Anglers heads to Chile in search of ... Monsters of Misterioso

AKE MISTERIOSO, Chile - The knot that connects the fly line to the backing usually isn't something I worry about.

I buy a new line every few years, attach it to the backing and never see it again when I fish for trout in the Clearwater River drainage. I never catch anything large enough to strip off the line and get into the backing.

But that changed on Misterioso.

I kept watching that knot slide through my guides and slip into the depths of the lake, pulled ferociously by a hefty rainbow trout that spun the spool on my reel. I gained ground, retrieving line on the spool, only to have the trout take off and again test my knot-tying ability.

After three or four runs, I regained the backing and most of the line, but then the big 'bow dived for the bottom, bending a 6-weight rod in half and burying almost half of it under the boat.

Fortunately, these trout aren't leader-shy and the heavy tippet held up, allowing us to net the fish and then release it back to the gin-clear water.

My son, Andy, and I were back on Misterioso with guide Eduardo Otarola, two years after he first introduced us to this wonderful fishery. On our first trip we caught mostly brown trout on big streamers trolled behind full-sink lines. We netted several in the 5- or 6-pound class and Andy landed one closer to 9 pounds. The few rainbows we caught were 12 to 14 inches long. This time the rainbows stole the show.

We heard about the rainbows two days earlier while floating the Simpson River with guide Nicolas Gonzalez.

"You're going to like those rainbows," Gonzalez said. "They've gotten really big."

Otarola later gave us a history of the rainbows. All sterilized females, they were planted in Misterioso three years ago. About 6 inches long when they were planted, they're now in the 24- to 26-inch class after three years of feasting on a variety of shrimp and bugs. And, as described above, they are nasty when they chomp down on your fly.

We started the day with some exciting dry-fly fishing. Otarola rowed his aluminum boat parallel to the brushy shoreline and we cast big, foam flies at the bank. It certainly wasn't nonstop, but we regularly picked up browns.

And there's something special about throwing a Chernobyl ant inches away from a bank and then watching a brown slash out from under a log to make the fly disappear in a splash and a swirl.

Later in the day we switched from floating to full-sink lines and moved farther out in the lake in search of the rainbows. With big streamers on our tippets, we explored channels between weed beds.

I caught one rainbow while using the largest fly I've ever cast. It was yellow, articulated (two hooks), had a head that looked like a drowned mouse and was about 3 inches long. Like the saying goes: "If you want to catch big fish, use big flies."

And this particular big fly attracted a 5-pounder that fought harder than larger steelhead I've caught.

We both caught three or four of the big 'bows before leaving near sunset for the two-hour drive back to town.

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When Andy and I fished this region of northern Patagonia two years ago, we arrived in early April, which is fall in that hemisphere. We fished in heavy rain and brutal winds much of the time. That's why we decided to go back in mid-February, which is more like August in this part of the world.

Yes, the weather was better, but the fishing wasn't quite as good. One day we caught only a few small browns on dry flies on a creek that runs through the pampas, within sight of the Argentine border.

The day we floated the Simpson with Gonzales in his raft didn't produce big numbers. But the fishing was exciting as we cast streamers into pockets along the river bank and between partially submerged logs. The water clarity was outstanding, so you could see the 16-inch browns dart from beneath a log to hit the streamers. We also were able to pick up a few fish with mayfly imitations on the surface and by drifting nymphs downstream when we waded.

While the fishing wasn't spectacular, the scenery was. The first time we floated the Simpson, the weather was too nasty to appreciate, or see, much of the countryside. But we had blue skies and expansive vistas this time and I found myself dropping the rod and picking up the camera to shoot photos of glacier-covered mountains, sheer cliffs and the lush riverbanks.

We spent a day on Ardillas Lake, where Otarola's family owns a small farm and fishing cabin. We caught 16- to 18-inch browns by throwing dry flies next to the base of cliffs or beside weed patches.

Twice, nice browns hit my fly on the surface and immediately headed for cover on the lake bottom. One wrapped the leader around a log before I could gain control and succeeded in breaking off. The next fouled the line in some reeds, but we were able to pull it free and land it.

We later switched to sinking lines and streamers and the action picked up. We caught more feisty browns, landed during quick rain showers and blustery winds.

We got skunked our last day in Chile. We left our headquarters city of Coyhaique and drove to Elizalde Lake and fished the mouth of an inlet stream. A couple hours of casting produced not one hit. But the scenery was exquisite, with the deep-blue waters of the 15-mile-long lake surrounded by verdant farmland with a backdrop of glacier-covered peaks.

I sat on a log and stared. I didn't really care that I didn't catch anything.

We wrapped up the trip, 15 minutes from the airport, throwing spinners in the upper Simpson River for chinook salmon. I saw a big one roll, but we had no hook-ups. Gonzalez previously had told us about a group he was with fishing for salmon with an 8-weight fly rod. They hooked four, but didn't come close to landing any.

But it wasn't the salmon I thought about when I left the airport at Balmaceda for a flight to Santiago and a connecting flight home.

"How big," I wondered, "will those Misterioso rainbows be next year: 30 inches, 32?"

I'd love to find out.

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Emerson may be contacted at pemerson@lmtribune.com or (208) 848-2269.