San Junin

Megan, Chris and I returned to San Martin from Largo Lolog during the town`s annual celebration of its founding. Men and boys dressed in traditional gaucho garb rode through the town high atop amber and white horses. Each wore baggy pants tucked into soft leather boots. The pants were secured with wide fabric belts studded with silver or gold medallions. Straddling fluffy sheep wool saddles, each Argentine had large sheathed knifes tucked through the backsides of their belts. The outfit was capped with the traditional Argentine beret. Although many were dressed in this way especially for the festival, the traditional vestige is wore normally.

By midday a parade commenced down the main road. Each faction of San Martin was represented in the procession. With an elaborately outfitted brass band playing, the parade began with the elderly residents of San Martin creeping slowly down the road, waving their soft hands slowly at the crowd. An old couple, dressed traditionally, were at the lead. The old man gad watery eyes and tanned, leathery skin. Pride beamed from his darting gaze. Then came the town´s youth, followed by the handicapped. The parade continued long into the day with every imaginable subset of the community taking a turn walking down the stretch of road which culminated before a stage holding the communities elected officials. Even the garbage men and the electricians drove their trucks down the way, beeping and waving the blue and white Argentine flag. It was nice to watch the crowd receive each passing group with the same enthusiasm and appreciation.

The next day we boarded a local bus and took it one hour north to San Juanin de Los Andes. Although similarly structured as San Martin, San Juanin is free of tourist clutter. The town is pristinely maintained, slow, and quiet. Our impetus for being there was fishing. San Juanin is considered by many as a fly fishing Mecca in Patagonia. It has fortunately avoided being overhyped by guidebooks which allows it to remain a sleepy town with down right epic trout rivers.

We set up camp along the banks of Rio Chimehuín. Not long after our tents were popped, Chris and I had our fly rods assembled with big grass hopper patterns clinched to newly tied leaders. I recently realized that all the big, picture worthy, trophy trout I´ve caught throughout my years of fishing have been Rainbow Trout. Never a big Brown. While I do love Rainbow´s sunset pinks and lilly pond greens, and their spectacular aireal jumps during the fight, I have subconsciously focused my hunt on Brown Trout here in Patagonia.

Brown trout are uniquely beautiful. A slender white strip of white coats the very bottoms of their bellies. From there a warm yellow bleeds into a velvety brown. The masterpiece is finished with cranberry red spots that are circled in white. In the high, midday sun they shimmer in silky magnificence.

It did not take long to find a good stretch of water to fish. We waded across rocky shallows towards the other bank. There the river dumped in a hot dog shaped pool that ran 100 feet under overhanging trees. The river was set on the perfect latitude connecting the sun and the moon. Fishing into the night, we watched the sun fall down stream in an explosion of red and orange. Concurrently up stream, the moon, bright and full, rose out of the navy blue and dark purple horizon of the creeping night.

NOTE TO FAMILY: I am spending one more night in San Junin (2-10), then headed into the National Park Lanin which is just on the outskirts of town. Depending on the fishing and hiking, I may be there for five days. I will ring you when I get back. Love you.