Bariloche V: Fashionista Fly Fishing by Proxy
Expect the Unexpected
I wasn’t thinking when I agreed to do it. My son, an avid fisherman from the time he was knee-high-to-a-grasshopper asked me to go fly fishing for him while I was in Bariloche, Argentina. He probably wanted to share a special experience with me. Did it occur to me that I LOATHE fish and I was the worst candidate to go “fishing by proxy?” Not at all.
We mothers do things for our children that we would NEVER do for anyone else.
No way was I going to venture into Fish Territory without his father, Mi Esposo by my side as my personal bodyguard, protecting me from the barbaric antics of the Wild Rainbow Trout. We went into the Baruzzi Fly & Expedition Shop in Central Bariloche to arrange my Fishing by Proxy Expedition. Mi Esposo was like a kid in a candy store at Baruzzi’s. Hmmm. There was something really fishy about this whole setup.
Mi Esposo took care of booking the trip while I scouted out the latest gear that fashionistas wear on proxy fly fishing expeditions. The pickings were slim, but I found two items that could work, with a bit of accessorizing to snaz them up a bit.
First: A drab, non-descript, yellowish long-sleeve, shirt with anti-odor treatment. Hey, that’s a real bonus. Blah shirt, no stink. Perfect.
Second: A matching drab, yellowish solar sombrero, 360 wide-brim, with STAMPEDE strap for around the neck and foam brim FLOTATION. How could I resist that?
If a school of Rainbow Trout came Stampeding at me and I ran for the hills, my new solar sombrero would either stay flapping around my neck or float in the water. And, if I broke a sweat while I was escaping from the Stampeding Trout Brigade, I’d still smell morning-shower fresh because of my anti-stink drab yellow shirt.
I bought both items.
Rio Limay
Recognized for its world-class fly-fishing, Rio Limay is a short 45-minute drive northeast of Bariloche. In Mapuche, the language of the local indigenous people, Limay means “you can see through it" or “transparent”.
Barozzi’s set up a BOLD expectation for the day at the river. Here’s what their brochure said:
An unforgettable day. We think of every detail so you can enjoy your day in its entirety. Safety and adventure are our priorities.
I wonder if they ever had a proxy angler who ABHORRED fish before.
We provide lessons to beginner anglers (that would be me) and challenges to
experienced ones (that would be Mi Esposo).
We use fly-rods and lines 6 to 8, using floating and sinking lines.
Did I know what this meant? Not a clue! Skip the info.
Fishing is carried out in rafts with swivel seats and individual fishing platforms for two anglers. The rafts are authorized by Parques Nacionales and the Perfectura Naval Argentina.
Wow! First-class proxy fishing, authorized and monitored by the Feds.
Just a sidebar of information. Argentina takes policing of its inland fishing, whether by proxy or the real McCoy, seriously.
The Prefectura Naval Argentina (PNA) functions like a civilian security force of a military nature overseeing navigable rivers. The PNA has 45,750 sworn members, making it larger than the Argentine Navy. Those guys don’t like any shenanigans going on with their fish.
Hmmm. Am I missing something? It appears they might be more interested in protecting their fish than their country.
The time had come to head down to the riparian for my fly-fishing lesson. The rip what? Oh no! It happened again! I was the only clown in the group who didn’t have a clue what the meaning of a word was. Riparian?
In the bare-bones simplest terms, the riparian zone is the vegetation area on the banks of the river. How did I get to be a woman of a certain age without knowing what a riparian zone is?
I have to fess up to something. This is a head-scratcher. When I was a young teen, I was a fishing fanatic. Yup, it’s true. I could cast a line as far as the pros with precision accuracy – hook, line, and sinker.
I even had my own fishing boat, complete with a 6 HP motor. My tackle box was filled with hooks, sinkers, leaders, lines, lures, pliers, weights, and everything I needed for my daily fishing trips. When I wasn’t bombing up and down the lake in my little fishing boat, I was standing on the dock, practicing my casting. Practice, practice, practice.
Fishing is an ART. It’s like a choreographed dance. It was my way of unwinding.
Okay… well, that’s a partial truth. Now for the FULL story. I was too young to drive, but my boat was my summertime mode of transportation.
Fishing was an excellent pass time - PROVIDED I NEVER CAUGHT ONE!!
I Loved to fish, but fish sent me right over the edge! And, although I was an excellent swimmer, the last place I wanted to be was over the edge, in the water with my arch nemesis. One way, to make sure I NEVER found myself in such a traumatic predicament was NOT TO BAIT THE HOOK. No bait, no fish. Simple. I was happy, the fish were happy. Everyone was happy. We were so happy we could hardly stand it.
When Mr. Troutsnout, our fishing guide, took me down to the riparian zone for my fly-fishing lesson, I fully anticipated my former fishing skills would come barreling out of my subconscious mind.
“Sure thing, Mr. Troutsnout, let me show you how I can do a punch-pull cast. Or would you like to see my roll cast? How about my upside-down dipsy-doodle creeper cast? Bet you’ve never seen anything like my flip, dip, skiff cast.
Mr. Troutsnout, just a minor issue… Do you have a portable defibrillator on the boat in case I come in contact with a fish?
Houston we have a problem. Back up. Remember the info we skipped? About fly-rod and line sizes 6 - 8?
Well, it turned out to be a deal breaker. Low-weight fly rods are for fighting smaller fish and higher-weight fly rods are for fighting bigger fish. Size 6 - 8 is a bit hefty, for catching the finned bruisers over 10 pounds.
After one practice cast I was clobbered with awareness of my physical limitations. The previous year I injured my right arm, and it had not yet recovered to full strength. After two practice casts it was game over for my Fishing by Proxy Expedition. My arm said, “No way, no can do!”
I never even got off the starting block… I mean the riparian.
Troutsnout reluctantly left me to fend for myself while he and Mi Esposo went floating down Rio Limay in pursuit of the big one. Meanwhile, I roamed the riparian with my camera, also in pursuit of the big one. Again, I had a large assortment of mesterpiece photos to delete that evening. Perhaps I’ll post some of my mesterpiece photos one day just so my readers can commiserate with me.
Troutsnout and Mi Esposo returned from the river with the proverbial stories of the whale-size Rainbow that got away. Of course. It always does. Even though I wasn’t in the game with them, at least I suited up and showed up. That counts for something.
My Fishing by Proxy Expedition was accomplished by Proxy through Mi Esposo.
He did well. What a guy!
Fishing is great! Provided I never catch one.