fortunate discoveries by accident

Patagonia: stunned to death with repetitive beauty

nobody@vox.com(karen) — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 23:28:07 -0700

It began like any 22 hour trip: long legs in middle seats, lost luggage and missed connections. Welcome to Chile, I hope you weren't expecting any clothes. Or fishing gear. Thank you American Airlines, I wanted to love you, but you made that impossible.

But we were finally in Chile, and Chile is beautiful regardless of what shirt you're wearing, or how many days you've been wearing it. Even better, Nomads of the Seas has all the fly fishing gear anyone could need. As long as you don't mind a little wardrobe repetition, you're covered. And so we were.

The ship stood out from all the others in the harbor, elegant and beautiful at her own private pier. We stared at her, lustful and giddy. Soon she would be ours, but not yet. We had to wait until she was ready. A couple of glasses of Chilean wine and a delicious snack at the Nomads lodge and we were on our way, walking to the pier. The luggage that had actually made it with us to Chile boarded ahead of us. A small crowd of people gathered at the fence, watching us board the ship. No one talked to us nor asked for money, they just wanted to see. I wanted to see too.

Atmosphere - our ship for the next 7 days

On board the ship, we were given the grand tour by Jose, one of the fishing guides. He took us from top to bottom, side to side. I know I should say things like starboard and port but it's so obvious I have no recollection of which is which that it's better to keep things simple. First we saw the captain's bridge, tastefully stuffed with the most amazing technological equipment and some very reassuring paper maps. Next, the thalassotherapy tubs on the roof. The sauna. The wet room where we were to change in and out of our waders every day - a room so warm that no matter what we put in it, it was dry the next day. The teeny tiny galley that was to produce the most delectable meals. The bar. Our room. The helicopter pad.

I'm no expert on boats but my limited experience told me to expect weather-proof materials and small spaces. Onboard I found neither. Instead I found luxurious furniture and a king-size bed. I found art and teak and stainless steel and fantastic music that played all day long.

That first night the seas were a little rough and several of us were shaken enough to go to bed early, me included. I felt much better lying in my bed and the sea rocked me to sleep all night. Cocooned in exquisite sheets and a soundproof room, I slept like a baby.

The next morning we had breakfast: eggs, bacon, raspberries, blackberries, strawberries, melon, coffee (regular, espresso or latte or tea), sliced meats, granola, yogurt, chocolate croissants, toast, melon juice (delicious and green, it took a little getting used to). It was easy to linger but I couldn't. I had a helicopter to catch.

Breakfast

Down to the wet room to put on my waders, I was dressed for anything: long capilene underwear, fleece pants, Patagonia R2 layer, Simms windproof jacket (with my Patagonia rain jacket and gloves stuffed in my backpack). The All Important Hat. Last, but indispensible: neoprene waders and felt wading boots.

Regardless of the season, you never know what the weather in Patagonia will bring and we were there at the beginning of Fall so we kind of expected the worst. On the drive over from the airport in Puerto Montt, our driver told us the story he always tells when we asked about the weather in Patagonia: he was with his father one day when a tourist asked him about the weather in the region. He told the tourist that out of 365 days a year, it rains for at least 200 of them. His father said "Don't lie, it rains 400 days a year."

Perla, one of two of the ship's concierges, accompanied me to the helicopter pad. She seemed to know instinctively that I was the kind of person who might get lost on the way to the helipad and therefore was at risk of being late. You can't be late for the helicopter, the helicopter waits for no one. We hurried up the stairs, but it wasn't yet back from taking the other fishermen to their locations so we waited, wind-blown and excited.

Suddenly it was there.

Dragonfly

Xavier dubbed it the "dragonfly" and as it approached I felt my adrenaline jump. I wasn't scared at all. My first helicopter ride.

I wanted to run up the stairs but was told to wait for instructions: Go up the stairs on the right side, down on the left side. Always wear your life vest, never walk behind the helicopter. The engineer held me tight as we approached. Holy crap, I get to ride shotgun.

I'm not sure if I can do justice to my first flight. Tears were in my eyes for sure. I've never seen the world so beautiful. The world from just high enough. A view of the world that made me hope, for real, that maybe we haven't totally screwed everything up. I mean, if places like Patagonia can exist then maybe there is hope for the rest of the planet.

In front of me lay the Andes, with glaciers and waterfalls and rivers. Everything was perfectly green or blue. The only brown came from the changing leaves and the river beds.

Patagonia by air

The fishing that first day was tough. Xav did ok (as usual) but I had a hard time catching anything. Fortunately the view from our boat was enough to keep my mind off my failure (mostly) until the end of the day, when it looked like I was going to get skunked. I had actually given up when Xavier cajoled me into making "a couple more casts." Out of the blue and completely by surprise, I caught and landed a four-pound brown trout. Xav was even happier than I was and maybe why we've been able to stay together so long: when I give up he doesn't. When he gives up, I don't. Sometimes it's that simple.

I had landed my first beautiful fish in Patagonia. A couple of pics, then we released him back to the water. We didn't kill a single fish the whole trip. It's funny to me that people are surprised by us not killing fish, we almost never do. I certainly don't have any problem eating fish, I do it all the time. But part of fly fishing is conservation, there are precious few enough wild fish left in the world, there is absolutely no need for me to kill one. If I was camping and hungry and needed food, I wouldn't think twice about roasting one over my campfire, but I had a chef waiting for me back at the ship. Back into the water it went.

That night dinner was delicious and this time there was no rocking to send us to bed early. After dinner there was a slide show comprised of all the photos the guides had taken during the day. The ecotourists had gone to a glacier and seen a colony of penguins that everyone joked had been kidnapped from Argentina. The photos showed everyone having such a good time, and there in the middle of the show, was a picture of me and my brown. Later, I called the kids on the satellite phone and was reassured to hear that everything was fine. There were no tears, no pleas for us to come home. Feeling quite happy, I stayed out late on the deck with Xav and smoked my fist cigar in Patagonia.

The days passed so quickly. Each day of fishing surpassed the one before. At night we would change location and the ship's movement would rock us to sleep. Often, in the morning and at dusk, there would be dolphins or seals feasting on the bait the ship's lights consistently attracted. The light was always beautiful and terrible at that hour. Beautiful and completely unphotographable for a girl shooting with a tiny Elph.

Despite the dire predictions, the weather turned out to be gorgeous. We'd wake up to fog in the morning that would burn off during the day. There were times when we were practically hot. The last day I stripped as far down as I could, to the last layer of capilene and my waders and still I was sweating. This is not normal of course, which makes me think we may have screwed up Patagonia after all.

There was only one day of serious rain. That day was also the only dicey helicopter ride. Wind and rain tossed us around, and I was glad to have my life vest even though the chance of landing on water was much lower than crashing in the trees. Life vests aren't much good in trees. But the orange color makes it easier to find the body. ;-)

Halfway through the trip the owner of the ship joined us. For my birthday, he personally flew us to some of his secret fishing spots. Accompanied by my two favorite guides it was the most amazing day of fishing in my life. One highlight, as we were walking along the edge of a pool in the river, the four guys I was with spotted a large trout. "Karen, you need to get that fish for your birthday. Do you see it?" No. I have no idea. They point with their hands and their rods. "It's about 30 feet that way, do you see it now?" No. I squint through my high quality and seemingly worthless polarized glasses. I have no idea where it is. "You need to get in the water." I start to wade, hoping I'm going in the right direction. "That's far enough," they say. "Cast!"

They point, I squint. I mentally cross my fingers and I conjure the fish. I cast the line. "Perfect!" Xav says. Then wham! The fish nails my fly and shoots off across the pool with it in it's mouth, hooked. I try to pull it in using just my hand on the line, but the fish is way too big. He jumps. Once back in the water I work like hell to get him on the reel. A thrilling five or ten minutes later I land him. Eight pounds and such a beauty. Silver chrome, the biggest trout of my life. I don't know who was more proud, me or the guys. "Happy birthday!"

Arms sore and a little tired, I was ready for more.

Look ma, two hands!

After that we caught hog after hog. Carlos, one of the guides, caught a giant 12 pound fish that put us all to shame.

That night I treated myself to a massage (Lorena's magic fingers, made me want to learn Spanish just so I could tell her how great she was). After an amazing dinner they brought me a cake with (happily) only a single candle. As much as I am fine with turning 44, I didn't need to see 44 candles blazing away on such a delicious cake. Later I called the girls who sang happy birthday and who were a little miffed that I was spending my birthday away from them, but not nearly as much as I'd worried they would be.

I just realized I haven't talked about the other passengers yet. Suffice to say there wasn't a bad egg in the group. Along with our friend Bill, there were a number of Brazilians who were there for ecotourism. Xav and I were especially taken with the ESPN film crew, a group of four who were so great and easy to be around that even the day they filmed us was fun and full of laughter. If you ever find yourself watching ESPN in South America one day, be sure to turn on Fly Fish America, who knows you might even see me!

The last day came much too soon. As much as I missed my kids, I could have stayed on the ship a few more days. To spend every day being flown around, spoiled by great fishing, spoiled more by great food and good company made the reality of my life seem a little drab by comparison.

After we left the ship we drove around Peurto Varras, a beautiful little town just north of Peurto Montt. We had lunch at a local restaurant and ate some of the best seafood of my life. A short ride to the airport and we were back to long legs in middle seats. During our hours-long layover in Santiago we had time for a quick dinner with our new friends Francisco and Pablo, who work for Nomads. Exquisite wine and a gorgeous steak fortified us for the long flight back to the States. You can't say America you know, 'cause it's America all the way to the end of the world. I used to I forget that too.

Santiago, Chile

Once we landed at LAX my blackberry started receiving and the deluge of my life downloaded. Moved up launch dates and Juju's playground fracas. After a few minutes I turned it off. It was too soon. I wasn’t home yet and I decided that I didn't actually have to read any of that stuff until after I'd had a nice stay in the arms of my children. A short flight up to SF and that's exactly what I did.

Two weeks later, the trip has faded some, but not entirely. I can still make myself grin at the memory of my giant birthday trout. The long and breathtakingly beautiful hikes upstream. Perla's warm and welcoming smile from behind the bar. Finally making Carlos laugh at one of my idiotic jokes. The amazing views from the helicopter. My Flickr stream has over 400 shots of this repetitive beauty. I hope it gives you a small taste of Patagonia until you can experience it for yourself.

I'll remember this trip for the rest of my life.

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Notes from the Amazon Warrior

nobody@vox.com(karen) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 22:15:20 -0700

He's unhappy with Spot. He likes the fact that I know where he is, but he has a pocket full of notes for the engineers (who are waiting for the feedback with bated breath, I'm sure). His first question, why does it take 20 minutes to send a signal every time? I started to mumble some answer about satellites being in space and space being far away but he was not impressed. List of complaints or not, I still like Spot.

Today on the river, our heroes were harassed by cayman who decided - in a seemingly organized manner - that it would be easier to steal fish from fly fishermen than to actually hunt for themselves. The crocs surrounded the boat and eventually the guys (Xav, his friend Tyler and the guide) had to hit the cayman (caymen?) with logs to get them to back away from the boat. Despite all of those hours at the gym, the beatings were only marginally successful - the crocs backed off a little, then came back. Eventually it was the fishermen who left.

Later, Xav caught another cayman on his fly - actually Xav cast the fly, the fish ate the fly and the cayman ate the fish and, sing it with me now: "I don't know why, she swallowed that fly, perhaps she'll die..." That's right, I'm the mother of a pre-schooler and that's my musical reference for the day.

Xav loves to fish for crocodiles even though (perhaps because) I've told him that catching them is grounds for divorce. I am afraid of them and he is amused by them. Did I ever tell you the story of how Xav nearly landed one in a boat in Mexico? There was only one problem: the croc was as big as our freaking boat. I was not amused. But I'm not there to scowl at him (not that it matters) and he kept this croc on his line for a good long while before it actually broke off the line and sunk to the bottom of the river. He was quite pleased with himself.

He also caught a dogfish, a type of shark who spit the fly out of his mouth in the air over the boat. This resulted in the fish landing in the boat and flopping around the bottom until finally he hit something nice and soft. Which he promptly bit. It was Xav's big toe. Xav said it bled like crazy but not to worry because he "put neosporin on it." Oh thank goodness. (And yes, this is what it's really like to live with him.)

Finally, to cap off the day he caught a red-belly piranha and somehow managed to throw it at Tyler "Catch!"
He didn't.

Sounds like buckets of fun, don't you wish you were there?

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Seasonal awareness

nobody@vox.com(karen) — Fri, 24 Aug 2007 22:06:24 -0700

Growing up in New Jersey I had an acute awareness of, if not always an appreciation for, the changing seasons.
Summer = no school. Riding my bike all day and not coming home until it was time for dinner.
Fall = Back to school clothes, Halloween and Thanksgiving. Really just counting the holidays until Christmas.
Winter = snow and the rare snow day. Christmas and New Year's. Loving, and then getting really sick of snow.
Spring = hope. Crocuses and short sleeves and the end of school in sight.

Now I am grown and living in California. Before I had kids the seasons were summarily shortened to Rain or Sun. Now I have the added complexity of School, No School but even these things put together don't approach the happy rotation known as Seasons.

Today I am in Idaho. Well, actually I woke up in Idaho, spent an hour or so in Montana, the bulk of the day in Wyoming and then back to Idaho in time for dinner. Yesterday the unthinkable happened: I felt rain on my skin in August. In the morning I left to go fishing in my usual (California-based) summer fishing attire: shorts, sandals and a long sleeve fishing shirt (to protect my delicate skin), only to find that it was freaking cold in the morning and I had to buy pants - which I wore for the entire day - along with my rain jacket. Today the weather was beautiful. But having been fooled by yesterday's rain, I went to Yellowstone in jeans and a shirt and fleece jacket. Only to come home hot, sweaty and with a sunburn (I have the nicest triangle burn on my chest).

It seems that all of these years in California have dulled my sense of seasonal awareness and I literally don't know how to dress anymore. I am fly fishing again tomorrow and on my chair I have shorts (ha), my fishing shirt, fleece pants, fleece jacket, waders, wading boots, socks, hat, SUNTAN lotion, the kitchen sink and anything else I can think of. I'm sure the guide will be amused. Those California people.

The guides in Idaho are pretty traditional and adhere to a strict guide uniform: long pants and button down fishing shirts, hat, waders and boots. They have to wear waders because unlike any other guide I've fished with, instead of rowing the boat, they PUSH it. That's right, they walk the river and hold the boat in areas they want us to fish. Oh yes, they are all thin and in amazing shape.

They are also planning on leaving soon. For them, this is the end of the season and after a few great weeks of fishing in September they will hightail it to other climates. California has the luxury of fishing year round, but soon here there will be inches of snow and ice and no tourists to push around in boats. It will be Winter.

I don't know from winter.

I do know that my girls start school in less than a week and we will reluctantly have to return home in time for that. This is my next season: Back to School.

After that will come the rain.

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