It's the names that resonate.

Torres del Paine. Los Torreones.  Rio Simpson. Manihuales. Parque Pumalin. Puyuhuapi. Coyhaique.

Language flows like the Rio Simpson in spring.  Strong current ripples place language, like swollen streams. Banks burst and gorge out deep pools.

Questions surface and circumscribe the minds surface like trout at evening hatch.

How we describe our passion influences it.

Patched muddy waders reveal a story

Narrative, punctuated poetry like a false strike drifts the float line at runs edge.

Any true adventure, flyfishing trip or otherwise, begins with the whisper of a wish:

“I'd love to fish the…….” Fill in the blank.

When a trip with family member or best friend, son or daughter, has the common bond of good companionship, laughter, the unexpected, it is a successful one.

When a trip throws you into transcendent beauty, a sense of wildness, and freedom then you are lucky enough to have been to a place called : Patagonia.

“Fly fishing invites you to release yourself and catch your dream.”