About as low as you can go short of Antarctica, Cape Horn, Chile overlooks the bottom of the world. Yes, even further south than Australia and Tasmania. I never realized just how far it was until we finished the fourth plane ride and nearly twenty-eight hours of travel. The planes grew smaller with each successive flight and landed at smaller, more remote and less populated airports. In my book, that’s a good way to know you’re going someplace special. The final stop was little more than an asphalt airstrip.
Some clues that that we weren’t in Kansas anymore greeted us upon arrival; the obvious language difference, a few cultural changes and the fact that southerly winds brought cold air which blasted us as we deplaned. Other dissimilarities came as welcome surprises over the coming days as we ventured into a totally unique environment. One delightful discovery; the night sky looked different. A lot different. You could see the Southern Cross.
Our group of nine intrepid travelers included Jo, my wife, proficient angler and our groups photographer, our son, Evan, and good friends, Dan Pesavento, Stan Diment, Dick and Danny Gebhart, Dean Williams and Sara Lyle, all looking forward to a week at the end of the world and the opportunity to helicopter into some of the most remote rivers imaginable to fish for giant brook trout, sea run and resident brown trout. We’d been excited for this trip for the two years we’d been planning it.
Rafael Gonzales, the manager of Lakutaia Lodge, and two guides, both named Felipe, met us in Punta Arenas and flew the final leg to Navarrino Island and welcomed us to the luxurious lodge. We gathered together for evening cocktails to enjoy Sebastian tending bar, serving Pisco Sours, the local favorite drink that to me, seemed one part pina colada, one part whiskey sour and one part baseball bat that would sneak up and smack you in the head after the third one.
The following morning, the helicopter rose from a self inflicted whirlwind of churning leaves and dust that would remove the hats of those who watched and awaited their turn in the air taxi. It touched down on the shores of a different river each day and deposited groups of three anglers and a guide who scuttled beneath the turning blades and then waved as the pilot lifted off to fly back to the lodge in order to ferry the next group to their river.
By the second day, we’d all taken a deep, relaxing breath- more of a sigh actually, and settled into the lifestyle of gourmet food, fine drink, evening conversations and a new place to fish each day. It’s a joy to watch each person unwind the knots that daily life so often binds around us and settle into their own harmony and rhythm. For some, it meant a half hour nap after lunch by the stream. For others, just a quiet midmorning respite at the waters edge just to take in the moment. Danny and Evan, being the younger of our group, were also the most hard core anglers. While many of the rest of us were leaning or napping against the tree, these two were back on the water catching fish.
Streamers produced in the early morning hours. The six weight Axiom ll-X excelled at casting small streamers to bank-side lies. Charlie Craven’s Double Gonna elicited some voracious strikes. Evan switched to a Mr. Hankey, a simple mouse pattern in the late afternoons on his five weight Axiom ll with exciting success. One morning, Felipe Ignacio Kovacic tried his hand an Euronymphing with TFO’s soon-to-be-released nymphing rod- the Stealth. Fortunately, I had a prototype with me and we had a blast together. Each night, Sebastian met us in the wader room after the helicopter ride back to the lodge with Pisco Sours and a full tray of appetizers.
I don’t remember who caught the largest fish; I know it wasn’t me. Maybe its was Stan, or possibly Dean. Sara caught more fish than she ever had before. It was special to see Dick and his son Danny fish together. My favorite memory with Dan was huddled behind a sparse clump of bushes waiting out a snow squall. Evan and Jo caught the largest brook trouts of their lives.
Of course, the week ended too soon as we gathered for a festive barbecue on the final night, complete with flayed lamb over a wood fire and an assortment of tasty local appetizers. And of course, Sebastian manning the bar. We celebrated new friends and old friends joined by our common passion.
If you ever get the chance to go to Lakutaia Lodge in the southern most part of Chile- don’t miss it. You’ll make memories of a lifetime, see a remote and beautiful part of the world, and a lot of Patagonia waders and TFO rods and reels- the workhorses of the lodge. Have fun, but of course, beware of that third Pisco Sour.
Blog post written by TFO National Advisor Jason Randall and photos provided by Jo Randall.