There is a saying that adventure travel is only adventurous after the fact. during the trip it is more like a day-long pain in the butt. sometimes fly fishing is like that. It is not until the last rays of the sun (or later for those Madison river evenings) slip away that the day starts to become fishing stories. As friends gather around a table of food and drink the eats become more epic, the flies smaller, the wind harsher, the misses more painful and the mistakes become more hilarious. It is here, in this moment, that memories are cast. And it is here, in this place, at this time, that you need a cold one, a fried one and one on a bun. Or something like that. Follow my blog with bloglovin
It was a hot Quilmes.
So let's just say that the fishing was so good that you tamped down your hunger with a protein bar and now it is that nowhere time between a suitable late lunch and an early dinner - which in Argentina means 8:30. You have fished miles of the rio Pulmari and are now so hungry and so thirsty that you can no longer tie on another fly. What to do?
It's Camp Fatima to the rescue. It is an Argentinian camping spot where the caretakers will bring you a fresh loaf of bread, a litre of Quilmes (or 3), a little potted meat (picadilla) and a plastic lawn chair. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.