The difference between one fish and no fish! February 27,2020

If you're a real fishermen, any trip to a fishy location, for any reason, is going to be accompanied by at least trying to carve out some time in your schedule to fish.  In this case, I was invited by the New Orleans Fly Fishers to come down and share my Amazon peacock bass presentation, and I used that as an opportunity to book two days with Captain Brandon Keck, of Southern Fly Expeditions .  Brandon guides out of Hopedale Louisiana, and while the primary goal was redfish, hopefully there would also be shots at other species, black drum, alligator gar, sheepshead....and the list goes on.

In the months prior to the trip, I did what most of us would do.  I watched the tantilizing videos on the website, of wave after wave of redfish attacking poppers.  I tied flies.  I day dreamed.  I even talked my buddy James into traveling with me.  I did everything right, I think, except a consultation with whoever is in charge of Louisiana weather.

I know later winter/early spring weather can be unpredictable.  And sure enough, as it got closer, troubling conditions crept into the forecast.  Wedensday the 26th, our first day on the water, called for 30 mph winds, and high temps in the fifties.  Thursday, the 27th, the winds were to drop, but lows were barely going to be 40, with a high of 50.  I talked to Captain Brandon the eve of the trip.  I told him, I would be more than glad to still fish, but I only wanted to fish if it would be merely difficult, but not impossible.  We made arrangements to talk very early the next morning.  Unfortunately, at 5:50 a.m. I received a text that simply said, "Conditions have worsened.  I recommend we not fish today.  It would just be a really expensive boat ride."  I hated to hear it, but appreciated the honesty.  So, Wednesday was spent on our own, a bit of exploring in New Orleans, and a bit of exploring road side canals, trying to find clean water, and looking for the odd seatrout or redfish.  It was cold, the wind was ripping, and it would have been a miserable day in the boat.

The next morning, I received a text, that said, "It's going to be really difficult, but not impossible."  Good enough for me.  No way I was going home without at least trying.  And honestly, if there is anything predictable about me, it's that I'm optimistic.  We headed off, and one of the great things about traveling and fishing is just how foreign everything is.  The birds are different, the trees are different, and for sure, the homes built on platforms twenty feet in the sky are different.


 The further we drove, the more optomistic I became!  By the time we reached Hopedale, I was sure we were going to whack em.

We arrived at the marina, met Brandon, and loaded five additional fly rods and a couple of big fly boxes on the boat.  Soon we were off and running, and it was COLD!  40 degrees and running in the boat are WAY different from 40 degrees and sitting still.  We ran a good ways to a place Brandon hoped to find clean water, and by the time we arrived, I couldn't feel my face.  There were two issues.  The gusty winds of the previous day had the water very turbid.  Secondly, the water was 51 degrees, which generally means fish sulking deep in the channels, not actively hunting for food.  We hoped that as the sun got on the water (it was mostly sunny), it would eventually move the fish up in to the shallows.

I had James start off in the bow, and my strategy was to have James fish most of the time.  I felt like our shots would be very limited today, and while I've caught some redfish, James had not.  Captain Brandon started poling and James (a very good caster) started firing off blind casts, covering water all around the boat as we moved.  I guess I'm going to sum it this way.  We covered water for six hours, threw hundreds of times, moved five times to new areas, and never saw a single fish by mid afternoon.  It was looking bleak.  Then James stepped down from the bow, and said, "I'm going to get something to eat, fish for awhile." 

Five minutes later, Brandon pointed, and said, "Black drum, Twelve o'clock" and there he was.  This gigantic fish, head down, tail up.  The first black drum I had ever seen in the flesh.  I cast, but not close enough, the fish moved, I couldn't see it, but thought I could, and cast to a mud cloud, instead of the fish.  It was a comedy of errors, but I finally got the fly in front of the fish, which immediately ate.  The fish lumbered off, and that is exactly the right word.  Black drum are never speedsters, and this fish was cold.  But also huge!  He would take twenty feet of line, I'd gain it back, and then he would put his pectoral fins out, and dig down for the bottom.  I would pinch the fly line and lean.  It was stalemate.  And then the fish would run a little, I'd gain it back, and we would do it all over again.  No way to make it a  Hemingway, Old Man and the Sea, exciting battle.  But eventually persistance paid off, and a really cool, amazing fish was in the net.  Black drum, and species number 140 on fly.

Black drum are interestingly shaped fish, their profile is so high, and so different from anything I'm used to catching, I had no idea what it really weighed.  I wondered if it was 50 pounds, my guide, who actually occasionally weighs these things didn't think so.  His judgement was at least 45 pounds, probably high forties, but not quite fifty.  I'll take it!   A quick photo session, and off he went.

And that was it for the day, and the fishing portion of trip.  The wind picked up even more, James gave it another half hour, and then we bagged it.  Then we sped back to New Orleans for my presentation, with the black drum slime still drying.  A wonderful group of guys at the meeting, and it looks like a few of them will be heading to the Amazon with me next year.

I read, and I don't remember where, that in fishing, the difference between one and zero fish caught, is greater than the difference between one and any other number.  Let me witness, so true.  Because I've already forgotten the cold, and the muddy water, and the somewhat poor casting once the fish was spotted.  In my mind, it's not the trip of one fish, it's the trip of the giant black drum! 

Saving the best for last! Amazon Day 7 (last day of trip)

I'm just going to get this out of the way, I don't think this day was the best day of the trip.  But it was pretty spectacular.  Without a doubt in the top three.  And I'm sure my fishing partner, Chris, will remember this one as being as the best.  It's fascinating to me how often the last day of the trip does turn out being the best of it.  Last year, the last day was poling over the white sand flats in my favorite part of the river, landing the two biggest peacocks of my life, up to that point, and also landing my first arowana on what was literally my last cast of the trip. 

This year, our guide for the last day was Irmau.  He is a quiet dude.  His English isn't quite as good as a few of the other guides, making it a bit more difficult to have conversations with him.  He may also may naturally just be a little more reticent.  But if you work at it a bit, there is a lot of depth with Irmau and he is a pretty interesting guy.  He will always have a special place for me, because last year, he put my wife and I on a bunch of payaras, a lifetime fish for me.

I teased Irmau at the beginning of the day, telling him I was hoping for something special.  It turns out that is what we got.  We went on a long run up river, and several twists and turns later, entered a narrow creek, and soon enough a hidden lagoon.  The first cast was greeted by an old adversary that has been largely absent this week, the wolffish or triara as they are probably more properly called.  The wolffish looks a lot like a fish from home called the bowfin.  At Agua Boa they typically run two to four pounds, whack flies hard, will catch some air, and are generally a fine gamefish.  At this point, I'm usually happy not to catch them though.  One, they are the slimiest fish in the world, and two, they are really rough on flies, because of their dental-work.  It would have been a shame to go the whole week and not catch one though, so there you go.

It's what happened next that stood out. At the entrance to the lagoon, our casts were greeted by swarms of butterfly peacocks in the two to four pound range.  Every cast, you would immediately hook a fish, and as you played it, there was a swirling, kaleidoscope of color behind it, as dozens of butterflies followed it.  Chris and I caught them two at a time for about fifteen minutes.  It's not that there weren't larger fish out there.  We could see them.  They just simply, for the most part, couldn't get to the fly before they were beaten out by their smaller cousins. 

Chris with his 11, me with the fish that lured it

On this last day, Chris had a goal, and that was to catch a peacock of over ten pounds.  So far, many, many things had went wrong to thwart this quest.  They were there.  I personally had landed 13 fish like this, my best week ever.  Chris had probably had close to that many eat the fly.  Today, would hopefully be the day when it would come together.  And just a few minutes in, it did.  I had a larger fish, maybe five pounds hooked up, and when it was wallowing at the side of the boat, a larger fish swirled up beneath it.  I told Chris to get his fly in there, he flipped out a few feet of leader, took one strip, and the big fish ate.  He struck it perfectly, and soon enough we had a fish at the boat that I was sure was double figures, and sure enough, the boga revealed it to be 11 pounds.  Pressure off.  We continued to land fish hand over fist in this lagoon, as we were nearing the end, a BIG arapaima rolled in front of the boat, and then another off to the side.  These were person sized arapaima, six footers.  I dropped the fly in the water and slowly crawled it back to the boat.  Just as I gave up, and started to lift to cast again, something down there in the depths grabbed it, but my line was hinged at a weird angle, and my hook set was less than ideal.  I just pricked the fish.  Just so we had no doubts about its identity, it boiled and left an enormous mud cloud in the water.  Heart breaking.  We fished our way back to the entry point of the lagoon, I'm sure we landed fifty fish here.  Before we left, I tied on a large popper that was just too big for the butterflies to handle, but a dozen would slam it as I popped it back to the boat, I was laughing the whole time.

I almost hated to leave this lagoon, but another treat was in store.  The next lagoon was larger, and just as good.   Again, one butterfly peacock after another, the difference was that in this lagoon, there seemed to be more big fish, although once again we had struggles with them not being able to get to the fly before a smaller one would.  We did take several midsize fish, and two experiences stand out.  Irmau pointed out a fish, I made the cast, and the fish ate right in a patch of sunlight where the colors it flashed on the take were brilliant and it was also simply enormous.  I got a good hookset, and the fish kind of plowed back and forth in the lagoon for awhile.  It was the point in the fight where you know you are going to land it, and you are just wondering how big it is going to be.  And then the hook just simply fell out.  I asked Irmau how big, he thought 15, which corresponded to what I was thinking.  Bummer.

A little later, Chris had a good fish hooked up, I seem to remember nine pounds or so, but I really don't remember that fish clearly because of what happened next.  As the fish was at the side of the boat, and I was getting ready to grab it (I was the designated fish grabber)  a huge form loomed up from the bottom.  A monstrous red tail catfish came out of nowhere, hovered in the water column, and basically put it's face on the big peacock.  Like it was taste-testing it, trying to decide if it was worth the trouble.  And then after ten or fifteen seconds, it just slowly sank back in the water column.  My  heart was racing, and it wasn't even hooked.  We landed another 35 fish in this lagoon.  I counted this time, just because I was curious.

A quick lunch under the trees, this took two tries, because the first try, we got covered up by wasps that appeared very interested in our lunch.  After lunch, we didn't even move, we just pulled the boat out and started pounding the bank of the river, where surprisingly we immediately were hot and heavy into the fish again.  We landed another 30 or so, and then headed back down river to look in some of Irmaus payara spots.  This turned out to be kind of a bust.  They just simply weren't there.  But one more memorable occurrence was still in our future.

We started working a narrow stretch of river with the striking white sand flats that you see occasionally here.  We saw a few peacocks.  But what we saw far more were the unusual surimbim catfish, resplendent in their black tiger stripes.  This is my last bucket list fish here, and on this flat they are everywhere.  Singles, doubles, even groups of eight or ten.  But like catfish everywhere, you need to get the fly down to their level, and I couldn't get the fly to sink to them before the boat spooked them.  I don't know why I didn't think of it, but next year, we will be pulling the boat up on the sand and I will be wading if we ever find that situation again. 

All to soon the day was over.  Without a doubt, we have landed over 100 fish today.  Back at the dock, talking with the other boats, everyone had enjoyed a good day.  Mark hand landed a 15 pound fish with Preto.  Ron and Bill each hooked large arapaimas, and got them on the reel, Bill even got a jump out of his hundred pounder.  Too many stories to share around the dock, so some of them got saved for dinner that night.

Did I mention I love this place?  Maybe this was actually the best day. 

100 degrees and humid? DIdn't notice! Amazon-Day 6

So, here is an observation, something I've noticed over thousands of hours of fishing in all types of weather.  Discomfort is fairly proportional to how well the fish are biting!  I spend a lot of time swinging flies for steelhead in really cold weather, the kind of weather where chipping ice out of the guides is a thing.  On the days when fish are few, or none, it can be kind of miserable.  Attention wanes, and once the only thing you can think about is how cold you are, a trip to the car is in your near future.  A few pulls from bright, chrome steelhead, big fish racing around the pool, some whooping and hollering, and when the day is over you don't even remember that it was cold.  Why, yes, your waders did freeze solid with ice, walking back to the car in the twenty mile per hour wind and twenty degree temps, but did you see stripe on that buck! 

I'm honestly almost impervious to heat anyway.  I generally take my vacation in Florida in the summer, and honestly, am so grateful to be somewhere without snow on the ground, that basically, the hotter the better.  And it did get pretty hot today!  I heard back at the lodge that it was right at 100 degrees.  But with fishing like it was today, didnt notice!

I fished with Preto again today, which isn't the usual program, but because I switched fishing partners on Tuesday, and then switched back, I have the same guide twice.  Don't mind this at all, love fishing with Preto, and wouldn't mind a repeat of Tuesdays action at all.  Which is pretty much what I got, the day was remarkably similiar, partially because we fished most of the same water.

We started in the lagoon, fishing the west bank where Stephen and  I hit multiple big fish, and it was once again on fire.  Preto, from the platform would pick out fishing cruising, or lurking near log jams, and they were once again on a search and destroy mission.  Landed a couple of nice fish, 12 and 10 pounds, the colors on the ten pound fish were so gorgeous, the camera may have picked out some of it.

Brushpile miracle fish

I never get tired of these guys....

In the next lagoon, I had another experience that convinced me that this is just definitely my week when it comes to big fish.  I hooked up on a big fish inside a brush pile, the kind of spot where even as you cast,  you think, "how can this end well, even if I hook up?"  The fish immediately ran through the logs and then powered parallel to the bank through the sunken bushes.  I couldn't feel a thing, and as we approached the logs, Preto said, simply, "Gone"  I untangled my fly line from the first jam, reeled up another fifteen feet, and with the line pointing straight in to a tunnel of brush, I felt a tug.  Looked at Preto, and said "Still on!"  I got up on the bow of the boat and peered into the brush, and about twenty feet in, I could see my fish wallowing around.  I put my rod down, grabbed the flyline, and gently pulled on the fish, and amazingly enough, it began to swim my way, going over, under, and around the sticks in such a way that it actually untangled my line, with some helpful tugs in the right direction by me.  Once it emerged, it ran out  into the lagoon, and I just picked up the rod and basically cranked it in.  Another 12 pounder!

We took a lunch break, and while Preto was napping, I fed the fish bread from my lunch.  Sometimes, I then pull out a bread fly and extract a few, but today, there weren't any new or sizable species, so I just watched the show.  Partway through, about a six foot caiman came sliding up the bank and stopped about ten feet from the boat.  I thought he was there to try to catch the fish that were eating the bread, but then he actually began to eat the bread, which yes, I think is really weird.  We tossed a piece literally six inches from the boat, and he still came and got it, I could have patted him on the head, but didn't.

Then it was back to the main river channel, poling slowly, and searching the bank for fish.  When it was my turn, we rounded a corner, and tucked into a pocket was a herd (I know that's the wrong word, but it's fitting) of big fish.  I saw five, and then my mind just kind of shut off, Preto later told me there were probably twenty.  I got a huge, red and white popper in the air, it hit the water, I popped it twice, and a bunch of giant peacocks tried to get it, the winner was a 10.5 lb fish.

Back at the lodge later, someone mentioned how stifling hot it was, and I had to say that it didn't register.  They looked at me like I was crazy.  I really don't mind being thought of as crazy.  That night, we enjoyed a dinner of fresh piranaha, cooked whole.  Tomrrow, somehow is the last day, and I'll be fishing with an old favorite, Irmau.

Anaconda!

I love the way the days start here.  At around 6:45, everyone meets for breakfast at the lodge.  The energy level is high after a good nights sleep, stories are shared, and you can sense the excitment.  Today, the cooks have made us bread in the shape of a tarantuala.  Which is kind of fitting.  It's the creepy crawlers that have brought me here in the first place, not the fish.  I used to watch a show called Wild Kingdom, way back when I was in grade school.  And it was the images of Marlin Perkins sidekick Jim, wrestling with an anaconda, that just convinced me that someday I had to see the Amazon.  And now here I am, and although I've never seen an anaconda (sightings are uncommon) at least I have the bread spider.

I'm just going to get the fishing description over with now.  It was super, super slow.  We were fishing with a new guide today, Daniel.  We started fishing the main river, and honestly, although Daniel spotted some of those big river cruisers from up on the poling platform, he wasn't able to really communicate where they were to us, resulting in a lot of guessing, and missed opportunities.  We did run into a big school of butterflies off a creek mouth, and had an incredibly large fish start blowing holes in the water when we hooked a butterfly, but we were unable to convert this one.  We fished some lagoons, but they were almost totally dead.  We did fish one large lagoon that you have to hike into, where the guides have a boat stowed away.  This lagoon had some large arapaimas rolling, but it was a big lagoon, probably 15-20 acres, and they never rolled within casting range.  I would imagine between Chris and myself, we probably landed somewhere around 15-20 fish, easily the slowest day I have had here.  And it didn't matter at all.

Mid morning, we were hiking our way into the remote lagoon, maybe a quarter mile walk.  Just as we got to the lagoon, with the boat in sight, Daniel stopped and pointed.  This time, no problem determining what he was looking at.  The biggest snake I have ever seen was laying in the trail, right in front of the boat.  There was a large crevace under a tree, and although part of it was still in there, an easy 12-14 feet of it were exposed.  The whole snake must have been 16-18 feet long and bigger around than my thigh.  It had absolutely no concern about our presence, whatsoever.  We took a bunch of pictures.  We watched it.  And then it occured to us, "How do we get to the boat?"  I poked it with my fly rod.  No reaction.  Daniel then gave it a little bump with the push pole, it immediately struck at it, then slowly turned around, and retreated into the crevace.  I realized this was my chance to touch it, reasoning that 18 feet of snake can't turn around that fast, so I ran forward and grabbed it a couple of feet ahead of the tail, long enough to get a sense of its heft.  And then just like that it was gone.

Guides casting competition

We fished the lagoon, unproductively, in keeping with the day.  I emptied some items out of the boat, and then came back to get a second armful.  I thought, what a great spot this thing has where it can ambush a deer or a pig on it way to the water, it could lie just off the path with it's head only a couple feet from the trail.  And then I looked, as I walked back up the trail, and that is exactly what it was doing, hidden back under the roots, but less than 24 inches from where my boot hit the trail, there it was!  Chills!

This was one of the days it did hit a legitimate 100 degrees, and it sure was nice being met with a cool drink back at the dock.  By 5:30, we were all gathered outside the lodge for the guides casting competition.  All the guides are taught to cast a fly rod before they are even taught to pole a boat, so they will understand the needs of the clients.  Most of them now tie flies, and a few have become very good casters.  This competition was won by Coboclo, who bombed a cast at least ten feet further than anyone else to win the distance category.

Another great day.  Funny how a slow day of fishing didn't even matter.  Tomorrow, I'll be back out with Preto again, hunting big fish, and hopefully finding some on the popper.

Sometimes impossible stuff happens! Amazon Day 4

Today, I'm heading out to fish with Preto.  It's hard to exactly desribe Preto, but he definitely has a lot of cowboy/redneck in him.  One of the things he is known for is chasing/catching caimens with his bare hands.  And yes, he still has both hands.  He has a great sense of humor, will go above and beyond to put you on fish, and just might be the favorite guide of a lot of people who come down here.

I'm also switching things up and fishing with my buddy Stephen Ruiz for the day.  Steve is a fantastic caster and fishermen, and we seldom have had a chance to share a boat, even though we schedule numerous trips together.  Because of this, with the way they set the rotation, I'll be fishing with Preto twice, and I'll miss a day on perhaps my favorite beat on the river, the lowest downstream beat, but you take the good with the bad.

Steve with a good one.

We started off working a large lagoon, and it became apparent that the west bank of this lagoon, the one we worked first, was loaded with a big fish.  We hadn't covered any ground at all before Steve had missed three big fish and landed a ten pounder, and I'd landed a couple of mid-size fish.  I changed flies to Blantons Whistler, a fly that has landed a dis-proportinate share of my big peacocks.  On the first cast with it, a big fish hammered it a few feet from the boat.  The whole shoreline was lined with sticks and logs, and this fish immediately wrapped me under a stick, and kept running.  Soon, in fact, the fish had me into the backing, despite the fact that the flyline was wrapped under a log ten feet off my rod tip.  If it ran parallel to the shoreline, it was certainly gone.  I was able to get the rod around the log, untangle the line, and it immediately became apparent that I was lucky, and the fish may have been brainpower challenged.  It literally did the only thing it could have done that would allow me to land it, which was do a half hitch around the log, and head straight back out into the open lagoon. And then dutifully waited for me to catch up.  A gorgeous 12.5 pound fish that I never should have landed. 

The miracle fish

On the far side of the lagoon, we played hide-n-go-seek with several groups of big fish that were cruising through the shoreline brush, occasionally popping out into open spots where we could get a cast to them.  Some of the groups had as many as dozen fish, and when a fly did get on the water in front of them, fish were slamming into other fish trying to get to the fly first.  It was some of my favorite fishing of the trip, and by the time we exited the lagoon, Steve and I each had two double figure fish, and a few 6-8 pound fish.

We then entered a second lagoon, and although it was even larger than the first, it was pretty dead.  We each landed a few of the smaller butterly peacocks.  We had a little excitement when Steve hooked the only large peacock we found, abouty a nine pounds, and good size caimen came flying through the water with murderous intent.  It's astounding how these generally sluggish creatures can snap into crazy fast predator mode in a heartbeat.  I literally grabbed the leader and slung the fish right into the boat, not normal practice, and Preto smacked the caimen on the head with his push pole.  Good times!

Long before this trip, for years actually, I've wanted to catch a redtail cat on fly.  I know it's highly  unlikely, they aren't nearly as aggressive as the suribim catfish that share the waters, but I didnt know how unlikely until this day.  I casually asked Preto, "How many redtail cats on fly in your boat?"  He replied, "Bait on the fly?"  I said no, just fly.  His reply was "none".  It had never happened. 

Big spotted that played hide and go seek in the brush that you can see in the background

 I did the math.  He has been guiding 12 years.  Somewhere around 2,000 days, 16,000 hours on the water.  And then literally two minutes later, he said, "There's one."  And sure enough, a nice redtail, happily swimming about two feet under the surface, coming right at the boat.  I've catfished enough to know you want to get the fly at their level and move it slow, and for once, I made a perfect cast, about three feet in front of the fish, that would put the fly right at it's level by the time it arrived.  I made a slow strip, really slow, and thought it looked like the fish turned a bit.  On the second strip, I felt a bump, and on the third, painfully slow strip, I came tight.  The fish plowed out into the middle of the lagoon,, there was a lot of  yelling and screaming in the boat, and after a workmanlike fight, there he was, a beautiful red tail cat of 20 pounds or so, which Preto promptly hauled into the boat.  Hooked right in the corner of mouth, just like you would order.  The 17 pound peacock was pretty cool, but this was something beyond that.  For about the next 45 minutes, I could barely concentrate to fish, thinking more about what had just happened, than what was happening.

The last part of the day was spent on the main river, poling the clear sand flats (the river was clearing a ton each day), and we started looking for fish on poppers.  I landed a few, but it was Steve that scored here.  A big fish was sliding along the bank, Steve got the popper on it, and it chased, pushing a big wake, and then absolutely murdered the popper.  A fantastic 9.5 pound fish.

Another great day on the Agua Boa.  Not huge numbers, maybe 30-35 fish to the boat, but plenty of quality  fish, a day with a top notch guide and a good friend, and of course, a red tail catfish!

So much better than I deserve! Amazon Day 2

Today, we are fishing with Zezinio, or, as most call him, Joseph.  I have high hopes for this day.  Joseph has guided in the Amazon for TWENTY TWO years!   He claims to be the first fly fishing guide in the Amazon.  He is a first class waterman, knows exactly how to pole and position a boat for any fly caster, and can read the moods of the fish.  I also have a little trepidation, because my cabin mate Chris is a new fly caster, and Joseph can be a little, let's say, "demanding."  We were discussing this last year, and we made note, that if you get the "look at me", comment you're in trouble.  However, if you get a whistle, after you make a great cast, that's the highest of compliments.  Joseph gives, and Joseph takes away.  

We traveled far upriver, and then left the main river channel and wound our way through what was basically a labyrinth, with Joseph occasionally leaving the boat to pull out or cut through obstacles that were in the way.  Finally, we reached what is always the goal of journeys like this.  We could see light ahead, and soon we left the darkness of the outlet and entered a small, open lagoon.  Immediately I hooked a large dogfish.  Dogfish are a little bit of a nuisance.  They are generally small, and so full of teeth that they can be really rough on flies.  I generally don't set the hook if I see them slashing at the fly.  However, they are also a fine gamefish.  They jump like crazy, pull well, and if you threw five weights to match them, they would be awesome.  This one was a big one, and well hooked, so it came to the boat for a photo-op, then Chris landed one as well.

After the dogfish, it was a parade of butterfly peacocks.  For awhile, it was fish on demand in the one to four pound range.  By the time we had circled around the lagoon, we must have landed a couple dozen.  Fun, not that I didn't have hopes for something more, but that's only because I'm spoiled.  So I felt satisfied, with just a hint of disappointment as we prepared to leave.  But wait, we weren't going back the way we came.  We were winding through another creek, breaking through new obstacles, and on our way to a new lagoon behind this one.  It felt like a lost and secret world, and then Joseph said, "Check leader.  Big fish here."  Well, OK then.  Looking at the lagoon, you felt that tingling in your spine that just says, "something special is going to happen here."

12 lbs

15 lbs!

I was on the bow, and in my first few casts, I got slammed.  There is nothing that can really prepare for you for how hard a big peacock pulls in those first 30 seconds after they are hooked.  They can literally yank you out of the boat.  If you can make it through the early part of the fight, you usually have them, my battles with big ones usually just last a couple of minutes.  But the strike and initial run can be shocking.  And so it was with this fish.  Jospeh spotted it cruising, I tossed a fly five feet in front of it, and a millisecond later, I was hooked up.  When the fish did make it to the boat, it was just perfect, a male in prime condition, with thick shoulders, and a big hump on it's head.  It weighed in at 15 pounds, which is tied with the biggest I have landed here.  There was some whooping and hollering (note, the hollering was all from me).

A few minutes later, I landed a twelve pound fish, and a few minutes after that, another twelve pounder.  My first year, twelve pounds was my largest of the week.  Some of the big fish we hooked were followed by other big fish, swirling below them, looking like they were trying to take the fly out of the mouth of a hooked fish.  Joseph called out, arowana, 11 o'clock, and there was one my favorite fish, sliding through the water in an easy, almost serpentine manner.  Of course, when the fly hit the water, the fish destroyed it, and then responded with two towering jumps.  Because it was that kind of day.

Chris meanwhile, was learning some hard lessons.  Primarily about strip striking.  Chris comes from a spin fishing background, and when you have a "bite", you lift the rod.  But if a big peacock eats your fly, and you lift your rod, you are almost NEVER going to hook it. Peacocks also have an annoying habit of basically eating, and then swimming directly at you, so you have to learn to strip hard and then keep stripping until you come tight. This lagoon was loaded with big peacocks.  They were hungry and willing.  Chris was casting well, stripping well, presenting the fly, and had some amazing eats from six peacocks, every last one of them double digit fish.  And he executed what the lodge manager calls the "fly protection program" every time, yanking it right out of their mouths.  After the third one, Chris got the "look at me", from Joseph.  And then a speech, "when fish eats, no lift rod (accompanied by a pantomine of someone lifting a rod) strip strike (accompanied by pantomine strip striking)  Immediately after that speech Chris missed two more big ones, and then had a huge fish in the 15 pound range eat right at the boat, a terrifying strike which he reacted to by simply jerking his rod to the left.  It was rough.  But the only way to land big fish is to lose some first.

17 lbs baby!

/We had finally worked our way around most of the lagoon.  I was blindcasting, and just as the line swung back towards the poling platform, near the end of the retrieve, I noticed a fish following the fly, in the second I had to process, and think, "big fish", there was a huge yellow flash as it ate.  From the beginning of the fight, this fish was different.  Not to over dramatize it, but it had a lot of weight, and a lot of heart.  After several minutes, it still was digging deep, and making short runs to the center of the lagoon.  We hadn't seen it, but I was pretty sure it was the biggest I had ever caught.  When we did finally catch a glimpse, Joseph whistled, which is always a good sign.  Finally we had the fish at the boat, and I wasn't surprised when it weighed slightly over 17lbs.  Importantly, my wife used to hold the family record at 16.  I feel a little bad that she is not here to defend her crown....a little.

We exited the lagoon and took a break for lunch.  I'm not much for siestas though, so I grabbed a five weight and walked the shoreline a bit.  I found a nice school of matrinxas, and landed one, getting broken off by two others.  I'm always fascinated at the variety of fish here, and probing around at lunch time with a small Clouser, a tiny beadhead, or even throwing some bread in the water and fishing a fly that looks bread, will almost always be rewarded with something.

After lunch we worked one more large lagoon, which I barely remember, except I did put two more double digit peacocks in the boat.  Our day with Joseph ended on a nice note, two large arowanas meandering down the bank, Chris making just the right cast, and then strip striking!  Arowana on.  I never get tired of these unusual looking fish, which are said to eat birds.  I'm just glad they eat flies so well.

I finished up the evening at the dock, catching some aracus and pacus under the watchful eye of Rex, the 16 foot black caiman that is kind of the lodge mascot.  There are days a day of great fishing makes you want to share it with everyone.  But sometimes it's so good, it leaves you in kind of a stunned silence, almost feeling overwhelmed by the fish.  This was that kind of day.  It was so good it just made me wish everyone I know gets to experience a day like it...at least once.

It sounds corny.....but it's like coming home.

This is my third straight year returning to the Amazon.  All three of these trips have been to Agua Boa Lodge.  Here's why.  Agua Boa Lodge is located smack in the middle of a one hundred mile stretch of the Agua Boa river, a stretch they have exclusive right to fish, and that is managed fly fishing only, even requiring barbless hooks.  It's a small river, ranging from a long speycast across in some places, in others, it's several hundred yards wide.  What it generally is, in the middle of the dry season, is clear.  When conditions are right, the guides pole down the white sand flats of the river, and sometimes fish can be spotted fifty yards away as they slide over the flat.  Yes, actually, there are parts of this kind of peacock bass fishing that will remind you of bone fishing.  Agua Boa is known as a numbers fishery, but the previous two trips have show me that there are plenty of larger fish, in fact my wife and I had a day when between us, we put seven 10 pound plus fish in the boat.  And the species diversity is unmatched.  Between  Terri and I, we have landed 26 different species of fish on fly the previous two years.  So, I bascially love it.  Numbers are high enough that a novice can be successful.  The fishing is exciting enough that a highly experienced angler will find plenty of challenges.  The accomodations are good, and the staff is wonderful.  Like I said, I like this place.

As we approached, flying low over the river, and I saw the lodge for the first time, it did really feel kind of like returning home.  I knew who I was going to see, I looked forward to greeting the guides and other staff.  I knew there would be someone greeting us with flutes of champagne when we stepped down from the plane.  I knew the lodge manager Carl, was going to give people opportunity to fish immediately, or take a nap, and fish later.  For the record, if I ever take a nap and fish later, I've been body snatched, I'm a pod person, go ahead and divide up my fishing stuff.

I rush to our cabin.  This year, I'm in a new one, number 3.  Each cabin is named after a fish.  This one is called Pirarara, which is what the natives call redtail catfish, and also, my absolute bucket list fish to catch on fly in this river, now that I've knocked off payaras and arapaimas, and by far the least likely.  Maybe this is a good omen!

A good omen?

There are 12 anglers at full capacity, and six beats of river, and currently seven guides.  The program is, you will fish seven days, fish each guide once, and repeat one of the beats  once.  I'll be fishing with my cabin mate Chris.  Chris is a new fly fisher, but has literally taken a year to get ready for this trip, practicing hard, and at least on the lawn, he looks good.  Today we will be fishing with Bacaba.  Bacaba is one of my favorite guides, very kind, and also curious.  Some of the guides get a little locked into the peacock program, if you want to stray off and look for big piranhas, cichlids, or anything unsual, he's your guy.  He's also a very good fly tyer.

And just like that, we're off.  My expectations are always a little low for the first day.  Because it's a partial day, the guides don't range as far afield, and may not be fishing their regular beat.   I've yet to land a big fish on my first day, (although my wife and I landed 120 fish our first day, two years ago.)  As we leave, I note the water is several feet higher than last year, and considerably dirtier (though not

jacunda

Chris, with his first of the trip, a small butterfly

dirty).  Our first fishing was blind casting a lagoon, and we didn't have to wait long for fish.  I always take a picture of my first of the trip, no matter what it is.  In this case, it's a jacunda, one of my favorites.  I think they're gorgeous.  This one, at a couple pounds, was a nice one.  And I definitely was going to take a picture of the first fish Chris caught, which was a small butterfly peacock of about two pounds.  A little review, the three common types of peacocks we will be catching are the three bar or tememsis, the spotted or paca, and the butterfly or boboleta.  The spotted and three bars are the larger ones, my best is 15, but Ron, one of our returning members, caught a 17.5 lb fish last year.  The butterflies are much smaller, a five pound fish is a real good one, and a six is the biggest I have seen.

Fishing was a little slow by Amazon standards, but the time still flew, and before I knew it, we were headed back to the lodge.  We landed somewhere around 40 fish, and Chris had the best one, a chunky 8.5 pounder.  We were greeted at the docks with a drink and appetizers, and I immediatley went back to my room, grabbed a five weight, and spent a little time at the dock, working the small, but far more choosy fish around the dock.  I caught several pacus, including this neat Marie Antoinette pacu, which looks like it's bleeding, but it's just the deepest red markings you have ever seen.  Also caught several of the zebra striped aracus. We met at

Pacu

Marie Antoinette pacu

Aracu

seven for dinner.  Dinner wasn't disappointing the food was good, and the setting was a little fancier than I was used to.  Everyone dispersed pretty fast after dinner, and I was in bed by 8:30 p.m.  Tomorrow we are fishing Zezinio or Joseph, as he is called.  He has guided for 22 years, knows the river better than anyone, and I couldn't be more excited about hitting the river tomorrow.