Filo Huahum River, by Jorge Trucco

In the past I would take my Zodiac motorboat and tow a raft all the way through lake Falkner into lake Nuevo. Camped in that "division of Paradise" with clients and then float the Filo Hua Hum river that flows out of lake Nuevo into lake Filo Hua Hum where my people would wait for me with a motor boat to drag my raft across the lake into the boca of the lower Filo Hua Hum river just before it joins the Meliquina to form the Caleufu. That was the only way to do it right and it was an adventure.

Early season outings guaranteed fishing since river Filo Hua Hum, having major lakes on either end, has permanent browns, rainbows and even big brook trout move in and out from these lakes.

IMy first fish in the Filo Hua Hum river was a 5-pound brook trout (I'm still trying to find that picture!) that was caught at the upper stretch near Lake Nuevo. The most memorable fishing experience I had in the Filo Hua Hum was on the smaller fork at the lower end that flows into lake Filo Hua Hum. Bebe Anchorena called it "the chalk stream" section. One evening in the early 80s I was scouting that stretch on my own. That "Chalk stream" stretch of this river looked great in spite of the fact that it was late December and the water was still a little high. Fish weren't surface feeding but the undercut bank with long overhanging grass was so attractive that I was struck by the feeling that a hopper couldn't be less than infallible. I was supposed to be leaving for the truck when my lawyer and friend Mario Rieiro and his English wife Fiona were waiting for me with scotch on the rocks. Despite that I placed a well-presented parachute hopper a\under the cut bank on the far side. A big explosion splashed my face, tightened my line and broke me off immediately. I tried a second hopper and an identical thin resulted. I got the distinct message that these fish may not be leader shy so I tied on a 3X dark Maxima tippet and threw a third hopper. This time the take was gentle. The hooked-jaw brown sucked the fly in; I hesitated a split second and set the hook. Then hell broke loose.

The 9 pounder took me for a ride downstream into the lake. The Gods were with me and I finally landed the fish, which I measured and weighted. Unfortunately my friends had my camera and they were 2 miles away, therefore no photos this time, just the memories. It was late but adrenaline was pumping all over my system and I tried a fourth parachute-hopper. The strike was ferocious but the colorful brown took me upstream this time, he didn't look quite as big as the previous one but he was undoubtly more fierce and energetic. After three leaps he started going deep into the sunken logs. It wasn't the first time that I had to "thread" a big fish out of sunken logs and roots, at the expense of getting water over my waders and getting my ass wet. Finally I landed the 24 incher. Being smaller than the previous 28 incher I must say that it got my adrenaline rushing as much as the first one had. Despite the fact that no pictures were taken the memories will always be with me and one knows how easy it is to idealize things that one can only remember. That's what legends and myths are made of.

Once back by the truck with my friends it was cocktail time. After their complaints about my delay I started sharing my experiences of that memorable evening. And the stories started.