The helicopter dropped us off by the side of the river, on a beach of river rocks. Everywhere we looked there were rocks, beautiful, smooth, in every shade and size you could imagine. The river itself was wide and bustling. The water so clear it was easy to see to the bottom. We were fishing the pools, and in the calm places between the riffles. I caught several large trout right away, the first one broke my fly at the knot. "Bad knot" I said aloud, and my guide, Rodrigo, looked down, blushed slightly and shrugged in that que sera sera kind of way that only the truly good looking get away with. He had tied the bad knot that lost my fish.
I landed the next trout, a 4lb beauty of a rainbow, and we made our way down the river after the others.
The morning was so gorgeous, sunny but not too warm, perfect for fly fishing in Patagonia. Rodrigo took me into pools where I waded almost waste deep, casting into the shadows of the far banks. Eventually it was time to cross to the other side of the river, which was roughly half the size of a football field.
Over time I have learned a few things about wading in big water. First: the guide is always bigger than I am, and even if he's not, he's stronger than me, and even if he's not, he's much more used to wading in rivers. Therefore, he should always be the one who walks slightly ahead, up-current, to take some of the pressure off of me. Just as in bicycling, by following I can draft him.
Second, the strong guide wants to hold on to me tightly. This is not a friendship thing, he will lose more than his job if he loses me down the river, so when he locks arms with me, or takes my hand, I always hold on tightly.
Lastly, guides walk faster than I do and it is perfectly fine to tell them to slow down, see number two above, they don't want you falling in the river.
Rodrigo was carrying a bunch of bags the other fisherman had left behind and he looked a little like a sherpa. I felt bad that he was so burdened and I decided that I could cross the river with minimal assistance. Instead of walking behind him, I walked ahead, taking the full force of the current. Instead of locking arms with him I put my right hand on his shoulder to balance myself should I need it. Then, because all of that wasn't quite stupid enough, we walked fast.
About a third of the way across the river, the rock under my right foot rolled away and I stumbled headlong into the water. I was carrying my fly rod in my left hand and I instinctively raised it up so that it wouldn't break. My right hip jutted out to the side as my left arm crashed into the water. Rodrigo caught my right arm to keep me from going all the way under. He forced me up and reflexively I swung my hips back all the way to the left. Miraculously, I was standing upright and only the left side of me was wet. No water had come into my waders which was a real blessing, wet waders would mean I would be cold and cranky soon.
With Rodrigo still holding on to me, I tried to take a step with my right foot. No good. My leg wouldn't hold my weight. We had to get across the river however, and the other fishermen, including Xav were too far ahead to call for help. Rodrigo put his arm around me and together we hobbled our way across the river. I collapsed on a log.
I felt like I was going to throw up and my face was sweaty. I was also hugely embarrassed. I told Rodrigo all I needed was minute or two to rest, and then we could walk the other 2.5 miles down the river to the pick-up spot. The only problem was that every time I stood up I felt terrible pain in my hip. There was simply no way to put enough weight on my leg to walk down the river. Rodrigo wanted to call the helicopter right away, but I persuaded him to get Xav instead.
When Xav saw me, he optimistically clapped his hands together and said "Okay. Let's walk down the river a little further and have lunch. You can rest and we'll see how your hip feels afterward." He took one arm and Rodrigo took the other. I made weak jokes about using my injury to get close to handsome men. When asked how far away the lunch spot was, Rodrigo said "maybe 200 meters." A minute later he said "maybe 300 meters." We limped along, the three of us, and it seemed to take an eternity. I stopped looking ahead and focused only on the rocky ground ahead, one step at a time. When we arrived at the lunch spot Rodrigo looked at me, smiled and said "maybe 400 meters."
Flash forward to red wine and poached salmon by the river's edge.
I began to forget about my leg; I wanted to go fishing again. But as soon as I stood up it was clear that was an impossibility. I would not make it the rest of the way on foot, the helicopter would have to come.
On board, the owner of the ship, who also happened to be today's helicopter pilot, flew us near enough to the volcano (which is still erupting) to get a good view of it on our way back to the ship. Concerned about my injury, he said he wanted to use a stretcher or a chair to carry me down to my cabin.
Okay. I would rather crawl back to my room on my hands and knees than have the public spectacle of a stretcher, and as soon as the helicopter doors were open I half scampered, half hobbled down the stairs on one leg. Before anyone knew what was happening, I was in my cabin. I stayed there until dinner.
At dinner I received many helpful medications from my shipmates and plenty of advice. There were two more days of fishing left and my choices were clear: stay on the ship and accept that I was injured, or go fishing.
I went fishing.
Yeah, the 18-hour flight home on saturday was less than fun, as were the four hours spent in urgent care back home. But the good news is that my hip is only strained, not fractured, and while I need crutches (and physical therapy) for a few weeks, I don't need surgery.
With any luck we'll go back again next year.