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farther out into the current. Again, a trout rose but refused the take. "Fly's too big," Mark declared. "Besides, these are smaller trout . . . the big boys will be laying up in the head of the chute where the willows touch the water." We changed flies quickly, this time tying a much more discreet #20 Blue Wing Olive onto a new section of 6X. Y ou'll need to put that fly straight up the slot into the black water where the current feeds out." Mark had far more confidence in my casting abilities than I did, but I gave it my best shot. To my amazement, the little fly landed lightly far up into the shadows at the head of the run. It had floated less than two feet before something sizeable sipped it from the surface. I struck on sight. The big trout bolted from beneath the willows and tore cross-current, then turned abruptly and charged straight at me while I stripped line furiously in a barely successful attempt to maintain some semblance of a tight connection. Then he reversed course, rocketed back upstream, and came three S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S • 147 From left, clockwise: The lodge complex at Tres Rios Casa de Campo sits a warm and welcome part of the vast Patagonia landscape. • A mid- morning interlude on the beautiful Rio Chimehuin. • One of the best day's fishing of the author's life occurred on this little spring creek that flows into the mighty Collón Curá. Continued on page 197 T he afternoon was just as fine as the morning, with Robert and me doing a much better job at keeping tabs on our dry flies. Mark amazed us with his boat- handling virtuosity, and at the bottom of one particularly challenging and serpentine run around the outside of a big island, he eased us to shore. As Robert began casting into the deeper, calmer water below us, Mark turned to me and said "C'mon," and we headed up a nearly hidden side channel that coursed the back side of the island. By now I had all the confidence in the world in my new best friend from Patagonia, and a hundred yards upstream we halted below a thick stand of willows, their tips brushing the darkened surface of the current. "I was here last week, scouting for us," Mark whispered. "Trout were rising well, but I was having to cast straight into the wind, and it just wasn't working." The trout were still rising. I laid a #14 Brown Quill on a 12-foot, 5X tapered leader halfway up toward the willows, and a fish took a swing at it. I missed him, but then set the fly three feet