Last January, Michael and I finally stood on the banks of the Rio Grande in Tierra del Fuego. Like always, we booked on a relatively short notice, but we made it. We even man-aged to fill our fly boxes with all kinds of differnt flies, from Wooly Buggers to tube flies, rubber leg nymphs and Sunray shadows. That took us a few long nights but we were safe for flies. That’s what we thought. There was one fly that we didn’t have in our box. To be honest, we didn’t even think about it. A fly which usually is fished for Atlantic salmon in Canada and has her roots on the Miramichi.
Like the ugly duckling from Hans Christian Andersen’s famous fairy tale, there is a hint of metaphor in my small story about a “ditch” that, after many years of mishandling, turns into a prolific and beautiful salmon river.
Admittedly, the effectiveness of a fly relies principally on the confidence that the fisherman has in it, but it also has to be recognized that the nearly-doubled rate of success kills any prior prejudice; the PHP flat-out works.
A reflection on life and a trip of a lifetime.