At first light, a toucan comes flying over the patio and sits in an old tree in front of the house. The bird stares at me as I have my first sip of coffee. Then another toucan lands in the tree, followed by a whole flock. I get up and snap a picture of the birds as my guide, José Caparros, tells me it’s a rare sight. I take it as an omen, a good one. Then I take another sip, anticipating the day’s fishing as I wait in the shadows of the morning.
We define fly fishing by many things, but down to the core it’s pretty simple: the fly in the water. You can talk about the double haul, the single spey, about sink lines or greased lines, about using everything from size 24 nymphs to size 4/0 Dee winged salmon flies. You can talk about how to set your hook. You can talk about all that—and even know all about that—but fly fishing is really just about keeping your woolly bugger in the water. About being a part of it.
Above: You fish big, floating dry flies on Argentina’s Río Dorado. But the take is nothing gentle; you better hold on to your rod. Photo: Håkan Stenlund