Français
Jacky and Patrick where sleeping in the back, Gonzalo had just started telling me about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, his voice was soothing. Art Blakey’s Blues March was coming out the speakers, we were driving towards the mountains.We arrived at our camp made of modest cabins with an amazing view of the lake. THE lake, the one where every year we catch what we call today “Corcocodile Trouts”, just for them we would travel accross the world to this remote lost place in Patagonia, we could call heaven. We walked around the lake, the water was higher than usual, the wind was gusting, coming down from the snowy cold mountains of Chile. I had spotted something moving, there, just before mouth of the canal, were the current meets the stream, just by the marsh grass. It felt unreal, the wind was too strong, because of the cold ther was no insects, we were so tired. Then, as if by magic, the wind stopped, then there was a caddis, then another one. There, at the very same spot it came up again, I saw it, black, huge, delicate and yet so powerful. I casted to the exact same place where the water was black, the sun was going down behind me, I only saw my fly disappearing, I automaticaly set the hook. It’s enormous, Gonzalo cannot beleive it, the trout makes a run and goes to the current, it jumps, in my head, Art Blakey is hitting his drums like crazy, Lee Morgan blows his horn like a devil, the trout seems to be dancing on Blues Marche. At the end it comes right to me, as if it was looking for shelter in my own feet. It’s so beautiful. Gonzalo, measuring tape in hand, is all excited “70 centimétros, Cirilo”! The wind started blowing again.
Later at the cabin, we were elated, our happiness had no limit. We had real fishermen talks with Argentinian wines and Cuban cigars, beef on the grill and Art Blakey was keeping the rythm. The best trip ever. [youtube=hhttp://youtu.be/II7k4imlGcY]