The Hunt for the Golden Dorado

My first Golden Dorado to the boat.

It all started two and a half years ago. While floating down the river with a client, she expressed interest in traveling to Bolivia for an adventure of a lifetime but she had no one to go with. “I’ll go if you’re serious,” I said immediately. “I’m sure we could find a group to lock in.” The group seemed harder to locate but the two of us were sold on the adventure. For two years we saved, bought gear for the trip, and made an Excel spreadsheet and packing list to ensure we would have everything needed based on the outfitter’s guides. In total, it would be a ten-day trip with six days of fishing in the jungle. For two years this trip would flow to the front of my brain and then back to the rear as it seemed so far away. It seemed like it would never be time to board a plane, get a new passport stamp, and walk into the jungle but finally, the day came. On the morning of the trip, I kissed my wife goodbye, promised not to die, and started the almost 24 hours of travel to Santa Cruz, Bolivia. Though the trip, so far, was easy, my excitement waned while taking the three flights to the South American country. I spent the time trying to work on my Spanish, sliding in and out of sleep, and hoping I didn’t get skunked. The videos of these fish make them look tough but very aggressive. Almost like they will eat anything you throw at them. I knew this was not the case and it would be a challenging week with long cast, blown opportunities, and lost fish. I just wanted one to the boat. Just one. 

Travel to Camp

Upon landing, we were ushered through customs, issued our visas, and picked up by the outfitters. It was three in the morning and we had to travel to our hotel where we would wait for our arrangements to be finalized to the lodge. At the time, Bolivian air was thick with smoke from the rainforest. The Amazon was burning at an amazing rate. Rates never thought to be possible since it is usually so wet. The news blamed global warming, deforestation, and the government for not doing more to protect the rainforest as a needed resource for the planet. The smell reminded me of roasting marshmallows. Wood burning from hundreds of miles away seemed as close as the fire I’d sit next to with my children while we created memories together. With the heat, it felt depressing. Our flight was delayed, due to flying conditions. The pilots couldn’t see through the smoke and it was not safe for us to land in the jungle. We passed the time at the pool with other anglers who were also waiting for their turns to depart. There was no anger, you expect these types of delays and problems when traveling to remote places. It’s never perfect and you have to be flexible with plans while trying to stay prepared. We finally got word that our delay required transportation to another airport with the hopes of getting airborne after only a lost half day of fishing. I downed my beer and ran to shower before meeting at the front of the hotel with the five other anglers I’d be spending the rest of the week with. All were from the U.S. and excited to share an adventure. Our age gaps were wide and our experiences varied. The only thing we truly shared was a love of fly fishing and a little hesitation on what we should expect based on all the reports. We arrived at the airport and loaded our bags with our eyes on the sky, burnt orange from the smoke and sun. 

Airborn. A two hour flight and a two hour boat right to the village would mean we had made it. Upon landing in the jungle, we were greeted by the previous week’s anglers. I instinctively asked, “How was it?” The angler responded with broken and battered eyes, “Challenging,” and went to board the plane. I remember thinking, “That was odd.” I took stock of the other anglers and they all seemed to have enjoyed their time but it wasn’t without battles. They carried scars. When their plane took off, it sunk in. There were no more hospitals. No more restaurants and no more traffic. We were now remote as remote could be. We were seemingly in a different world. Our rules of engagement with this environment was foreign and it felt like everything could hurt you. The stingrays, cayman, and jaguars all made their presence known. This was a gift and seemingly a curse given that any of those listed animals could take a life. They mostly just wanted to get away from us but that didn’t make me feel any less uneasy when our paths crossed. Though the animals were the topics of a national geographic special on things to kill you, the people were soft-spoken but happy and very welcoming to our small group. They helped down a path about a half mile where we would load ourselves and equipment into the boats to camp. The ride was beautiful and slow. The perfect way to be introduced to the jungle.

Our bungalows weren’t special but very open. They were an elevated experience but rustic. Simply designed with screen windows, a bed, mosquito netting, and a full personal bathroom for each guest. Breakfast was served daily at 7:30 a.m., we’d have a river lunch and dinner at 8:30 a.m. The lodge had a wonderful chef and I am still amazed with the meals that were created given the kitchen's size, and tools. It was not lost on me that everything had to be flown or boated in for six days up the river. I was in awe of the fine details covered but also that everything was built by hand with the guides and the indigenous tribes. Once settled, a bit of peace came over me as the jungle sounds started coming alive. Macaws nested in nearby trees, crickets and frogs began to sing and were the soundtrack of the evening. During the first night, it was approximately ninety degrees and 100% humidity. Everything felt wet and sleeping would take some getting used to. Even with all our small comforts, air conditioning is not a thing in the jungle. It took me a couple of days to adjust to the evenings being so warm. Due to the hard fishing, by day two, I’d be able to sleep from pure exhaustion after seemingly 1000 cast. 

The Hunt for Durado

Golden Dorados are an amazing fish. They are strong, ambush predators that you can sight cast to or try to pull them from cover to take your fly. They have a bony mouth and require a strong hookset or during one of their runs or jumps they will throw the hook and leave you amazed, but heartbroken. As seen in the picture, their teeth are sharp and their skulls are bulky. They can be found in jungle rivers in South America. There are a few species and I was able to land two during my time in Bolivia. I didn’t know it on the first day of fishing but the day would be full of pain and joy.

We started the day by walking to the river and meeting our local guides. One from Argentina, who would serve as our main guide and interpreter, and two guides from the indigenous tribe. The guides are truly amazing and can see fish that I still am not sure ever existed because I blew my shot before even getting close. Our boats are simple canoes made by hand from large fallen trees. They are thin and draft in very shallow water due to the low-profile hulls. The two guides on the stern and bow pole quietly along the river's edge as we look for tailing fish or hold us in place while we fish structure. Stealth is imperative as these fish spook easily when our presence is known. I blew 10 shots the first day easily as this is a very technical fishery and even after reading all about how to fish a Dorado, I left shots short, I overcasted or I hit them right on the head. Accurate, long cast were the name of the game and I’ll admit that I had not done enough practice to come out the gates putting up big numbers. Regardless of my misses, I was still able to muster a fish to chase my fly and get it to the boat. It would be my biggest fish of the trip landed though I’d have larger fish on my line running away with it in the current. Our guide called me up, “Ash, put a cast there, I see a fish.” I could see anything but trusted him. The cast wasn’t long. It was about 15 yards to a sunken tree. I let it fly. Two strips in I felt a thud and saw a golden flash of the fish’s underbelly. “STRIP,” the guides yelled as they moved the boat to the opposite shore for me to fight the fish from land. The canoes are capable vessels, but if you are new to fishing in them, land is a much better option until you get your legs under you. Once the fish was tired, I walked back in the sand until my guide could grab its tail and secure the fish after a strong but short fight. I was surprised it happened. I was both excited and shocked. It was perfect. The guide brought the fish over to me for the celebratory images and that's when I truly had a moment of appreciation for such a special fish. It took days to travel to the moment. Years to plan and execute. Thousands of dollars to make it all possible, but on day one, I was able to check off the fish of a lifetime. It was a fantastic specimen and I could go home happy, even if I never caught another. During the week, I'd land five. That’s a little under one fish a day. That seems like we didn’t catch a lot, but after multiple inquiries it became close to par. I began to understand the word “challenging” given to me when we landed. These fish aren’t mindless feeding monsters. They are cautious, smart, and spooky. The videos of fishing these waters always make it sound lights out all day, but you have to work for every fish you get a shot at. It was more like saltwater fishing than any river fish I have had the pleasure to cast a line to.  Hours and hours of double hauls in wind, rain, and extreme heat. Bug bites and stingray dodging. You’re going to have to work hard. This is what we call fun! If it were easy everyone would do it. 

For the rest of the week, each day was designated for new water and new experiences and each night the six anglers would meet in the great room to hear fishing stories of laughter and heartbreak. Spirits always remained high, even on the lowest fish count days. The final day was spent up the Agua Negra River at camp. It was a simple camp with only two anglers at a time. To get there we were pushed up river as much as possible and walked whenever the water level was too low to pass. I must say, we walked a lot, but it was beautiful. The sand was marked with animal tracks, the trees carried monkeys, and the skies were full of birds I’d only seen in zoos. This was my favorite day. I rarely even cast as I just wanted to melt into the jungle. I just wanted to take it all in as I knew it would end soon. I’d be trading in the tropical jungle for a concrete one. Back to traffic, corner stores, and emails. While at camp, I was skunked. I made a beautiful cast with no takes. Instead of being frustrated, I would think, “I’ll just be good with leaving that one for someone else.” I lost the desire to visit the jungle for the fish. I desired to be a part of more. I wanted to be closer to the people, the culture, the life all around me. Not as a paying customer, but as a human being a part of this fragile ecosystem. On the last day, I was content, not to cast at all. We walked and floated back to the main camp quietly. “Slow down. Soak it in,” I’d say to myself after every river bend. Once back at the lodge, we ate, packed, and promised to stay connected. Our gracious guides congratulated us for our successes as a group and individuals as we thanked them for their expertise and for keeping us alive. 

Homecoming

The next morning, we began our usual walk to the boats, but this time we would not be returning with river stories. We were heading to catch our tiny plane that was to land on a grass runway in a tiny village somewhere in the Amazon. The plane landed, and a new group of anglers began their walk over to us. I made the group promise not to leave a defeated impression on this group because we had too much to be grateful for, even in the struggle. They walked over and we all shook hands. They asked, “How was it?” My response was, “Great, you’ll see.” The hunt for the Golden Dorado ended for some and began for others. It was the beginning of the end for me. I stepped on the plan and began yearning for home. I yearned for my bed and the embrace of my family. I couldn’t wait to share the pictures of the sloth and the toothy fish that I could now say I have caught. I couldn’t wait for the delight in my son’s eyes as he begged to adventure with me and would soon be ready to start joining. I couldn’t wait for his sisters’ wisecracks about their weirdo dad who leaves for such adventures. They make fun, but I can tell they still think I am kind of cool. If you have teenagers, you know that this is a mark of true success. My fishing adventure was over, but this life still has more for me to find. I had twenty-four hours to think of my loved ones on the journey home. We would be together again soon enough. The homecoming had begun. Until next time. 

Ashley

The Gentleman Lumberjack