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S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S • 197 feet out of the water. I could hear Mark's camera firing away behind me. Again the big fish ripped the river's surface, then tried to regain his original position beneath the willows. But by now I had moved into the center of the run and was able to keep him in open water, where I could angle him toward me and bring his head up before pointing him into my net. He was completely unwilling to admit defeat as I turned him upside down and worked the tiny hook from his jaw. Then I oriented him upright with his face into the flow, until he realized he was free and darted back into the shadows. And as Mark grinned and pounded me on the shoulder, I thought, This day can't possibly get any better. I was wrong. W e continued downriver that afternoon, catching trout after trout as we went. At one point I handed my fly rod to Mark, and he caught a rainbow and then a big brown trout of his own as I gazed wide-eyed at the breathtaking landscape through which we were moving. Then, just above the confluencia of the Chimehuin and the Collón Curá, a young red stag crossed the river 80 yards below us as the last remnants of daylight faded into glorious darkness beneath the star-strewn Patagonian sky. Lucas and Adrian and the aforementioned Southern Cross were waiting for us a mile downriver, and Chef Juaquin's lavish dinner that evening was yet another culinary masterpiece, accompanied by some of the finest Malbec wines that Argentina has to offer. I slipped into bed that night eagerly anticipating the morrow, when Lucas and Mark promised to take us to a secluded little spring creek that feeds into the Collón Curá. F ollowing another grand breakfast and a rollicking ride across the pampas, we set out on foot, Mark and Robert, Lucas and me, wending our way a mile down the trail to the stream. Lucas and I began fishing immediately, Southern CroSS Continued from page 147 while Mark and Robert crossed to the far side and worked their way downstream. An hour later we caught up with them as they were taking a break in a grove of silver poplars. Looking up at them, Lucas suddenly whispered, "Stag!" Lucas Rodriguez and Mark Lewis are arguably the finest fishing guides in all of Patagonia. But they are also passionate hunters, and now they both went into full stealth mode. Armed only with his camera and his wits, Mark rolled out low and silent from beneath the trees and began working up the canyon toward the big stag as Lucas and I watched from the water. It was at this exact moment that one of Patagonia's big brown trout took my fly. With my focus up the mountain, I struck too hard and broke him off. But ever the gentleman, Lucas slapped me on the back and assured me there were more trout where that one came from. With our attention back on fishing, we began catching trout. Lucas and I eventually dropped downstream, and as we neared