By: Robert Thomas
I found myself, fly rod in hand, staring into the turquoise blue water. The Futaleufu river in southern Chile is best known for its white water rafting and adventure kayaking, but a select few know of its amazing opportunity as a fly fishing river.
The small, shabby bus arrived from the port town of Chaiten after nearly 5 hours. The bus dropped me and one other person off near the centre of this quaint 2000 person town. It was November and the tourist season had yet to begin, so most of the accommodation was closed, shelves in the stores not stocked and siesta time lasted most of the day.
A small ways out of town and across the river lay a campsite which would be my home for the next ten days. The grounds had fire pits, hot water and flush toilets for only $5CAD. From here, I would set off to scout the river and look for good fishing access. The section of river that ran adjacent the campground had lots of fishy looking water but the shoreline was often shrouded in bush and tight roll casting the only way to present a fly. This, however, was all that was needed to land lots of little 12-16’’ fish that were waiting for a morsel to fall from the bush above.
The following day I made a concerted effort to go further from town and explore a more remote section of river. I walked nearly ten kilometers one way along roads and trails to a spot further downstream. This area was a lot wider and easier to wade with some openings along the shoreline allowing for easier casting.
It had rained overnight and the river was up so I started the day swinging a black crystal bugger, looking for any actively feeding trout. To my surprise, every trout was actively feeding that day! I managed three fish out of one pool behind a fallen tree and as I progressed downstream it would seem any rock, stick or other break in the current had a hungry fish behind it. The browns were tough like rocks and hugged the bottom while the ‘Bows took off at startling speed and jumped clear of the water regularly.
That night, a couple fellow campers and I set out to find some meat. We went to the butcher shop around 1800 and found it to be abandoned. As we started away, the sweaty, shirtless neighbor who is cutting his lawn asks us if we need anything. We respond that we are looking for fresh meat and he tells us we are in luck, that he is the owner of the butcher shop. So we enter the abandoned looking butcher shop and find a lonely leg of lamb in the two window display, the only item for sale. For just over twenty dollars Canadian, the three amigos feasted on fire roasted lamb and baked potatoes that night.
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The third day brought another change of heart. After thoughtfully examining the map that was posted on the backside of the washroom stall door, I realized there was another section of river upstream that I could walk to. In the Futaleufu National Reserve there is a point where the river turns into a massive chute and empties into a huge, aerated pool with vertical walls on each side and goes to a depth unknown to me. Many kayakers go there to tumble down the rapids, but I was there to fish. I was able to walk there from town and clamber down one of the scree chutes where I was able to make use of a few meters of rocky outcroppings to fish from. From this vantage point I could see one good size trout nymphing hard in slack water behind a contour in the rocks. I had tied on an orange damselfly nymph that a man from Chiloe named alphonso had given to me who comes back to fish the ‘Fu’ year after year and put it to use. I casually flung the fly along the wall and carefully maneuvered it into the feeding path of the trout.
The anticipation was palpable as the creature approached my trap and took the bait. The fight was on and the fish knew exactly what to do. The bearings in the reel screamed as the fish took off into the unruly current. Equipped with a 3 wt. I was also underpowered and had a hard time moving the fish back into slower currents. In time, I succeeded in getting the fish into the backwater which is when she decided to go airborne. I survived 3 jumps when she dove, turned to face me and in a final act of desperation, shook violently until the barbless hook dislodged and the fish took to sulking in the depths.
In the following week I would fish these spots over again and also one of the beautiful, deep lakes nearby in which alphonso would catch 20 fish and me a mere 14. In addition, alphonso and I went fishing at a beautiful hole underneath a waterfall where we both hooked into nice browns. Patagonia and southern Chile is a paradise and it is my hope that it can be preserved for everyone to enjoy.
