burn and cursing the gods in false disbelief that you’ve just lost a trophy jungle predator. A small pinnacle made up of eroding volcanic rock divided a section of the Rio Tomo and made for a popular warmup location. Surrounded with strong and aggressive young peacocks, this spot was just what you needed to find the gear from the day before and get dialled in again. However, that morning something was off. Takes were far out and nippy. There were no last minute dineand-dashes back to the caves these smaller fish like to sit in. Admittedly, I knew this meant one of two things: either we had just worked that area too hard the day before or, something bigger was lurking. I decided to ditch the flashy fly I had on and opted for a smaller black brush fly. I was slowly pulling the fly back no more than 10ft from me so I could see how it swam with the outrageous leader I had attached to it, when, unexpectedly, an absolute unit of a payara hit it. This fish, which dwarfed the 15 pounder I had caught on a 12-weight a few days prior, came up and sipped the brush fly as if it was a brown taking a dry on a slow evening rise. In total disbelief, I still managed to get a decent strip set and a confirmation from the guide who had also seen it and confirmed that I wasn’t just going delirious in the jungle heat. Off the bat I knew this was a losing battle. I was basically straight sticking this fish for fear of executing my 7-weight on the spot. Payara, much
like tigers, have incredibly bony jaws as well as family ties to the Cirque du Soleil aerobatics academy so, naturally, hook set and retention is a nightmare. Having no capacity to dictate anything to this fish and having already done a few laps around the tiny island, it threw the hook. I adjusted to a more appropriate set-up and proceeded to have my most successful session for the fanged fish. The volcanic pinnacle was renamed, ‘Payara Island’.
THROUGHOUT THE WEEK THIS PIECE OF PARADISE, HIDDEN AWAY FROM THE WORLD, BEGAN IDENTIFYING SOME KEY AREAS AND MUCH LIKE ‘PAYARA ISLAND’ THEY TOO WERE APPROPRIATELY NICKNAMED. ‘PEACOCK CITY’, ‘PAVON CAMPUS’ & ‘BICUDA ALLEY’. EACH COMES ATTACHED WITH A VIVID MEMORY.
Peacock City is a deep section with huge perfectly-sanded boulders protruding from the depth below. No babies here… 9-10-weight set-ups only. The closer you moved to the bank the more the boulders formed together and created neat fishable sections. There was no other way to do it than bouncing double barrel poppers off these boulders and into the danger zones. Pop and wait. Pop and wait. Pop and boom! The awesome power of peacocks is mind-blowing. Powerful runs, dives, jumps and their tendency to try get under any structure made these battles tight and you had to slowly navigate the fight back through the boulders until you had them at your feet. These epic fights taught me a lot about fighting big fish in tight sections. Losing the big boys at your feet through sloppy errors or lack of patience certainly helps ingrain those lessons. It also made the big ones that much sweeter.
Above and right, Luke with a muster of peacocks (the official collective noun we will have you know). These large hunting grounds were home to several members of the peacock family but also many other hunters. I really enjoyed watching these healthy ecosystems. Having grown up in a household with major twitchers (birders) as parents, I’ve been fortunate to visit a few over the years but the density of life in the Amazon was a new level for me. Large groups of osprey and fly-attacking kingfishers had also come to realise the bounty of baitfish that ‘Peacock City’ holds. Further upriver we found a nice stretch of bank riddled with rock points and structure. It was appropriately named ‘Pavon Campus’, given its tendency to hold numerous young adult fish who were far too eager to prove their point and perhaps not as wise as their more senior counterparts. These fish weren’t the only over-confident youngsters in the area and I was ready to meet their egos halfway. An area with loads of dead branches or the ‘sticks’ was just the place for this match up. I would wait patiently until the cohort of peacocks came cruising past, crushing anything in their way. I’d launch the fly into the sticks and prepare myself for the chaotic fight to follow. Playing tug of war with these brutes and keeping them from charging back into the structure was a rush. I’m not sure where the need to push one’s kit to the absolute limit comes from, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t try that more often than not.
‘Pavon Campus’ is also the location I spent the most time watching the wild in action, something I always try and do. The shallow-water coves created by the rock structures meant 100% visibility. Taking a moment to witness these incredible fish going about their day in an environment totally unhindered by the outside world, is something that gives my soul peace. These moments of sitting and observing are totally underrated. Sitting still in a busy jungle was freeing. Suddenly, the evidence of secret lives began to reveal themselves: the thriving baby caiman sitting in a slow current; an Amazonian dolphin; the various types, colours and sizes of the small fish species popping in and around your feet. While the size of these creatures can’t be compared to the creatures found in the African bush, the wonder certainly can and these brief moments of bliss are memories I’ll cherish.
“AT PAYARA ISLAND, A SMALL PINNACLE MADE UP OF ERODING VOLCANIC ROCK DIVIDED A SECTION OF THE RIO TOMO. HERE, AN ABSOLUTE UNIT OF A PAYARA CAME UP AND SIPPED THE BRUSH FLY AS IF IT WAS A BROWN TAKING A DRY ON A SLOW EVENING RISE. “
There are some memories from this trip however, that weren’t as peaceful. ‘Bicuda Alley’ springs to mind. Trying to explore new waters each day (aside from a few repeats), I only fished this location twice. Of all the bycatch species in the Amazon, the one on top of my list was the bicuda. This fish adopts that torpedo shape found in pike and barracuda, and I wanted nothing more than to land one of them. Unfortunately for us fisherman, we don’t always get to dictate what and when we catch. So, although I was holding my breath, there was no guarantee. We pulled up to this spot and tentatively agreed to try it. It has large slate rocks that channelled the water over a shallow rock bed and had a nice deep drop-off either side… perfect for any predator. I just wasn’t sure which one.
I kept seeing flashes behind my fly, the silver indicated it was likely to be a payara so I switched off the thick fluoro and opted for a wirebite leader and the flashes continued. It was a decent size so I was wondering what the hesitancy was to eat my fly. I downsized to a large white clouser with masses of flash on it and this ended up being the answer. From the start this fight was different; sharp and erratic runs. It was only when the fish leaped a good metre into the air that I saw the illusive bicuda I had been hoping for. It gave a solid fight and looked to be done when I made a reach for the leader. However, my movement seemed to turn the lights on and after a decent second half performance from the bicuda I took the L. Now before I took this trip and during the aforementioned delays, I tried to do as much research as possible on the various fish I would be chasing. An easy task for peacocks, but for the lesser-known jungle predators of which there are many, information on fish behaviour, tactics, patterns etc was rare. Bicuda were no different. This made targeting them specifically very difficult. The best bet was to revisit the location again. I figured ‘Bicuda Alley’ would be a fitting place to spend my last few hours in this almighty rainforest. Perhaps there would be a last dance with one of these illusive predators before my trip came to an end. Perspective is a difficult thing to find when you’ve just spent eight days in paradise but, no sooner had I finished stripping out my line, when a sharp reminder came that we were not in fact in paradise but in a wild tropical jungle. Hearing our guide John scream, ‘Raya!!’ we turned around to see him lift his foot to show a nasty wound left by a freshwater ray. A quick commotion followed next as my uncle and I got John to the boat, cleaned the wound, and wrapped it with our basic first aid kit. Rays have infamously painful venom that is also an anticoagulant. We were three hours up a complex river, had no pain killers, no comms, and a limited supply of bandages. Things looked dire. My uncle, having done white-water raft guiding, took control of the engine. John wore his wound like a champion. The pain must have been immense, and the bleeding continued on and off as I attempted to get it under control. Despite all of this, John still managed to point out the lines my uncle needed to take down the river and to keep focused. Upon returning to the camp, he was taken into safe hands and treated appropriately, but in for a long night nonetheless. (John made a full recovery after a few days’ rest.) It was a stern reminder that you are at the whim of Mother Nature and not to underestimate the dangers in God’s house. But wow, what this home had to offer. Aside from a few favoured spots, days were spent discovering new stretches, as well as the infamous lagoons found throughout the Orinoco basin. These quiet lagoons tended to hold the ‘Grande Pavons’ (giant peacock bass) and peacocks here were far fewer in exchange for higher quality fish. The horseshoe-shaped lagoon we fished sometime in the midweek had a very thin, dense left arm and looked fishy. I managed to get my streamer in fairly tight to this area and gave the intermediate line a few seconds to get down. Strip, strip and then something was there. It was if I had just accidentally got stuck on a log at the bottom. There was complete hard static for a good few seconds. I turned to my uncle and said, “I’ve just stuck a damn log”. Suddenly this log woke up with some brutal head shakes, a few unstoppable runs and then slowly towed the boat in circles. This is when the 60lb fluoro doesn’t feel as strong as you thought, especially as the fish approaches some structure. Fortunately, the log tired before that and I could get it over the line, a solid double. As the dry season was just about to end, these lagoons were very low. This made for some mega sight fishing. The concentration of bait fish also made for some interesting displays when, out of nowhere, a small fish would hotfoot it across the entire lagoon, with a bowling ball of a peacock in pursuit. These sorts of distractions are welcomed after a quiet spell, in humid 38-degree heat. This mission was certainly not for the faint-hearted. The heat in combination with the heavy set-ups and wildness of the area was a test of character but, for those seeking the raw wild and a challenge along the way, the NorthEast corner of Colombia is for you although, for how much longer I am not sure. The Colombian Supreme Court has recently ruled to ban recreational fishing from June 2023 on the grounds of sport fishing being unconstitutional given that one is causing harm to the fish for the purpose of fun. After having seen various jungle predators destroy fly after fly, I’m not so sure ‘harm’ is the right word. Given the strict catch and release protocols, as well as taking general responsibility when handling any fish you intend to return, I generally see controlled recreational fishing as a significant contributor to sustaining valuable ecosystems, especially those in desperate need of protection. But who am I to say?
